The Catbyrd Seat (4 page)

“Perfect,” Whiska laughed, becoming more and more confident as a handful of other felines stepped forward to offer their assistance with the campaign, dividing the various jobs up between them.

Whiska and his mighty army of cats would be a force to be reckoned with, and it was going to take an awful lot of hardwork and campaigning from the opposition to even get a slight look in. It was a good job, then, that the opposition had Piggles.

***

Piggles was a lot more resourceful and imaginative than either Mr. Byrd or Cociel had initially given her credit for. Despite both having known her for a long time, and having been well aware that she was a vivacious reader with her own opinions, they hadn’t reckoned on her taking to the political venture of campaigning with such ferocity and tenacity.

After advising Mr Byrd that he needed to get a Campaign HQ in the heart of the Reservation and promising him that she would take care of it, within two days of the campaign beginning, she had done exactly that.

While it was illegal for mice to leave the Reservation except on Shopping Day, it was entirely legal for other animals from the Kingdom to come and go in the Reservation whenever they pleased. As such, nobody blinked an eye when she walked right in with a big smile on her face and a couple of rucksacks slung over her shoulders. It had been a long while since she’d been on the Reservation, and it took her a couple of minutes to get her bearings, but she checked the signposts up on the corner and soon found out where she was going.

She passed a few mice here and there who recognized her from the Kingdom and said hello. She smiled and returned the greeting, then went about her own business just as they went about theirs.

Eventually, she passed through Mouse Main Street, where the small handful of mouse shops were. Then she walked through the Park, where a few young mice were riding their bikes or kicking balls around. Finally, she emerged out the other end of the Park at Section C, but she walked right through that, past all the houses, and into Section D. The first few houses were the occupied ones. She could see that right away. The gardens had been tended to and looked after, and a couple of them had vehicles outside.

Most of the houses further up into the section were in a sorry state of disrepair. They had broken windows, doors falling off, cobwebs and creepy crawlies everywhere. She walked up and down the streets for a moment, looking at each house in turn and trying to work out which one was the best. Some were worse than others. There were one or two that looked as though they’d been recently lived in. Perhaps the resident had died or moved to a different part of the Reservation but, for whatever reason, there was no longer anyone staying there.

She picked out one of those, rather than the completely dilapidated ones, and marched right up to the front door, pushing it open and going on inside.

The house she had chosen was situated nearer to the occupied houses than some of the others, which was a good thing, as it meant she was closer to the center of the Reservation and the remainder of its citizens.

Once she was inside, she put down her two rucksacks and opened them up. One of them contained a homemade banner, which had been carefully folded up so that it would fit into the bag. She pulled it out and flapped it open, unraveling it dramatically onto the floor and gazed down at her work, pleased.

Next, she dragged the banner outside and attached it to the front of the house, so that it hung up above the door, advertising to anyone who happened to walk past or nearby what the abandoned house had now become - “Byrd’s Books”.

With the banner up, she dashed back inside and opened up the other rucksack, taking out a handful of books which she distributed on an old abandoned table that had been left there from the previous owners. It wasn’t much of a beginning for a bookstore, but it was a start, and besides, the entire thing was really only a front for the Campaign HQ. Then, she took the two empty rucksacks and ran back to the Kingdom to fetch Mr. Byrd and Cociel, who had been busy printing off the new campaign fliers – the next items on the list.

Because of its relatively secluded location, very few people knew about the new shop until Piggles, Mr. Byrd, and Cociel actually decided to tell them, so she was able to leave things exactly as they were and went to tell her other two colleagues that the deed had been done, and had passed without incident.

Cociel had designed the fliers himself, and Mr. Byrd had printed them up at the Book Factory. They were simple, but effective.

VOTE MR. BYRD, they said across the top. There was a big red cross in the center and, at the bottom, their slogan: FOR CHANGE, FOR THE MICE, FOR THE FUTURE.

They filled one of the rucksacks with fliers, and filled the second with more books for their store, which they’d taken directly from The Book Factory. Then all three of them made their way back to the Reservation.

Cociel, who had once again left the confines of his home illegally, hid himself among the folds of Piggles’ backpack, and was slipped back into the Reservation unnoticed.

All three of them made their way to the house, where they stacked up the leaflets on the table next to the books. Finally, they were ready to open up their new book store/campaign headquarters.

The group split up, each of them going to different sections of the Reservation and spreading the word about the shop, inviting mice to come and take a look and talk to them about the books they had on offer. Soon, the business was booming, with everyone intrigued and excited by the thought of something new happening at the Reservation. And of course, whenever anyone was in the book shop, Mr. Byrd used it as an opportunity not just to talk about books, but also to give them a flier and tell them about the new election campaign.

Some mice were too afraid to take a flier away with them.

