Layer 28: Catsassin

Puss in Boots had found his quarry.

The months of Rumpelstiltskin's reign, particularly since the ogres' devastating raid on Far Far Away, had been a busy time for the feline ogre slayer. Several of the creatures had fallen to the orange tabby's sword, and he had helped provide intelligence that led to the capture of others. All this had provided him a healthy sum in reward money. The lion's share of that money he sent back to San Rodrigo, the town where he had been raised, in care of Imelda, the kind-hearted woman who had taken him in as a kitten, to help with her charity work there.

Now he was about to collect on his greatest reward: the one offered for the leader of the band of ogres that had maintained a guerilla war against Rumpel's kingdom by raiding two ogre detention camps, assimilating the ogres freed into their ranks, and ambushing several Wiccan ogre-hunting parties.

That the leader was an ogress rather than a male was troubling. Puss had never dispatched a female before, and he found the thought particularly unpleasant. But the reward was great, and his experience had blunted his scruples. He had to remind himself again that these were just ogres: angry beasts that terrorized people. The vicious raid on Far Far Away had cemented those opinions. And it wasn't like he was murdering them. In each case he had prevailed in a fair fight; after enraging the monster so that that it charged madly at him with obvious intent to kill – not too difficult a task given their disposition – he had used his cool head and measured skill to turn its angry and reckless movements against it and…do what needed to be done.

Now he had found the latest location of the ogres' camp and was hiding in the folds of their leader's tent. He had been waiting there for an hour or so; he wasn't sure precisely how long because, despite his best efforts, his hiding place was so comfortable and dark that he had drifted off for a short nap.

Puss jerked instantly awake when one of the couple of camp guards that had been left behind while the others were out committing Heaven-knew-what atrocities threw the tent flap open and bright clean rays of light from the freshly risen sun came streaming in. Puss, squinting, watched the ogre guard enter. He carried a basin of water which he placed upon a rickety-looking dresser at the far end of the tent. Then, instead of opening any window flaps – which there didn't appear to be any of anyway – he lit a lantern hanging on the central support pole. Then he left, closing the flap behind him.

A few minutes later Puss felt his stomach knot in anticipation when he heard the tramp of feet as the main body of ogres returned. Not long after that he felt his heart rate surge to nearly two hundred beats per minute as the tent-flap was thrown open again and their leader entered the tent.

Oblivious to his presence, she closed the flap, heaved a weary sigh, and then trudged across the tent floor, casually tossing a battle axe aside as she did so. The axe happened to land uncomfortably close to where Puss hid; he stared at the sharp curved blade resting a few inches from his nose and silently gulped.

Puss forced his attention back to the ogress. She wore a helmet, and iron plates armored her ankles, shoulders, and right wrist. A circular shield was strapped to her left arm. Besides that she wore a short-sleeved brown leather tunic and green plaid skirt with an uneven and badly frayed hemline. Moccasin-like boots enclosed her feet, ankles and calves. A long sword hanging in a sheath was belted to her back, and a large knife was strapped to a scabbard on her thigh. The only thing on her that didn't appear to have a practical purpose was a string necklace through which was threaded the teeth of some animal.

She took a seat before the dresser at the far end of the tent. She unstrapped the shield and set it on its edge upon the dresser, turning its shiny side toward her like a mirror. She then in turn took off her helmet, sword, and wrist armor and laid them on the ground beside her. "It's so much easier carrying that stuff at night," Puss heard her murmur; what she meant by that was a mystery to him, but no matter. She shook out her long red hair and ran her fingers through its tresses, then stared at her reflection for a few seconds and sighed again. Yes, Puss thought, this was definitely the face on the reward posters that Rumpel's witches had been plastering throughout the kingdom.

