Of course the rooftops had known that something was wrong. Longshanks had always been the most surly of the royal siblings; he had always struggled to evoke the same level of charm as his brother; there had never been the expectation that his presence at court should persuade those cats around him of regal virtue, and so of course he had never aspired to such qualities. But even so, his mood had changed so much for the worse on becoming protector that many of the lords and ladies made a subconscious mental note of suspicion, an ugly question mark repressed: what was it that they did not know about this situation?
Of course it was easy to assume that the downturn in his emotional state was simply the extra responsibility, and the death of one's brother was bound to be upsetting. But still, deep down, they had known that there was something else, and this knowledge had seeped through the fabric of the tribe.
The photo then had not come as a surprise. It had acted like the missing element in a mechanical system that was geared to roll forwards its cogs and wheels at great speed. All of the understanding about King Richard's death, for so long lain hidden, had suddenly surfaced. Finally the world made sense. Longshanks was guilty. There was much to be done.
There is nothing that a creature of the rooftop fears more than the death of order. There is nothing more damaging to order than a leader that has lost trust. Hierarchy, the structure which sustains a stable return on past performance, the sweetness of superiority prolonged, then needs to be reformed, and therein lies terrible risk. And so then comes the prioritisation of potential investments. Why bet ten cats when one cat may suffice? Why let the whole population compete, and therefore expose one's own position, when a quick change of leader would close off the matter of contention?
Wellington was ready. He was after all the traditional leader of the rooftop armies. He had been greatly disconcerted when Longshanks restructured the military command and had often imagined the moment when he would reclaim control. The things he needed to say were already envisioned. His belief that these were the right things to say was long established. One of his favourite ladies had mentioned the news and the mindset he had long in private indulged was granted a public warrant. Now speed was of the essence. Anyone might take over in such circumstances, and it was critical that a bad cat did not get there first.
Immediately the lady was sent off to bring back a copy of the photo and while Wellington was waiting the captains of the rooftop knights were summoned. The photo arrived first. Wellington glanced at it quickly, satisfying himself that the news was real. The evidence could not be disputed. Longshanks had poisoned King Richard. He then steadied himself to make the speech of his career.
On arrival the rooftop knights were told that no cat came before civilisation; that their civilisation had succeeded for so many centuries because it had followed this very maxim; the upshot of which was to now see that, in light of the revelations concerning Longshanks, the army remained loyal to the country, and not to one pretender or another. He, Wellington, was the conservative's choice. He alone had the credibility to take command at such a time of crisis. Their only objective was to keep society secure. Whatever happened in subsequent days, whoever made a move on the crown, the army would maintain discipline. The risk was of course, if they did not, then everything they held dear would be lost. If the alleys or the gutters sensed that there was weakness on high, they would not hesitate to rise up.
Wellington's speech was applauded. Innocuous if not inspired, the knights had long ago grown accustomed to his style. Little of course did Wellington realise that in the absence of his own command, the alleys had been weedling amongst their ranks.
One captain asked whether it was just Longshanks' command of the army that Wellington doubted? Was it not true that he had lost control of the kingdom? And if so, should they not have an opinion on who might succeed him?
Wellington could not believe he had not thought of it. He had been so busy worrying about what would happen to the army that he had not spared a single thought to consider the future of the crown itself. The answer however was obvious. Izabel is our queen!
But then, said the same captain, was that not also problematic, given that she had fled the rooftops?
But then, said Wellington, of course she must be found. Let a search party be sent out at once.
The captain smiled. Of course he knew that many teams had already spent many hours looking for her. What he did not know however was that Mr Respectable had already found her, and now held her captive. She lay on a bed in a secret room within the Grand Bazaar, despairing of her future, but drugged and so too disorientated to prevent the collapse of her kingdom.
That morning, the same morning on which Zara had visited my chambers, and the same morning in which the gutter cats had awoken to hear of Ahmet and Fatma's capture, Wellington awoke to find that a note had also been tucked under his paw, which read:
'Izabel has come to her senses and returned to Istanbul. She called at the Grand Bazaar last night and asked for our protection. She has agreed to marry Mr Respectable. We would invite you to celebrate our engagement, but for the grave tidings that we must impart. The gutters we are assured plan to rise against you tonight. If you agree to serve the happy couple as you have always served the kings and queens of Istanbul, you may count on the support of the alleys in the coming war. Kind regards, Mr Ordinary, on behalf of Mr Respectable.'
Wellington almost choked with rage. Could it be true? Could Izabel really have changed her mind? Did she even have the right to marry away the kingdom to a cat like Mr Respectable? With Longshanks' consent then the issue had been out of the question, but now Longshanks was no longer in charge, he had lost credibility, and Izabel's prospects would have to be revisited. She would need to be rescued, and as soon as possible, but did that mean today? It would be a risky move. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck fighting the alleys when the gutters rose up. It would have to wait until tomorrow. If what the alleys said was true then the rooftops needed to prepare immediately.
Wellington composed the list of actions to be completed: raise the defences (position the rocks to be thrown and the bowls of oil to be poured); set up the outer-perimeter attack stations; hide all of the valuables; bring in the food, milk and water; retreat to the central stronghold.
