Tybalt, you ratcatcher! Will you walk?

[shadowandsnark]

 [OOC: All dialog and events herein come from the short story Rat-Catcher which is from the anthology A Fantasy Medley 2.]

June, 1666. London, England.

"I do love the way they stage the duels here," Rand commented to me as we perched up in the rafters of the theater the Duke Company used for their productions.

I sat cross-legged and scowled at him. "You've seen this show a dozen times!"

"Closer to a dozen dozens, more likely, and yet I never tire of it," he said, glancing away from the actors long enough to grin at me. "Can't you relax for one evening, and enjoy a little entertainment?"

"No, I can't, and neither should you," I replied, and folded my arms. "Father wants you."

"So he sent you to retrieve me?" Rand scoffed. "Did he consider, for a moment, that I might refuse to come?"

"He did, yes."

"And?"

"And if I fail to retrieve you, I'm to be put to work minding the kittens for a week's time, to teach me obedience," I replied with a baleful scowl. "I won't mind kittens for you, Rand. You're coming with me, whether you like it or not."

"Am I, then?" Rand asked, raising an eyebrow. "Will you fight me in order to bring me home? Much as I love you, darling Jill, I doubt you'd come out the winner in that particular contest."

"I won't fight you."

"Then what?"

"I'll sit here and cry through your precious performance if you refuse to come. And tomorrow night, when my time in the nursery ends, I'll do the same. And the night after that, until such time as you apologize to me." I replied and smiled sweetly. "You can save us both a great deal of time and suffering if you simply come with me now."

Rand cast a longing look towards the actors. Mercutio was preparing to die, and in the process was layering curses down on both waring houses. "Are you sure father can't wait?"

"Come on!"

Comments

[shadowandsnark]

For once a greater fear than that of the Shadow Roads drove my flight, and for the first time in my life, the Roads seemed to aid me.

I returned to Father's Court barely chilled, rather than frozen and chattering my teeth, to find one of our interchangeable halls of lost places, this one stone-walled and tapestry hung. Stopping after three steps, I sniffed the air. "Please come out. This is not the time, and my nerves are too frayed by far to be a pleasant opponent in catch-the-mouse."

"You're no fun when you're serious," declared Colleen, stepping from behind a tapestry. "You're pale. Rand, are you well? What ails?"

Fire. Fire is what ails me, I thought. Fire and prophecy. Aloud, I said instead, "Is Jill here? Jill, come out. I have no patience for games."

A tabby cat slunk out of the shadows at the base of one wall and stood, resolving itself into my other sister. "Brother?" She asked, concerned.

I stepped forward and swept them into a three-part embrace. Jill squeaked, sounding almost like a kitten herself. Then they both embraced me back, purring soothingly. I buried my face in their shoulders, breathing in the reassuring scent of them, Jill's crushed chalk and silver birch, Colleen's thistle and juniper.

"Rand, what's wrong?" asked Colleen.

Pulling away from their embrace, I kept hold of their arms as I studied their faces. "If I told you that we had to run, leave this Court and flee as far as legs would carry us, would you go? Would you trust me, and follow me, and not ask why?"

"You know we couldn't. Father would find us, and the punishment would be worse than whatever fate you had us flee."

I sighed. "Would that I were half so sure as you. I must go meet with Father. Will you attend?"

"Gladly," said Jill, offering her hand. Colleen did the same.

Luck, of a kind, was with us; the King was not in attendance.