Some slipped one inside the cover of their book and hid it under their arm.

Others were bold enough to walk out and carry it freely.

Others rushed out without saying another word once they realized what the ulterior motive of the bookstore really was.

It was the same mixed reaction Cociel had already received the day before when he first tried to tell the local mice about Mr. Byrd’s campaign, but this was a good start, and at least they were getting
some
reaction. At least they were spreading the word. And they really were.

Mice have always been terrible gossips and, as there was very little else to do in the Reservation the majority of the time, the gossip soon spread like wildfire. Before long, every mouse in the whole of the Reservation knew about Mr. Byrd’s campaign, and had something to say about it.

The buzz that was created by the new challenger to the Government was somewhat alarming to Whiska, and he realized he’d better launch his own campaign pretty quickly. After the successful meeting of Parliament, he kicked his team into action and the Vote Whiska movement began. Of course, they heard about the new book shop that had opened up and so, with the typical underhanded conniving expected of the Whiska administration, they sent in one of their loyal mouse supporters in an undercover capacity.

Ruskie, although a familiar face to Cociel, was a relative unknown to Piggles, who had taken over the day-to-day running of the new book store while Mr. Byrd was still busy in the Kingdom operating his old one, only coming into the Reservation at the end of the day when his own work was done. She had passed on the café to her sister, and was more than happy to get the hassle of it off her hands. Café work had never been to her satisfaction. She was much happier doing something like this, and she enjoyed spreading the word about Mr. Byrd and the good work he would do once he became Prime Minister of the Reservation, which she was beginning to believe he would do.

She treated Ruskie just like any other prospective voter that came into Byrd’s Books. She allowed him to inspect and examine the books at his own free will, talked to him about some of them and advised him on what he might like to read and then, as he was paying for the book and about to leave, she switched on to the election spiel.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, sir,” she began. “But Mr Byrd, the patron of this fine establishment, will be running for the position of Prime Minister in a week’s time at the Reservation elections.”

“I have heard,” said Ruskie with a nod. “Word travels quickly in the Reservation.”

“That was exactly what I was hoping,” smiled Piggles as she handed him a flier. “Mr. Byrd will be a force for good in the Reservation, and he only has the mice’s best interests at heart. I hope we can count on your vote come election day, and if you have any further questions, please don’t hesitate to come and see me again, or our other campaign manager, Cociel. Mr. Byrd himself will be here every evening from 5 `til 9, so you’re more than welcome to come and see him, too.”

She had said the words so many times to so many different mice over the course of the past two days since the book shop opened, that they tripped off her tongue with efficiency and ease, as though she’d been campaigning her entire life. Sometimes she surprised even herself; politics seemed to come so naturally to her.

“That’s very interesting,” said Ruskie. He took the flier, slipped it into the book he had bought, and walked out, heading straight for the Kennel of Parliament to tell Whiska what he had just uncovered.

It was just as they had suspected. This wasn’t any simple book shop. It was the campaign HQ and the very heart of the opposition.

Strip poured himself another saucer of full fat milk and then leaned over and lazily poured one for his companion, Whiska. He leaned forwards to lap it up, his rough pink tongue coming out of his mouth and eagerly lapping up the tasty drink. The two of them had been basking in the glorious summer heat of Huntsville, out in the open air of the palace grounds for the past three hours, gorging themselves on saucer after saucer of the best milk they could get their paws on.

Strip loved the decadence of being a Prince, and everything that came with it. He would have been quite content to lie there all day doing nothing, but Whiska had other things on his mind and, every so often, he would break their relaxing silence to start complaining about Mr. Byrd, and work himself into a fret over it.

“Just chill out,” Strip yawned, scratching at his neck half-heartedly and rolling around in the grass, getting bits of green all over his black fur. “He’s not going to win. There’s no way he’ll win.”

“Well, that’s what I thought too, until I realized that probably every single mouse in the Reservation has gone to that darn book shop of his and been given one of those stupid fliers.” He hadn’t been able to get the thought out of his head, ever since Ruskie had paid him a visit that morning to tell him what he’d discovered at ‘Byrd’s Books’. Not even three saucers of whole milk could help him unwind.

“I’m sure Grady can pay them all a visit,” suggested Strip. “Him and his buddies can go to every single house in the Reservation and threaten them.”

“But that would take ages. And we haven’t got that long left. Only a week.”

“Fine. How about… we set someone up to watch the book shop and everyone who comes out of it or goes into it is taken to one side and threatened.”

“That’s a better idea,” agreed Whiska. “But it would still take ages. To target specific people seems too… long winded. We need to do something big, that everyone will pay attention to.”

Strip lapped at his milk and thought about it for a moment, batting his paw at a fly that buzzed past. “We need to discredit him,” he said after a while. “Make it so that the mice don’t actually
want
to vote for him anymore.”

