All the Dust that Falls

Chapter 122: Herding Cats

The cat's extended claws barely missed the fluffy end of my mop. I had to act fast to keep the appendage from being ripped from my body. I started to back up, swerving one way then the other to keep the cat from catching the pompom, but no matter where I moved it, the cat continued its relentless pursuit.

At first, I thought it was a game, kind of like the one we played with my sanitation lamp. But the cat’s continued persistence and the fury of its motions indicated otherwise. Trying to defuse the situation, I gave up on trying to dry the cat and defensively retracted my mop. With a quick pivot, I darted to the side of the door, providing a clear path out to the hallway. Without a target and distracted by the possibility of escape, the cat took off as though the castle was full of demons again.

With an impossibly fast patter of little paws, the orange menace disappeared in a trail of wet spots and puddled water. With a mental sigh, I popped out my mop again and started cleaning up the mess it had left. It wasn’t hard to get the area clean, of course. I didn’t even have to touch the floor for my mop to retrieve such a small amount of liquid. But still, it was the principle of the thing.

Luckily, now that the cat was gone, I didn’t have to worry about any unintended side effects of my mop. I wasn’t sure what would happen if my fully-powered mop got too near a living being. I mean, it had damaged even the large demon, and that was way stronger than anything around here. Of course, that was because it had touched its inner fluids directly, but the cat was mostly water inside, even if it was congealed. Still, it wasn’t something I was willing to test out.

Following the trail of droplets, I tracked my furry friend all the way down a hallway and up a flight of stairs up to the second level. This slowed me down as, in order to reach all the wet spots on the stairs, I had to go a little up the ramp and either reach out with my mop or hop a little with my thrusters to get at the offending paw prints. I really needed to get better at this hovering thing.

Going by air was not my preferred method of travel, but even I couldn’t deny its usefulness. Rolling along the ground was far superior for many reasons, but it mostly allowed for more optimal inspection of surfaces and provided proximity for my cleaning functions to be maximally efficient. As neither of these was truly a consideration for myself, I might need to reconsider my stance on optimal travel methods. For emergencies only, of course.

Eventually, I caught up with the cat, who had found an open door to one of the rooms that held some of Beatrice’s pets. At least, they seemed like pets.

The little scaled things were kept in glass boxes under small glass globes that radiated light and heat. Next to one of the balls sat a very angry, very wet cat furiously licking its fur. I had to admire its dedication to keeping itself clean, but if it would just let me help…

As I got too close to the cat's position, it ceased cleaning itself to hiss at me. Its posture stiffened, head lowering between its shoulders and glaring at me. Not wanting a confrontation, I backed up slightly and made calming motions with my claw. I’m not sure it understood my meaning, but it slowly returned to its grooming again.

Well, guess that was that. Maybe it would change its mind later.

—-

Bee and Tony started moving at a jog towards their prize. As they got closer to the cluster of white fluffy clouds off in the distance, they started being able to make out the heads and legs of the individual sheep milling about in a mass of bodies. Once they were about 50 feet away from the herd, they stopped at the top of the hill to examine them.

“Now what?” Tony asked.

“What do you mean, ‘now what’?” Bee asked indignantly. “You’re the farm boy. I thought you would know what to do here. I mean, I think this is the closest I’ve ever been to a sheep.” She looked around to get a bearing on their surroundings. The sheep were gathered in a kind of earthen bowl formed by three slight hills of plains.

“I don’t know anything about sheep. I was very clear that we never kept any. I’m - I was - a farmer, not a shepherd.” Tony shot back. Then, in a more thoughtful tone, he mulled over their options. “Maybe we just walk up to them? They had previous owners right? Maybe if we have food they’ll come with us?”

“Have food? They eat grass! They’re standing on their food. What are we going to offer them?” Bee said, exasperated. “But sure, let's just try walking up to them. Aren’t sheep herded for a reason?”

“Yeah, but most people use dogs or something for that. I suppose if you stand on the other side of them we can prevent them from just running away if I get too close.” Tony said.

“Do you really need to get close to them? If we both work together, maybe we can just force them towards the castle.” Bee suggested.

Tony shrugged. “I think it would be good to get a feeling for them. But we don’t have to. We have to see what they’ll do when we get close to them in the first place right? Or else, how’d we plan on herding ‘em?”

