Chapter One: The Littlest Things

Sometimes the littlest things in life are the hardest to take.

-Author Unknown

xxXxx

A tall dark cat paced the hallway, his movements short and worried. His clawed fingers scratched one ear, but it did not distract him the way he hoped it would.

From a small chair next to a simple door sat his wife, looking nothing less than terrified. She gripped the soft fabric of her dress from nerves, reminding herself not to tear the skirt with her claws.

"He's been in there for some time now," she finally said to break the terrible silence. "Is that a good sign?"

Her husband sighed. "I don't know, love. He usually takes a long time, but this illness…" he trailed off, closing his eyes in pain. Then he sighed once again. "If only it weren't so easy for him to get sick."

His wife looked down at her lap, fighting back tears. He gave her a kiss for comfort, and resumed pacing of the hallway.

After perhaps another ten minutes, the door next to the chair opened slowly. An elderly cat hobbled out on his cane. His grey face was worn, and so tired.

"Dr. Ules," the dark cat tried to say, but the physician held up one hand to stop him.

"I'm afraid there's bad news, along with the little that's good."

"There's good news this time?" the tawny cat woman asked eagerly, standing up from her chair.

"Yes, Mrs. Garrington. Your son will never have another bout of this sickness for as long as he lives. He's treaded near death's door for the past few months, but somehow he survived. If he avoids strenuous work and has a healthy diet, he'll live for many years yet."

The lady sighed deeply with relief, but her husband was still worried.

"You say there's bad news, in spite of his recovery?"

"If you want to call it that," the old doctor sighed, closing his eyes in agony. Then he took a deep breath, and looked the father in the eye.

"Mr. Garrington. Your son has fallen victim to a very rare genetic disease. On top of that, it's a disease that almost never leaves survivors. Your son is quite lucky, but I'm afraid he will bear its mark for the rest of his life."

"He's only that thin because he can barely keep any food down," the mother protested. "He'll be able to now, won't he?"

Dr. Ules shook his head. "Not that kind of mark, madam."

"Then what kind?" Mr. Garrington asked almost between his teeth, fearing the worst.

"… I hope you like the way your son looks, sir. Because he's going to look exactly like he's nine years old for the rest of his life."

ooOoo

As the sun's first rays kissed the distant mountains, the weak light flooded a small room inside a modest country manor.

On the simple bed, a kitten's eyes snapped open at the small light. He sighed, and rolled out of bed. In truth, he was still tired, but knew from experience that he would not be able to get back to sleep.

It was just as well.

He finished dressing, and took a second to glare at his reflection in the window. It glared right back through the morning light, almost daring him to say something.

He gave a growl, and forced himself to turn away from the terrible sight.

It wasn't that he was ugly. On the contrary, he looked like a male version of his mother, who had been quite the beauty. He knew his father took comfort in seeing her green eyes looking up at him. Even his fur was patterned just like hers, with a soft orange underlining each eye and covering the majority of his body. The bottom part of his face, along with his chest, was a nice ivory contrast.

If he had never fallen sick, he wouldn't mind his appearance in the least, but…

It had only been two years, after all. It would be a few more before his unique ailment would become obvious.

He let himself out of his room, and started down the hallway to distract him from the constant depression. Despite the thickness of the curtains, he could still hear his two older brothers snoring on the other side.

He bit back a melancholy smirk. It was terrible of him, to like Harold and Louis best when they were fast asleep. Then he sighed and made his lonely way down the staircase.

At least when his brothers were asleep, they weren't thinking up new ways to say 'runt'. His body twitched violently, just thinking the hated word.

"… and just how much did we lose last night?" his father's voice asked sickly, making the small cat stop in his tracks.

He pressed his small body against the wall between himself and the corner just beyond the stairs.

"Half an acre's worth has been picked clean, sir. All the workmen you've set to watch the vineyard either saw nothing, or a giant shadow," Jeremy replied in a hesitant tone. "Whoever this thief is, he's very good."

"That's not what I need to hear! If we keep losing our prime stock, our livelihood will be worthless!"

"Father?" the small tawny cat said in a kittenish voice, deciding to come out of hiding. He poked his head around the corner, making his father stop pacing the front room to look at him.

"Humbert. Up with the sun again, I see," his father sighed, although his tired blue eyes were glowing with a hint of pride.

