The Catbyrd Seat (6 page)

As he walked past the park, however, he saw the evidence with his own eyes.

A large banner had been set up on a stake though the grass, and a group of mice were gathered around it reading.

“VOTE WHISKA,” it screamed in big black capital letters across the top and then, underneath, “JOIN THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST MR. BYRD AND GET FREE FRUIT GATHERING ON THE PRIME MINISTER'S PRIVATE LAND FOR LIFE.”

Mr. Byrd's heart sank. It was clearly a big talking point among the mice, and some of them seemed very excited about it as they chatted among themselves. It was a tempting offer, and one that Mr. Byrd could hardly hope to compete with.

Despite the success of his meeting with the King, he still felt downhearted when he returned to HQ and explained to the others both the bad news and the good news.

“It's okay,” Piggles reassured him. “You leave the campaign side to us. We'll do some canvassing and talk to the mice.”

“Yeah, not all of them are going to be taken in by this,” said Cociel.

“Whiska could be lying,” Davetil pointed out.

“He almost certainly is, Dad!” cried Cociel.

He kept him momentum high with his dad.

“You're too lenient with him. You take everything he says as fact.”

“I definitely always used to,” he admitted.

“And I tell you he's definitely lying.” Cociel demanded.

This is just a ploy to get more votes. There's no way he'll allow mice access to his private land. He'll offer them all kinds of glorious promises and then snatch them away again. He has no intention of delivering them. We just have to make the mice realize that. There's been plenty of other times he's promised things and then not delivered. At least we have examples to cite.”

“Yes, you just go home and rest,” said Tails.

“Definitely,” said Piggles. “You've had a difficult twenty four hours and you need to get your energy back for the rest of the campaign.”

“I need to open up my bookshop again tomorrow,” said Mr. Byrd. “I'm not going to let it just slide by. Business is business, after all.” He said goodbye to his loyal and trusted friends, and flew off back to the Kingdom and to a good and well-needed night's sleep.

The next morning, Mr. Byrd opened up the shop as planned, and was looking forward to a day among his books. That was until his first customer walked in at half past ten.

“Have you heard the news?” They asked, looking incredibly shaken up and surprised. It was Colitta, the camel.

“I... don't believe I have – “ answered Mr. Byrd uncertainly. “What news might that be?”

“It's Nine Lives,” said Colitta.

“He's been taken sick. He's in the hospital. They don't know whether he'll make it.”

Everyone in the Kingdom and the Reservation had been expecting it for some time. Nine Lives had been in the hospital on more than one occasion. He was old and often got sick. Everyone knew that sooner or later, he would die, and yet still, the news came as a shock and a surprise, especially so soon after meeting and speaking with him merely the day before. Mr. Byrd, selfishly, couldn't help but wonder what would happen to their agreement if Nine Lives were to pass away.

So much for spending the day at the shop
, he thought to himself as he hurriedly closed up and rushed out, making his way over to the hospital, which was situated next door to the Palace.

There was already a large crowd outside when he arrived, and lions on the door stopping anyone except immediate family and invited guests from going either inside or out.

“Is there any news?” Mr. Byrd whispered to a zebra.

“No, nothing.”

Despite the best efforts of the doctors, the prayers and thoughts and wishes of everyone in Huntsville, and the loyal hour by hour vigil that stood outside the hospital waiting for his recovery, Nine Lives sadly passed away in the early morning of the following day.

The whole of the city seemed to grind to a halt; all jobs and schooling and election campaigns and arguments were temporarily put on hold in favor of mourning for their lost King. For most of the mice and the animals in the Kingdom, Nine Lives was the only ruling monarch that they had ever known, and they weren’t sure how things would proceed now that he was gone.

The state funeral was a solemn but celebrated affair, with animals lining the streets on either side as the coffin was brought through all of Huntsville, both the Kingdom and the Reservation, on display publicly for all to see and for all to mourn, and it was nearly a whole two days later that Mr. Byrd and his campaign team finally decided to get back to work. They had left a considerable amount of time, firstly out of respect for the departed King and secondly because they weren’t sure where things stood in terms of the election, and whether it would all still be going ahead.

On the evening after Nine Lives’ funeral, however, his daughter, Samantha, read out testimony. A tiny clause had been added at the end, but one which was of the utmost important to Mr. Byrd, signed and dated from two evenings previously, the day of Mr. Byrd’s meeting with the King.

“In the event of my death, the elections due to be held in four days time shall go ahead as planned,” it read. “My son and heir, Strip, shall ensure that the elections are fair and free, and that both candidates have a chance at winning the seat.”

