Chapter Text
Tara crouched low, folding the wings at her sides to make herself smaller. The pigeon was right there, looking absently at the city below with that empty stare all pigeons seemed to share. It didn’t spot the tressym - not yet - as she poised delicately atop the great glass dome of the Aetherspire. All it would take were a few silent steps, a leap, one bite on the feathered neck, and it would be hers. Her mouth watered. She could almost taste it, sweet, succulent, and just the right amount of crunchy. Pigeons had always been her favourite. She adjusted her hind legs, eyes locked on her target.
Soon.
Suddenly…
A doorbell, seven floors below, yet to her ears it was as if all the temple bells in Waterdeep rang out at once.
The pigeon did not move.
Then, a familiar voice.
“Tara, would you-?”
Annoyed, Tara glanced down through the glass to the study, where Gale Dekarios sat at his desk, beset by books and scrolls of all shapes and sizes. When there was no answer, he looked up, spotted her, furrowed his brow in mild irritation, but meeting the tressym’s icy glare seemed to change his mind.
“Would you mind getting that, Iluviel?” he called out instead.
Tara nodded, pleased. Let the girl get the door for once. They could not expect Tara to be at their every beck and call, surely. Besides, it was well past time the elf got more involved in the tower's affairs. It would do her good to get out of that garden once in a while and see other people. People who were not wizards. If only to better appreciate a certain wizard afterwards.
Tara looked back to the pigeon, still blissfully oblivious to her presence. Then, she moved, one silent paw in front of the other.
Slowly now. Steady…
“I-I mean - oh, I meant - uh, Lady Dekarios?” came a frightened voice from downstairs.
Tara almost snorted with amusement. A delivery boy was grasping for words, trying to cover his faux pas. If only Morena heard this, she would have a stroke on the spot.
Lady Dekarios, indeed! Tara imagined the irritated soprano of Gale's mother. There is only one lady Dekarios, and she does not answer doors!
Her attention turned back to the pigeon, its head now buried beneath one grey wing. She licked her muzzle and took another careful, soundless step. Almost there.
“Thank you! I mean I’m sorr… I’ll just - I’ll go now!”
The boy’s feet patted on the cobblestones below, splashing puddles as he went.
The main doors shut behind him with a click.
The pigeon raised its head at that, and one of its eyes finally spotted Tara, no more than a foot away from where it perched. Panicked, Tara leapt at it, claws ready to strike, but the bird had already taken flight. Her paws flailed helplessly in the air, but managed to claw out only a few loose feathers. The pigeon flapped its wings at a frantic pace, wanting to put as much distance between itself and the hunter. What it didn’t know was that the hunt was far from over.
Tara bounced off the cornice, wings spreading and catching an upward draft. She spotted the bird above the rooftops. It was smarter than she gave it credit for - it meant to lose the chase in the alleyways instead of fleeing to the open sky. Tara glided after it, death on quiet tortoiseshell wings.
The pigeon dove between two buildings, disappearing from sight. Tara followed, taking a sharp right turn, her body at an odd angle to fit into a narrow alley. She was aware of the people down below, of the half-open windows she was passing, of mice and rats scurrying at street level, alarmed by the predator’s shadow, but her gaze remained fixed on her prey. There it was, almost through the other side of the alley. It would be out in the open soon enough. She would not let it get away.
The pigeon, however, had something else in mind. It made a sharp left, swifter and more agile than a bread-eating, trash-dwelling bird had any right to be. It disappeared again. Tara flapped her wings and followed into an even narrower gap between two buildings. She had to turn her whole body sideways so as not to scuff her wings on the brick walls. The pigeon was still, infuriatingly, out of her reach. Tara flapped her wings once, twice, with as much force as she could muster, closing the distance bit by bit.
Suddenly a window opened in front of her and a middle-aged woman holding a freshly baked meat pie appeared. Slowing down was not an option. Tara slammed into the woman at full speed, knocking the steaming pan out of her hands. A shower of meaty filling and crust fell on Tara’s head and the cobblestones below, no doubt making the local rats happy.