The orange and cream cat nodded, his light green eyes worried. "Father, is there anything I can do to help? About the thief, I mean."

Arthur Garrington sighed, and walked over to his youngest son for a brief embrace. He had to kneel in order to do it, but he didn't mind. "I'm afraid not, my boy, although I appreciate the offer."

"It is more than the other two are willing to give," Jeremy grumbled under his breath.

Arthur gave his chief butler a stern glance, but sighed as he stood up again. "I honestly don't know what I'm going to do with Harold and Louis. Tell me truly, Humbert; were your brothers in the cellars again last night?"

He nodded solemnly. "I warned them you would be angry, if you found out."

Arthur closed his eyes in pain. "If the thief doesn't drive me into bankruptcy, your older brothers will. I'm so thankful your mother didn't have to see this."

Humbert looked down at his feet somberly. It had been two years since he had stopped growing, but only one since Jennifer Garrington caught an incurable cold.

"I miss her," Humbert said very simply.

Arthur looked at him, his eyes mirroring the young cat's pain. "As do I, my boy. As do I." Then he shook off his melancholy with difficulty, and smiled at his youngest son. "Why don't you help me with the books, Humbert? We'll need to do some more juggling, if we want to make ends meet this month."

"Of course, Father," he said almost too quickly.

There wasn't a whole lot he could do, thanks to his weak body, but he did possess a talent for paperwork.

ooOoo

It was noon, before Humbert's brothers could be bothered to join the rest of the household.

Harold was the first to stumble into the dining hall for lunch, holding one hand to his head as he used the other to keep his balance.

"My my; up so soon, son?" Arthur asked dryly after sipping from his tea.

Harold grunted as he nearly fell into the chair closest to the door. "I'm sorry, Father; I had a bit of trouble getting to sleep last night."

"I suppose it would have been difficult. The cellar can't be all that comfortable, can it?"

Harold flinched convulsively, and sent his little brother an angry glare. "Snitch," he hissed angrily.

"He would have found out anyway," Humbert pointed out as he poured his brother a cup of tea; fighting back the urge to sigh. "I did warn you, remember?"

Harold glared at his brother with eyes that were more ice than blue. "That doesn't mean you have to go and-"

"Actually, it does," Arthur said firmly, cutting off his firstborn. "The thief is cutting into our revenue; I can't afford for you and Louis to make free with the merchandise. I seem to recall forbidding you from the cellars. Repeatedly," he added with emphasis.

"We're just checking for quality, Father," Harold tried to say in a convincing manner, but Arthur knew better.

"How many barrels will it take to convince you that it's fine? We're a good ten barrels short of last year, thanks to you and Louis!" Arthur snapped. Then he paused, and closed his eyes to take a deep breath to calm himself. "In any case, I'm having Theodore install a lock on the cellar, along with constant guards."

"But Father-"

"No buts. If I can't trust you and Louis to leave the inventory alone, I have to take measures of my own."

About then, Louis stumbled through the long brown curtain, and bumped against a smaller table before heading toward the dining table. He had to take an extra moment, leaning on the dark wood as he breathed deeply.

"Father's favorite snitched on us," Harold hissed at him, making the other brother look up and glare at the youngest with icy mint eyes.

As Louis sat by his twin, Humbert was once again struck by how opposite his brothers looked.

Perhaps opposite wasn't quite the word. Reversed?

Yes, that was more appropriate. Both Harold and Louis had stripes covering their heads and back, much like a tiger. Harold had inherited his father's dark grey fur, although his stripes were nearly a golden orange. Louis, on the other hand, had pale ivory fur, but his stripes were also deep orange.

'Night and day, but only in appearance,' Humbert concluded grimly around a sip of mulberry tea.

If not for their coloring, he doubted that even their father would be able to tell which was which.

If only…

"Now now, enough with pointing fingers. And you know I don't play favorites," Arthur said firmly as his older sons half-heartedly sipped the tea Humbert had poured for them. "We have a crisis on our hands, and we must do something about it soon."

"The thief again?" Louis asked around a yawn. "Haven't the guards caught him yet?"

"I'm afraid not. Whoever is stealing our best mulberries is quite skilled. If he is not caught soon, we could quite possibly lose the vineyard itself."

"We have more than just mulberries, Father," Harold tried to reason.