Even in the solemn mood of that night, there were celebrations in the camp of Mr. Byrd, and the following morning, the whole of the city came out once again to watch Strip’s coronation as he was crowned King of Huntsville.

It was the moment Strip had been waiting for all his life. He wasn’t sad for his father’s death, as Samantha was. He had never felt particularly close to his father. As far as he was concerned, the old man was a fool and far too soft on the mice. He’d grown even kinder with age given that ridiculous clause tacked onto the end of his will. Strip had no intention of following it. Yes, he would allow the elections, because if he didn’t, there would surely be uproar, but that didn’t mean he had to ensure the elections were fair. He would make certain that his best friend Whiska won back the seat for the cats and continued his reign as Prime Minister of the Reservation.

During the celebrations for his coronation, Strip got extremely drunk on catnip, and the big headed, arrogant young cat, decided he would order Mr. Byrd to be sent to his royal chambers, so that he could tell him as much in person.

“As long as I am King, you will
never
be allowed to rule over the mice,” he snarled and slurred, spilling milk everywhere as he raised the goblet to his lips. “I don’t care what my father thought of you, nor what my sister thinks. Whiska will remain in charge of the Reservation, and what’s more, as soon as this stupid election is over, I’ll have Whiska change the law so that no one can stand against him again, and so that
you
can be convicted and thrown in the dungeons for insubordination. Now get out!”

Mr. Byrd timidly turned and flew out of the Palace, all the way back to the Campaign HQ with his head bowed and his self esteem shot.

“It’s no good,” he fluttered back and forth in the small book shop in Section D, as his core team of campaigners looked on sadly. “We might as well just give up now. Strip is going to disrupt the election process and as soon as the election finishes I’m going to be thrown in prison.”

“He can’t do that,” Davetil protested.

“That’s just it,” said Tails. “He can.”

“Maybe if I quit now and leave Huntsville forever, that would be the best idea for all of us,” sighed Mr. Byrd. “The last thing I want is for you guys to get into trouble too, for helping me.”

“We don’t care about that, Mr. Byrd,” said Piggles fiercely. “You’re our friend.”

“Yeah, she’s right,” agreed Cociel. “We’re not going to give up on you, and neither should you.”

“Don’t start this ‘don’t give up’ business again,” grumbled Mr. Byrd. “Don’t try to convince me it’s for the best.”

“But it IS for the best,” Cociel protested. “If you don’t do this, all of the houses in Section D will be demolished and turned into hunting grounds for Whiska, that includes where Tails lives.”

“That’s right,” said Tails. “Me and my family will have nowhere to live, and Whiska doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t care if we’re out on the streets and starving. In fact, he’d probably like that because then he can hunt us.”

“I know, I know,” moaned Mr. Byrd. “But I just don’t see how it’s possible. I don’t see how we can win. At all. Grady’s been going around threatening mice that support me, and others have been won over by promises of fruit. And now Strip and Whiska are going to disrupt the election process anyway, so even if people DID vote for me, it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference.”

“I’ll take care of the mice threatened by Grady,” Piggles volunteered, raising her trotter in the air. “I can promise them permanent shelter in the Kingdom if that’s what they need to help them feel secure. We can sneak them out of the Reservation, hide them in the Kingdom in protected houses with animals that will attack back if anyone attacks them first. And then, when it’s time for the vote, they can return.”

“It’s a risky strategy,” said Davetil. “If anyone catches you sneaking mice out, there’ll be grave consequences for all those involved.”

“Then we’ll be very careful,” said Piggles lightheartedly. “Besides, it’s only an offer. It’s only so they feel like they
will
be protected, if they need it. And I’ll reiterate what Mr. Byrd will bring victory to the Reservation with a victory; that they will never have to be bullied by Grady again, that they’ll never have to fear for their lives or their liberty or the lives of their children. But that can only happen
if
they’re brave enough to go out and vote.”

“The promises of fruit, you can leave to me,” offered Davetil. “I’ve lived long enough to experience broken promises from Whiska before, so much so that I’ve simply got used to them as a way of life. I got so stuck in my ways that I almost didn’t
want
to change, and that’s the problem of most of the older mice here. It’s only thanks to my son, of whom I’m very proud,” he looked over at Cociel with a smile. “He made me think about things again, and I feel a whole lot better for it. I’ll talk to the mice who’ve been tempted by the deal, and remind them of all those other times Whiska has offered us things and then taken them away.”

