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There was a sensation as if I had been punched in the chest. It sounds weak now I come to think of it, but, with that I awoke. I sat bolt upright in bed, my fur slick with sweat, my chest heaving as if I had just run a marathon. There was no way I was going to get back to sleep, a glance at the green glowing face of the clock showed me that it was a quarter past three. Too early to start the day; too late to go to bed. I climbed out of bed and put on my dressing gown, if I was going to be awake I might as well try to assemble my thoughts on paper. I crept down to my study and started to write.

By the time the clock on my study desk read half past five, I decided that I might as well start the day officially. I stood up from my chair and looked down at what I'd written - very quickly I came to the conclusion that I was in no fit state to try and decipher my atrocious script until I had had a cup of coffee.

I stood in the kitchen, yawning hugely, whilst the coffee machine whirred and gurgled. Outside, the sun was already blazing down, bathing the back garden in gold, the trees sending dappled shade across the lawn. I walked outside, coffee in paw, and sat on the low brick wall that some previous inhabitant of the vicarage had had built around the edge of the patio. It was wonderful, just to be able to sit and drink my coffee - it felt as if I had not stopped in the last week and the chance just to fit and simply be was too precious to waste.

I was still sitting on the wall, puzzling over my dreams when Harry came out onto the patio. I shifted round and patted the wall next to me. He walked over and sat down.

'Morning, Harry.' I said.

Harry nodded in reply and started to run his foot paw through the nasturtiums which, despite my best efforts, grew rampantly along the patio wall.

'You know,' He said after a while, 'I thought that I was supposed to be here for a rest, not to spend my time dashing about from one weird incident to the next disaster!'

'Yeah, sorry about that.' I replied.

'It's not your fault. I have to say that seeing Natasha Fuchs again was a shock. She was the Regiment's Army Intelligence Liaison during my time. For some months after my discharge, I blamed her for the attack, the not knowing. It was easier to blame her; I was told, again and again, that it wasn't my fault, but I wanted, no, needed to lay the blame somewhere.

'In the end, I was sent by the army's veterans' care scheme to see a psychiatrist. I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress and treated for depression. Nothing seemed to come right for me, I drifted from job to job for a year or so until I came to the Church. Sorry, Nerd, I don't mean to burden you with all this.'

I put my paw on Harry's shoulder.

'Don't apologise, Harry.'

Harry nodded again and I glanced at my watch.

'I've got morning prayer and Mass this morning, I'll have to go and prepare church. If you and Kiniun want to join me, follow along after breakfast.'

Harry nodded again and I gave him a final pat on the shoulder before heading around the side of the house. I walked briskly along the road to the church, still puzzling over my dreams, the breeze through my fur helping my thoughts, or, at the very least, cheering me up.

The routine of setting the church up for the Mass was a calming job. The simple, boring routine was, for once, a beautiful thing; a reminder that normality could, and would, force its way through the strange events that seemed to have overtaken me. It was heartening to see Harry and Kiniun waiting for me in the body of the church.

Morning prayer was difficult, every time I close my eyes I saw a fresh the strange and disturbing images that had haunted my sleep. I had to rely on my friends to complete our prayers; I was only able to hear and pray in snatches. Finally, I let my prayer book slip from my paws and had to content myself with sitting and listening. It was the small things that proved distracting: a sound, a word, a sensation.

As morning prayer ended, I made my way to the sacristy to robe for Mass. It was comforting to put on my long, white alb, to place the white rope girdle about my waist I settled the heavy, brocade-silk green stole around my neck, twitching it so that it hung level; feeling the weight of the gold tassels against my knees. I carefully removed the matching chasuble from its draw. Both the stole and the chasuble were older than me, they had belonged to my father and he had been given them by a mentor or of his when he was ordained; these vestments had to be at least one hundred years old.

There was a pause as I admired the finely worked cross on the back of the vestment. I could never resist running my paws over the delicate gold thread and tiny pearls, marvelling at the delicate work. I gently dropped the chasuble over my head, reaching up and folding my left ear back the right way out (I always seemed to catch an ear when vesting and had, more than once, taken whole Masses looking like I had been dragged backwards through a hedge). I pulled the chasuble level on my shoulders and traced the Y-shaped bands of gold silk that set off the green brocade of the rest of the garment.

With my paws clasped in front of me, I walked slowly to the altar. The church was laid out in a very old-fashioned manner, with the altar against the east wall. There was always a quiet enjoyment I found in the choreography of each movement involved with a Mass at an eastward facing altar. I bowed deeply to the altar, feeling the weight of the vestments push down on my tail. I straightened up and turned with my arms outstretched to begin the service.

The Mass went much more smoothly than morning prayer. It was gladdening to see Harry and Kiniun in the church; it was, simply, wonderful to not be saying Mass to an empty building. I could not help but smile and let my tail wag as I grasped the cold silver of the paten and chalice, to blend my joy for old friends and new (along with the nagging fears from my dreams) into the words of the Eucharistic prayer. I was exceedingly glad for the time offered by the rituals of the Mass; for the beauty of the rite and the altar-ware; the light that reflected and refracted rainbows across the white of the altar linen.