"Perhaps, but it's the mulberry wine that's made our fortune. Doesn't the king himself order a barrel or ten every season?" Humbert pointed out as he nibbled a small sandwich.

He immediately felt a strong kick underneath the table, probably from Louis. Not that it mattered which brother did it; he still yelped in pain.

If only it weren't so easy for him to get hurt!

"Harold! Louis! What have I told you about Humbert?" Arthur roared, swiftly standing up from his chair at the head of the table. "You know how delicate he is!"

"I'm not that delicate," Humbert murmured, even as he sorely rubbed his leg, near the kneecap. He had to speak softly, to keep from crying.

Arthur sent a withering glare at his snickering older sons, walking the short distance around the table to check Humbert's leg. "I find it interesting that the two of you are behaving more like spoiled children than your little brother ever has. Are you all right, son?"

Humbert didn't want to look his father in the eye, but he still nodded. 'I hate this weak little body.'

Keeping a glare on his older boys, Arthur pointedly sat right next to his youngest to discourage further violence. "Since you two are feeling so muscular, I believe you should assist Henry and the others tonight. The thief is very elusive, and we need every strong body we can get."

"What? But Louis was the one that kicked him!" Harold complained.

"No way, that was completely you! Father, we-"

"No more buts; I grow weary of them. You and Harold will assist the guards with finding the thief tonight. Consider it part of the payment for those ten barrels you two demolished."

Humbert looked up, the pain beginning to fade in his leg. "Can I help?"

At first he thought no one had heard him. But then he realized just how silent the room was.

Louis stifled a snicker, assuring him that he had been heard.

"Humbert," Arthur struggled to say. "If you were healthy, I'd say yes in a heartbeat, but…"

"How healthy do I have to be, to be a lookout? Even if he runs away when I call for help, won't that save at least some of our mulberries?" Humbert tried to reason, almost desperately. "Please, Father. I don't want to be a burden on the family for the rest of my life. Let me help."

Arthur looked at him, his large sapphire eyes filling with tears of pride.

ooOoo

'This isn't what I had in mind,' Humbert wanted to grumble, but it wouldn't have done any good.

"Remember, son; if you notice anything at all, give a shout," Arthur reminded him from far below.

The small kitten nodded, and absently played on his flute. When his father had informed him that he would be spending his time as a lookout inside the tall tower on the far end of the mulberry field, Humbert figured he could at least bring his most prized possession for company.

"If he keeps playing that thing, the thief won't come, anyway," Harold complained loudly.

"Excellent idea! Play as long as you can, Humbert!" the father cried out, making sure that the kitten could hear him.

Humbert responded with a half-hearted trill. 'How can I possibly be of help when I can barely see the entire orchard from here?'

"Come along, boys; we need to start making our rounds," Arthur reminded his older sons in a sterner tone, gesturing for each boy to take a separate path away from the tower before leaving himself.

Humbert was grateful for that. If his brothers had been allowed to stay, they would have doubtlessly started scaring him for volunteering.

His flesh recoiled in horror, remembering their favorite method of torture. His horror was instantly reflected by his prized instrument.

'No no, don't think about that! Humans aren't real! Humans can't be real!'

His breath turned shakier by the minute, until he could barely play at all. After fifteen minutes of struggling, he slipped his small flute into a specially made pocket inside his coat. Then he started pacing the small room at the top of the tower.

'I need to take my mind off humans. A species that cruel couldn't truly exist. Tea time, perhaps? Yes, wonderful tea time!'

His legs couldn't pace for very long, making him collapse in his seat again. Using every bit of will he had, he thought about those lovely afternoons he could spend with his father and a nice hot cup of mulberry tea. He sighed in resignation after a few minutes.

He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he had long grown tired of mulberry tea. It was as delicious as ever, but… it was the same thing, every day. Certainly, it was a family specialty, and naturally, he was grateful that his stomach was too delicate to handle the family wine. If he weren't so fragile, he might be as badly addicted to the stuff as his older brothers.

And yet, he wanted to try something new. He bit his lip, wondering if the cooks or his father would mind if he tried his hand at making another type of tea, any other type of tea, just for the sake of needed variety.

Suddenly, his soft mint eyes flickered to the distance. They widened in disbelief as a gasp escaped his throat.

Even with his excellent night vision, he could barely see it. But he didn't quite believe it.

Heading straight toward him, and the vineyard, was a giant bird!