“Well yeah, that’s a great idea,” said Whiska. He stretched out his front paws and extended his claws, checking them for sharpness just in case he needed to land them in a mouse at some point later that day. Or even better, a bird. He leapt up and began attacking a tree, using it to sharpen them as he turned and continued to talk to Strip over his shoulder. “But how on earth are we going to do that?” he asked. “Mr. Byrd is popular! Much more popular than I originally imagined!”

“Most mice are still nervous about voting for him,” Strip shrugged.

“Yes, yes, you’re right, that’s true,” nodded Whiska, retracting his claws and noticing proudly how they sparkled and shimmered in the sunlight. He withdrew them back into the soft safety of his paw once more. “They’re scared of me, as well they should be. All they need is to be tipped over the edge into my direction, and they’d back out altogether.”

“Yeah, Whiska. It wouldn’t take much at all.”

“But how?”

Strip smiled and licked his lips. “My father is a soft hearted old soul, really,” he yawned.

“Your father? What does he have to do with this?”

“Well…truth be told…Mr. Byrd has been doing something rather naughty for a very long while now, and my father has turned a blind eye to it because, in the grand scheme of things, he viewed it as not that important. It is, however, against the law…”

Whiska leaned forwards eagerly, his ears pricked up. 

***

It had been a long day at The Book Factory, but not a particularly exciting or fruitful one. With a total of three customers, Mr. Byrd hoped that the pop up version in the Reservation had done slightly better business that day than the original in the Kingdom. Things had certainly been taking off in terms of the election campaign though, and everyone was talking about, all over Huntsville and not just in the Reservation. Although he only had three people
buying
books, he’d had dozens more popping in just to say hello and ask him whether it was really true, how he was getting along, whether he thought he stood any chance etc. Mr. Byrd tried to answer all the questions as well as he could, knowing that he had better practice his public speaking for the campaign, but he was rather glad when it came to the end of the day and when he could close up his shop.

He was eager to get across to the Reservation and meet up with Piggles, to see how she’d been getting on handing out the fliers and talking to people. She was certainly much better at it than he was, and he was glad to have her on his team. Cociel, too, had been hard at work, talking to the younger mice and trying to get them on their side, riding around on his bike with his friend Tails and handing out fliers to people at random.

He perched on the edge of the counter to do a quick check of his stock and work out how many new books he needed to order in that week. Then, he would be ready to lock up and leave. He sang happily to himself as he worked, lost in what he was doing until a heavy handed knock at the door interrupted him.

“We’re closed,” he called out, pleasantly enough.

The knock came again.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” he called out once more, this time raising his voice a little louder than he had done previously. “Come back tomorrow morning at 9.”

The knock came again, this time louder, and even more persistent.

Mr. Byrd tutted under his breath and flew across to unlock the door, wondering who on earth it could be at this time who was so impatient and so reluctant to listen.

As soon as he had unlocked it, the door burst open with the weight of the animal behind it. A fearsome lioness, wearing the emblem of the Feline Police upon her breast, her teeth bared at Mr. Byrd as she stepped into his store, growling unnecessarily, followed by a male lion companion just behind her.

“We have come to escort you to the Reservation Prison,” spoke the lioness.

“What? What for?”

“You’re under arrest.”

When a lion and a lioness come knocking on your door, you don’t protest and so, Mr. Byrd packed up his things, locked up the Book Factory, and went nice and quietly with his new captors, fluttering just above them as they escorted him down the road – in full view of the watching and amazed residents of the Kingdom – and towards the North end of Huntsville where the gates of the Reservation stood.

From there, he was walked to the Prison and incarcerated in a private cell in the dark, damp dungeons, shivering and cold and waiting for news of his trial, still unsure as to why he had been imprisoned. Downhearted and depressed, Mr. Byrd sat down in the corner of the prison cell and wrapped his wings around himself to try and keep warm.

Word spread quickly on the Mouse Reservation, and it wasn’t long before Cociel and Tails had heard about what had happened.

They were on their bikes, on their way home from school when it happened, hurling out ‘Vote Mr. Byrd’ fliers as they passed other mice. One of their supporters, a young mouse just a few years older than them, was yelling their names, waving her arms and trying to flag them down.

“Cociel! Tails! Cociel!”

They slammed on their brakes and screeched to a halt.

“What is it?” Cociel asked.

“Have you heard what’s happened?”

The blank, confused faces of Cociel and Tails answered that question for them.

“Mr. Byrd has been arrested,” the mouse continued, giving them the devastating news.

“What?! What for?”

“We don’t know,” answered the mouse. “Nobody knows.”

