The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat by Damon Plumides

down me door, walked right over to the pot of stew I had on the fire, and just took it. I had been working on that stew for hours. Then you bashed me over the head with your cudgel and left me there bleeding . . . you bloody Neanderthal. You two are just right for each other. A couple of heartless animals you are,” he rambled.
    The queen stood there aghast, her mouth hanging open. She could not believe what she was hearing from this insolent rodent. He simply would not shut up.
    â€œAnd another thing . . . How did you expect for me to pay more in taxes than I made? I gotta eat, too. You’re not too good at the mathematics are you? You left me destitute while you used my tax dollars to throw all those extravagant parties. Parties I wasn’t even invited to. I’m almost glad I am here now so I don’t have to hear your name or anguish about big boy here come crashing through me door. I am happy as a rat because that’s all I ever was as a human. At least now, I don’t have to be pretentious.”
    â€œWell, Edsel,” interjected the queen, hoping to get a chance to speak before the rat resumed his ranting. “If you will give me a moment to retort, I will attempt to do so.
    â€œI’ve . . . uh . . . recently discovered that there has been a spell on me for many years, and I have finally concluded that the Witch is responsible.” The queen was scrambling to come up with a story quickly. This was not a position she often found herself in. “That is me, all my guards and taxmen, and Warwick Vane Bezel III too. I have traveled here at great expense and endured this wretched forest to see if . . . uh . . . I could get the spell lifted so that I can right all the wrongs that have been committed in my name. Now don’t you appreciate my sacrifices?”
    â€œTell it to someone else, Queenie. You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? I may be a rat, but please don’t assume that I am daft. The Witch put a spell on you? Tell me some more porky pies. You’re not pulling any wool over these eyes, I tell you. That’s rich . . . Like somehow it was the Witch who made you the greedy thing that you are. I tell you this. You don’t need help being rotten. You practically invented it.”
    She was dumbfounded.
    â€œJust go on down . . . you know she’s waiting for you. She’s got eyes everywhere, she has. She’s known you’re coming ever since you set foot in Red Moon.” He gestured that she should follow the path as it went deep into the cave.
    With their every step, it got darker. Warwick lit a torch, but even by the torchlight, the cave seemed to go on and on. It was the smells they noticed first. They were initially faint, but gained in intensity as they moved along the path.
    First, there was a really foul and pungent smell like a stagnant water pool. The walls of the cave were bleeding moisture, and Druciah guessed they must be near an underground stream. Next, the scent was joined by a smell of rotting wood. Tree roots stuck through the wet clay walls in a massive tangle. Some of them were rotten as if they supported trees on the surface that had long ago died off. Mushrooms and other fungi feasted on the decaying wood.
    Warwick Vane Bezel III noticed that there seemed to be no animals about. It is unusual, he thought. In fact, he couldn’t recall seeing even an insect since they’d left Edsel. Soon they came to notice the signs of habitation. The mud walls were gone, and the party found itself surrounded by clean, bare rock. Notches carved out of the walls housed small glass jars, each of which emitted a strange green light. Warwick nodded to the guard to examine one.
    The glow was generated by the bodies of luminescent caterpillars gingerly feasting on vine leaves. It really was ingenious. It was a natural adaptation of insect larvae that the Witch had adopted for her purposes. The cave path was now actually well lit, and the