wo or three furlongs from the Academy, the road became much wider and the traffic much lighter. On either side of us were large buildings built in an earlier age with towering flags outside and guarded by uniformed figures armed with submachine guns and very uncompromising expressions. A few large, quite splendid, cars were parked alongside the pavement in which sat figures wearing peaked caps and dark jackets. A young woman in quite flimsy clothes was escorted into one of the cars by a retinue of proud looking roosters, one of whom held the door open as she bowed her head to enter. She waved at the roosters as the car pulled off, driven by another woman in a peaked hat and uniform, and they waved back to her. When the car had moved out of sight, the roosters turned around and marched stiffly back through the open gates of one of the tall buildings, respectful salutes following them as they strode by. The gates were secured behind them, and we saw the plaque outside which was for the Democratic Republic of Fowls. A tall standard reared above us from which waved a flag in the slight early evening breeze featuring the silhouette of another rooster and a rising sun.

“We must be in the ambassadorial district,” I remarked to Beta, who was treading in some discomfort on some flakes of corn that must have been thrown on some passing dignitary.

“Indeed, we must!” Beta agreed, peering up at the opaque windows and the grandiose murals above the massive doorways. “There seem to be all nations here. The Illiberal Socialist Republics. The United Canine Republics. The Virgin Islands. And isn’t that the Kingdom of the Cats!”

She indicated a particularly grand building in front of which stood a sentry box manned by a tall Cat in traditional dress, wearing a bright array of blue, red and green, a large feathered hat, and a quite incongruous submachine gun. Above the sentry box were a cruel array of electric wires and spikes and a monstrous scarlet flag featuring the idealised face of a Cat wearing a large gold crown. To the left of the sentry box was the figure of a young woman lying helplessly on some steps, long white hair smeared with filth and quite clearly seriously pregnant.

“It’s Una!” gasped Beta. “What’s she doing here? I thought Lord Arthur was looking after her!”

“He didn’t seem like he could look after himself, let alone anyone else, when we met him this morning!” I remarked.

“You think so?” wondered Beta ingenuously. “Anyway, we must help Una!”

She ran ahead and caught up with the girl who was quite oblivious to her attention, as Beta put her arms around the thin shoulders barely covered at all by the filthy shirt she’d somehow acquired and bent her head over to examine her face. I walked up to them, feeling as always rather redundant in this show of concern and charity.

“How is she?” I asked, studying her haunted pale face and the eyes that barely saw me or even Beta. Before my companion could answer, Una burst into a frightening cry which seemed to emerge somewhere from deep inside her belly and struggled gutturally into the air. Her body shuddered in frightening spasms and rivulets of perspiration ran down her cheeks.

“She’s in obvious pain!” Beta diagnosed dispassionately. “I think she might be about to give birth!”

“What here? In the street?”

“Well, where else? Unless you have a better idea?”

“Shouldn’t we call for some help?” I wondered rationally, quite terrified of the very notion of Una giving birth on the filth covered streets of the City with none of the attention from midwives, hospital lights and high technology that I associated with giving birth in the Suburbs. I looked at the large swollen hump on Una’s otherwise painfully thin frame and fancied I could see it erupt in painful spasms as she yelled yet again under the impassive stare of the Cat guard.

“Try the Cat Kingdom Embassy,” Beta advised, pulling Una’s heavy figure onto her knees and resting her bare buttocks on the dusty pavement, a leg sprawled out to offer the pregnant girl additional support.

“The Embassy?” I queried, looking helplessly at the less than promising sight of the Cat guard who had barely blinked at all at the sight of this poignant scene. I couldn’t deny the logic of Beta’s suggestion, so I strode over to the guard and asked him if it were at all possible for the Embassy to let us in, call an ambulance and for Una to be cared for by expert hands.

“No,” the guard said gruffly. He glanced at Una and Beta, moving only his eyes and not his head at all. “It’s more than my job’s worth!” he added apologetically and at a much lower volume. “You could be terrorists. Illiberal Socialists who want to bomb the Embassy. Canine Sympathisers. Rooster Separatists. I just can’t be sure.”

“But you can see that we’re none of those things!” I pleaded. “You can see she’s pregnant and in pain.”