“For breaking the law,” came a firm, malicious purr behind them. They turned and looked up at Grady, towering above them all with a snarl on his features, his whiskers bristling. “Mr. Byrd was holding private classes in his book shop, for mice from the Reservation,” he told them. “And now, he is being punished for it, and rightly so. Of course, this will make his claim for Prime Minister entirely invalid. Now that he’s a citizen of the dungeon and not the Kingdom, he will no longer be allowed to stand for the election.” He gave a short, evil laugh then, with a swish of his long tail, scampered off, no doubt to threaten and bully some other members of the Reservation, and leaving the three young mice with depressed, sinking feelings in the pits of their stomachs.

“That’s it, then,” Tails sighed, her shoulders sagging. “It’s all over.”

“It was a nice dream, when we had it,” agreed the other mouse quietly, turning and walking away with a dejected expression.

“No…” Cociel shook his head.

“What?” asked Tails.

“No,” he said again, a little louder. “It isn’t over. This isn’t the end. I won’t allow them to do this.”

“We don’t have a choice, Cossy. They already have.”

“We have to go see Piggles. She needs to know anyway, and she might have an idea about what we can do. Come on.” He mounted onto his bike again and pedaled off, shortly followed by Tails, the two of them riding into Section D and to the Campaign HQ.

Piggles was just finishing up with a customer when they arrived, and she too, was equally – if not more – upset than they were to hear the news. But just like Cociel, she wasn’t prepared to give up just yet.

“Come on, I’ll close up shop,” she said. “We have to get ourselves over to the prison immediately and find out what’s going on.”

“And risk being thrown in the dungeons ourselves?” Tails’ eyes widened.

“You don’t have to come,” said Cociel flatly. “But if the same thing had happened to me, I’d expect you to try and get me out, not just stand by and accept it.”

Tails looked a little guilty at that. “I would, Cociel.”

“Well then. You can help Mr. Byrd too.”

Tails nodded and swallowed down her fear, and the three of them rushed through the streets of the Reservation to the heart of the autocracy – Catting Street, where the Prime Minister lived.

The lions on patrol immediately roared and leapt towards them, threatening them to keep back, but Piggles stood her ground and stepped forwards, speaking for all of them. “We’re here to visit Mr. Byrd,” she said.

“He’s not allowed visitors,” one of the lions replied.

“Could you please give us some details as to his incarceration?” she asked politely.

“I’m just the guard,” said the lion. “I don’t know anything about it.”

“Then perhaps you could fetch someone who would. I am a resident of the Kingdom and I don’t expect to be treated in such a fashion in an allegedly free society.”

The lion growled and then looked at his counterpart as if unsure what to do next. They weren’t used to being talked to in such a way. Normally, the residents of the Reservation would cower and obey, never daring to actually stand up against authority.

The other lion nodded his ascent, then slinked off to fetch someone.

A moment later, he returned with a cat; a quite elderly, female cat, who looked as though she had some arthritis in her back left paw.

“Whiska is not available at the moment,” she announced. Her voice was kindly and not at all as bitter and angry as the trio had been expecting. “I am his mother, Tilde. Is there anything I can help you with instead?”

“Actually yes,” said Piggles. “I think you might be able to. Our friend Mr. Byrd has been arrested recently. We understand it was because he was allegedly offering private lessons to mice from the Reservation.”

“Yes, I believe so,” answered the cat.

“Could you tell me what actual evidence they have to confirm his guilt?” asked Piggles.

“They found some books and some notes in his store.”

“Did they have a search warrant to take them?”

“I should imagine so, yes,” replied Tilde, surprised by the question. “Why wouldn’t they? Anyway, all this will come up in court, I expect.”

“There will be an actual court date then?” piped up Cociel. “A proper trial?”

“Of course there will. Why would you even ask such a thing? You can’t just throw people into prison indefinitely without giving them a trial.”

“Well that’s what happened to my mother!” Cociel protested. “She was never given a proper trial, and she didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“I very much doubt that’s true,” said Tilde, a small note of impatience in her voice, as though she had heard all about the troublesome mice and their lies.

“When’s the court date then?” asked Piggles. “Do you know?”

“I don’t, but I shall ask Whiska upon his return.”

“Can you make sure that he actually gets one, please?”

“Of course he will,” Tilde tutted and swished her tail, turning round and hobbling away. “Now please, leave. You are all trying my patience.”

“You heard her,” growled the lion. “You’ve had an audience with the Prime Minister’s mother, which is more than I can say for most. You should count yourselves lucky you got that much. Now leave!” He gave another fearsome roar which was so powerful the trio were literally knocked backwards by the sheer force of it, the wind from his breath causing them to stagger away.

“Alright, yes, we’re going,” Piggles hastily agreed, nodding at her two companions as they all scarpered away; Tails considerably shaken up by the experience.