The Purging Of Ruen

By "Thomas" "Corfield"

In which Oscar Teabag-Dooven battles a misguided echelon of authoritative animals to save a beautiful city from certain destruction.

When assigned to determine the cause of brewing tensions in the exclusive seaside city of Ruen, Oscar Teabag-Dooven discovers it’s on the brink of tearing itself apart. Things become complicated when it appears those responsible are in charge of running the place. Drawn into a scandalous plot of insanity and greed, Oscar befriends the Dervy, a young revolutionary, by throwing her off a cliff, and Horace, an elderly doctor with a phobia of worming ointments. Together they battle Sedervitz Tappen-Noo and the Pyjami, in an attempt to save a beautiful city from certain destruction. Things don’t go according to plan, however, because they don’t have one.

“Good writing can only take you so far. These books take you considerably further, and then leave you behind.” - Daniella Dragosi, Unimpressed.

“I recall finding my divorce papers a more compelling read.” - Russell Piorre, Divorced.

• Language: English
• Publisher: "Thomas" "Corfield"
• Release date: Jan 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310017421

"Thomas" "Corfield"

Thomas Corfield was born in London several years ago, definitely before last Thursday. This was a good year for all concerned, and for him in particular, because without it, later years would mean little. He owes a lot to that first year, and now lives because of it in undisclosed locations after having successfully absconded from probation. Although he finds making friends difficult, this is only because no one likes him. Including his mother, who didn’t bother giving him a name until he was nine. His solicitor describes him as having an allergy to apostrophes and an aversion to punctuation that borders on pathological. This makes the popularity of his books all the more remarkable. At least it would if there was any. But there isn't. So it doesn't. He was recently interviewed in Joomag's Meals of Food magazine, which didn't help anyone.

Book preview

THE VELVET PAW OF ASQUITH NOVELS

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THE PURGING OF RUEN

THOMAS CORFIELD

Panda

Panda Books Australia

About as gripping as a used band-aid.

—Jefer Meries, Laborious Tasker.

Once in a lifetime comes a book that changes the world. This is not it.

—Ustapha Mahalong, Frequently Inverted.

These books have plots so thin that I actually broke one.

—David Micheal Milan, Nineteenth Century Industrialist.

VELVETPAWOFASQUITH.COM

Licence Notes

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Written in Australian English.

Thank you for purchasing this ebook. If you didn’t, and it’s pirated, then a pox upon you. I don’t do this for fun, you know. This is work. And it’s quite hard too. Especially some of the spelling. This book must not be reproduced, copied or distributed, nor can it be printed out to write shopping lists on. If you enjoyed this book, please return to ThomasCorfield.com to discover further books. If you didn’t enjoy it, then I suggest you re-read it paying closer attention.

Consider visiting velvetpawofasquith.com for music, dancing and much merriment.

Copyright Thomas Corfield.

Contents

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Title Page

licence

Excerpt

Important Note

Cinematic Audiobooks

Opening Chapter

From the Next Book

About the Publisher

About the Author

Other Titles

Don’t miss out!

Excerpt

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AT an intersection, two police officers watched an official saloon hurtle past, grateful it didn’t stop to berate them. After their disastrous mismanagement of Hotel d’Ruen, they worried that any attempts at apology would only draw attention to it and result in the sort of chastisement that ironically warrants apology. One of them wandered into the street to wave after it, forcing a car to screech to a stop behind him. After some hooting, the officer turned and waved the vehicle past. It did so, but not before the driver uttered the sort of expletives that ought to have him taken in for questioning.

The officers returned to the pavement. They could manage standing on pavements, because it required little competency. With paws clasped behind them, they stood and peered at things suspiciously. Traffic lights, for example. And pigeons. And pedestrians.

One of which was taken aside for questioning.

What’s that? an officer asked, pointing at the animal’s shopping.

The animal glanced at his bag. It’s my shopping.

Shopping? I don’t believe you. What sort of shopping is it?

Well, food, mostly.

Food?

Yes.

What do you mean by food.

Food. You know, the stuff one eats when hungry.

And you can prove that, can you?

What, that I’m hungry?

No, that it’s shopping.

I expect so, yes.

The officers glanced at each other, impressed, considering they struggled to prove anything. And how do you propose doing so? the other asked.

Well, I could open the bag.

