One thing was certain, that the white kitten
had nothing to do with it: –
it was the black kitten’s fault entirely.
I found this etched in the prison wall. My hands traced over the letters cut into the rough stone in a strange, jagged way. I could barely read them in the dying light. The window above me was so thin, I wasn’t sure that even air could escape from the damp, narrow room. The light was soon completely gone and I sat back onto the moldy hay bale that served as my only piece of furniture. The lines reminded me of the ending to an old children’s story. It was a warning. What wasn’t written here was where the white kitten had let punishment fall on its brother for the white one’s crime.
Is that what happened to the prisoner in here before me? I had no way to know, but I felt like the black cat now. This was only my first night arrested in the cell. I swear it wasn’t my fault, but what remained in the ashes of the crime told a different story. Two nights ago, the governor’s home was engulfed in flames. It wasn’t an accident, that part was certain, but the only person who could have gotten so far into the house was me. That was why I was here, arrested for murder of my own uncle. The only reason I was at his house in the first place was because my parents wanted me to have a good education, but now the only thing I’ll be learning is that I am guilty.
The noises of rats and creaking of doors and chains was what I had to listen to as I tried to fall asleep. I didn’t sleep well that night and the cold that had crawled through the cell window was one that no coat could keep from sinking into your bones. My light dreams were suddenly disturbed by the rattling of keys. I propped myself up on the hay bale, trying to see in the dim, grey light that heralds dawn. A slat in the door opened and a platter of food was pushed in. I reached for the platter, careful not to drop the tin cup of water and a piece of torn bread. I reached for the bread first. To my surprise, it was still soft. I guessed they must have run out of stale scraps. The water, unlike the bread, was disappointing and tasted strongly of iron and whatever prison tastes like. I was about to put the tray along with the cup back through the slat when I noticed words carved into the metal. I would normally discount it and think it not worth my time, but the way the ‘t’ curved sharply to the right and the other jagged letters caught my attention.
One thing was certain, that the white kitten
had nothing to do with it: –
it was the black kitten’s fault entirely.
I shuddered and quickly put the plate back through the narrow slot in the door. Why would someone go through the trouble to etch this story into whatever they could get their hands on? I decided to find out. Perhaps it could release the tension that had been building ever so slowly inside me as my fate looked worse with every passing hour. I didn’t have much time to think when I heard the pounding that can only be made by a number of people. I thought of how my feet would run to the beating of my heart, like rowers in time with the drum if I could escape, but there was nowhere for me to run. Keys jangled at the door and I heard the lock click. The door, sticking in its frame from years of disuse, was violently shoved open and the faint light silhouetted the figures of five men. All thoughts of kittens and fables were driven out of my head when two of the soldiers stepped into the cell and grabbed me roughly by the arms, dragging me up and off my hay perch. They had stern faces and looked at me with general distaste. One of the other two guards took shackles from the jailer who held the rattling keys, and began to lock them around my wrists. They didn’t speak or make eye contact with me. I was glad they didn’t. The four guards led me out of the prison and into the courtyard where a carriage was waiting. They unlocked the door and locked my shackles to the wall. I was left alone inside the wagon. I heard the swat of the driver’s whip as it urged the horses into a trot and clanking of the gate before we passed through it. I felt surprisingly calm. The warm sun streamed in through the barred window and with it, fresh air. I could take comfort from this at least. I tried not to think about the destination of the wagon, but inched as far as I could to look out the window.
This city was a beautiful place. It flowed effortlessly from tall buildings and narrow alleys to the rolling countryside where I spent all my summers. It was at its most beautiful time when the seasons favored it most and the warm winds of early summer swept all dampness from the city. There was only one event that had tainted the good reputation of the peaceful region. It was years before I was born. A traitor against the crown was fleeing from their crimes and hid here. When they were eventually caught and executed, my serene city was given the nickname, Traitor’s Secret. My stomach felt like I had eaten rocks as I thought how it didn’t need the name twice.
I stared out the window for hours with blank eyes. I knew where I was going. The carriage was traveling to the capital where I was to be hanged before the royal courts, but the sun had burned away the morbid thoughts that lingered in the dreams of the night before. Instead I thought about the fable scratched into the prison wall and the tray. Who would write such a message? Someone who was innocent? Someone who was being punished for another’s crimes? Maybe someone who wanted their story to be told? I didn’t understand, until I remembered the traitor that had made our town infamous. The story around him was foggy and no one really knew what happened. Rumors were told that he had been held at the same prison that I was in. With a shudder, I feel like I was walking in the footsteps of a ghost. He was also taken to be executed at the royal courts for whatever he did to deserve it, or not deserve? I can only guess at his fate, that was all I can do with shackled hands, but I continued to ponder while I still could.
The wagon traveled until evening. I had never been to the capital, but I immediately found it much different from my own homeland. The walls were sheer and for the brief moment that we passed under them, heavily guarded. The long shadows cast by the setting sun had overwhelmed the streets and lanterns had already been lit. I could feel the carriage bounding along on the narrow and uneven roads. I could hear the wheels as they suddenly slow to a halt and the rough voices that normally accompany soldiers. The door swung open to reveal the same guards that had been traveling at the front of the carriage and a few others I did not know. One was holding a lantern and the warm light was eerie in the unwelcoming environment.
I was led to another prison. This one was bigger and it seemed even darker than my previous abode. I was shoved into a cell and a guard was positioned at the door. I was not given any food, nor would I have eaten. I chose to spend my last few hours awake, but soon, the knot of fear that was ever tightening had gnawed away at my strength and I slipped into the space between nightmares and a reality that is even worse.