By the end of the Mass, it was as if the terrors of the night before had never happened. Beaming from ear-to-ear, I left the sanctuary. Instead of returning to the sacristy, I stopped next to Harry and Kiniun and was enveloped in a massive embrace from the lion.

'It was like watching Ben at the altar.' He said, wiping a tear from his eye.

This comparison with my father was simply overwhelming. Kiniun pulled me back into the hug; I buried my face in his mane. It was at times like this that I missed my father most keenly. At that moment, Kiniun had become a kind of bridge to my father, an anchor to the one being who had, for years, been my role-model, my guiding light. I broke Kiniun's embrace and placed my paws on his shoulders.

'Thank you, Kiniun.' I said and the looked abruptly down. I scratched at a blob of candlewax on the front of the chasuble with a claw. 'Blast,' I continued, 'I'll have to get this cleaned now.'

'Francis, you are changing the subject.' Said Kiniun, a concerned look crossing his features. 'You are very like your father, I spent a month's trek with Ben after we reached that ruined mission at Antara; we En-gal have a saying: "walk with a warrior for a day, you shall know his soul." I walked with Ben for more than a day, I can read you as I read your father.'

'Or-engahn ka baltatoh, za djotan ho' na-ahnalta vis-ahnalta o-tan en-galtuhtatayla.' I said. 'Dad used to say that to me all the time. And, yes, I was trying to change the subject - unsuccessfully.'

'What's wrong, Nerd?' Asked Harry.

I hadn't planned to share my dreams with anyone, but I wilted under the combined pressure of two concerned stares. My resolve crumbled, so I explained my experiences of the night before.

'...And, then I woke up.' I concluded, lamely. 'But, it felt so real, at points like some living history lesson. It was so vivid, I want to try and find out if what I dreamt had any resemblance to the actual_history of Rayton. And, I _do need take this to the dry-cleaners at Amblehead. You're both welcome to come with me, the castle is quite fascinating, Kiniun.'

'I am supposed to be on holiday!' Kiniun said with a smile. 'And, I do have an interest in Ironmont's medieval history.'

I looked to Harry, his tail flicked at the tip as he thought.

'First thing,' He said, 'Your dreams are downright crazy, Nerd. Secondly, no thanks, I'll stay in the village and try to relax; anyway, someone should be around if the police decide to come calling.'

The police! In the turmoil that filled my mind, somehow the potential for a murder investigation centred on my own home had slipped out of my head.

'Ah, yes, the police. If they do show up, phone me. Do try and relax, Harry - I know the last few days have been hectic. We'll head out after I've tidied up here.'

Half an hour later, we were driving along the Amblehead Road; puttering would have been more accurate. As we slowed for each minor point of interest on the road. It was quite fun to play at being tour guide for Kiniun. He made and appreciative and attentive audience; although I was stumped by one or two of his questions. Once in Amblehead, we parked on the Market Place in the shadow of the castle.

Amblehead Castle was one of the very few castles in Ironmont to still be a public building; apart from being a well preserved relic of feudal Ironmont, it housed the public library, the Amblehead and District Museum and the Civic Centre in a spectacular rambling complex of buildings that spanned several centuries and architectural styles - and bore testament to the castle's varied history. Before it was given to the District of Amblehead by Queen Beatrice, wife of King Harald VII (the grandfather of our current king, Victor IV), the castle had served as the regimental headquarters of the King's Own Newtonshire Light Infantry (and was now home to the KONLI Regimental Museum); before that, the castle was Amblehead Gaol, infamous as the worst prison in the entire Kingdom of Ironmont - it was said that the disgraced Crown Prince Lewis was held their after he tried to murder his Father, King Frederick the Wise; Lewis died of what was euphemistically called 'gaol-fever': a sickness caused by the gaol's squalid nature. Reaching back further into the castle's past, Amblehead used to be the seat of the Count of Newton, who had apparently preferred Amblehead to Newton and had moved his entire household into the country, declaring Amblehead to be the new County Seat. The worst one could say about Amblehead Castle today, is that it housed the local Member of Parliament's office.

I left Kiniun admiring the castle's barbican while I sprinted across the road to drop my chasuble into the dry-cleaner. By the time I came back, the lion was in a deep and animated conversation with one of council security guards. After a few minutes, the pair noticed me, and Kiniun said:

'Isn't it amazing, Francis? I travel halfway across the world, only to find a relative of mine! Thomas is the son of my cousin who emigrated from the Savannah to Ironmont some fifty years ago! Of course, Badiun was only a kit, then.'

The security guard, a leopard of about my age or maybe slightly older, twitched his tail and shrugged his shoulders.

'That's the way of the world, Uncle.' He said.

'Wait,' I said, 'How can you be Thomas' uncle?'

'Simple,' Replied Kiniun with a grin, 'We En-gal consider the whole tribe as our family, though not by blood, so I have a mother and a father and then every cat in the village older than I is aunt or uncle to me. Equally, every cat in the village of my age is my cousin, and their children are my nephews and nieces.'

'Simple, right.' I said, mildly confused.