Now was the time. Puss slowly slid from his hiding place. He adjusted his dark, plumed cavalier hat and quietly drew the eighteen inch sword from the scabbard belted around his waist. Then he began creeping on the tip-toes of his dark leather boots toward the ogress, careful to stay low and away from the shield's reflection, somewhat off to her side but just out of her peripheral vision. Although he took pride and felt vindicated that he had never murdered an ogre, always giving them a chance to defend themselves, this situation was different. He was in the middle of an ogre camp, and to rouse this ogre like he had roused others might raise a commotion where others would intervene, leaving the ogress alive and himself with much less chance of staying so. Besides, this was a war declared by the ogres with their cruel, inexcusable raid, and before him was the ogres' leader, a leader who was reputedly and surprisingly clever for one of her species. Perhaps when he took her out the other, duller brutes that made up her army would fall apart on their own. Yes, Puss reflected, he could end this destructive conflict with one well-aimed and completely justified thrust of his sword. It might not be up to his usual standards of honor, but these were dark times, and in such times principles had to be compromised.

As he came within some six feet and was preparing to pounce, the ogress removed her necklace and laid it atop the dresser beside the basin. Instantly her visage began to waver and blur. Puss froze, slack-jawed, not understanding what was happening. He blinked, trying to focus. After a moment the image sharpened again. But instead of a broad, green-skinned female ogre, he found himself looking at a slender, light-peach-skinned female human. Still oblivious to his presence, the female – the woman – dipped her now delicate hands into the water basin and then splashed her face and rubbed her neck where the necklace had been. As she stared again at her reflection puss stared, too. She was beautiful. As beautiful as any princess in any of the kingdoms he had visited.

He couldn't help it. He gasped.

At the sound of the gasp, the woman's head swung in his direction. She also gasped, then clumsily grabbed the necklace and threw it back over her head. But although the necklace was back in place, her human visage remained the same – except now she was blushing. They stared at each other, each frozen, for a few moments more.

"Blast," she said.

Just then Puss heard the rustle of the tent-flap being pulled aside behind him. His reverie snapped and he instinctively spun around and pointed his sword in the direction of the sound. He had just made out the shape of a particularly obese male ogre, one wearing a cook's apron whose stains indicated much experience and little washing, along with a tall chef's hat and cloves of garlic weirdly woven into his beard, when Puss felt himself picked up by the scruff of his neck. He dropped his sword reflexively and yowled. The hat toppled from his head as the woman lifted him.

"'Scuse me, Fiona," the ogre said, "but—"

"Cookie," the woman – Fiona – who now held Puss up with one hand by his scruff, said reproachfully, "I thought I told you and the others never to entry my tent without knocking."

"Yeah, I know, I know, 'personal space' and all that," Cookie responded. "But this is an emergency and – hey, who's your little friend?"

"I don't know yet," Fiona said, turning Puss toward her. Puss looked into her angry face and burning eyes and wondered if it might be less terrifying if he were still looking into the face of the ogress. "I found it here when we got back."

"Hey, look at its little boots! Ain't they cute?"

"What's the emergency, Cookie?" she said, annoyed, turning her glower toward the ogre to Puss's relief.

"Huh? Oh. It's the stew. We don't have any protein to flavor it."

"Well, did you check the traps?"

"Yeah, but nothing took the bait. All the waffles are untouched – well, except for ants and bees. I've added those to the stew, but we still need – say, are you gonna eat that?"

"Eat what?" Fiona asked.

"That," Cookie said, gesturing to Puss. "It's a little stringy, but it'll provide just that touch of flavor that could make all the difference." He then brought his thumb and forefinger to his lips and kissed them.

Feeling a rush of panic, Puss swung his horrified gaze from Cookie to Fiona. For a moment he felt hope as her expression seemed to indicate distaste at the idea, but then she looked at Puss and seemed to be considering the suggestion.

"Oh, no! Por favor! Please!" Puss stammered. "I implore you! It was nothing personal, Senorita. I was doing it only for my family! My mother, she is sick, and my father lives off the garbage! The king offered me much in gold and I have a litter of bothers—"

"Whoa whoa whoa," Fiona said, laying the tips of the fingers of her free hand over his mouth to stop him.

"It talks!" Cookie said.

"Yes," Fiona said, frowning, "although the trick seems to have been getting it to shut up." Then, staring intently at Puss, she asked, "So, Rumpelstiltskin hired you?"

