Fantasy & Science Fiction 2021 03-04 by Spilogale Inc

Author:Spilogale Inc. [Spilogale Inc.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Spilogale Inc.
Published: 2021-02-28T23:00:00+00:00

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Our Peaceful Morning

By Nick Wolven | 6264 words

OUR PEACEFUL MORNING

Nick Wolven’s last F&SF story, “The Light on Eldoreth” appeared in our all-star 70th anniversary issue (September/October 2019). His novelets, “Galatea in Utopia” and “We’re So Sorry for Your Recent Tragic Loss” appeared in F&SF in January/February 2018 and September/October 2015. His 2016 F&SF short story, “Caspar D. Luckinbill, What Are You Going To Do?” was reprinted several times, including appearing in The Year’s Best Science Fiction & Fantasy edited by John Joseph Adams and Charles Yu (2017). This new story is one you wouldn’t want spoiled, so read on to see what Nick has imagined this time!

I

TWO IN THE MORNING AND I’m at it again. Is it penance? A cover-up? Something more deranged? Hunching at the keyboard, rapt as a murderer, I whisk away the evidence of my crimes.

Through the walls I can hear him sleeping. That utter, spooky silence they have. It’s like a winter tree with no wind to shake it. It’s like darkness itself, embodied in black fur, standing tall and at attention.

I used to cherish that silence.

I used to find it adorable.

Tapping, swiping. My fingertips numb.

God, oh, God, how can there be so many?

I’m nowhere near finished when I hear a creak of springs.

He’s coming.

I close applications. The OS seizes. Required updates have foiled my plans again. I slam down the laptop lid, kicking back my chair.

A tail advances, like a furry periscope, around the coffee table. Hieronymous leaps to the back of the couch. “Gregory, it is a little late for tippy-tappy at the computer, non ?” Why, I wonder for the millionth time, did they all decide to adopt French accents?

And then, also for the millionth time: Why didn’t we see that coming?

Hieronymous pads across the couch. With uncanny clairvoyance, his eyes find the laptop. “Now, Gregory,” he purrs, “why so secretive?”

“Oh, you know.” I pat the computer. “Me and my dirty Homo-sapiens habits. We humans and our foibles. You wouldn’t understand.”

With flashing fangs, Hieronymous lays a paw between his legs. Stupid, stupid. I should learn to watch my words.

“Yes, Gregory, that is true. You, in your wisdom and prudence and concern — you have deprived me of those particular foibles.”

Hieronymous preens himself beside the lamp. A regular Puss in Boots is my Hieronymous, twenty inches of marmalade impudence. No actual boots, though. Hieronymous favors a leisurely style: tasseled slippers, silk dressing gowns, eye-searing quantities of cologne.

“Yes, Gregory.” His voice is a murmur. “You have taken precautions. You have taken my claws, to prevent the scritchy-scratch. You have put in a tag, to prevent the running away. You have taken what used to be down below, to prevent the — how shall we say? The hoinky-doinky.”

The lecture comes accompanied by a menacing pantomime. Batting claws, thrusting groin.

“But did you plan for everything, Gregory? You did not. In all your plotting and preparation, you did not think to erase… l’evidence !”

Out swipes a paw. Hieronymous leaps. He lands on the desk, flips up the laptop lid.

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