With Eyes No Longer Blind - the first three chapters

THOMAS CORFIELD
Panda Books Australia
Sydney — New York — Tokyo — Berlin

LICENCE NOTES
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Copyright 2015 Thomas Corfield

SAMPLE
As the world turned faster, a vicious jolt
tore through him as the Seven intervened.
His eyes were pulled and his ribs twisted,
and breath was leveraged from lungs as his
heart was sought. With gasps and clutches,
the Returned Poet curled himself into a ball
and screwed his eyes tight, concentrating
on reciting the words fizzing in his vision.
As they blurred and tore upon page, he
shouted them instead, battling to finish
stanza while the Seven refused him every
means to. He began to spin then, within his
turning world, nausea enveloping him in a
torrent of river. But still he incanted, the
more desperate his hollering, the larger
words grew until vision was swamped with
individual letters. Spinning faster, his
attempts to remain coiled were undone as
paws were flung from his circumference.
His shouting became scream until he saw

only the letters’ black stroke. And when
brightness became obscured by stroke, the
only thing emanating from his throat was
vomit. Spinning, his head and tail were
pulled apart. Joints popped and gristle tore
like boiled chicken in frenzied feast. His
throat elongated, tore and grew holes. His
chest opened, inverted, and spilt ribs into
air like an over ripe fig, innards spilling
between worlds like wet stars across sky.
From Chapter 11

CONTENTS
Title Page
Licence Notes
Sample
Some Relevant Links
Opening Chapter

SOME RELEVANT LINKS
The Velvet Paw of Asquith Facebook page:
http://www.facebook/doovenbooks
Connect with the author:
https://twitter.com/Doovenism
A bit about the author:
http://www.thomascorfield.com/
Music from the books:
http://www.velvetpawofasquith.com/doove
n-music
Certificate of Achievement:
http://www.velvetpawofasquith.com/quiz
The other Velvet Paw of Asquith novels:
http://www.velvetpawofasquith.com/books
hop

With Eyes No Longer Blind
1
____________________
“Modesty is hard: to try is not to try.”
– The Loud Purr of Asquith.
BENEATH countless stars, the city of Lubnatsi
twinkled with as many lights. It was large and
beautiful, and sprawled down a hillside as though
having been pushed from its crest once upon a
time. Despite the starlight, it was dark. There was
no moon this night. But one animal tearing
through it cared little. His eyes were strong. As
was he. And fighting a screaming throng of
animals fleeing in the opposite direction, he was
about to prove it.
An explosion burst several streets away, its

Thomas Corfield
2
flash bathing the city in day. The animal ducked
and skidded to a stop. Others cowered, before
realising the next thing bursting into flame would
be them, leaving them to scream again and
continue in flee.
The dog pushed through them and tore down
a side street. Throwing himself over a wall, he
tumbled over the otherside, clattering through
garbage bins and spilling burst bags across
bitumen. He cursed, shook his paws free and
continued on. When rooftops were lit from a
fireball rising into the sky, he realised his direction
was wrong, and cursing, Letherin doubled back,
taking a different route that would get him closer.
But its streets were also choked with fleeing
animals, leaving him to again battle their torrent.
He flailed through them, his paws pushing blindly
at fur and limp and spoons.
When he rounded a corner, he slid to a stop
and gawked at something very insidious indeed.
And despite his determination to find them,
Letherin then wished he had not.
The creatures were huge.
At least three times his height—and Letherin

3
was taller than most. Their dark bulk shimmered in
the heat of blaze roaring in their wake. They
lumbered with enormous bolts of limb suggesting
they were from another world entirely. Hairy and
muscular, the beasts pounded at walls, powdering
great chunks of masonry to rubble and skittling
sparks through the air like fireworks.
Nearby, animals meandered in daze, numb
with fear. When a beast swiped at them, one was
struck hard and thrown across the road to slam into
a wall. With a crumpled whimper, he fell to the
pavement and rolled into a gutter. Horrified,
several others hurried to his aid and dragged him
from harm’s way. But their rescue rendered them
targets, and the beasts stopped their pulverisation
of building and turned to pulverise things far
fluffier. When they thundered in roar, Letherin
eased himself along a blistered wall in an attempt
to flank the things.
They stalked those withering in the road with
a mass dark and calculating, and hissed with
breath so vile, that were the flames any closer, it
would surely ignite. Gagging in terror, the
stragglers gaped up at the things.

