101.

  At some point, in my drug-addled fugue state in the hospital, I'd accepted that the cat was real. I didn't know what it was, whether it was just a normal cat or something more than that, but I knew it wasn't a figment of my imagination anymore. The little creature had come to check up on me most days that I was in the hospital, and it only felt right that I repaid its kindness. I mean, it did save my life at least twice now.

  But it was more than that; it wasn't just to show gratitude. The cat's warm, melodic meow drove away the shadows and the whispers. It made me feel safe and calm, and I wished that the little creature would come around more. However, the only way I could lure it was using cans of tuna. I bought cat food once, and the cat never arrived, so I guess it had much more discerning tastes for fresh, or mostly fresh, food.

  I dumped the two cans of tuna into a special bowl I had bought just for the cat, set it down on the lip of the roof, and then waited. Within only a few minutes, the cat seemed to melt out of the darkness, all sleek midnight black fur and bright silver penny eyes. I smiled as the cat approached.

  "They didn't have the blue cans this time in the supermarket," I explained to the cat somewhat nervously, "so I had to get the green ones instead. The man at the store said they were pretty much the same thing, so I hope you like it.”

  The cat sniffed the bowl, looked up at me curiously for a second, and then began nibbling away. I noticed it didn’t quite eat like a normal animal. It was very surreptitious and clean about the way it ate. As it ate, its little black tail flicked in the air. Not for the first time, I found my eyes tracing over the cat's body, looking for some sign of a gunshot wound, missing fur, a scar, anything. But I knew that was silly. The cat I'd seen shot in the alleyway had to have been dead; there was no way that little body could survive a point-blank blast from a revolver. Surely this wasn't the same cat, was it?

  I pushed aside those thoughts and the cat looked up at me, as if realising I was agitated. It meowed, and I felt warmth and calm wash over me. I sat down and stared up into the night sky, listening to the sound of the cat chomping away happily. We sat like that until the cat was finished. It licked its mouth and cleaned its whiskers, then sat up and looked at me.

  "So, I applied for that plumbing course," I said to the cat. "I'm just waiting to hear back, but you know, fingers crossed. If I get in, six months from now I can be a qualified plumber. Apparently, there are apprenticeships going since no one wants to do it anymore, so I could, you know, be earning a proper wage and stuff."

  Anybody else, at any other time in their life, would feel stupid divulging their career plans to a stray cat, but the cat always listened. It would stare at me intently, its ears cocked up, and it always felt like it understood what I was saying. The cat meowed again, and I took that as positive affirmation.

  "But even if I get busy, I'll still bring you your tuna," I said. "I promise." The cat licked its chops again, and I swore it gave me a half smile. "And I'll make sure that I get the blue cans next week.”

  The cat nodded, or at least I think it nodded, and then meowed briefly again before disappearing. I hadn't seen it go; it just sort of vanished. But it always did that. I sighed, took the bowl down, and secreted it away in its hiding place on the roof. I picked up my bag again, strapped it to my back, and looked longingly at the next roof. I could make that. A quick sprint, a little bit of grapple cord, and I could be away across the roofs in no time. I shook my head, climbed back down the fire escape, and walked through the Mulberry estate to pay my second tribute of the night.

  *

  "Mageling, how good it is to see you once again in my court," the Pigeon King cooed.

  Although calling him a pigeon anymore was becoming more and more absurd. After our battle with Somnix, the Pigeon King had entered a sort of deep hibernation to recuperate. Now, every time I saw him, the damn bird was bigger and more eagle-like. I was sure he was almost as tall as my midriff. He had a great golden plume on his head, his beak looked like it could eviscerate a man, and his talons looked like they could rip a head straight off. He was lounging on an actual throne now, in the middle of the market square. Pigeons flapped and nested all around him, and I was sure their numbers had multiplied as well.

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  Even more bizarrely, the Pigeon King had a new accessory: a heavy golden chain with a blood-red ruby the size of my fist nestled on his breast. He had a wicked glint in his eyes.

