Chapter Text
It started with cats. Well, ghosts. Ghosts of cats.
A ghost cat was a rare thing. Cats were Death’s favourites, and they knew it. They hardly ever lingered on Earth after they died, because they knew very well that there was something way, way better waiting for them in the afterlife. And that, as Charles and Edwin recently discovered, was not even the only reason cats didn’t stay ghosts for long - the other reason was that there was always someone to deal with their unfinished business. Independent as they look, cats were surprisingly good at standing up for each other.
So, even though in their line of work Charles and Edwin met a lot of ghosts and, recently, a lot of cats, they’d hardly ever met a ghost of a cat. Let alone five of them in the same place. That place being their office.
As it happened, neither of them even noticed the cats come in. It was the small hours of the morning, Crystal was probably fast asleep at home, Edwin was ears-deep in his research of a new spell and Charles was sprawled on the sofa, exploring Crystal’s new laptop. Turned out, using a modern phone somehow required having a physical body, and without one, the phones kept ignoring them. Laptops weren’t that picky; it only took Charles a few minutes to figure out how to use the keyboard and about half an hour to totally ace the mouse. “Go ahead,” Crystal had said, “modern tech is foolproof, not that easy to break.” Not to say that Charles took it as a challenge, but, well. He took it as a challenge. Not that he really wanted to break Crystal’s laptop, but he enjoyed finding ways to mess with it. Tonight, he learned how to make the screen turn upside down, and, on top of that, how to make it look like all the icons were still there while they actually weren’t. Cats? Way less interesting.
And then he heard Edwin’s quiet, startled sigh. Charles was on his feet so fast he barely remembered not to drop the stupid device. Only once he was standing, fully alert and holding his cricket bat, did he see the cause of Edwin’s alarm. There was a grey ghost cat sitting on top of one of Edwin’s books. Two more, a black and a black and white one, were on the floor next to Edwin’s desk, one orange tabby was jumping out of the mirror, and another one sat on the floor next to the sofa. Charles was probably supposed to notice that last one first. He held the bat tighter.
“Typically,” said Edwin, his hand still over his heart, “it is considered polite to knock.”
“And why should we bother with your stupid human customs?” asked the grey cat sitting on the book.
“Please forgive our friend,” the small calico cat that was sitting on the floor next to the desk intervened. “He was raised in a barn. Quite literally, I’m afraid.”
Edwin smiled at the little cat and visibly relaxed. Charles followed the cue and put the bat away.
“What does that arsehole need this time?” he demanded. “Haven’t touched any of his subjects, have we.”
“Ain’t no assholes in this room ‘cept for you lot,” the grey cat retaliated.
“Max,” the calico cat chided. “Behave yourself. We’re not here to argue.”
“Well, what, exactly, are you here for?” Edwin asked. “What is it that the Cat King couldn’t bring to us himself?”
“We don’t come from the Cat King of Port Townsend,” said the orange tabby, the one that had been last to arrive. “Though it were his cats who referred us to you.”
“I see.” Edwin stacked all his books in a neat pile and moved them away. “So, what is it that brought you to us?”
The cats evidently took that for an invitation and jumped on the table, one by one. None of them talked, busy getting settled on top of the table, facing Edwin.
“Oi,” Charles remarked, offended. “Is it okay that I’m facing you? What with all the arses looking my way?”
Edwin gave him his “you’re being ridiculous” look. Charles sighed and walked to stand by Edwin’s side.
“So, you’re not from Port Townsend, are you?” he asked.
“If we were we wouldn’t be here,” the grey cat - Max, apparently, complained. “Everyone knows that the cats there aren’t to mess with.”
“So, someone is— ‘messing’ with you?” Edwin asked, making air quotes with his long fingers. “Is that why you’ve come to us?”
“Well, duh,” said Max. “It’s not like we’re here for tea. Or whatever it is you British ghosts drink.”
“Nothing, actually,” said Edwin as he picked up his notebook. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Our shelter burnt down,” said the black cat. “And we burnt with it.”
“Oh,” said Edwin. “That’s horrific. We’re so sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you,” said the calico cat. “Our friends died there. Some moved on, but we stayed back, hoping to right the wrong.”
“They say it was faulty wiring,” the orange cat said. “But last time they said that, too.”
“You mean to say, two animal shelters burnt down and no one suspected foul play?” Edwin’s eyebrows shot up.
“No human victims,” said Max. “Humans don’t give a fuck, as long as they get their insurance.”
To be fair, over the years Charles and Edwin had investigated more than a few cases where no one gave a fuck about human victims, either. But that seemed like the wrong thing to say.
“Where’re you from, anyway?” he asked instead.