Tara felt dizzy, her orientation momentarily lost. She barrelled through the air to the sound of the woman’s shouts and curses, before falling gracelessly on a balcony two stories below. She shook out her coat, raining bits of deliciously smelling meat and pie all around her.
And she was fuming. Tara, Gale Dekarios’ own familiar and confidante, outsmarted by a mere pigeon! She would be the laughing stock of all the neighbourhood cats for weeks.
This would not stand. This was not over. Not as long as she had any say in the matter.
Resolved, she licked the gravy off her muzzle and took to the air once more.
She rose above the rooftops to get her bearings. The pigeon was of course nowhere to be seen, but there weren't many places in Castle Ward where those wretched birds conferred. If it attempted to hide in a crowd, she knew exactly where to look. Tara flew off towards the main square, while the woman’s voice, lamenting the loss of her precious pie, trailed after her like a dirge.
The square was but a few streets away. The bird had ample time to cover a dozen times that distance, but something told her it wasn't that far. Tara swooped lower, gaze searching the scene. At this time of day the square was still bustling with merchants, craftsmen, and pack animals, but birds had a way of blending in with the mammals so that nobody was paying them any attention. At least nobody without a tressym’s instincts and keen senses.
She spied a group of bluetits hopping on the branches of a single tree in the middle of the square. She could hear sparrows nesting in a nearby shrubbery. A few seagulls shouted overhead. But that was not her quarry of the day. Tara hovered gracefully above the crowded space, eyes scanning tirelessly.
And sure enough, after a moment she spotted them - a small flock of pigeons below a low-hanging balcony in the far corner. A young girl was flinging breadcrumbs from the balcony and giggling joyfully as the pigeons fought over them. But not all birds were interested in the measly food. One of them, a good inch taller than the rest of the flock, did not eat, but instead kept looking to the sky, as if waiting for something.
It was so bizarre that for a moment Tara thought she imagined it. But then the bird's head turned, and as soon as its beady eye detected her silhouette in the open sky, she knew.
She found it.
She didn’t give it time to react. She swooped down, wings folded to increase her speed. She would not lose it this time. She would not let it get away. The pigeon seemed to freeze. Tara bared her fangs, closing the distance with each second. Castle Ward square approached as if to greet her, the human figures getting larger, the street noise getting louder, yet all of that was drowned out by the thumping of blood in her ears as the thrill of the hunt overtook her.
Tara flew low above the crowd, eliciting a few surprised gasps and shouts, her eyes still on the bird. She saw something glint in the pigeon’s eye, its fatuous, flat expression changing for a blink. It could have been a trick of the light, but as soon as she registered it, something crashed into her.
A lot of somethings, all around her, pecking and clawing at her face and fur. Much to her shock, Tara came to the inevitable conclusion that she was surrounded on all sides - by pigeons. Large and small, grey and colourful, the birds attacked her relentlessly, forcing her to crash land on the cobbled street. She curled herself into a ball, using her wings to absorb the worst of the impact. She thought this was the end of it, but more pigeons appeared out of nowhere. Even as she scrambled up, they did not let up. If anything, the pecks became even more vicious and painful. Tara hissed furiously and retaliated, claws slashing the nearest feathered foes, but there were simply too many of them. For every one she pushed aside, two more appeared to vex her, as if coordinated by some unseen force.
“Get off me, you wretched birds!” she screamed in Common, as though they could understand her. But of course the birds had no intention of heeding her words.
When another sharp beak hit her on the head, Tara had to face the reality of her bitter defeat. She was outnumbered in enemy territory - a novel and not pleasant experience. With a mad growl she attempted to free her wings from the feathery mass of bodies that pressed on her from all directions.
“Mama, look!” called the bird-feeding girl on the balcony. “The pigeons are eating the talking cat!”
Cat! Tara bristled inwardly. Each peck felt like a direct wound to her very pride, as did every burst of laughter from the small crowd that gathered around, drawn by the commotion.