The officers frowned.

I could open the bag, the animal said, and you could see my shopping. As a means of verification, it ought to work quite well.

The police nodded as enlightenment dawned, and one jotted the strategy down in a notebook.

You didn’t steal it, did you? the second asked.

What?

The bag. It’s not stolen by any chance?

No. It’s mine.

So that bag definitely wasn’t lying around on the pavement all by itself?

No!

Not even a little bit?

No. It’s my bag with my shopping. Do you want to see the receipt as well?

Receipt?

Yes. To prove it’s not stolen.

The officers glanced at each other, before one asked, So how does that work then?

From Chapter 37

Important Note

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The Velvet Paw of Asquith Novels are international jet-setting adventures with large casts of characters. As examples of New Fable genre fiction, they do not have individual protagonists and antagonists, but instead have character couples known as protagona and antagona.

These character couples afford greater immersion into the books’ expansive cinematic atmosphere through carefully constructed shifts in character point-of-view. It is hoped that this cultivates greater vitality, vibrancy and depth to the books’ charming cinematic ludicrousness.

Cinematic Audiobooks

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The Velvet Paw of Asquith Novels are available as award-winning audiobooks, with lush orchestrations and immersive cinematics. Find them at all good online retailers, and some less reputable ones.

DEDICATION

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For

Oliver and Jeremy, Tabitha and Natalie.

1

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"Courage; a modesty born from fear,

and any animal who boasts of bravery,

knows the meaning of neither."

– the Loud Purr of Asquith.

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

Door! she hissed when he arrived.

The dog stumbled past and fumbled with its handle, apologising when the thing refused to cooperate. Beyond it, wind screamed through gaps and wrenched the flame of torch in his paw, which he 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. 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 fluffing door—

I’m not puffed.

No, of course you’re not, he muttered, fiddling with the handle, and having no intention of pointing out that he’d been forced to hurry across several floors of castle while she’d merely 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 smell of mouldy, dank stone, but had a stench of manure that physically clawed. Its assault wasn’t limited to sense of smell either, but battered all five in a manner best described as selfish. It was a reek so thick that it was akin to breathing cheese. A stink so debilitating, that whiskers shrivelled and fur moulted. As a result, the dog was desperate for the door to open, but the Pyjami’s irritation hindered efforts as much as the wind pushing against it. The Pyjami wasn’t interested in excuses and growled at the dog that if he didn’t hurry up and open the thing, she’d do something to him that wouldn’t require a stapler.

After another curse and a serious shove, the latch shifted. The door slammed inwards and cold night blew them back toward the stairwell. With a growl, the Pyjami thrust the beaten torch back into the dog’s paws and strode from the parapet into fresh air, of which she took several relieved breaths. Around her, castle towers struck high at a night sky, their slurry of black sand glistening beneath starlight. Upon battlements, wind surged in howl around lichen-crusted stone, which had been gnawed soft and porous by countless wheels of season.

When the wind fell, she said to the dog, When that wretched animal in the latrines decides to avail himself, then return for me—but not before warning him that should he do the same upon my next visit, I shall do something to him that shall render his current indisposition to be something he’ll aspire to.

Right Should I also 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 glare. Are you showing insolence?

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

Helpful?

Yes. You know, encouraging.

I suggest you leave at once, dog, she hissed, before I tear you apart and leave you in dire need of staples!

After an awkward bow, the dog did so, though struggled to close the door despite the fiasco in opening it. In the end, he gave up and left the thing banging in the wind, which howled around its new-found orifice.

Built when Ruen’s shores were maraudered by barbarians, the castle teetered upon a massive, jagged line of blackened cliff high above a thundering sea. Having lain quiet for centuries, it had slept a reprieve well-deserved after years of resistance. And although times of valour had long since passed, its stance warned that, should the need arise, it would readily awaken to defend this beautiful edge of world.

Compared to times past, however, the world was now different.

Boundaries agreed.

Disputes few.

All knew times of quarrel had been regaled to history.

All knew, that is, except one.

Curling lips across fangs yellow with age, the Pyjami snarled. She knew that quarrels had not resolved, so much as evolved. An enemy remained. No longer across the sea, but within this land itself.

Her land.