She removed her hand and Puss replied, "The imp king? Si."

"So he knows where we are?" she demanded.

"No, just me," Puss replied quickly, and then realized his mistake. "Oh," he added, downcast. "Perhaps I should not have said that."

"So what'dya say?" Cookie said, holding out his hands. "All I gotta do is decide which way to skin it and soup's on!"

Fiona continued looking at Puss. The cat curled his front paws up under his chin, looked into her eyes, and imploringly opened his own eyes very, very wide as he began purring. As Fiona stared at him, transfixed, her harsh expression softened and she seemed to waver. He felt the grip on his scruff begin to loosen. But then she shook her head as if breaking a spell and her grip tightened again. "Sorry, pal," she said. "Your feline mind tricks won't work on me. I'm a cat person from way back. I know them all."

"So I can have it?" Cookie pressed.

She looked at Puss for a few seconds longer. "No," she eventually said, "I need to question this anthropomorphic assassin," she said.

"But what do I do about the stew?"

"Use your imagination!" Fiona snapped. "I run the revolution, you run the kitchen. We've both got our own problems. Okay?"

"Fine! Fine! I know it's no use arguing with an ogress whose mind's set" Cookie said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender as he turned to go.

As Cookie reached the tent flap, Fiona called, "Cookie, wait!"

He stopped and looked back.

Fiona smiled contritely. "I'm sorry. And I'm sure whatever you come up with, it'll taste great. You've never let us down before. I know I'm leaving this culinary dilemma in the most competent hands possible."

Cookie stared back at her for a few seconds and then smiled broadly. "Darn straight!" he said with a wink, and then turned and left the tent.

"But knock next time!" Fiona called after him.

Puss looked from the now closed tent entrance back to Fiona. "He thinks you're still an ogress?" Puss asked, perplexed.

"You picked up on that," she noted, impressed.

"Oh, si," he said, and then noticed that in addition to the teeth there was a green stone set into her necklace. "Your image changed when you took off your necklace. Is the stone some sort of amulet to—"

"Never mind me," she snapped. "I need to decide what to do about you."

"I understand," he said. Then, awkwardly attempting to bow despite his predicament, he added, "And I wish to thank you for sparing my life."

"Don't be premature," she warned, kneeling briefly to pick up his sword while keeping a firm grip on him. Standing again, she examined the miniature weapon for a few seconds and then asked, "What's this, a shish kabob skewer?"

"That," he said, trying to sound dignified despite his position, "is my rapier."

She looked from the sword back to him, cocked an eyebrow skeptically and said, "Seriously?"

"It is not the size of the blade that matters," he said, "but how you use it."

"Oh, please," Fiona said, rolling her eyes. She carefully slid Puss's sword inside one of her boots. She then walked over to her spartan cot, which was set against one of the tent 'walls', and sat down. She placed Puss on the cot beside her, still holding his scruff, then slid the large, ominous knife from her scabbard and held it next to Puss's throat. "I'm going to let go of your fur," she said, but added threateningly, "Don't try to escape."

"No, Senorita," he agreed. "I give you my word."

"Your word," she scoffed. "Of a cat that was about to do what, stab me in the back? And what's that worth?" She let go of him anyway, but kept the knifepoint within inches of him.

If Puss could have blushed, he would have done so. "You are correct," he admitted. "I have behaved dishonorably. To think I came so close to dispatching such a beauty in such a cowardly manner—"

"What does beauty have to do with it?" she responded angrily. "How does that make it less heinous?"

"But…I thought you were an ogre."

"And that makes it right? It's open season on ogres?"

"Well…si," Puss said. Then, seeing her face darken and knuckles tighten on the knife handle, he waved his paws before him and pleaded, "But that is the way it has always been! At least I have fought in defense, giving ogres a fighting chance, not like those villagers with their pitchforks—"

"As you were about to give me?"

Puss sighed. "You are exceptional. You are their military leader."

"Oh? So how many 'unexceptional' ogres have you killed?"

