[Quiet Man Cometh]

"No." Mirri said matter of factly as the other cats gingerly helped Quintus in through the window. "No, he's not."

It was a somber night. The rats were gone, the carcass left from dinner tossed unceremoniously out the window, their skeletons serving as a reminder for others of the damage possible to intruders as well as to cover up the scent of Quintus's blood. The window couldn't be closed, so the cats slept together in the same room, the one formerly inhabited by their Eccentric, those unscathed keeping themselves between the wounded and the doorway should any further unwelcome visitors arrive that night.

It was in the daytime that something slid in through the open window, as though chased in and seeking refuge from the early rays of the rising sun. It was blacker than a cat's shadow, and had about as much substance. It paused a moment before the stairway that let to the room of resting cats, before disapparing among the brickabrack that made up the curiostiy shop. It took temporary refuge in a small, overturned canister before it flashed a pair of slitted red eyes. On the other side of the room, resting on a stack of parchments and old documents, a single candle lit, it's wick already burning low and it's base precariously teetering on the uneven stack.

The sun was above the horizon when the first parchment caught fire.