I dreamt I was in my uncle’s house. Even though nothing seemed amiss, I was afraid. There was something wrong. It wasn’t something I could see, but like in most dreams, it was something I could feel. The hairs on my arms prickled. A familiar voice came from the hall door.
“Titus,” called the voice. The shade of my uncle was in the open doorway. He looked at me with dead eyes and his body made of flames. He stretched out his arm to me in an invitation, but I was frozen in place. I looked to my left, and on the window sill was a small white kitten watching me.
When I woke up the next morning, I was surprised to find my cheeks wet. I sat up and wiped them away with the back of my hand. The image of my burning uncle and the mocking cat was burned into my vision. I would have thought more about it, but I am soon going to be taken to the trial. The grey sky that I can just catch a glimpse foretells dawn. The Queen will be there. I supposedly murdered my uncle, who was the governor and most likely a good friend to her majesty. She will want to see me die. I wasn’t very close with my uncle, but even I want retribution for what was done to my family. The thought reminds me that the Queen has known loss like mine as well. Her brother disappeared many years ago while they were much younger.
My thoughts are interrupted by a disturbance in the prison. They are coming for me. I can feel the silent tears returning and I close my eyes. The door opens. My hands are put in cold irons and I am guided out of the stinking cell. The open air is fresh and cold and stings my face. The sun had risen over the tops of the rooves surrounding me. Another barred carriage was waiting and the guards locked me inside as before. Within minutes, three precious minutes, we arrived. I was taken out of the vehicle. The gallows stood in the center of an open-aired circular chamber. Around me, I heard the carefree chatterings of the nobles gathered for the event. I recognized many of the them from when I had been to some of my uncle’s parties. Above me, the blue sky had not a cloud. It was a good day to die, but I couldn’t accept that fact. I wouldn’t fight the guards, there was no hope in that. It was a quiet sort of bravery that allowed me to gaze on the gallows. A solid hand was placed on my back and I was pushed up the stairs of the wooden platform. I was centered on the trapdoor. The rope was tightened around my neck. I looked up to the arched balcony. The Queen was there. I had never seen the Queen before and the first thing I noticed about her was not her face, but the black ribbon she wore around her neck in striking contrast with her brilliant white dress.
I had heard rumors that she always wore something black in remembrance of her brother. Someone official began speaking, but his words passed over me like the soft wind that had come with the arrival of the sun. I could tell the man was talking about me, but for once, I didn’t care to listen. I stared at the Queen. Her face was almost neutral, like I was something on her list she needed to check off, but there might have been a twinge of emotion behind her blank eyes. I remembered my dream while waiting for the judge to finish reading my sentence. The Queen, sitting regally on the balcony, suddenly reminded me of the white kitten, sitting smugly on the window sill. The marks on the prison wall sprang into my mind. The black kitten was the innocent traitor and her brother. The two were one, and his story was told by a biased sister. And now it was my turn.
I heard silence and knew I didn’t have much time left. I chose to say one last thing before it was too late.
“One thing was certain, that the white kitten had nothing to do with it: – it was the black kitten’s fault entirely,” I yelled with a shaking voice with eyes unwaveringly set on the Queen. Her face turned white as a sheet and from where I was, I could see her hands clench around the arms of her chair. The executioner was still coming closer. I closed my eyes.
“Wait!” The voice yelled across the crowd. I was surprised to hear that it sounded as frightened as my own. I dared to open my eyes. Everything was frozen. The executioner was stopped by the trapdoor release. The nobles were silent. Everyone stared upward, toward the balcony. The Queen’s face was still pale, but now she seemed more composed.
“Let him speak,” she commanded, her voice was steady again.
“Your Majesty?” asked the judge. The Queen looked from the judge to me.
“Did you start the fire?” She questioned. It nearly took me a second to answer.
“No.”
“Then why,” the Queen looked back to the judge, “Is this man here? Let him go at once and bring him to my palace immediately. He is an honored guest.” The Queen got up and briskly walked away. I looked after the white gown in disbelief. I was in a daze while the rope was taken from around my neck and I was guided from the platform by guards, and this time, without shackles. Instead of the carriage with barred windows and locks, I was ushered into the expensive and luxurious kind that I and my parents often rode in. Now that I was off the gallows, the realization of what happened came crashing down on me. My heartbeat matched the clopping of the horses’ hooves outside. My confused mind was still trying to make sense of everything when we arrived at the palace.
I was escorted to parlor and waited primly on the couch. I felt out of place in my dirt covered clothes. It wasn’t long before the Queen herself walked into the room, alone. Her eyes were glassy from tears she hadn’t allowed to fall.
“Where did you hear those words?” She took a seat across from me. Her voice was soft.
“They’re from a children’s story, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but they were also spoken by someone else who died in the same spot you were in.”
“Someone innocent?” I asked.
“We were taught that fable when we were young, my brother and I, but I never imagined being the twisted white kitten we always hated, until he spoke those lines before…” The Queen stopped short. I already knew the story. “It was his last words to me and he said it with such hate. I made a choice, never to make the same mistake.” Like she was suddenly acknowledging me, the Queen abruptly met my eyes. I didn’t speak. “I don’t know if you knew what you were saying or not, but I still believe you, and you are free. I will make sure you get home safely. My condolences for your uncle. He was a good man.” She got up and walked away.
I rode in a comfortable carriage back to Traitor’s Secret. To me, it was no longer a secret, and one thought whirled around in my head as the familiar green fields rolled into view. Had the white kitten really gotten away with its manipulation, or had it been eaten away at the deed that had forever stayed in its memory? Which do you think it was?
