1. The Purging of Ruen

Chapter 1

AT the top of the parapet, the old cat kicked at the door, ground her teeth and glared at the dog struggling up the stairs behind her.

"Door!" she hissed when he arrived.

The dog stumbled past her and fumbled with its handle, apologising when the thing refused to co-operate. Beyond it, wind screamed through gaps and wrenched the flaming torch in his paw, which he then shoved into hers to afford better grip on the door.

The Pyjami's impatience boiled at being forced to hold the flames. "It's a door!" she hissed. "It is not particularly complicated!"

"I know, but it's difficult because it's rusty and my paws are all shaky—"

"Did I ask for excuses?"

"No, but I thought it prudent—"

"You are lucky I do not remove your paws and staple them to this thing." And she waved the torch in irritation. "Just consider yourself fortunate that I don't have a stapler."

"I do, honestly. It's just that after all those stairs I'm rather puffed, you see, and this blasted door—"

"I'm not puffed."

"No, of course you're not," the dog muttered, fiddling with the handle, having no intention of pointing out that he'd been forced to hurry across several floors of castle, while she'd just waited on one bit lower down.

He'd been forced to hurry because the animal who was supposed to meet the Pyjami had required a toilet urgently. Dire need of latrine befell many within the castle, because the place stank beyond remark. So dreadful was its smell, that the castle's latrines were the most sought after rooms in it, primarily because they smelt better than the rest of the place. The castle didn't just smell of mouldy, dank stone, but had a stench that physically clawed. Nor was it limited to sense of smell alone, and instead assaulted all five in a manner that can only be described as selfish. It was a reek so thick, that it was akin to breathing cheese. A stink so debilitating, that whiskers shrivelled and died. As a result, the dog was desperate for the door to open, but having the Pyjami fume behind him wasn't helping. He cursed, realising it wasn't the door that was stuck, but the wind outside ramming against it. The Pyjami wasn't interested in such detail, however, and growled that if he didn't hurry up and open the thing, she'd do something to him that wouldn't require a stapler.

After a final curse, the latch shifted. The door slammed inwards, blasting them with cold night and pushing them back down the stairwell. With a sneer, the Pyjami thrust the beaten torch back into the animal's paws and strode into fresh air, which she took several relieved breaths of. Beside her, castle towers struck high at the night sky in a slurry of wet black sand, glistening beneath starlight. Upon battlements, wind surged in howl around lichen-crusted stone, gnawed soft and porous by countless wheel of season.

When the wind fell, she said to the dog, "Should that wretched animal in the latrines decide to make himself available, then return for me. But not before warning him that should he make himself unavailable upon my next visit, I shall do something to him that will render his current indisposition something he'll aspire to."

"Shall I tell him the stapler thing?"

"What?"

"The thing about the staples—the thing you said about my paws and the stapler. Should I say that to him? It might hurry him up. It certainly hurried me up."

She turned to him and glared. "Are you showing insolence?"

He waved his snuffed torch to assure he wasn't. "Not at all! I just thought it might be helpful."