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4
“Please,” one began, raising a tentative paw,
“please don’t tear us apart. We haven’t got our
spoons you see. And we really ought to have our
spoons under these sort of circumstances.”
He glanced at those trembling beside him,
and then the crumpled one they’d absent-mindedly
sat upon when their knees no longer worked.
“Ideally, I’d go home and get some,” the cat
continued. “Enough spoons for us all—you
included. But I can’t by virtue of your having set
fire to it.” He waved frantically his paws in
apology, adding, “Not that I blame you for doing
so! I mean, clearly you had some pretty important
reasons to burn it, rather than smash it to pieces as
you’ve done with so many others. Perhaps you’d
enlighten us? We’d like to help. It’s clear you’re
not particularly keen on buildings. I feel that way
myself sometimes. Not about buildings per se, but
I’m certainly indifferent when slamming my paw
in doors, for example—though I’d probably refrain
from responding with arson.”
The cat was rambling. But terror has that
effect.
The beasts snarled.

5
“Perhaps you might like to come over to
dinner or something?” he tried further. “We could
have some curry, perhaps. I’m rather good at
curries. And maybe sing a song or two? Although
I’m not vey good at those.”
The beasts took a collective step toward
them.
“May I say you attire is most exotic,” the cat
said, retreating as much as his legs allowed—
which was not at all. “You are not from around
here, I imagine? In which case, may I welcome
you on behalf of all residents of Lubnatsi—even
the ones burning, and hope that your stay is filled
with our warmth of hospitality, and less with the
choking fumes of its burning infrastructure. Had
we known of your arrival, we could have
organised some buildings for you to destroy
without harming those residing within—although
may I emphasise that is in no way a criticism of
you, but rather a reflection on our eagerness to
ensure you have a pleasant visit. Perhaps we could
have organised a fete of some sort. We like fetes.”
The beasts thundered again, appearing keen
to roast something small and fluffy on the

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6
buildings they’d set fire to.
The cat swallowed and glanced at those
beside him, who were unable to offer anything
other than what one might expect under the
circumstances—much to the dismay of the animal
they sat upon.
“It can be terribly frustrating not to find a
decent hotel,” the cat tried again. “Is that possibly
from where your indignation with buildings
arise?”
The beasts stepped toward him and raised
their limbs in a stance bristling with power.
“Perhaps you might like to stay with us?” he
tried. “I’m certain my mother would love to meet
you. She likes foreigners immensely, you see.”
But rather than any pounding, there was
instead a shattering roar of pain.
Which was followed by two more.
Not from those cowering, but from the beasts
themselves.
All three arched backwards, taught in spasm
when several bits of them sailed through the air to
slop upon the road a distance away. They swayed
then, like slain trees deciding on which direction to

7
fall, before collapsing into the road with a
sickening thud, and bled in a manner akin to
repainting. The ground shook, smoke billowed and
Lubnatsi echoed in thunder.
It was then too quiet for even for this time of
night.
Their eyes wider than the collective surprise
of an Annual Astonishments Convention, the
cowering animals stared at the pile of inert beasts,
leaving the cat to mutter, “A simple no would have
sufficed.”
With one next to him adding, “Clearly they’d
already met your mother.”
Through smoke, Letherin appeared. Panting,
he held a shovel in his paws and his robes
glistened with the soggy bits of beast traditionally
found internally. Treading across the slain mass,
he stood upon its summit, the blaze framing him in
shimmer.
The cowering animals swallowed, before one
asked, “Do you perhaps require a hotel?”
“Or indeed some curry?” offered another.
“Though you certainly don’t have to meet my
mother.”