Wings freed, she lifted off the ground and flew. The pigeons continued to chase her even as she put distance between herself and the accursed gathering spot, but the attacks seemed to ease up. She looked around her and could not believe her eyes. The birds flew in formation on both her sides and behind her, making it impossible for her to go anywhere but forward. She glanced back to the square. The chief pigeon - for that was what she chose to call it - was looking at her with an almost smug expression on its silly bird-face. Smug. Tara was outraged.
The flock escorting her suddenly slowed and turned back. Tara turned her head - just in time to see a large white bedsheet on a low-hanging clothesline. She dodged it at the last moment - but only to fly right into a pair of pantaloons hanging from the next one.
A roar of laughter erupted from the crowd.
Hissing and cussing, Tara struggled with the offending underwear until it finally fell to the ground, to the crowd's cheers and applause. Never in her life had she felt so utterly ridiculed and humiliated. She did not turn around. She only wanted to disappear, to hide and nurse her wounded dignity.
Rising higher, she turned a corner and flew back towards the Aetherspire.
The tower finally loomed before her, its familiar shape a comfort. Home, at last. She hoped a few tasty morsels from the kitchen and two weeks straight of lounging by the fireplace would help her recover from the ordeal. She hoped, but she knew better. Nothing short of a memory-altering spell would cleanse this day from her mind. The best she could hope for was to lay low until the commotion died down and she was free to roam the city once more, unbothered by looks and laughter.
Tara circled the tower twice, as was her custom, and gently lowered her altitude, aiming for the third floor balcony attached to Gale’s bedroom. Just as she was about to land, movement caught the corner of her eye. Something or someone was hiding, rather badly, in the shrubs bordering the cobbled path that led up to the tower. Tara caught a gust of wind and flew in that direction. She hovered above a suspiciously shaking bush. When a human head emerged from among the branches, the tressym swooped down on it with a terrifying hiss.
The head turned and a pair of hazel eyes saw her. They belonged to a young boy, no more than eight or nine years of age. He screamed - loudly - and scrambled backwards on all fours, scratching his face and arms on the branches. Then, as he attempted to stand, his foot slid on the slippery stones, and he was forced to sit flatly on a patch of dirt. Tara did not land, but hovered in front of the boy’s face, wings spread wide, fangs flashing menacingly.
“And who do we have here, hiding in a bush?” she said, voice low and melodic, almost a purr. “A thief, perhaps? I urge you to reconsider, young man. It is not too late to turn back from this life of crime and go home. You would be wise to listen.”
The boy’s eyes widened and Tara noticed with no small amount of pleasure that they held terror in its purest form.
“N-no, ma'am! I’m not a thief! I’m not a thief! Just a courier! I- I deliver parcels! From shops! Please!”
Tara squinted as she recognised the voice of the delivery boy from earlier. He was telling the truth, but that did not explain what he was still doing here, lurking in the Aetherspire’s shadow. Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
“I may be mistaken, but doesn’t delivery usually include ringing the doorbell and handing over the package?” she asked, voice thick with suspicion and sarcasm.
The boy took a knee as he attempted to regain his footing, and for a brief moment he looked like he was pleading with her to spare him.
“That’s the problem. I can’t! Not after… before.” He bit his lip nervously.
Tara was starting to lose her nerve.
“Speak, child. Quickly. I have little patience.”
The boy stood on his feet and raised both hands, palms open towards Tara.
“A-are you the wizard’s cat?” he asked, eyes gleaming now, less with fear, more with barely concealed wonder. “I saw you earlier. But I’ve never seen a creature like you before. Are you magic?”
Tara flapped her wings, once, to show off, her pride tickled, despite being called a cat.
“I am Mister Dekarios’ familiar, yes. He summoned me a long time ago. We are inseparable. Which means this tower is my home, and I do not take kindly to intruders wandering about,” she added by way of a reminder. The boy had yet to properly answer her question.