She pulled her coat tighter. It was a beautiful night, scented with sea, carpentered wood and freshly powdered stone. When gusts lessened, remnants of day became apparent: grasses and cooked earth, fragrances lost when wind again rose in howl. When the dog returned, so did stench, which tainted night like sudden death at a dinner party. She snarled again, furious at having to tolerate such incompetence. All animals needed to know their place, and his place was so far beneath her that he belonged in the dungeons, with flaky bits of straw and gruel far harder than the bowl it might reside in. The dog cleared his throat and hoiked up some phlegm which he spat from battlements. Watching its blobs sail away, he gave his sinuses another noisy spring-clean and readied to expectorate a second time. When the Pyjami glared at him, he insisted that the castle’s stench was responsible—or at least tried to, in as much as his mouthful allowed. When she warned that should he continue, he’d expectorate teeth along with it, he swallowed instead.

She took a final deep breath, strode past him and returned to the fetid warmth of castle.

Can we leave it open? the dog asked, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

What?

The door, he said, indicating it. Can we leave it open a bit to let some of the stench out? Also, I’m not certain how easy it’s going to be to close again, considering how strong the wind is. It’s blown out most of the torches in the stairwell. I tripped on my way down and nearly snapped my tail off. I don’t mind re-lighting them, you understand, as I quite enjoy setting fire to things.

I think you are forgetting why you’re here, she growled.

Isn’t it because I like setting fire to things?

Being here isn’t reprieve, dog. It is punishment. Do you understand?

The dog nodded, battling to close the door while holding a smouldering torch the Pyjami refused to. Wind screamed, furious at being cornered, until the door was latched.

They descended the stairwell upon narrow blocks of stone and emerged on a walkway high above the castle’s courtyard. Although wind was less, the noise was far greater; hammering and sawing, nailing and clanging reverberated through the place in a poorly orchestrated construction symphony’s fourth movement. When a tool fell and clattered through scaffolding, the Pyjami growled, enduring the indignation of a queen forced to tolerate lackeys. Those responsible for the noise laboured not out of loyalty to her, but for the freedom she promised once their work was complete. When another tool fell, she deliberated over granting them anything of the sort. Although far from any queen, she was convinced her pedigree would show royalty, were it traced back far enough. Certainly blue-blood would explain her determination to rid this land of the wretched animals rotting it.

They strode beneath scaffolding toward the castle’s keep. Inside, they descended more blocks of stone until arriving at a long corridor. While she strode its length, the dog struggled in her wake, trying to determine which smelt worse: the corridor’s stench of rancid manure, or her stench of pungent mothballs. In the end, he gave up and breathed through his mouth. Because this was even noisier than his throat-clearing, she turned to glower again, so he stopped and let his eyes water instead.

At the corridor’s far end, a large guard dog armed with a sharpened broom handle sat by a door. When the Pyjami approached, he stopped digging at mortar with the pointy end and leapt to attention. Beneath her glare, he also fumbled with the door’s lock. The stench made his eyes water too, and he didn’t fare much better than his colleague. Eventually, after managing, he pushed the door open and stood aside. The Pyjami strode past him with a sneer, followed by the dog, who’d resorted to feeling his way with paws outstretched. The room beyond held a stink of thick rotting, and those waiting within it retched and gagged.

It was cold too, and the Pyjami pulled her coat tighter.

She strode toward a well-polished table and glared at the animals behind it. Well? she said, as though they were responsible. Your reasons for refusing to meet me must have been considerably more serious than my wrath at the fact!

A little dog pushed at glasses that slid down his nose. I fear it was rather dire, yes, he said, and I hope you might find something resembling forgiveness for such atrocious insult.

You can hope all you like, dog, but you shall get nothing from me unless it’s earnt.

The dog tried a bow. But of course. Please forgive me for suggesting as much. I can assure you that we have been working very hard to appease you.

That sounds like begging to me, she said. You are not begging are you, dog?

Not at all. I can assure you the only begging I’ve done recently was five minutes ago on the toilet.

She fixed him with a harder glare. I suggest you cease your babbling and get on with it. I have already been kept waiting and it seems you intend to have me continue.

The dog nodded and fiddled with some paper and pens on the table, which was polished to such an extent that using it to put things on was almost untenable. What you have asked of us has been done and is ready to be tested, he said. But I fear that the entirety of your proposal is quite impossible to manifest.