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8
Letherin ignored them and stepped from the
steaming mound, ensuring the beasts were
rendered incapable of wreaking any more havoc.
The animals stared at him, bewildered.
“Their journey had been long,” he growled,
pulling his hood down to hide his face. “They
were tired. And in dire need of sleep.”
“Aha,” the cat said. “So they were looking for
a hotel.”
“They can’t have been,” another said.
“There’s one over there, look. But they set fire to
it. You don’t set fire to hotels if you want to stay
in one, surely.”
“Perhaps they didn’t like the decor,” the first
suggested.
“Yes, but my point is that they didn’t have to
burn it down. They could have just gone to another
hotel.”
“Unless they really loathed it.”
“It probably depends on how tired they
were.”
“They weren’t tired enough to not set fire to
it.”
“Or perhaps they were too tired to not set fire

9
to it.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Did you?”
“Possibly.”
“Well, anyway, they did set fire to it.”
“Yes, which suggests just how tired they
were.”
The animals nodded, finding some sense in
the explanation.
Letherin ignored them and inspected the slain
beasts again, kicking at a severed bit to ensure it
didn’t move of its own accord.
“But what about their bits?” the cat asked
him, peering at a soggy bit lying in the gutter.
“Won’t they be needing those in the morning? I
mean, they can hardly have breakfast if their bits
are all over the place.”
Letherin growled. Exhausted, he would not
discuss the matter further. Despite having slashed
three monsters to pieces, he had other concerns.
“Have you heard how your palace has fared this
night?”
The animals looked at each other while the
crumpled one stirred underneath.

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10
“The palace?” the cat replied. “I have no idea.
Certainly I’ve nothing that it has been harmed.
Mind you, we’d only just begun to flee ourselves. I
was cooking curry, you see. A nice one, too. And
was desperate to wait until the very last minute
before fleeing because I didn’t want it to burn.
Which is ironic considering my house is currently
a blazing inferno.”
“They arrived so quickly this time,” another
said. “Without any warning. They just appeared.
Indeed, we didn’t even have time to take our
spoons.”
And they peered at the shovel Letherin held.
“That’s an awfully big spoon,” the cat
observed. “You were fortunate to have had sense
enough to take it.”
Letherin glanced at it. Bits of slain creature
slid down the handle, blood and gristle glistening
in the firelight. Sickened, he hid it behind him
before stepping toward them.
He was big and strong and taller than them
all.
Mind you, they still sat on the one rescued—
which was becoming difficult when he wriggled

11
beneath them indignantly. Relieving him of their
bottoms, they helped the animal up and dusted him
down. Composures returned, the cat was about to
say something regarding the shovel again, when
several animals appeared carrying buckets of
water which they sloshed onto flames. More
joined them until an efficient bucket brigade had
formed.
“I say,” the crumpled one said to those who’d
sat on him, “thanks awfully for your help. I really
don’t know what happened.” He peered then at the
pile of slain beasts. “And judging by the state
those creatures are in, I don’t think they do either.
Were they looking for a hotel, perhaps?”
The others murmured that they’d been
wondering the same, before again peering at
Letherin with his hood and massive spoon.
“May we inquire,” the cat began, “as to what
it was you actually did to put them to sleep? I
mean it was very good, obviously. And
unanimously appreciated, I’m sure. But I don’t
think any of us are entirely sure what it entailed.
I’m presuming it had something to do with your
enormous spoon?”