The orders were given and soon after carried out.
By lunch time the lords and ladies of the rooftop were assembled in Sultan Ahmet. The best and bravest of the knights were stationed around them in circles. Beyond this teams were positioned across various outposts of strategic strength, waiting for a potential assault from below, and ready to bombard the mob if they dared attempt a climb.
The mood amongst the lords and ladies was rather bleak. It all seemed so unfair. They hadn't done anything wrong. They had just carried on as normally they would. It wasn't their fault if Longshanks had let them down. Neither was it their fault that the gutters were upset. They had no interest in their unhappiness. Why then were they being blamed?
The idea of a revolt was horrifying. It was almost too much to be imagined. That the gutter cats might come in their thousands, screaming, shouting and killing. What on earth would they do? It had been a long, long time since any of these cats had needed to defend themselves, and in that time their sensibilities had elevated so as to separate their former victorious selves from the reality of fighting. They could barely believe such a thing was possible. This had to be some sort of nightmare.
The rooftops went through the normal range of reactions: blame, resentment, denial and then groundless hope. Surely something might be done? Why had no one been sent to talk to the gutters? That was a good idea! But who would volunteer? No one?! Then might they take responsibility as a tribe? If it was money or food that they wanted then every cat might spare a little, they could hold a collection and throw the takings down.
When the drums started beating the mood changed again. The rooftops began to feel defensive. The enemy was no longer just an idea. There genuinely were cats out there that wanted to kill them. How dare they make such a noise? How dare they presume to intimidate them? Who did they think they were?
The hearts of the rooftops began to harden. They looked about them, at each other, at the splendour of their home, at the lustre of their most valued possessions, at the beauty of Istanbul beyond. There was just no way they were going to give up what they had. They would rather die than live without the life they loved.
And there, at that moment, the alignment that the alley cats had been working on for so long was finally forged: both the rooftops and the gutters were prepared to both kill and die in their pursuit of victory.
At the same moment, Longshanks, called downwards by the sound of the drums, returned to lead his tribe. He pushed his way through the knights and presented himself to the lords and ladies of Istanbul.
Wellington stood up.
'How dare you show yourself here, after all you've done?' he cried.
Longshanks was in no mood to argue. Some time in the late morning, with Elvan now set on war, the pressure had lifted on his mind. Slowly he had begun to reassess his position. Was the fight truly lost? Might not something be done to improve upon his position?
He admired his sister so much. Immediately she had set off to organise the human resistance. He however was hiding. Hiding! And all because of that stupid photo. It was strange he thought, once again holding the photo in his mind, how terrified he had been of such a small thing. Just a hint of the matter had been enough to make his brain seize up with fear. The photo had become a symbol for all of his worst nightmares. He had assumed the photo would bring devastation to their world. It was the one reason that he could not stop the alley cats from carrying out their plan. But now the photo had been released, and yet the future was still open.
'Sit down you fool' replied Longshanks, walking into their midst. His strength was returning.
'I must talk with you all' he said. 'I have come to confess.'
Wellington sat down. The other lords and ladies were astonished. They had expected never to see Longshanks again.
'I have been very unwise,' he continued, 'so stupid in fact that the cost to our tribe may never be counted, and I am prepared to die to compensate for that stupidity, but I want you to know that the crime I have committed against you was not one of greed or lust, it is not because I craved power that King Richard died. Indeed you must believe me when I say that I am incapable of doing such a thing. He was my brother and I loved him. No, the crime I committed against you was that of fear. I feared to tell you the truth about what happened to me.'
The noise of the drums seemed to have quite disappeared. Even Wellington was impressed. Longshanks really looked like he was telling the truth.
'I was with King Richard when he fell from the skies that day, I cannot deny it. I too was immediately suspicious, for I agree, such a thing could never have happened to a cat like that without foul play. I was so concerned for the state that I declared myself protector, for little did I think that Izabel at her young age would be capable of defending us. The next morning I awoke to find that photo, and of course I panicked. Looking back on it now I can't imagine how I didn't tell you all straight away, for obviously it is a set up. I mean really, please give me some credit, do you seriously think I am so stupid as to kill my own brother, and then go to sleep with a box of poison by my side? My culpability in this matter is supposed to seem obvious, ostentatious even, but that is the last thing that a murderer would want.'
The lords and ladies stopped to consider what he was saying. He was right, it did seem unlikely that such a thing would happen. Anyone in their right minds would have wanted to avoid it. Of course they would be caught!
'So I didn't tell you. Instead I spent the last few years waiting, hoping, praying, for a chance to turn things around. I wanted to catch the cats that did this to me and my family, and I know who those cats are. The alley cats are responsible. If any one cat is to blame for all this nonsense, then it is Mr Respectable.'
He waved a paw towards Taksim Square and the sound of drumming that emanated from it.
'To some degree I am too late. How to stop that now? But we must believe in ourselves. We are innocent. The might of right is on our side. We will defeat the gutters and we will then defeat the alleys. This I bet my life on.'
One by one the lords and ladies of Istanbul stood up and cheered.