Although he’d stayed out late, when Oscar returned to the palace it was still busy. The place had a sense of things never stopping, with restaurants, newsagencies and bookshops often open all night. Despite the palace operating on skewed circadian rhythms, he hoped Lydia did not and was asleep in her room.

She wasn’t, however, and instead waited in his.

“Where have you been, Oscar?”

He closed the door behind him, surprise becoming irritation. “Out,” he said, hanging his scarf on a hook.

“Where, out?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just interested.”

“Well, it’s got nothing to do with you. Or Mironaelk.” Despite her amiability, he was on the defensive.

“I brought some supper for you.”

He turned to see she’d set up a meal of food on a little table.

“We didn’t see you at supper again,” she said. “I thought you might be sick.”

“I am,” he said, no less appeased. “Mentally, remember?”

She ignored this. “So I brought you some. Mironaelk suggested it.”

He refused to look, feeling it was a baited trap. “I’ve already eaten.”

“You went out to eat?”

“I did, yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

She ignored this, too. “It’s very nice. Mironaelk suggested the strawberry wine.”

“I hate strawberry wine. It makes my pooh runny.”

“And Flumpt suggested these pastries, which he had nothing to do with making.”

“Pity. They might have blown his snout off while kneading the things.”

There was silence then. He wanted her gone. He’d been out to avoid her, but she’d stay for as long as necessary.

He tried an enormous yawn to make the point.

“You’ve been going out a lot lately,” she said, fiddling with paws in her lap.

“That’s because I’m fed up with the palace.”

“Even though it’s so wonderful?”

“Because it’s so wonderful.”

She stood and went to his window, which overlooked sparkling city lights, flames and moon on sea. “This is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a holiday,” she said, “and I like it very much indeed.”

“I’m very pleased for you.” He tried to growl it so she’d take the hint.

“I could stay here forever.”

“Please don’t.”

She turned to him. “What’s got into you, Oscar?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve become so cold recently.”

“I’m not cold,” he said. “I’m just busy.”

“With what?”

“What do you mean with what?” He indicated the palace. “With all this. With everything we have to do.”

“I didn’t think you were interested in any of that.”

“I’m not, but I am interested in my play.”

“Is it going well?”

He shrugged, uncertain whether she really cared. “I have a title.”

“Well, that’s a start.”

“And it’s a good one.”

“I’m certain it’s wonderful.” She fiddled with paws again. “It’s not impossible, you know. Any of this. What we have to do. What these animals have to do.”

“It is, actually.”

“No, I mean it’s not if we’re all in it together. If we all pull together. If we all do our bit.”

Indignation rose again. “You think I haven’t been doing my bit?”

“You’ve done more than most.”

“More than anyone, I think you’ll find.”

“Nevertheless, I’m concerned at how distanced you’ve become.”

“I’m not distanced, Lydia.”

“Then where have you been?”

“I told you: out. I can go out, can’t I? You’re not telling me I can’t go out?”

“Of course not. It jut feels like you’re avoiding us.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone. I just went out. I can go out. I can go for a fluffing walk, can’t I.”

She turned back to the view. “All right, but it feels like you’re avoiding me.”

She’d folded her paws as though hugging herself. He felt for her, knowing her abandonment issues. He went out onto the balcony again. After she followed him, they stood and watched the view together.

Air smelt of sea and soot and rustled vine leaves.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not avoiding you, Lydia. I just don’t want to be stuck in here every evening and every day. I’m glad you’re having such a lovely time, but I need my own space sometimes. All the time, actually. But it’s never allowed.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He sighed. The thought of cultivating translators was encouraging. It might mean that after five books he would finally become the poet he always should have been. “Do you know the first thing I ever did as a Velvet Paw?”

“Has it got anything to do with an official parking space?”

“I was expelled.”

“No!”

“Yes. I was expelled. From the Catacombs. I was tricked and expelled.

“That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s true.”

“Well, it obviously didn’t last long. They took you back. I mean, the Loud Puff thinks the world of you—”

“Purr.”

“And Binkl-thingy, too—”

“Binklemitre.”

“Exactly.” She laughed. “I can’t believe you were expelled, Oscar. That’s quite ridiculous!”

“Well, I was. But that wasn’t the worst thing.”

“Did they revoke your parking space too?”

He ignored her flippancy. “The worst thing was why.” Thinking back to book two made him miss things dreadfully and he waited for her to ask.

She snuck a paw through his. “And why did they expel you, Oscar?”

“Because I wasn’t a Velvet Paw.”

“Right, I see. Well, presumably that would do it. Did they forget to sign a certificate or something?”

“No. It’s because I was a poet.”

“Right.”

