2. Deadly Lies

Felicia prepared to steal food from a stall. Finally food, finally warmth, finally everything. The black cat seemed shriveled, a rotten piece of fruit that had been cast aside on the road.

First, other animals walked around her. If she dared approach someone, they instantly yelled for her to go away. But now … everyone just pretended she didn’t exist at all.

It had only one advantage: she could easily steal warm meat when the vendor wasn’t paying attention. She didn’t want to be a thief. She’d delayed it for as long as she could, ever since the sudden disappearance of her parents weeks ago.

A coach rattled past her. A golden thing that shone in the moonlight, filled with arrogant animals who refused to share their riches. They all grew tense and attacked the coach with words and tomatoes.

The diversion she was waiting for.

She shot from the shadows, tiptoed silently over the slanted wooden roof, and swung precisely over the fire roasting the meat. Nobody saw her. She reached for the meat, but was just one or two nail lengths short.

So she waited until the swung back again and tried—

“Hey!”

She instantly fell flat on her stomach, below the stall. The merchant reached for her. She had no fur left to grab and slipped away easily.

The merchant chased her until they reached the angry crowds. The countless paws and beaks pushed Felicia around, almost kicking her underneath the coach’s wheels.

As the coach fled, she scrambled back to her feet. Now she was just one animal head amongst many; the merchant had lost her.

She injected herself into a group of animals who looked like they were eating well—and effortlessly copied their call.

“Yes! Away with the elite! Equal riches for everyone!”

The animals around her wrinkled their snouts. After sparing her an angry glance, they stepped away.

What did she have to do? What must she do to receive food and help? She had to belong, but she didn’t belong. Felicia was born into a family of genius inventors and scientists, while these animals—

Two agents—crows—dove onto the crowd from above and picked out one specific female dog. She looked completely normal. For this place, for this time. Many layers of ragged clothes, hollow eyes, and a basket filled with bread tied to her back.

The crows annoyed her until she sunk to the floor. The bread flew out of the basket like drops of water and were eagerly snatched by hungry bystanders.

“Did you hear?” a male dog whispered, who drifted as he walked, almost zigzagging. The smell of alcohol preceded his presence. “They say that Dora practiced witchcraft!”

“Witchcraft!?” The remaining animals all copied the word and whispered in each other’s ears, as if they secretly knew more about this.

“Multiple witnesses say they heard magical spells being cast around the bakery,” the dog whispered.

“No!” Dora cried. “I was singing!”

“Oh, yes,” said an elderly beaver next to the dog. “I’ve always found her odd. So odd.”

Everyone copied this sentiment. Felicia tried it again: she stepped forward, with a trembling body and rumbling belly, then nodded along and mumbled: “Yes, so odd. Weird clothes. Must be a witch.”

“I am originally from Amor!” Dora tried, still crouching to avoid the pecking crows. “A different culture!”

“Yes, a culture full of witches,” Felicia said before she knew it. It drew some attention. She tried to look neutral and sound uninterested: “My family, erm, visited Amor often.”

“We need an indictment,” the agents crowed. “Who is prepared to swear, on the Holy Book of Bjib, that they have seen Dora practice witchcraft!?”

The bystanders whispered in each other’s ears and looked disgusted, but nobody stepped forward. So Felicia did.

“Sorry, Dora, I didn’t want to believe it. But I saw you last night, when you made a potion and … turned a frog into a monkey! And then you put a spell on the entire bakery to … poison the food!”

Animals placed paws and wings before their wide-open mouths. The crows didn’t accept the story outright, but also didn’t ask any questions.

“I—” Dora started.

“I know this because I’ve lived and worked in Dora’s bakery for a while now” Felicia lied. “My parents left me there to work as an assistant! I swear it on the Bjib.”

Dora looked baffled. “I have never seen this cat in my life!”

“Yes,” the drunk dog said, “that is exactly what a witch would say!”

“She speaks the truth,” the beaver added. “She has been working as the baker’s assistent for a while now.”

Suddenly, the animals circled Felicia protectively, putting her as far away from Dora as possible. A young female fox twirled her tail around the black cat. “Look how thin she is. Dora did not even feed her assistant! Or maybe she has also been poisoned by her … witchcraft.”

Dora sunk to her knees. The crows had heard enough. They carried several heavy stones to Dora and attached them with steal chains.

“We make our judgment,” the larger of the two crowed. “Dora shall be subject to a Trial of Witches! She will be thrown into the river, attached to these heavy stones. If she frees herself and resurfaces, then we know for sure she has magic!”

Before Felicia could ask what happened if she didn’t surface, Dora was thrown into the filthy river running on one edge of the town square. As if she wasn’t more than the garbage bags the animals secretly emptied in the same river.

Everyone watched as Dora sunk to the floor and the air bubbles shrunk in size and number. The water was green and polluted, making it hard to see Dora after a second or two. The entire group stood on the shore, joined by the crows, counting to some made-up number.

They reached the number—Dora didn’t resurface.

“The Trial of Witches has decided,” the crow said with satisfaction. “Maybe she wasn’t a witch after all.”

“Hmm. Maybe she was singing after all,” the fox said.

“Or she was smart enough not to reveal her witchcraft! A honorable death,” the dog babbled.

He carefully lifted Felicia by biting into the scruff of her neck. As the group discussed how suspicious Dora was, Felicia only thought about one thing.

A woman had died and it was her fault.

She started the evening with the intention of not becoming a thief; she ended it as a murderer.

Could she save Dora? She had to go back at once. Search the river. But that would be even more suspicious.

Could she invent something? To hold your breath for longer under water? Not too long ago, she’d invented some potion that gave you great stamina if you drank it regularly.

The thoughts drifted away as the dog took her inside and placed her besides a warm fire. She received extra bales of hay for a bed and lukewarm soup. She still gulped it down as if it was the tastiest meat, for it contained tiny bits of delicious fish. And even as she enjoyed it, she told herself she wasn’t worth such riches and treatment. Not anymore.

The adult animals mostly drank alcoholic beverages. Didn’t they know the consequences? Felicia didn’t dare explain the basic way in which such drinks destroyed your body, for she’d be instantly accused of witchcraft herself.

“How brave of you to speak up,” the dog said. “I am Dormas. Welcome to my warm home.”

Did everyone agree with the lie? Why would they otherwise say they “remembered” she was the assistant of the baker? Or did they really believe Felicia told the truth.

She didn’t know what to do. When she started crying, she was comforted because they thought “Dora was like a mother to her” and “how frightening for a child to see a Trial of Witches”. That only made her cry more.

She was about to tell them the truth and return to the river. Her filled belly did not outweigh her conscience at that time.

But then Dormas drank another glass, swerved left and right, groaned and barked in surprise, then fell to the floor unconscious.

In a reflex, Felicia grabbed around herself for several bottles and plants to create a medicine for him.