“It could all be a dastardly ploy!” the Cat continued, but not very convincingly. “She could be a virgin for all I know, just pretending to be pregnant.”

“But couldn’t you at least ask someone inside if we could come in?”

The guard glanced at Una again, and winced slightly, clearly affected by the girl’s plight. He looked up and down the road and then nodded very slightly.

“I’ll ask,” he promised in a low voice. “But I can’t promise you anything.”

He turned around and marched to an intercom at the gate entrance, above which a small camera lens was purposefully revolving and focused on me as I stood back in its gaze, watching Beta with some concern trying to comfort Una with mumbled comments and occasionally glancing up at me with wide-eyed optimism. I really held very little hope that anything positive could come of this, and was already eyeing other buildings in the hope that they might be more forthcoming in their assistance. I was rather surprised, in fact, when, after what seemed like nearly twenty minutes, the guard approached me, his submachine gun lowered, and purring with pride.

“The Ambassador himself - His Honour the Ambassador, I should say - has deigned to permit you and your friends access to the Embassy,” he announced with distinct relief. “Apparently he knows you from somewhere, sir. You must be a much more senior person than you appear to be.”

It was then that with a flurry of activity that took Beta and me quite by surprise, a group of hens in white coats, clucking with concern and anxiety, hurried from the doors of the Embassy and through the gates which automatically opened as they approached. They sympathetically lifted Una up by their wings onto a stretcher and carried her away through the gates and up the steps into the tall building, with Beta and me following behind.

“I was sure they’d help,” Beta confided, taking my hand in hers. “Surely, they couldn’t just leave Una suffering as she was.”

I didn’t wish to disillusion Beta’s great faith in feline nature by informing her that it was most likely more to do with the fact that I’d met the Ambassador a few days earlier at a party. We ascended the steps, leaving the guard to his duties and entered a large reception area full of large leather sofas and lit by an enormous chandelier. Una was borne away through an ornate door, and we were bid to sit down on one of the sofas by a bare-headed Cat in a black cloak carrying a portable computer in his paws and purring reassuringly.

We sat down in the immensity of the room which was adorned by enormous portraits of the King of the Cats and opposite a long desk where a hen was busily typing in front of a monitor and a young Cat with a blue waistcoat stood behind her, regarding us with a slight frown. Another Cat sat in a chair opposite us with bandages around his face and a paw in plaster hanging from a sling. He barely stirred as we entered and stared fixedly behind the desk at the motto in Ancient Greek which hung below a shield supported by rampant Cats that was carved in wood by two large flags.

There followed a fresh flurry of activity as the Cat Ambassador I’d met at the Party entered the room in his finery accompanied by other Cats hardly any less ostentatiously dressed than him. He strode over to Beta and me, and we stood up to meet his outstretched gloved paw. I shook it and distinctly felt his velvet pad and the distinct impression of his claws through the fine leather.

“I am very honoured that you could help our friend...” I said.

“The honour is mine,” the Ambassador said modestly. “My people have always believed that it is our duty to give assistance where assistance is required. And in any case, it is always a pleasure to assist a friend of Zitha’s and her father.” He took Beta’s hand and squeezed it with some firmness. “And this is your delightful wife. She clearly does not come from the same part of the country as you, judging from her dress. What is that district called again? The Suburbs, isn’t it?”

“Yes, your honour,” I answered.

“The Suburbs?” reflected the Ambassador. “Since I last met you, I have heard so much more about it. All of a sudden, it appears to be such a newsworthy place. So many thousands of your people are congregating there for some reason. Is it a holy place, by any chance?”

“Not that I know of, although the Suburbs are famous for their relative tranquillity”

“That must be the cause of their sudden popularity. Since the General Election yesterday, there really does seem to be a distinct lack of tranquillity in your benighted country. I really don’t understand it. I thought this Election was intended to somehow lessen the tension and disorder in this land, and yet it appears to have made it much worse. It is certainly no advertisement for democracy and only makes my conviction firmer that our nation - the Kingdom of the Cats - is so much the better for having opted for a government of Regal Authority, despite the clamour of those even in our own soil who agitate for mob rule. Still, if a General Election can result in a government by communists, anarchists and pagans, it is perhaps no wonder that there is so much discord. Your Red Party was almost the worst possible choice. They could never attain power in my nation.”

