Acropolis Cats, Chapter 3
In which The Duke and Dutchess of Milan debrief Stephano on the matter at hand
In a frightful scurry of claws across smooth checkered tiles, Benvolio hurried as best he could through the passages of Castle Sforza. Though he knew the way, Stephano followed at a leisurely pace, ever in a hurry to do much of anything and pleased to allow his youthful liege the thrill of leading his own eminent personage. The rank of Librarian was unique to the feline hierarchy, and placed him somewhat outside the procession of Knights, Earls, Counts, Dukes, Princes, and Kings which defined the European aristocracy. Nonetheless, he was Milanese, and subject to the rule of that great city’s patron, and by extension his scrappy little son.
They crossed the castle’s outer plaza, through a high gate that cranked shut at night, turned left along a narrow passage between the inner wall and the central courtyard, through a door on the right and into a small room in which suits of armor were displayed, weaving between the legs of surprised tourists who jockeyed for the perfect selfie, then down a roped-off brick staircase into what had once been a moat but which now stood dry and empty, save for a nervous gathering of cats who hung about a solitary wooden house. This was ostensibly the office of Pazzo, the caretaker whose duty it was to keep the cats fed and tidy. Like the suits of armor, the Cats of Sforza were both an artifact of history and a popular photo opportunity, and Pazzo’s family had lived inside the walls and served them for as long as the castle had stood; since before cats had assumed the Dukal mantle, when the humans had retained them in a spiritual and an advisory capacity, and as workers of intrigue. Pazzo’s family was utterly loyal to the Cats of Sforza, with little else in their lives or on their minds.
Here he came now, sweet old Pazzo, in one hand a long stout broom and in the other a dustpan. He had recently returned from sweeping up a dark corner round the opposite side of the moat that was a popular spot for the cats to relieve themselves. Among other things, this duty shared among his sons and daughters served to inundate their nervous systems with Toxoplasmosis Gondii, a microorganism which bound other animals to feline-kind. In mice and rats, the Gondii cause them to seek out cat territories and gave them a sense of peace and well-being when in the presence of cats, the better to eat them. It was Toxoplasmosis Gondii that made Cleandoctor Mozart so susceptible to Stephano’s gambit at the rat elections, for instance – a wise rat knows not to spend too much time in the company of cats, lest their minds fall under their sway. In humans, too large and strong to eat while they were alive, the Gondii had the same psychological effects. The infected wanted to be around cats. They felt great comfort when a cat was in their laps. They had a strong desire to touch cats, to run their hands over their fur. The more they did that, the more the Gondii entered their system – it was a self-reinforcing loop between the three species that had wrought all the history of cat and man. In sufficient concentration, it even allowed them to converse.
“O cat,” Pazzo said, doffing his flat cap and describing a deep bow before scratching deftly around Stephano’s ears and shoulder blades in just the way he desired.
“Yours are the cleverest fingers in all Milan, Pazzo,” said the cat.
“Ho ho!” the old man chuckled. “It is my honor, Don Stephano. Shall I escort you to the throne room?”
“I’m told we have acquired new troubles while I was away.”
“Not for me to say or know, but the answer waits inside.”
“Then let us proceed.”
Pazzo opened the door and stood aside, ushering Stephano into the cool and lightless chamber where reclined the majestic presence of Duke Prospero LXVII. Prospero’s coat was lush and black, and his frame both long and tall, stretched out on his throne in the manner of a lazy sphinx. His glaring round eyes glowed fiercely in the near-dark, outshining his high seat encrusted with broken glass and jewelry. Two chrome bumpers from a large and ornate truck framed the seat, whose original form could scarcely be distinguished beneath its lavish ornamentation. Modest as the tiny wooden shack was on the outside, its interior was a dazzling masterpiece of décor, centuries in the making. Every centimeter rewarded attention with braided silk, mailed chain, plaited wire, enameled tile, resplendent with found treasures brought by servants and supplicants to Prospero’s line and woven into the whole by the hands of Pazzo’s. Very rarely did any human outside the cats’ thrall lay eyes upon this room, and on those rare occasions they saw a curiosity of “outsider art” built by an eccentric old man. How could they imagine the hidden world of which this room was a mere iceberg tip, peeking above the surface of an opaque sea?
Stephano bowed his head.
“Your grace, the rat elections are under control. Cleandoctor Mozart lies dead on the floor of the Great Hall, Rom Gillette is certain to be the new Governor of Lombardy, and ratkind lives in terror of the feline race.”
Duke Prospero shifted subliminally on his throne.
“Outstanding,” he intoned.
Stephano paused. The Duke said nothing.
“I am told your grace has been eagerly anticipating my return. If I’ve kept you waiting, then I offer my humblest and most sincere apologies.”
“Indeed,” said the Duke.
Silence hung In the air, a boulder on a swinging rope.
“Your son Benvolio has shared with me some rumor of a dog among us.”
A voice came from the shadows, followed by the emerging shape of the Dutchess of Milan.
"Don Stefano - so uncharacteristically tongue-tied."
Her coat was a pristine eggshell white, her fur was sleek and her frame tiny and slender. In her presence, Stefano's graces returned.
"Your highness," he intoned. "The dawn greets me as I return from darkness."
"Your arrival, Sir Knight," she smiled wryly, "is overshadowed by that of our preceding guest. I was just going to meet him. Will you escort me?"