Franz Lohner's Chronicle - Pricking Thumbs

An absent-minded man of mysteries, Franz Lohner relies on his bulging journal to keep track of occurrences, intrigues and arguments around Taal's Horn Keep. Sometimes his notes are even useful, believe it or not. The Franz Lohner Chronicles are extracts from that journal.

Got a bad mood on this morning. Don’t know why. It’s just that I can feel something lurking out in the shadows, watching me. Sienna told me not to worry my pretty grey head, but I can’t quite put it behind me. This isn’t the sort of worry that comes with noshing on a hunk of Ussingen red cheese before having a kip, nor the generous glug of Bugmans I used to wash it down. No. Some devil’s got his fingers walking up and down my spine, and I’ll have no peace until I figure out what’s what.

Doesn’t help that Saltzpyre’s been in a good mood. Him being unhappy’s one of the fundamental pillars of order so far as I’m concerned, and to see the miserable old cuss trying to crack a smile has me wondering if the world’s already ended and I don’t know it. He’s even taken to one of the cats – or at least that cat’s seen fit to take to him, the little critters being what they are.

Got to admit, there’s something almost endearing about him trying to pet the furball despite not really having a baseline for affection. You can see him steeling himself – presumably there’s a part of him wondering if they make thumbscrews in that correct size. Even after he strokes the creature, he sort of goes all stiff and businesslike, as if he’s been caught doing something unseemly. What the cat thinks of all this I’ve no idea. It’s the only one that doesn’t run away when he smiles, so the poor thing’s either addled or every inch the nihilist Saltzpyre himself is.

Nihilist or not, the cat does seem to like the bed Saltzpyre absolutely insists he didn’t make for him. But there’s not many folk around this place who’d turn a perfectly ordinary beer crate into a passing semblance of a genuine Leonardo da Miragliano steam tank, so the list of suspects is pretty thin.

Kruber’s insisting we name the cat of course, probably so he can give it full military honours should it fall defending the keep from whatever trouble comes our way. Kerillian insists that doing so would only be an affront to the beast’s lofty and unknowable nature … but she was giving that funny smile the whole time, so who knows? As for Bardin? More of a dog person, apparently, and I’m sure you can imagine what Kerillian made of that.

Me? Well, I can’t help thinking that blessed cat’s the thing that’s giving me the heebie jeebies. Stranger things have happened, and I’ll tell you that for nothing.

Getting paranoid in my old age, that’s what it is. And Kruber’s right – we really should give the cat a name. Only question is, what? I’ll give it some thought.