“Right! Of course! I know, I’m sorry, I-...” he stuttered, then sighed. “It’s my first time delivering something for a real wizard and I just didn’t know… I didn’t mean to offend the elf lady! Nobody tells me anything! I didn’t know who answered the door. I ran away and… I forgot about this.”
He reached into a pocket inside his vest and produced an envelope. He held it in front of Tara, as if presenting evidence that would either absolve or doom him.
Tara eyed the letter. It bore a seal she did not recognise, but the name on the envelope was clearly Gale’s.
“I know I messed up. I can’t go back or they will never let me deliver to Castle Ward again!” the boy went on, determined to confess all. “But I- I’m too afraid to ring the door again… What if she’s angry? Or worse - what if she told the wizard? What if he turns me into something nasty?!”
Tara briefly attempted to imagine Gale turning stray children into toads and came up short. She fared no better when she tried to picture Iluviel of the High Forest angry with anyone because of a simple slip of the tongue. But she couldn’t tell the boy that, miserable as he seemed. Some appearances should be kept up, after all. Instead, she landed lightly on the path and folded her wings gracefully. The boy seemed enchanted. And within Tara’s feline mind, an idea began to form.
“What is your name, child?”
He beamed.
“Ben, ma’am! Benjamin Thomson. I live in Trades Ward.”
“Well, Benjamin. Would you care to tell me why you are so afraid of wizards?”
That earned a sidelong glance at the tower behind her.
“Everyone knows wizards are powerful. They have no patience with us simple folk. And th-... My cousin says a wizard could kill you with a single thought,” he lowered his voice, as if afraid to summon the very evil he spoke of.
Tara nodded sagely.
“You are right to be cautious, of course. But in this case, I believe I may be able to help you. That is, if you would be willing to do something for me in exchange.”
Ben’s eyes sparkled with hope.
“Anything, ma’am! Thank you! Just say the word!”
Tara swished her tail, its tip tracing an elaborate pattern. The air next to her shimmered and an oval shape formed, the inside pitch black and seemingly bottomless. Tara poked her head inside and emerged a moment later, holding a piece of parchment in her mouth. She motioned for the boy to take it. He reached for it slowly, as if afraid of getting burned, but his eyes shone with wonder and reverence. He eyed the parchment quizzically.
“I need you to retrieve a few things for me, come morning,” Tara explained. “Visit these merchants and tell them Tara sent you for the Aetherspire order. It is paid for in advance. All you need to do is deliver it here.”
Ben nodded with vigor, but frowned as if remembering something. Tara could guess what was on his mind. She sighed theatrically.
“I will get the door, fear not. There will be no turning you into a toad this time.”
He seemed to relax visibly. He folded the list and pocketed it, eyes brightening.
“Yes, ma’am. I can do that.”
“Good,” Tara gave him a measuring look. “Be sure to bring a cart with you. There will be a lot to carry, and I expect everything to arrive in perfect condition.”
He straightened, as if his professional pride had been questioned.
“Understood, ma’am.”
“For the love of the Weave, do call me Tara. I am no madam. And be sure to remember the difference between a common cat, and a tressym. The distinction is important to some of us.”
Fear flashed behind the boy’s eyes again, but he stood his ground.
“Understood, ma-... Tara.”
“Splendid. Since we understand each other so well, give the letter here.”
For a split second it seemed as if he did not know what she had meant. Then, with a quiet
“Oh!”, he handed her the envelope. Tara bit down on it gently and stashed the letter inside the pocket dimension she conjured.
“Well then. I will see you tomorrow, Benjamin. I shall expect you by noon.”
He nodded quickly, then bowed, then nodded again.
“Tomorrow at noon. I’ll be here! Thank you, Tara!”
And he was off.
Tara watched his retreating back, feeling rather pleased with herself. With one clever move she recovered Gale’s lost letter and ensured she wouldn’t need to leave the tower on the following day. Now nothing should disturb her as she nursed her wounded pride back to health.
With a weary sigh, the tressym spread her wings and flew back home.