When her glare hardened into the sort of thing that could bring down scaffolding, he turned to his colleagues for support—all of whom found the ceiling most intriguing. Left to fend for himself, the dog pushed at glasses again.

One flagstone is not too difficult to make collapsible, he said, but to make the whole floor collapse is quite impossible. There is simply no way—

Do you know upon what we stand? she hissed.

Neither the dog, nor his colleagues, dared move.

This fortress was hewn from solid rock by paw alone, from an age when necessity defied the impossible!

There was silence, other than a nervous swallow which squelched.

Are you telling me that despite the centuries since, you are unable to create anything similar?

Another nervous squelch was followed by, It is not a question of competing with past techniques, the Pyjami, but rather of basic engineering principles. He indicated the papers upon the table, which were covered in drawings and dried tears. As you’ll recall, we have already discussed the extensive studies you requested, which show the castle’s foundations reside upon a hollowed-out cliff. And although it appears this resulted from lava flows once upon a time, it does not mean we can make the castle flagstones collapse at the throw of a lever.

The Pyjami thinned her mouth. She wanted flagstones to collapse. Although an inability to wasn’t imperative to the success of the construction banging away in the courtyard, it would be an excellent insurance policy for it. Taking a step toward him, she asked, And why not, pray?

After another swallow, he said, Because if you collapse even one portion of castle floor, this entire keep would be rendered unstable and compromise everything you’ve been working towards.

Well, here’s a suggestion, little animal: perhaps you could arrange for only part of the floor to collapse?

The little dog glanced at his colleagues, who shrugged while still staring at the ceiling. It may be possible, he said. But only in one corridor—and it would require careful selection of flagstones. Ones that weren’t structural.

She leant closer. See? It doesn’t take a great deal of initiative to initiate initiative, does it?

After another squelch, he shook his head. Initiative or not, none would dare implement anything without her approval first—and only then after congratulating her upon it.

There, she purred. Now, perhaps you would be good enough to show me the one flagstone that you have managed to destabilise?

The little dog nodded while his colleagues gathered papers and things from the table. He hesitated, not knowing whether she expected to leave first—which resulted in a frantic hiss of debate among his colleagues. When he stepped toward the door, the Pyjami did the same, which had the former flinch and the latter growl. In an attempt at remedy, he pretended to give way, before realising the door remained closed, which he begged his colleagues to rectify before his gesture went from awkward to downright punishable. Their pantomime left the Pyjami marching to the door and bashing upon it. When it opened, she barrelled past the guard, growling obscenities about staples, which she vowed to use on them collectively to integrate them into the scaffolding arrangements outside.

In a large and imposing hall, the entourage fanned out into rehearsed positions. At its centre was an vast table surrounded by a legion of chairs. A huge fire roared in a hearth and bathed everything in bronze, Its warmth had sautéed the castle’s stench into a humid haze of fetid cabbage water, which the Pyjami did her best not to breathe. Beside the fireplace, a collection of levers protruded from the wall, and toward them the little dog hurried.

Obviously these will look much nicer when finished, he said, giving them a quick buff. I’ll organise a nice cloth to drape over them. Probably patterned. And this surface will be rendered with plaster to blend in with the stone around it. I’ll try and get it stippled too, so it looks authentic. I’m thinking of using a fork.

The Pyjami raised her whiskers indifferently.

As instructed, he continued, these already house the mechanisms for the constructions outside, and also for the collapsing floor, if it’s deemed necessary.

Her indifference flared into a glower.

Sorry, he said, when it’s deemed necessary. He nodded at a colleague waiting beside a large door on the hall’s far side, which was opened to reveal a corridor beyond.

Through there, of course, is where guests will arrive from, the little dog continued, before indicating the entrance they’d arrived by. With that room becoming the kitchen, if you will.

The Pyjami rolled her eyes. Of such details I am aware, she growled, for ‘twas after all, my design.

Pushing at glasses, the little dog apologised, realising he’d better get to the point before she stabbed him with one. He nodded at his colleague, who pushed a large block of stone into the corridor, before hurrying back to the others.

Choosing a lever, the little dog said, Because of the disinfectant brewing elsewhere, might I suggest you cover your nose, the Pyjami, because what lies beneath, as you can imagine, is not at all pleasant.