“Fine. But if we make them run, let's at least make them run in the right direction.”

“Of course, I’m not an idiot.” Tony said, sounding slightly offended. Pointing at one of the far hills. “Why don’t you go stand over there, and I’ll come in from a bit of an angle.”

Moving into position, Bee watched as Tony strafed around the other side of the flock of sheep. When she was in position, he started trying to carefully approach the sheep. Walking slowly, he spoke softly to the animals as he moved. She couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but it seemed soothing. Once he got a few feet from the edge of the sheep, he paused to see how they would react.

The sheep didn’t do anything interesting. A few looked up at him but quickly went back to snuffling the grass. Bee and Tony shared a look, slightly confused about how to handle the situation. He took a single experimental step forward. Immediately, the sheep acted as if they were a hive mind. Somehow they all knew to dart in the same direction at the same time. Inconveniently, they didn’t move in the direction Bee and Tony were herding them toward, but off to the side.

All the sheep, that is, except for one on the far side that didn’t quite get the message and took off in a different direction. Before either of them could react, it realized the rest of the flock wasn’t with it anymore and quickly veered around in a panic. With a burst of speed, it merged with the main mass of wool again.

Bee was the first to react as she tried to get in front of the sheep to prevent them from getting too far away. With her high level and speed, outrunning the sheep wasn’t much of an issue. She got in front of the sheep and stopped in only a handful of seconds. To her surprise though, they didn’t stop and look at her as she had expected. Instead, they took another angle and dashed off again.

Looking up at the sky, Bee sighed with frustration before she set off after them again.

—

Harold wasn’t having a good time. The first day he had shown up at the College of the Undead had been alright. Percy had welcomed him with drinks, and they had spent the afternoon catching up. His guest quarters were spacious and nice enough, and his host seemed to welcome the help.

He wasn’t too surprised about that. They were probably just happy to have someone new to talk to. Even Percy, despite being chosen to lead the college because of his people skills rather than magical talent, was unbelievably awkward. Harold wasn’t sure if social incompetence was an inherent trait for the people compelled to study the dead and death aura, or if it was developed through years of practice.

That wasn’t to say that the people were unwelcoming. They were just… odd. The tendency to have skeletons walking behind them carrying books or finding a ghoul cleaning the toilets was just unsettling. Harold had insisted that all demonic subjects were properly contained, no matter the contract. But the undead didn’t pose nearly the same risk as the demons. If the undead ever got out of control, they might manage to kill a few of the mages at worst. They wouldn’t be able to summon a country-ending monster in just a few hours.

Of course, that hadn't really stopped them from doing the demon’s work for them, Harold thought bitterly. He had played that day over in his head enough times with how often he had been chewed out for it, but he still didn’t know what they could have done better. The threat had been unknowable, and none of their countermeasures had even slowed the thing down. Perhaps they could have gotten more information before fleeing, but he was just happy that he had gotten everyone out alive.

Well, almost everyone. That one young apprentice they had missed still haunted him months later. Of course, he didn’t share these thoughts with anyone, but as he spent days refreshing his knowledge of undeath, he often found his mind wandering.

There was a reason he had specialized in demons. They were exciting, quick, and clever, and there were oh so many things humans didn’t know about them. Undead… well, not so much. It was one of the first branches of magic that humans had a history of. The field stagnated hundreds of years ago. Mostly the practitioners spent their whole careers just catching up. Sure, they gained a lot of power eventually, but they hadn’t added anything new to the field in forever.

Now with what looked like the worst undead plague in a century brewing, they were asked how to stop it. Or at least how to prepare countermeasures. There wasn’t really much they could do, and they all knew it. Sure, they had prepared a lot of potions that could cure the various types of infections that the undead could spread. They also worked on manufacturing anti-undead weapons, but their hearts weren’t in it. There was only so much they knew how to do.

But finally, something promising had happened. If the reports were to be believed, the undead moved with a level of intelligence that was long thought of as myth. Harold was inclined to believe the intel, as he had never known Arthur to embellish anything. Not everyone shared his belief, of course. So it might come down to Harold to figure out something new here.

As much as he hated the undead, Percy would never live it down if he, Harold, Dean of Demons, made the first advancement in undeath in living memory. He grinned just thinking about it.