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12
But Letherin had no intention of explaining.
“Go home,” he growled, turning to leave. “Go
home to your curry.”
“It’ll be burnt now.”
But Letherin staggered away through smoke
and cinder.
The cat called after him, “It’s just that next
time they arrive we might have a better idea of
what to do if you told us what you did, rather than
leaving us to simply offer curries? Because my
feeling is they weren’t really into curries.”
“Or hotels,” another said.
“Or hotels, indeed.”
Another then wondered, “Do you think the
hotel perhaps offered them a curry?”
“Would you perhaps like to join us?” the cat
called further. “My curry might be salvageable,
considering I took it off the stove before my house
exploded.”
“You can bring your enormous spoon if you
like,” another encouraged.
But Letherin had already disappeared into
shadow.
He had to.

13
Because he was sobbing uncontrollably.

Thomas Corfield
14
____________________
IN a large stone hall, animals worked in silence.
Cloaked in black, they wrote frantically upon
paper. Attention on their task was absolute. None
dared raise their head, or hesitate in scribble.
Huddled over tables, they scribed words in a
frenzy at the expense of legibility. In the scratched
silence, the air sang with a high note of tension, a
whining that pierced wall, air and skull.
It was why they wrote so feverishly.
They were being watched.
Occasionally, an animal would stand and
hurry with paper to the rear of the hall. Upon a
large stone altar, the page’s scrawlings would be
copied into typography using stone letters. Once
done, the paper would then be crumpled up and
eaten, afterwhich the animal would brace himself

15
against the altar and recite the words. Gripping the
stone, his posture would suggest that having eaten
the paper, there was an immediate need to excrete
it. But should the recital conjure nothing, the
animal would tremble in relief and return to his
desk, whereupon another piece of paper would be
scribbled upon.
Amidst all this, no animal dared glance at
another.
Nor did they speak.
All cowered beneath that high pitched whine
of scrutiny.
When an animal left for the altar, there’d be
fretful glimpses at an empty throne ahead. While it
remained vacant, to a degree they were safe—
providing they continued writing, didn’t glance at
each other or successfully pooh paper.
A cat who’d been scribbling furiously,
stopped and stared at what he’d composed. His
breathing became shallow, and a heat of despair
flooded him. The piercing whine bore into his
head, a scrutiny that bruised his skull. Trembling,
he stood and hurried between his colleagues’ desks
to hall’s rear. With knees so shaky he may as well

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16
have left him behind, he placed his paper upon the
altar and scrabbled with pieces of stone across its
surface. Ready then, the cat took his paper,
scrunched it up and stuffed it into his mouth. It
was dry and scratchy, and did little more than
afford retches and gags. Nevertheless, when
eventually swallowed, he recited the words and
braced himself for nasty things to happen.
Which they did.
There was a flash, the altar spat stone and the
cat was hurled across the hall. Smashing into
desks, he slid along the floor to flounder amongst
them. In a chorus of fright, his colleagues fought
to get away from him. But their scrabbling
withered when the omnipresent whine grew
louder, leaving them to stare in horror at the
throne. There was a sound of whipping wire which
had them duck instinctively, and then cover their
eyes when the hall surged in light. When it died,
so did the whine, and a large dark dog sat upon the
throne. Bulbs fizzled and spat, and sparks burst
from metal.
Every animal froze.
The arrival watched them with a steeled gaze,

17
glaring at each in turn. He sat casually, but with an
intention absolute. And despite the throne having
been vacant for days, he resided upon it as though
he’d been doing so all along. He said nothing, but
stood in a sweep of robes, leaving his audience to
wither still further.
“Who was responsible?” the dog said.
None dared reply.
The question was repeated.
Helped to his paws by colleagues, the cat was
encouraged to surrender and forced to raise a paw.
The arrival turned upon him with a gaze
pummelling. “What verse have you found, cat?”
The cat tried words, but they came out
strangely, as though he’d two tongues entwined.
The cat was pressed toward the throne.
With a sneer, the arrival said, “Do you truly
speak in tongues, cat? Or merely pretend to?”
Horrified, the cat shook his head, before
realising doing so might confirm the dog’s
suspicions. So he nodded instead, and then worried
that did the same. He made some garbled noises
and his eyes went wide. Although he was a gifted
poet, he was bereft of words—which was