She did so, As did everyone else. When the lever was pulled, a muffled clanking sounded beneath the floor. In the corridor, dust puffed from beneath the block as mechanism shifted further. A thud shuddered through the hall when a flagstone collapsed, leaving the block of stone to plummet from view. From the space left behind, a green fog appeared and rose from hidden depths to billow across the floor. Intrigued, the animals peered at it, before the flagstone clacked back into place.

With a smile, the Pyjami said, Excellent. That is exactly what I want. And now you shall do the same with as many—

She stopped when noticing the swirls of fog creep upon those watching, one of whom changed colour to such an extent that he appeared to change breed. Paws flew to his mouth in an attempt at staunching a sudden eruption of sick, which failed and sprayed an explosion of vomit between his paws.

By the levers, the little dog began hyperventilating, and stared at the fog as though clinically allergic to it. Get out! he screamed, taking his own advice. Get out now!

As the fog rolled across the hall, its green lessened into a murky hue. Others scurried with him, sick squirting between their paws also, and splattering across the floor in a dubious work of modernist art. Unaccustomed to being given orders, the Pyjami watched their antics with astonishment, particularly when they slipped through their art to render it even more dubious. When the fumes reached her, however, she gagged also, and ploughed after them to escape the most pungent stink of fetid cabbage and caustic manure imaginable.

2

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IN the late afternoon sun, the city of Ruen glittered like a crystal chandelier of staggering proportions, not unlike the colossal chandelier within the Palace of Par-Beguine. Being a city and not a light fixture, Ruen is far larger and has more restaurants. The analogy is appropriate, however, because both are dreadfully expensive. Famous for its population of ostentatious and wealthy retirees, Ruen lies cradled between towering black mountains and a sea of exquisite turquoise. Although renowned for its charm, the city does not owe its allure to location alone. Its venerable heritage had been cultivated by a group of elderly residents known as the Ruling Council of Ruen. The council’s influence was omnipotent, with a membership so exclusive that at one stage even its councillors were uncertain whether they belonged. The residents of Ruen accepted the Ruling Council’s despotism readily. Not only had it ensured Ruen’s traditions remained intact, but it had also rendered the city completely free of crime.

Along Ruen’s streets rattled a taxi, within which rattled a cat. Oscar Teabag-Dooven had been in numerous taxis, but had never been in one rattling through a city as fabled as Ruen. He stared eagerly at all the bits he passed, most of which looked very nice, and the bits that didn’t he was certain would during other times of the day. Although he was thrilled to be in Ruen, he was equally thrilled to be in a taxi, because it meant his flight from Asquith had not ended in a plunging fireball. He loathed aeroplanes, especially when they were not on the ground, which was a state they had an irritating habit of aspiring to. Fortunately, his flight had been relatively straightforward. Except for the going-up and coming-down bits, which he could easily have done without. He wasn’t keen on the bit in between either, which was far longer and too wobbly. It wasn’t just aeroplanes that left him uncomfortable, he disliked airports too. They were noisy and chaotic places of limbo, not helped by everyone in them being obsessed with leaving. This, he was certain, did little for airports’ confidence and presumably contributed to passengers’ eagerness to be elsewhere. Airports had, therefore, a peculiar irony in being gateways to exotic destinations on one paw, while harbouring miserable sods on the other. This was why, Oscar had decided, airport cafeterias sold hot-fin so revolting, that he was distracted from the misery of the former by the disgusting taste of the latter.

Slowing through a particularly beautiful part of the city, the taxi negotiated narrow lanes, before turning onto a boulevard that ran along Ruen’s foreshore. When it pulled up outside the splendid edifice of Hotel d’Ruen, Oscar was delighted, not least because it was the destination he’d asked for after seconding the taxi. A little dog in a hotel waistcoat trotted down its steps and introduced himself as Percival, before offering to help with suitcases. After dragging them from the taxi, he struggled to drag them back up the steps, considering they were almost as large as he.

Leaving him to manage, Oscar turned to watch afternoon settle into evening across the harbour. The air was cool and heady with sea, and he took a deep breath of it, before taking several more when realising how much there was to go around. In the distance, headlands teetered in that strange fragility that dusk affords. Upon them perched old mansions, nestled among groves of conifers as though each held the other in place. Fishing trawlers rounded their cliffs and chugged into the harbour with seagulls squawking around them, apparently demanding some sort of refund. With the sun setting behind the city, the sky burnt soft pink toward the horizon, which left him so thrilled to be in the place that he had to sit down and take several more breaths of its splendid air.

