I got that poor king all excited, and that made me worried that he might make enough sound that the guards at his door would summon his attendant or the magus. I put him into a deep sleep.

I found the magus outside the door to the queen's apartments, banging on them to be let in. I knew from having enchanted his braies that he liked the kind that fit close and not the kind that was like short loose trews with just a drawstring waist. Looking at him, it had to hurt. He had a seriously bad case of lust going inside those braies, but they fit so close that there was no room for expansion. The guards on either side of the door were working very hard not to look and not to laugh.

Maybe I should have enchanted the braies with the cure for constipation instead, so he'd be stuck on the chamber pot all the time with the runs. He thought of himself as such a great lover that the cure for impotence seemed fitting when I cast it, especially with Griselda being under a permanent cloud these days. He’d be stuck needing some physical comforting while his current lover, the queen, wouldn’t be wanting any intimacy since she had cold feet and, cold everything else right now from her own personal blizzard.

I reminded myself to change the enchantment on the braies and the eating dagger. To my regret, I then forgot about it because my boy came looking for me.

“Still checking out the palace, Fuzz?” The polished and poised Prince Andray took off the chain of leaves and placed it carefully on the table by the window. Then he took his feathered hat and tossed it on the bed, reverting to his Cat Rider habits. The belt dropped on the floor was next followed by the forest-green houppelande.

I looked up from the crystal ball, "you could at least throw your clothes on the clothes-press rather than the floor, Prince Slob."

“Nag, nag, nag," he balanced perfectly on his right leg as he leaned over and picked his clothes off the floor. I noticed he was wearing the new style of hosen that fits the waist and had a thing called a codpiece that made emptying the bladder a lot easier than in fitted braies. He was wearing one of those close-fitting doublets too, which I remember Father Garshom complaining that they got indecently shorter every year.

I thought clothes were a bit silly but all these bipedal two-footed races didn’t have any fur, poor things. I guess they had to wear clothes when it was cold to order to stay warm; however, I couldn’t understand why they kept wearing clothes when it got hot out. Didn’t wearing clothes in hot weather make it hotter? I know human scriptures had a lot of language about nakedness and lust, but it never made much sense to me. I mean, when it was mating season, you mated. Then you had a litter, raised the kittens, and repeated that. What did clothes have to do with it?

I don’t pretend to understand the ways of the two-footed races.

“What’s up at the palace?” He joined me on the bed, where I had set up the scrying crystal.

* Checked on your father and chatted with him a bit. He’s coherent now and feeling impatient. He strikes me as the kind of person who can’t sit still for five minutes. *

“Yes, that sounds just like him. Willam is just like him in that regard.”

* Your Uncle Sven, too. *

“Speaking of Uncle Sven, he spent most of the meal flirting,” Cat loved juicy gossip. Mostly he listened and he never repeated, unless he was talking to me, Owl or Wren. Because he didn’t repeat what he heard, people trusted him with their tidbits and he got a reputation as a good listener.

* Men flirt. * I observed in a droll tone of thought. * Human ones especially. It’s some kind of biological thing. *

“No, no, no, you don't understand. This is Uncle Sven I'm talking about. He hasn't looked at any one of the female persuasion since his wife died eight years ago."

* Could have fooled me this afternoon. I think I lost count of all the cute girls he winked at while we floated through town. *

“That’s just Uncle Sven playing a crowd. Everyone in my family does it. No, tonight at dinner was different. The lady isn’t even a looker and she’s old.”

* Old? * Sven was chasing one of the two middle-aged ladies from the solar?

“She’s 25 which is ancient. She’s plump too. The only outstanding thing about her is her lute playing. Oh, and she’s blind, which is why her parents never brought her up to Tammerhof for the yearly social season and marriage market.”

* Maybe he’s just being polite, Cat.* It sounded like a reasonable thing for the well-bred Sven to do. He was a thoughtful man under all his bluster.