“Do you not like democracy?” Beta wondered.

The Ambassador mewed slightly as if in pain. “It is not for me to express my opinion of how other countries choose to organise their affairs. If, for whatever misguided and short-sighted reason, your polygeneric, multicultural nation wishes to adopt a government driven by unpredictable swerves of government from right to left, red to blue, and up to down, then so be it. It is not a course of action the Cats will ever take. We are blessed by a tradition of royal dictatorship sanctioned by the Lord God Himself, whose name must never be taken in vain. In our happy tradition we can be certain that the wisdom and sanctity of His Majesty will ensure the best for our species - blighted though it might be by unworthy and undoubtedly illegitimate holders of the title in the long history of our kind. And now more than ever, as our traditional home is besieged by the Puritan Dog Republics, the Rooster Rebellions, the Mouse intifada and the hostility of the godless, and aptly named, Illicit Party, it is necessary for our people to hold firm to a tradition of strong and uncompromising government that stays true to the Feline Cause and the Divine Right of Kings to Rule.”

“Why do the Dogs and Mice so dislike the Cat Kingdom?” Beta asked.

“Who can say? Envy, I imagine. The Dogs are so poor at governing themselves, they can’t bear to see an efficient government and an efficient economy in such close geographical proximity. If the Canine Republics were so perfect then why do so few Dogs from the Cat Kingdom ever want to live in them (and we give them plenty of encouragement and opportunity to do so!) and why are these Dog Republics always at war with each other? Labrador against Husky. Terrier against Spaniel. Lap Dog against Wolfhound. They’re always at it! In fact, if they stopped fighting each other and crippling their economies with their stupid puritan practices they’d probably be quite an appreciable foe to the Feline Kingdom. And the Mice, - and the Roosters who’re also a bit of a nuisance in our country, - are just as bad. The Mice are particularly bad. They couldn’t organise a cheese orgy, let alone a whole country. They’re just lazy good-for-nothing ignoramuses who are much better at civil disobedience and rioting than they could ever be at the much more difficult task of government and administration. Always running around squeaking and complaining. They just don’t appreciate what a gigantic favour is being done for them to be governed by a truly sane and tolerant government such as that exercised by His Royal Highness.”

The Cat Ambassador gestured his paw at the sofa. “Don’t feel obliged to stand. Sit down and tell me how it is that you happen to be here so far from where I met you last. What brings you to the City and of course to the Embassy?”

Beta and I sat down, and the Ambassador sat on a sofa opposite us. He flourished a paw irritatedly at his assistants who with a series of low bows and gestures bid their farewells and departed, with the exception of one who was carrying a portable pocket computer and sat on another chair beside the Cat in bandages.

“We’re here in pursuit of the Truth, sir,” Beta replied.

“The Truth?”

“Yes,” I elaborated. “We’re on a search for the Truth which took me to the Party at which I met you and has since taken me across the Country to the City.”

“And this Truth, is it not the same entity that is currently being sought by the Godless Illicitists when they are not actively persecuting Cats like our poor confederate here?” asked the Ambassador gesturing to the Cat in bandages. “How can anything even indirectly associated with Rupert and his accursed lawless band of racists possibly be of any worth?”

“I was searching for the Truth before I heard of Rupert’s interest in it,” I answered. “I just thought something that promised so much must be worth pursuing.”

“I see,” mused the Ambassador. “Well I’m sure your quest can only be from the highest and most worthy of motives, however misguided and unconstructive it may be. The Truth and what it represents is really not something upon which I am at all qualified to speak. Concerns of such a metaphysical level rarely impinge on my role as Ambassador and spokesperson of my Kingdom. My task is to represent the King and his government in as best a way I can, and to serve the interests of the Feline people. The King has no stated opinion or policy regarding the Truth, but were he or his ministers to adopt one I would strive to present it to your nation in the best light possible. However, my own opinion, for what it is worth, is that this pursuit for the Truth which is currently directed towards your Suburbs seems to be nothing but a very dangerous destabilising influence for your nation after the General Election.”

“What do you mean by that, your honour?” Beta wondered. “How can the search for something which promises to answer all the great and profound questions of all time and bring prosperity and happiness to everyone possibly be anything but good?”