“And make sure you tell them about all the good things Mr. Byrd will do when he gets in,” added Piggles.

“I will,” chuckled Davetil. “Of course I will.”

“And the other thing,” said Cociel. “The rigged voting and the corrupted election process, you can leave that to us.” He pointed at himself and Tails proudly.

“I can?” Mr. Byrd looked confused. “How? What are you going to do?”

“There’s two animals you’ve all forgotten about,” said Cociel excitedly. “Two very important animals who could have a very important role to play in swinging the election our way.”

“Who?” Mr. Byrd asked.

“Tilde and Samantha. Tilde doesn’t know how much of a tyrant her son really is, and I think it’s about time she learned some truths about her precious little boy. She’s also a feline who believes in traditions and sticking to the rules. I’m sure she won’t be pleased to hear that Whiska is planning to entirely disregard the will of the King.”

“And neither will Samantha,” said Tails.

“Exactly. She’ll be furious when she finds out about her own brother’s blatant disregard for their father’s wishes. This is our way in, and our way to ensure that the elections
are
fair.”

“You really think that would work?” asked Mr. Byrd hopefully.

“I definitely do,” said Cociel. “The only way for us to win is for you to break out of that shell you’ve been hiding in, Mr. Byrd, and face the political battle with fierce conviction. We’ll take care of all this business, and you continue with the canvassing. Get out there and talk to people. Make promises you know you can deliver, tell them how you’ll make life better for them, convince them. And remember to practice your speeches.”

“You can do it, Mr. Byrd,” said Piggles. “I know you can. We all believe in you.”

“Yes, we believe in you,” agreed Tails.

“We do,” chimed in Cociel and Davetil in unison.

And that was settled. They were not giving up. The campaign would continue in earnest; onwards and upwards, always.

***

By now, Cociel and Tails were not an entirely unusual sight outside the main gates of Catting Street, and they weren’t instantly dismissed by the lions on guard. This time, one of them tilted his head and gave them both a curious look.

“What do you want?” he purred. “Whiska isn’t here.”

“Oh, we don’t want to see Whiska,” said Tails.

“Heaven forbid,” added Cociel cheekily.

“We’re here to see Tilde, his mother.”

“Fine,” huffed the lion. “I’ll get her.” And he turned on his paws and walked off grumpily, bringing Tilde back with him some two minutes later.

She proudly strutted her tail back and forth, holding her nose in the air. “What is it?” she asked snappily. “I have hair balls to deal with.”

“VOTE NO TO MR. BYRD! VOTE NO!” came a hoarse shout behind them, as Ruskie, the most conservative pro-cat mouse of them all, came breezing past handing out fliers to support Whiska’s campaign.

Cociel blinked at him and turned his attention back to Tilde. “Sorry to bother you, Mrs Tilde,” he said politely. “I know you’re a very busy cat, but we just wanted to have a quick chat with you about your son, Whiska.”

“What about him?” she sighed. “I realize that your friend Mr. Byrd is standing against him in the elections, but surely you cannot expect me to vote against my own son?”

“Oh no, no, heaven forbid,” Cociel shook his head. “That wasn’t what we were asking at all, although we did want to talk to you about the election.”

“I’m sure you’re aware that after our beloved King Nine Lives died,” Tails picked up the story. “He left a specific clause in his will relating to the election, and insisting that fair elections must be held throughout the Reservation.”

“Yes, I’m aware of the clause,” said Tilde. “I was there when it was being read out. An entirely unnecessary clause if you ask me. Why wouldn’t the elections be fair? Exactly what
was
the King trying to insinuate about my poor son?” She huffed and slashed her tail back and forth.

Cociel and Tails exchanged quick glances. This wasn’t going to be as easy as they expected. Tilde was so convinced of her son’s innocence.

It was Cociel who spoke up, after a moment’s silence, thinking of a new way to try and get round her. “Well actually, I don’t think it was your son that Nine Lives had the problem with.”

“It wasn’t?” she frowned. “What was this silly clause all about then?”

“It was for the benefit of his own son, Strip.”

“Strip?”

“Yes,” nodded Cociel. “You see, I heard this terrible rumor about Strip and, the more I think about it in relation to the clause, and actually, the more I hear about
him
, the more inclined I am to believe that it’s true. In fact, I’m convinced it’s true.”

“What…is true?” she asked slowly.

“Strip is corrupt. You know when you said you were worried about corruption within the monarchy, because of that time you went and they hadn’t heard about the trial Whiska had obviously booked with them?”