  "You have come to pay tribute to your lord?" the Pigeon King asked me, his voice smooth and powerful.

  "Well, I brought some donuts," I replied, holding up the bag on my palm.

  A pigeon zipped out of nowhere, plucked it from my hand, and took the bag up to the Pigeon King, where it was torn open. The Pigeon King surreptitiously devoured an entire doughnut in one bite.

  "Oh yes, nom nom nom nom nom," the Pigeon King said as he wolfed it down. "Delightful. Not quite of the level of previous confectioneries, but delightful nonetheless. Mageling, your tribute is accepted.”

  "Great," I replied, looking around at the amassed pigeons. "Where's Ruku?" I asked as I looked around for the black warrior pigeon.

  "Ruku is on his own mission currently. There are many happenings in the Kingdom of the Pigeon King, Mageling," the Pigeon King said with an airy wave of his massive wing. "Ruku has many missions, many fronts to do battle upon in the name of his king.”

  "He's doing battle?" I asked. "With who?”

  "Ah, you see, Mageling, this world of ours—the supernatural—it's a frightfully small place," the Pigeon King replied. "As one grows, one must bump against other creatures who have had their time and are not so gracious in relinquishing their power. So my warriors must remind them of the Pigeon King's greatness every now and again. However, I am not the only supernatural being growing and feasting currently. There are a great many adventures to be had, little Mageling.”

  "Well, I wish him luck," I replied, knowing exactly where the conversation was heading.

  "And how goes your recuperation?" the Pigeon King asked.

  "Still going," I said to him. "Most days I wake up and I'm not in crippling pain, so that's a positive.”

  "Mortal bodies are so sluggish," the Pigeon King acknowledged. "But it's been two months, Mageling. I will have need of you soon enough."

  "I've retired," I said to the Pigeon King for perhaps the tenth time. "There's no more supernatural anything for me.”

  "And what are you going to do instead?"

  I bit my tongue for a second and forced myself to make eye contact with the glaring eagle.

  "I'm gonna be a plumber," I said.

  "A plumber?" the Pigeon King replied. "And pray, what is that?”

  "You know, like a plumber. I work with pipes and water and stuff," I said lamely.

  "Oh," the Pigeon King replied, clearly unimpressed. "From mage to latrine boy.”

  "Not a latrine boy," I said back to him. "Well, sometimes, but not exclusively.”

  "Amazing. There are far greater things for you, and with the power that you have been able to capture, such things are beneath you.”

  "Well, it's safe, and it pays well. There's a lot of work, and hopefully, no one's gonna try and kill me while I'm doing it," I said.

  "Perhaps," the Pigeon King replied. "But do not forget your debt to me. There is no retiring from my service. No honourable discharges. The only escape from your debt is death.”

  I kept steady eye contact with the Pigeon King. This was well-trodden ground between us. He knew that he couldn't force me to serve him, and besides, I wouldn't be of much use anyway. However, the stronger my body became, the less excuse I had to avoid my debt to the Pigeon King. I just hoped he didn't know that I was still studying in secret because then I really wouldn't have any excuses. But for the time being, I could keep putting him off, so I just pointed at my frail body and shrugged.

  "Some days I can barely walk, let alone fight," I said.

  "Then we shall consider this sabbatical ongoing. But remember, little Mageling, this is only a sabbatical. Your life is not to play with toilets and pipes; your life is to serve me in my ambitions. To do that, I need you strong and I need you powerful, for battles are happening, and soon enough they will reach this city and these cobbles. War may even descend upon us, Mageling, and these will be battles the likes of which the human realm has not seen for a thousand, thousand years. And just remember," the Pigeon King's voice dropped. It had the edge of that guttural sound I'd heard only a few times, that inhuman grating that reminded me the Pigeon King was not what he seemed. As he spoke I noticed his shadow grow and writhe behind him. "That you always will return because—"

  "I have been seen," I finished for him, my voice tight.

  "And there is no going back for you.”