The Ambassador pulled a glove off one of his paws and scratched an ear beneath the brim of his enormous hat closing an eye in apparent pleasure and contemplation.

“I am surely not the first person to remark that causes, however honourable and worthy they may at first seem, are often perverted towards ends which are wholly contradictory to their original purpose. I am automatically suspicious of any cause embraced by that accursed koala, but even were it a Cat (unless it were the King himself) I feel that my considered response would be scepticism and wariness. What do you think will actually be gained by so many people, - and not just those from the Illicit Party I believe, - pursuing the Truth? And from where has this notion come that the Truth can be found in your Suburbs? If you come from the Suburbs yourself why then did you not find it there, rather than travelling so many leagues to the City?”

“It just hadn’t occurred to me that the Truth could possibly be found in the Suburbs. It seemed quite the most unlikely place to find it. And in any case I wasn’t at all sure what the Truth might be.”

“And do you have a better idea now of what it might be?”

“Not really,” I admitted. “Plenty of people have told me what they think the Truth might be, but there seem to be as many different opinions as there are people.”

“As few as that!” the Ambassador observed. “I find it incredible that such apparently intelligent people as you and your companion should believe that the Truth were some kind of physical entity of absolute and undeniable tangibility. In my experience, the Truth, or what element there is of it that is relevant for the business of conducting a sane and honourable life, is a shifting mutable concept that changes according to the whims of expediency and fortune. On occasion, that which is most demonstrably correct can also be the worst of all possible actions. For instance, almost all of us would believe that the murder of another person can only be wrong. However, when there is a war, of which our people are much experienced, such a naïve attitude can only be disastrous when confronting a belligerent foe, and can only bring great misery to the defending side. So too is the conduct required against those who from one perspective are merely demanding their rights, such as the Mice and Roosters who populate my Kingdom. To treat these people as if they were worthy of respect and deserving of equality with the Cats whose inalienable right to the land is nearly universally recognised will invite nothing but further discord to the Kingdom. And I feel that this pursuit of the Truth, which is undoubtedly pursued by many such as yourselves for the most honourable and virtuous of ideals, is nothing more than another blow to the stability of your state and could well capsize the whole edifice.”

“How can the pursuit of something good be anything other than good?” Beta objected. “Surely nothing could ever be improved if people only acted according to what seemed best at any particular time? Surely there must be motives for actions which are more than those determined by circumstances?”

“Absolutely not!” the Ambassador stated firmly. “At any one time there can only be one object or mission, with many different aspects. This mission has to be pursued with extreme prejudice if it is to ever succeed. The value of any actions within the pursuit of that mission can only be evaluated by how far it furthers that particular mission, although should the object of endeavour be changed then it will be necessary to comprehensively review all previous actions in the light of that revision. In our Kingdom, the state exists as the extension of the King, whoever that may be at any one time. The purpose of the state is therefore to further the objects and fancies of the King, wheresoever it may lead, and by extension the greater good of the King’s subjects who by the principle of the Divine Duty to Serve are best served by whatever is in the best interests of His Majesty. My task and that of all my compatriots is to serve the King as best we can, irrespective of how apparently inconsistent this may seem over time and irrespective of how vastly different one King’s policies may be from another. My actions can only be judged according to how well they accord with the King’s desires, and in that lies all the Truth that there ever needs to be.”

“I just can’t believe that the Truth can change according to the complexion of the King and his policies!” Beta objected. “The whole value of the Truth is that it is eternally fixed and can never change. How can something be wrong one day and right the next just because the King says so?”

“In your case, neither being a subject of the King nor a Cat, the rightness and wrongness of your actions are determined by other factors, although I will judge them quite differently. The Truth is wholly relative and depends entirely on the perspective from which it is viewed and in whose interest it is pursued. However, I mustn’t detain you forever with my own philosophical musing. You are no doubt more concerned in the welfare of your pregnant friend.” The Ambassador stood up and gestured to his secretary who also stood. “Please feel free to wait here until further news comes from our medical staff who are currently sparing no pains in seeing that your friend gives birth with the minimum of pain and the maximum of appropriate attention. My staff will notify you as soon as there are any significant developments.”