Being in Ruen was one thing.

Knowing why was quite another.

The Loud Purr of Asquith had been uncharacteristically reticent in assigning him, which left Oscar worrying that this curiosa involved dangers so enormous that the Catacombs decided not to burden him with their detail. Nevertheless, it didn’t alter the fact that he’d arrived with no immediate need to do anything other than unpack and order a mug of superbly brewed hot-fin. If the evening remained this pleasant, he’d consider taking a stroll along the foreshore and perhaps dabble in some imagist verse.

He turned to follow his suitcases, which were closer than he’d expected.

They lay at the bottom of the steps, having fallen during Percival’s struggle. The little dog was having a second attempt, until one burst and littered its contents across the pavement. With assurances this was standard customer service, and that there was nothing to worry about unless you were a suitcase, Percival began repacking it in the vaguest sense of the word imaginable.

Hotel d’Ruen was tall, grand and old. Ornate columns supported a stone awning over its steps, up which Percival again struggled with suitcases. Sea and salt had blistered its plaster, which had cracked in an appealing manner, and such disrepair, along with a palpable seaside contentment, softened the hotel’s austerity into a genial embrace. Upon hillside behind it, Ruen’s buildings climbed around narrow lanes as though woven upon a loom. With the mountains silhouetted against the sun’s fading rays, the city sparkled in defiance of any Earthly dictated hour—rather like the defiance Oscar’s suitcases were showing to Percival, though with less twinkling and more bursting. Regardless of the dangerous inherent in having been sent here, Oscar was, nevertheless, grateful to have been. Unlike his suitcases, which continued refusing cooperation in any conventional sense. Being in Ruen made a nice change from foiling dangerous villains. His most recent curiosa had him thwarting the antics of a particularly villainous cat named the Tremblees, who was Aide d’camp at the palace of Par Beguine, and not the sort of animal one might invite around for a mug of hot-fin and a bun. While his tussle with the Tremblees had been successful, it had also been traumatic, and resulted in Oscar having had both his ears torn off. Being his first curiosa, to return from it without ears said a great deal about how difficult it had been, and left the Catacombs insisting he have a holiday. He had taken time off, albeit in his living room, and with curtains drawn and lights out. It had taken some time for the Loud Purr to convince him that others would see his new-found earlessness as evidence of courage, rather than disfigurement. Oscar, however, remained doubtful, even when the Loud Purr promised that any animal suggesting otherwise would have the fact pointed out via a punch in the face. Nevertheless, he was grateful to have been left with enough limbs to enable arriving in Ruen at all, and he was relieved to trot up the steps of its most prestigious hotel on two of them—though not nearly as glad as Percival when he helped heave suitcases with his remaining ones.

In the foyer, Percival insisted he could drag the suitcases toward a reception desk on his own. Oscar followed, realising the hotel’s interior was as impressive as its exterior, though with more expensive wallpaper and less cracked plaster. It had a shiny floor too, and some large plants in pots, which were also surprisingly shiny. There were some paintings in shiny frames, upon which lights shone, and even the patrons milling about the place did so with the sort of shine that left him keen to find a cloth and buff them.

Oscar liked shiny things. It generally meant they worked well, and Hotel d’Ruen was very shiny indeed.

The reception desk was even shinier than the floor, and he admired some shiny pens upon it, before realising that neither his suitcases, nor the animal bursting them, were anywhere to be seen. There was a bell upon it, and because it was even shinier than the desk, he pinged it enthusiastically. When Percival rose into view, it was in a manner suggesting he’d been doing something dubious behind it. Frowning, Oscar peered over desk to see that a second suitcase had burst, while the third had lost its handle. All three had been lashed together with masses of sticky-tape in a frantic attempt at rectifying the situation. He stared at them, and then Percival, who asked whether he’d like a room. Oscar suggested it was probably unnecessary, considering he no longer had anything resembling luggage to put in one. While Percival assured him that sticky-tape was far better than hinges and handles, he reached for an appointment book and began leafing through its pages. With a sigh, Oscar waited and reflected on the previous morning.

3

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A day earlier, Oscar had been summoned to the Catacombs of Asquith.

"I think I’m about to