Sir Magnus of Hyderabad secured his rope at the top of the cliff and leapt down, toward the abandoned pygmy city. The buzzing in the rocks nearly dislodged him, but he lunged toward the topmost ruin and sank his leonine claws into the ancient clay.
The shrine chamber hung from the cliffside like a wasps' nest. Sir Magnus flipped upside down and catapulted himself with mechanical efficiency through the hole in the bottom. Inside he found von Tabby, insensible. Sir Magnus snarled at the Meowstrian's ignorance. He set his torch in a niche in the wall before pulling a pair of tweezers from his belt and carefully retrieving the tiny clay shrine that had fallen from von Tabby's paw.
The miniature village within the hut was supposed to be the abode of the Pygmies' gods, and the village within the miniature shrine housed the gods' gods. He smeared a bit of pitch on the end of the tiny ceramic ball and neatly fitted it back into its nest.
The buzzing stopped.
Sir Magnus's muscles rippled beneath his fur as he stooped and lifted the unconscious Meowstrian. As soon as he had caught wind that von Tabby had landed here in the Urumbambe Jungle, he had suspected some foul play was afoot, but he hadn't expected it from the Urubambians themselves. He secured von Tabby to himself a rope, then lowered themselves through the hole in the bottom of the Pygmy house.
They were halfway down the cliff when he felt the rope vibrate. His whiskers felt the sawing motion on their line. He clenched his teeth and lowered himself at breakneck speed. There was a snap and he fell the rest of the way, landing on von Tabby.
He rolled off the unconscious Meowstrian and pulled a pistol from his belt. Two shots split the darkness before an animal howled in pain. Satisfied, Sir Magnus holstered his gun and hefted von Tabby over his shoulders. He could check the unfortunate cat's wounds later, when people weren't trying to kill them.
He muttered under his breath as he fought through the dark, dense underbrush to the shore of the River of the Moon, as the locals called it. Why was risking his neck for this agent of a foreign government?
A rowboat boat waited for him at the shore. He bundled the Meowstrian into its stern, then slipped silently into the current.
It was, thankfully, a cloudy night, the gloom almost impenetrable. The waves lapped softly against the sides of the boat. He had set things right, but the world still felt wrong, as though everything had shifted five degrees to the right. He checked the Meowstrian's pulse. His charge was still breathing; his heart rate 150. He pulled a tarp over von Tabby and set to the oars. He would deliver the oaf to safety before disappearing.
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