Thomas Corfield
18
surprising considering he’d just swallowed some
pretty significant ones.
The arrival stepped closer, eyed him and said,
“Then we shall see what you have found, shall we
not?”
The audience retreated still further.
“Let us see whether you have honoured us, or
whether I am to inform the Ar'dath-Irr that a poet
has stumbled across little more than mist and
spark?”
The cat trembled and sagged, fear closing his
throat to breath.
The arrival strode to the still smoking altar,
indifferent to the bursts of sparks still skittling
from it. Turning to his horrified colleagues, the cat
pleaded in silence, but knew they could do nothing
to help. In despair, the cat followed the dog, his
limbs barely able. The arrival stepped to the altar
and raised his robe covered paws. Shaking them,
the sleeves fell back.
“Stand beside me, cat,” he ordered.
With whimpers, the cat struggled to, climbing
the steps with knees no longer worthy of title.
Racked with silent sobs, he shook beside the dog,

19
who remained with paws raised.
He flicked them once.
Then twice.
And then turned them inwards.
Another flash, and the world skittled
sideways. Animals lurched in spin as wall blurred
into floor, into table, into throne and altar. The
nausea was overwhelming and most succumbed.
When the blurring lessened, all were left giddy,
teetering against each other and retching.
All, that is, except two.
For the dog and cat no longer remained.
In the confusion that followed, the poets
lurched back to their tables, dragging them back
into position and righting chairs—before
scrabbling again for paper to continue as they had
been. Two of them hurried to the cat’s desk and
groped through scattered papers until paws came
across one in particular: the cat had managed a
copy before leaving his desk. When the high
pitched whine began again, the two poets glanced
at the throne. Rolling up the parchment, one hid it
beneath his cloak, before both hurried back to their
desks.

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20
____________________
“HUSH now and sleep,
I am here.
Close those tired eyes,
I am here.
The night is warm,
I am here.
While the world turns,
And I am here.
Be still—”
Lyeia clutched at wet rock and waited with
eyes screwed shut. As she had many times before,

21
she begged to return to a world far less
frightening—despite being worth nothing in it.
She clung.
Amidst ferns.
And between crags of rock.
But her pleas withered, not wanting to return
to see Oscar crushed into pavement.
So she sobbed.
Trapped between reality and madness, she
was cornered in fright.
And then the voices began.
In the distance, their screams arose.
Choking on sobs, she sang her mother’s
lullaby.
“Hush now and sleep
I am here—”
The screams got closer, drowning her words.
Fear strangled her breath: this time, she
would remain here.
This time, she would be torn apart.
Just as Oscar had been.
And of this, she was deserving.

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22
The screams grew louder.
Resigned, she pressed her nose into wet earth
and wept. Shuddering in sob, its rich scent was
then overwhelming.
She blinked through tears.
And frowned at the stone she clutched.
And then at the tangles of root she’d
dislodged.
She looked at her soil-caked paws and
watched dirt fall when she wriggled them.
Why would her madness conjure such detail?
She looked up at ferns crowding the narrow
crevice. Beyond them, green-grey cloud passed,
suggesting the forest was thick enough to colour
both land and sky.
It was cold, too.
Such particular detail.
Being insane-of-the-mind might render terror,
but surely not an entire world to perform it in.
When the voices grew louder, their shrieks echoed
off mountainside. With puzzlement winning over
dread, she peered from her nook. The dark had
lessened: perhaps dawn had broken. Leaves
continued to rain, the path now swamped in

23
muddy pages. Beyond it, a valley fell away in
mist. Above her, the mountain rose steeply, thick
with fern and tree, giving the impression that the
world was vertical.
Screams split the air, and with paws upon her
ears she fought panic. When they were almost
upon her, she thought of Oscar and everything
they’d been through. Resilience flared and she
readied to face what she’d spent a lifetime
avoiding.
A horde of animals appeared.
And then scurried past in flee.
Lyeia stared at them, astonished to realise
their screams were not because they wished to flay
her, so much as something wished to flay them.
They fled in panic.
There were lots of them.
And oddly, they waved spoons.
In fact, there was nothing threatening about
them at all.
Which left her stunned that after a lifetime of
avoidance, they were about as frightening as an
overtly enthusiastic hiking club.
They wore nice jumpers, too.