Fiona's blade was getting closer as she leaned toward him. She appeared to have an ogre's temper after all. "B-B-But—" he objected desperately "—it was always a fair battle, and they were just—just—"

"Just ogres?" she completed, her fury growing. "Is that what you were about to say? Just big, stupid, ugly beasts? Well, guess what, pal? They're as smart and as caring as humans are…just in different ways. They were just beings trying to live out their lives as best they could in a world that hated and despised them. And, sadly, they were resigned to that – as long as you left them alone. But you couldn't leave them alone, could you? But those villagers – at least they had an excuse. They were ignorant and fearful. But you – you – you killed them for what? Money? Sport? How could you do that? How?"

Fiona had leaned progressively closer to him as her temper grew, and had driven him backwards on he cot so that he was now on his back. Fiona's angrily shaky hand held the knifepoint just an inch from his nose. Puss saw his chance. "How? Well…well…" he said "…like this!"

With that Puss quickly slid his rear feet from his boots and kicked upward, claws extended, nastily raking Fiona's wrist. She grunted in pain and dropped the knife, which Puss quickly swatted to the side of the cot facing the tent; it skidded off the cot, bounced off the side of the tent and slid down the short gap between the tent and cot, landing somewhere on the ground. Puss leapt off the cot away from the tent side as Fiona quickly dove in the opposite direction across the cot. Lying on her stomach, she reached down the gap between cot and bed, frantically trying to recover her knife in the dark there. Seizing the opening, Puss slid his sword from her boot and leapt upon her back. She began to react, but Puss dug his rear claws into the back of her tunic as with is front paws he grasped the sword and planted its tip against Fiona's neck just beneath the base of her skull; he exerted not quite enough pressure to break the skin but certainly enough for her to feel it.

"Do not move, Senorita," he warned. "And do not make a sound. You realize that one thrust and your life is no more?"

"So," she said, her voice betraying embarrassment and disgust but no fear, "you're going to collect your bounty after all. Congratulations. I should have let Cookie have you. That's my own stupid fault. But don't think this ends the revolution. They'll go on without me. They have the will and the means. You're just making me a martyr to our cause. Go ahead. Do what you came here to do. It's a relief not to look at your cowardly puss again."

Puss stared down at the back of Fiona's head for a few seconds more, and then sighed. "No," he said, "that is not how this shall end. I gave you my word I would not escape. I shall keep it." He pulled the sword away, turned, and then hopped off of Fiona's back and onto the cot beside her. He took a seat on the edge of the cot and stared down at the sword in his paws – the sword that had serviced him against ogres for so long – as if seeing it in a different light. A moment later he noticed Fiona rising to a sitting position beside him. She had found the knife and it was back in her hand, but she let the hand rest on her lap as her anger seemed to be abating. The blood from her wrist wound was dripping slightly, but she appeared to be ignoring it. Instead she was staring curiously down at him, as if trying to figure him out.

"Why did you do that?" she asked, her tone honestly inquisitive.

He shrugged. "The things you said…struck true," he said. "I did not realize how far I had fallen. The things I have done…I have shamed myself." He tossed his sword aside in disgust – but with dramatic flair. He then looked up at her. "It seems I have misjudged you…and the ogres. I have been a terrible fool. It is I who am the monster, and you would be right to kill me nine times over. Still, why a beauty such as you would take up the ogres' cause—"

"I am an ogre," Fiona said.

He squinted, confused, and again looked up and down her modelesque physique. "But you are—"

"I am an ogre during the night," she said. "It's a spell. When the sun is down I'm an ogre. When it's up I'm human." She tapped the stone on her necklace with the tip of her knife. "You were right; this allows me to appear ogre during the day to those that don't already know my secret. Now that you know it, you'll always see me in my real form – whichever that happens to be at the time."

"And these other ogres…they do not know your secret?"

"No. And they mustn't learn it." She suddenly pointed the knife at him. "Do you hear me?" she said sternly. "You must never tell them. Or anyone."

Puss instinctively reached to his scabbard for his sword before remembering it wasn't there. He then raised his paws in supplication. "As you command," he agreed. "But why—"

"It's complicated," she said, relaxing a bit and resting the knife on her lap again.