“Oh, my partner is absolutely right,” said Edwin. “We haven’t been introduced. I’m Edwin Payne, this is my partner, Charles Rowland. As you’re probably aware, we’re the Dead Boy Detective Agency.”
“Yes, yes, we’re aware,” Max growled. “We’ve heard a lot about you. No one mentioned you being—”
“This is Max,” the calico cat interrupted. “This is Lucy,” a nod to the black cat, “and her son Oliver. Shadow,” a nod to the orange tabby, “and I’m Jennifer.”
“Jennifer? Shadow?” Charles couldn’t help it. Who the hell names a cat ‘Jennifer’? Or an orange cat, ‘Shadow’?
“We were house cats once,” said Jennifer like that explained everything.
“Humans are weird,” said Max, so probably it did.
“We’re from Bainbridge. That’s—”
“An island east of Seattle, we’re well aware,” said Edwin. Charles wasn’t, in fact, aware, but Edwin knew that, too, so he turned to Charles to add, “And not that far from Port Townsend, as it happens.”
“That’s how we heard about you, keep up,” Max hissed.
Edwin ignored him. “So, a pair of animal shelters burnt down on Bainbridge Island. You, being the victims of said fires, are here to ask us to investigate, correct?”
“Don’t you, like, have a cat king of your own or something?” Charles asked.
“Bainbridge has a Prince,” Jennifer said. “But he isn’t particularly interested in the problem.”
“Isn’t he supposed to protect the cats?” Edwin asked.
“Well, as a matter of fact,” Jennifer explained, “typically, royalty is only there for the stray cats. House cats aren’t their jurisdiction. And shelter cats kind of have a home, so.”
“Wait, that can’t be right,” Charles said. “I’m pretty sure the Cat King had house cats in his gang. Some were wearing collars!”
“Yeah,” said Max. “The Cat King in Port Townsend looks after all the cats in his area. So, all the cats help him when he asks.”
“Our Prince never bothered with house cats,” said Oliver.
“Tough,” Charles had to note.
“Well, we don’t typically travel that far for work,” Edwin said with a sigh. “But given the circumstances, we’ll consider helping you. Given our associates have no objections, of course. We’re no longer as small an operation as we used to be.”
“That’s all we could ask for,” Jennifer replied.
“There is, of course, a matter of payment,” Edwin said. It had taken a while, but eventually they did learn to ask for payment before suggesting pro bono services.
“We don’t have much to offer,” said Jennifer. “We were shelter cats, and everything we had burnt with that shelter. But—” she shared some quick looks with her friends. “We can offer you a favour. From all cats on Bainbridge Island. It’s not much, but—”
“You never know when you need a favour,” said Max.
A favour. From island cats. Aces. Not really. Edwin looked at him. Charles shrugged. It’s not like it was really a question.
“We shall consider your offer carefully and get back with you shortly,” said Edwin. “Please come back after two o’clock, Greenwich Mean Time, and be prepared to provide further detail if we take your case.”
Their ‘associates’ did, in fact, have objections.
“This is highly irregular,” said the Night Nurse as they explained the case to her. “The Lost and Found Department only deals with humans. We work with human children! None of your cats are even kittens, I’d wager! And it wouldn’t matter if they were!”
Why bring it up, then, yeah?
“I realise that this case is out of your direct jurisdiction, but the Dead Boy Detective Agency—”
“Works for us now. And I cannot condone—”
“Come on, Lottie,” Charles whined. He couldn’t stop thinking of all those poor cats, burning alive in their shelter. They were probably caged and unable to run, too. “We don’t have any active cases right now! Have you ever been burnt to death?”
“Can’t say I have, no,” the Night Nurse said, a little shaken. She didn’t even comment on Charles calling her ‘Lottie’.
“We closed six cases over the course of the past two weeks,” Edwin offered, “and have been working with the Lost and Found Department for over six months now. Surely we can afford to take a little break?”
The Night Nurse seemed to ponder something. “I’m detracting it out of your paid leave,” she snapped after a minute and disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
“We had paid leave?” Crystal asked.
“We were getting paid?” Charles questioned at the same time.
“Of course we’re getting paid, Charles, you were there when she told us that evidently they weren’t ‘slave drivers’. We just have some disagreements on the currency. We don’t really need as much ordinary British money as they’ve been paying us and they’ve yet to come up with an alternative. And of course there’s paid leave, Crystal, didn’t you read the contract you signed?”
“Uhm, not really? Who reads them, anyway?”
“Anyone with half a brain?”
“So, we’re taking the case, right?” Charles hurried to intervene before this became a quarrel.
“Yes,” said Edwin. “We’re taking the case.”
“Plane ride,” said Crystal. “Oh, joy.”