With that, the Ambassador and his secretary strode off through a large oaken door which closed behind them very securely, leaving Beta and I sitting together with the bandaged Cat. Beta was agitated with concern for Una’s welfare and disturbed by the Ambassador’s unsympathetic attitude towards our search. She picked up one of the glossy magazines that were left on the table for visitors to read, but neither she nor I could really concentrate on them. They all featured copious pictures of the King of the Cats, dressed in a startling array of clothes and posing in magnificent surroundings busy in condescending to his own people or to representatives of other nationalities. The text extolled the virtue of the King, his deeds and words in ways that made me feel rather impoverished that I had somehow passed most of my life in utter ignorance of his great wisdom and fitness to govern. Those articles not glorifying the King were mostly just advertisements for the great business opportunities provided by the Kingdom, its phenomenal economic growth rates (somehow personally overseen by the King), its vibrant and exciting traditional culture, and the attractiveness of its tourist resorts.

Beta put down the magazine she’d been scanning - The Royal Times - and looked at me with a frown. It was open at a glossy picture featuring a very international set of tourists enjoying the sun in the company of some Cats and served drinks by a retinue of hens. “I do hope Una’s alright? I hope the medical staff understand the differences between a human birth and a Cat birth. They won’t be expecting her to give birth to a litter of blind hairless kittens, will they?”

“Of course not!” I robustly reassured her, but nonetheless feeling less than sure myself now that the notion had been put into my head.

We waited for several hours in the foyer while the Embassy staff changed at the turn of their rotas and the bandaged Cat was led away by a young lady in a long white tunic into one of the rooms to which we had no access. In the meantime, Beta and I read the literature rather more thoroughly than we would have preferred, and I built up a picture of the Cat Kingdom as being very happy and stable and which would indeed be paradise if it were not for the disruptive elements within its borders and the necessary strain of defending itself from the aggressive Canine Republics. One article attempted to explain the conflict from what purported to be the perspective of the Dog, but its main thrust was that they had been comprehensively misled by their government and seditious propaganda to not fully understand how what was good for the Cat Kingdom was necessarily good for them. There were also articles eulogising wealthy Cats living abroad who had donated so much of their wealth and prestige to the Feline cause.

“What can be happening?” agitated Beta. “I do hope Una’s alright!”

As if in response to her worries, a door opened and a Cat in a long white coat entered the reception area. He surveyed the room, and, on seeing us, strode towards us.

“I take it you are waiting to see how your friend is,” he remarked.

He sat down on the chair where the Ambassador had sat and leaned across to us.

Beta also leaned forward, her long hair cascading onto the table in front and a bare arm supporting her weight: “How is she?” she pleaded.

“She’s fine. It wasn’t a particularly difficult birth by human standards, though rather more painful and awkward than it would have been for a Cat. She has a male kitten - sorry, baby. What you humans call a boy. She’s recovering quite well considering the uncomfortable circumstances surrounding it. I take it that you are going to take her home?”

“I’m afraid not,” I confessed. “Both of us are strangers to the City and Una doesn’t have a home. In fact, we don’t even know where we’ll be sleeping tonight.”

“I see,” mused the Cat doctor. “Well, I’m sure the Embassy will be able to assist you, seeing as you are such good friends of the Ambassador. I will have to ensure that suitable arrangements are made.” He mewed slightly and glanced at a watch which he pulled out of a coat pocket. “However, I’m sure that you would both like to see the happy mother. We’ve cleaned her up a bit: she was utterly filthy. I don’t believe she’s been properly scrubbed for a very long time. If you would both like to come with me, I’ll show you the girl, Una.”

The doctor stood up and we followed him through the large oak door and along a series of broad well-carpeted corridors lined with huge portraits of the King and rather fewer of his regal predecessors. His path led us eventually into a large room clearly put aside for medical services in which there were a number of hens and a young woman in a flimsy white dress making notes while reading figures from the colourful computer screens. Beneath a battery of dimmed lights and mechanical apparatus sat Una in the bed holding a pale blue baby in her arms and smiling at us wanly. Her hair had been washed and was now a very pale white, and her eyes sparkled a quite vapid blue. All the dirt had been taken from her face but nothing could disguise the painful thinness of it nor of her arms. She was wearing a plain white hospital gown, but most of her body was hidden under the bedsheets.