“I found training too harsh and clinical, you see. I thought there should be more singing and less fighting. I didn’t like crawling through muddy ditches, or pitching tents in pouring rain. I detested the hours of packing my collapsible field-survival tummy in the dark when it seemed prudent to bring a small torch instead. But most of all, more than anything, I didn’t like the teachers’ bullying. Nor did I like the bullying from my colleagues.”

She stared at him. “You were bullied?”

“They teased me for writing imagist poetry during Covert Night Manoeuvre Training.”

“Why? Was it particularly bad poetry?”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Then why were you bullied for it?”

“Because, Lydia, being a poet is the antithesis of being a Velvet Paw.”

She thought about this for a time, before squeezing tighter. “You know, we’re surprisingly similar, you and me,” she said. “We’re both loners, really. I’ve never had a friend like you. Well, I’ve never had a friend at all, to be honest. Unless you count Fingelberry.”

“Who?”

“Fingelberry. You remember, my boss at the library.”

He humphed, suspecting the dog would have reconsidered his alliances after what she’d done to his office.

“We’re both outsiders,” she continued. “You and me. We both battle through life as best we can. You, with your dangerous curiosa, and me, with my unprovoked episodes of extreme violence and gratuitous hospitalisations.”

He said nothing to this, as the comparison was apt.

“The thing is, Oscar, that I understand. I understand you: your reluctance for involvement. In all this. With what’s happening here.”

“That’s hardly surprising, considering how often I tell you. I’m a coward, and content to be one.”

She laughed. “You are certainly not a coward! No, it’s because, like me, you’ve found purpose here. Just a different sort of purpose. While I’ve found opportunity to use my talents in violence for good, you’ve found the same with poetry.”

He looked at her, amazed that she finally understood.

“I’m not stupid, Oscar. In fact, I’m exceptionally intelligent. And even if I was stupid it wouldn’t matter, as you’ve been going on about it since halfway through the last book. I understand, you see. I really do. You have talents that, in this world, can be embraced. You can live your dream and become what you had no time opportunity for back home.”

“I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

“Really? You’ve gone on about it often enough.”

“Yes, but to hear you say it. I thought you considered my refusal for involvement wrong.”

“It’s not wrong, Oscar. It’s just because of who you are.”

A thrill grew. “So, can I have an official title then?”

“What?”

“Can I have an official title, perhaps? Like The Velvet Poet of Bisarah, or something? Perhaps the Boevissisisis can have some banners made—”

“Oscar—listen—you won’t be able to have anything, let alone be the poet you’ve always wanted to be, if we don’t face the Ar’dath-Irr first—”

He pulled away. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if you want to become the poet that you’ve always dreamt of becoming, you’ll have to fight the Ar’dath-Irr to ensure there’s a world left to be one in.”

“I thought you just said I didn’t have to! That I could just be a poet and not worry about any of that!”

“You can become a poet, Oscar, we’ve just got to stop the world ending first so there’s somewhere left for you to be a poet in—”

“I don’t believe this!” Indignation surged. “What was all that talk about us being similar then? You haven’t understood anything! You just talk and say whatever you like to get what you want—”

“It’s not what I want, Oscar, it’s what all these animals need—”

“It is what you want, Lydia! It’s exactly what you want: an excuse to be violent because that’s all you know! Well, I’ve got news for you: just because you’ve found justification doesn’t make you justifiable!” He pulled at his ears and stormed back inside. “I thought you understood, for fluff’s sake!”

“I do—”

“No, you don’t! You understand nothing! Do you really think that you can teach this world to defend itself against the indefensible? It’s just not going to happen, no matter how much you wish it to! You cannot simply waltz up to the Ar’dath-Irr and smash his snout in!”

“Why not? I’ve already managed once. I don’t think he’s nearly as scary as you think.”

He pulled at his ears so hard that fluff came away, which he stared at before staring at her. “But what about what we went through in the library?” he said. “All the warping bookshelves and flying books?”

She humphed. “I experience that sort of weirdness on a daily basis.”

“For fluff’s—the beasts, then, Lydia! What about the fluffing, skinless, armour-plated killing machines!”

She shrugged. “Well, you ate some of them. I’d call that having the last word.”

“The last—Lydia, we’ve nearly been slaughtered so many times recently that I’ve lost count of something that shouldn’t ever get above one!” He held his paws out is despair. “The only reason you and I are here standing here arguing is because Flumpt and Letherin came to our rescue. It had nothing to do with our ability because we don’t fluffing have any! This isn’t our fight anymore, Lydia. And you know what? It never was!”

“Oscar, any fight is mine.”

“Then you fight it! With Flumpt and Letherin and Mironaelk! You sort it out. All of you, because I’ve had enough! I’m going to write a fluffing play and fluffing perform it in a fluffing theatre! And you are not invited to its opening night!”

He tore open the door and left the apartment, though returned a moment later to grab his scarf.

He left quietly then, having not expected to see her crying.