"Oh," he said, lowering his paws cautiously. "As you wish, Senorita."

"Just…call me 'Fiona' she said."

"Very well…Fiona," he said. "I am Puss. Puss in—" his eyes fell to his bare rear paws, and then shifted to where his boots lay on the bed. He sighed and said, "Just Puss. And upon my honor – however much I have left – I am obliged to accompany you until I have saved your life as you have spared me mine."

Fiona gave a brief, wry laugh. "It seems you just did that," she said.

"Saving you from myself doesn't count," he said.

"I might have killed you," she said.

"You had cause. You have cause now." He reached back, snagged his boots, and then pulled them to his lap. He frowned down at them. "These were awarded me as a gift to symbolize bravery and honor. I no longer deserve them." He let them drop to the ground.

Puss bowed his head and closed his eyes in shame, close to weeping. Then he felt Fiona begin petting him on the top of his head. He was surprised – then annoyed for a moment – but then he realized how good it felt and didn't object as she continued.

"To be honest," she said, "I felt much the same way about ogres for years – even though I was one half the time. Yeah, 'big stupid ugly beasts', the whole trip. I really despised my ogre self. If I could have slain that half of myself, I would have. I guess in a way I tried. It's a long story. I'll tell it to you if you'd like." She then began scratching under his chin, which felt even better. "I used to have a cat that looked a lot like you, orange fur and all. A really pretty kitty. His name was Mr. Fluffy. I truly loved him." She laughed – a real laugh, without hint of irony or mockery. It sounded almost musical. "Heavens," she continued, "that seems a lifetime ago." But then her briefly bright face grew melancholy as she reflected on the memories. Eventually she sighed. "It was a lifetime ago," she said sadly. Then she looked down at Puss. "You know, Puss, I've already got soldiers. What I really need right now is a friend. Nobody else knows my secret that I can talk to and confide in. Maybe I'm taking a big chance – maybe a stupid chance – but I'm hoping that maybe you can be that friend."

Puss looked up at her, his eyes widening – but not manipulatively so. "You would prefer that?" he asked. "Really?"

"Really, really," she said. "Although…well, I wouldn't mind you teaching me a few of those moves. I mean, with all due modesty I'm already pretty good, but you were quite spry there, and I'm always looking to learn new things."

"It would be my honor, Senori—I mean, Fiona," he said, bowing again.

"Good, then," she said, holding out her hand to him. "Friends?"

"Amigos!" Puss agreed, reaching out his paw. Fiona gently took it and they shook. As they did so, Puss noted the wound on Fiona's wrist again. "I'm…ah…very sorry about that," he said, nodding to it as she released his paw.

Fiona looked down, noticing the wound herself. "Oh, that," she said glibly, and shrugged. "Don't worry, I've had much worse. I guess I should bandage it, though."

She stood up and walked to the dresser, leaned down beside it and picked up a duffel bag. She rummaged through it for a bit—then paused as her eyes lit on something. She looked over at Puss and smiled. "While I do that," she said, withdrawing something wrapped in a cloth napkin, "would you like a snack? I've got leftover cookies."

Puss's face brightened. "That is most kind of you, Fiona," he said, then glanced at his waist. "Normally I don't indulge, but—"

"Oh, piff," Fiona said dismissively. She unwrapped the cookies, walked over to the cot, laid the napkin down beside Puss, and then stacked the cookies – three of them, and large ones – onto the napkin. "I hope you like gingerbread," she said.

"My favorite!" Puss eyed the cookies. "Perhaps one wouldn't hurt," he said. Or perhaps two, he thought.

Fiona laughed as he took the top cookie and started to eat. "Puss," she said, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

The End

Author's Note

Yes, that's finally it. I want to thank all of you who've stuck with this story over the years, especially those who've left constructive and encouraging comments. A special thanks goes out to TrudiRose, who has been my beta reader on occasion, providing in-depth feedback and useful advice. If you aren't familiar with her own stories, I strongly encourage you to check her collection out, especially if you're a Beauty and the Beast fan.