“Trust me, Fuzzy. This is different. I can feel it. She’s Lady Zenobia de Zoot. Her parents seldom allow her to travel outside of Zoot, so very few people have met her, including Sven, even though she is his second or third cousin. Anyway, they sat together at dinner and did nothing but talk to each other.”

* Cat, I hate to point this out to you, but men and women talk to each other all the time. Even you do it, or did you forget that Wren is a girl? *

There was a knock and then Willam let himself in, “we could use you downstairs, Andray. Uncle Valgard broke out a cask of acerum because he knows Father Garshom likes it. They are now both drunk and acting up. Aunt Dora told them to take the drink fest somewhere else and Garshom cast a sleeping spell on her. We could use someone who can face down Father Garshom’s magic.”

My boy sighed, “alright. Can you take me down the stairs, please, Fuzzy? They are a bit steep for me to navigate quickly.” I jumped off the bed and waited while he stood up.

“Hold on, Bro,” Willam picked up Andray and placed him on my back. He then fitted Andray’s boots into the leather loops of the stirrup strap.

“Warn me when you’re going to do that,” Andray growled.

"But I just did," Willam flashed a satisfied smile. "I can't help it if I'm bigger, taller, stronger, and faster than you," he reached over and playfully pinched Andray's right cheek lightly. Then the smile vanished into a more serious expression, "but not smarter, braver, or more powerful, Magus Andray.” He looked at me and nodded, “ready, Fuzz?”

* Open the door, please. * And we were off, down the hall and down two flights of stairs. I had to part the gaggle of worried servants collected at the dining room doors with my nose to get a look inside at Father Garshom and Duke Valgard. I had only seen Garshom drunk two or three times at Elvenhome when Storm Eagle would bring out a cask of aged acerum for a special occasion like a handfasting. Then the old man would just fall asleep at the table.

What greeted my eyes now was the absurd scene of a drunk Garshom dueling a drunk Valgard with two long loaves of bread left over from dinner. Even drunk, the old priest bobbed and weaved to avoid most of the Duke’s slashes and thrusts.

It was obvious why fighters of all ages and races wanted lessons from Garshom even in his old age. I wasn't sure how old he was, but he certainly moved like a young man dancing with his sword of bread. I wondered just how drunk he really was. I would never find out since I heard Cat mutter: “σχλαφφ!”

The two old men looked befuddled and then both collapsed slowly to the floor.

“Should I bless them with hangovers in the morning?” I could hear the boyish grin on Cat’s face as he asked.

“Yes!” I could hear Willam grinning too. I was beginning to think that reuniting these two teenage brothers might have been a bad idea.

* Absolutely not! A hungover grumpy Father Garshom is a dread and fearsome monster to be avoided at all costs. Don’t you remember what happened last time? *

“But Sleeping Willow isn’t here,” Cat protested.

* But I am and I forbid it. What we are doing now is an endeavor to remove an insane woman and a corrupt mage from abusing their undeserved political power and causing more deaths. We can not afford to allow one of our best mages to function at less than his best, even if he did overindulge with his old friend this evening. We can torture the dread taskmaster of magic lessons when all of this is over. After all, I still haven’t paid him back for turning my fur bright pink and making me stink like pickled cabbage last year as a lesson in casting and undoing glamours. *

“Oh, come on, Fuzzy,” Willam pleaded.

* Someone has to be the adult here, * I pointed out.

Willam and Cat snickered in unison. “And you’re how old?” Cat teased.

* Six, and I’m old enough to have birthed two litters by now if I wasn’t blowing your nose and tucking you into sleep every evening. * I got so annoyed when he pulled the age card on me.

“Coming through,” Uncle Sven waved us out of the way of the door as he supervised the servants in carrying Duke Valgard, Duchess Dora, and Father Garshom to their beds upstairs.

Sven watched the procession of servants carrying off his aunt, his uncle, and the priest. Then smiled. "Thank you for that, you three. If you don't mind, I believe I will return to chatting with the interesting Lady Zenobia."