“It’s a boy!” she affirmed. “A little boy! Brown eyes just like his father. And ever so small! Just look at the tiny hands.”

The baby was clutching and unclutching his fists and looking around the room with utter incomprehension and curiosity. He wasn’t a very prepossessing sight: his neck barely seemed capable of supporting the weight of his head and his legs curved around in a small ball beneath him.

The young lady approached her, and took the child from her hands with a smile.

“We’d better tuck him up, don’t you think?” she remarked kindly. “He’s a bouncy little thing! Perhaps one day a man will come along into my life and I will have a beautiful boy like yours.” She looked at me. “Are you the father?”

“No, he isn’t!” snapped Beta jealously. “We don’t know who the father is.”

“Oh! I see,” the young lady replied frowning with a tone of implicit reproach, turning around and delicately placing the child in a cot by the side of Una’s bed. She smiled again at the new mother. “You can see the baby from here. He’s provisionally named Number Nineteen, but I’m sure you’ll want to give him a better name as soon as you can.” She tucked the baby in under the sheets, and then hastened off out of the room, as did all the other medical staff, leaving us alone with just a hen sitting on a chair in the corner reading a newspaper.

“How was it? The birth, I mean?” Beta asked anxiously, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking one of Una’s pale thin hands in her own. “The doctor said it was quite painful.”

Una nodded. “It was certainly that! I thought it would never end! I thought I was going to die! Nobody ever told me that giving birth was as horrid as that. I’ll never ever have a baby again. Not as long as I live! Even the painkillers they gave me hardly made any difference. But I’m sure that it was a better birth than it would have been had I been left in the street. I’m so grateful that you were able to persuade the Embassy to let me in.” She glanced over at her baby whose eyes were closed and looked content in the cot. “And now I’m a mother. I don’t know whether I should be happy or what I should feel. I mostly just feel relieved that it’s over. You can’t believe how much this pregnancy has worried me. I was so utterly distressed. Out in the streets of the City, sleeping on rubbish, begging for a few guineas, trying to avoid harm. And now I’m here, in this beautiful room, looked after by all these doctors and nurses. I was even more worried when I saw that most of the nurses were hens. Surely they couldn’t understand human pregnancies. They lay eggs, don’t they? But the midwife was that woman who was here, though why she’s working amongst all these Cats and Hens I don’t know. But she was able to make sure that I gave birth all right. She kept me pushing and pushing, until my baby, Number Nineteen, came out covered in slime and with that long cord dangling from his belly button and leading into my very stomach.”

“But at least it’s over now!” Beta said reassuringly, squeezing Una’s hand tightly.

“That part’s over, maybe. But now I’ve got to be a mother. And a mother without a home, without a hope and nowhere to go!”

Una looked down at her stomach with a deep sigh and smiled grimly. She and Beta held hands in silence for several minutes, while I hovered about in the background looking at Una’s sleeping baby with some discomfort. He seemed so helpless and pitiful, his little fists clutched in front of him and his body forming such a small bulge under the blankets.

“We’ve assigned a room to you two,” suddenly announced a white Cat in a long black coat reaching to his ankles and his face obscured by a large black floppy hat who came into the room carrying a clipboard. “It’s just along the corridor. Shall I show it to you?”

His request seemed more like an order than a request, so Beta and I bid Una farewell and followed the Cat to a large room dominated by a four-poster double bed. The room was extremely well-furnished and clearly intended for people used to rather more luxury than were either of us. There were several portraits of the King on the walls, and a television which featured film of the King and various other well-appointed Cats in an incomprehensible ceremony involving a curious array of sharp instruments and some unidentifiable meat. However, the aspect of the room which most attracted Beta was the gleaming porcelain of the en suite bathroom, to which she retreated as soon as the Cat had left.

I sat on the bed revelling in its comfort and contemplating the events of the day, while Beta could be heard splashing around furiously in the bath, cleansing herself of the filth of two days wandering the City and two nights sleeping rough. Despite the luxury of the surroundings and my anticipation of the pleasures of the night ahead, my thoughts were troubled by reflections of my continued search for the Truth and my return to the Suburbs, where I would once again be in a much more familiar, and, I imagined, more predictable, milieu.