Thomas Corfield
24
And what’s more, clearly liked spoons.
Bemused, she stepped from her nook and
watched them pass.
But then she was spotted.
By a dog who stopped.
Those behind him didn’t, however, which
resulted in a pile-up that had their screaming
tumble into a swathe of apologies. After the dog
assured them he was fine, the others recommenced
their screaming and ploughed through the leaves
after the others.
The dog blinked at her, before hurrying over
and waving his spoon frantically. She stared at it,
and then him, having no idea what to do with it—
which is odd, considering it was a spoon. When
his waving became a desperate semaphore, she
took it. Relieved, he took a deep breath and then
screamed. When she stumbled backwards, the dog
turned to scarper after those already absconded.
For some time, Lyeia sat in her nook and
looked at the spoon, struggling to come to terms
with a lifetime of fear having revolved around no
more than an unconventional cutlery acquisition.
It was definitely a spoon.

25
An ordinary, everyday spoon.
Which was ironic considering she’d acquired
it in circumstances quite the opposite.
She chinked it against stone. There was
nothing peculiar about it at all, and appeared quite
capable of coping with most demanding spoon-
related tasks. Indeed, the only explanation she
could muster for them waving the things was in
response to some particularly dreadful soup.
Poking her head from the crevice, she hoped
for something resembling explanation.
A chef, for example. With a horrid, flaky skin
disease.
But there was nothing of the sort.
So she looked at the spoon again.
But it offered even less of an idea than she.
The leaves had stopped falling, but had
buried the path completely. Amidst them, she then
sat, realising the last time she’d brandished cutlery
was when trying to insert forks into Oscar.
Which left her sobbing again.
She wailed at the low clouds, her cries
echoing off a shape of world she knew nothing of.
With lethargic stabs through leaves, she dug the

Thomas Corfield
26
spoon at the earth to punish the world for its
invention of suffering. She then lay amongst wet
leaves and stared at the swirling grey above. She
closed her eyes, her body bruised with loss,
knowing that in a world left behind, Oscar did the
same.
And then his voice arose.
“Well, I hope you have something resembling
explanation,” Oscar said. “Because I must admit to
having none whatsoever.”
At first, Lyeia thought it imagination,
understandable considering it was likely to be
responsible for all of this—and probably for the
latter part of book four, for that matter. She kept
her eyes closed, however, preferring illusion to
despair.
“Can you hear me, Lyeia? I said I hope you
have something resembling explanation to all this,
because I certainly don’t.”
Amidst a joy wretched, she smiled.
Which annoyed Oscar.
He’d had enough bizarre behaviour for one
day, and was not keen on getting another bout of it
from a clinically insane dog who lay in leaves,

27
smiling inanely and clutching spoons.
So he said as much.
And because this was not the sort of thing
Lyeia expected her imagination to come up with,
she opened her eyes.
Silhouetted against clouds, Oscar Teabag-
Dooven glared down at her. With paws upon hips,
his stance was one of having had quite enough for
one day.
“Oscar?” she cried, flailing through leaves in
an attempt to get a better view. “Oscar? Is it really
you?”
On four paws she stared up at him, worried
that any further move might have him disappear
into mist.
He glared at her with a what-on-earth-do-
you-think expression, followed by an I-am-clearly-
waiting-and-have-already-asked-twice sort of
expression. Trembling, Lyeia stood and swiped at
tears.
“I thought you were dead!” she cried.
She lunged at him, clutching him with a
snugness one might expect from a particularly
well-made collar. Sobbing in gutted relief, she

Thomas Corfield
28
refused to let him go, even when he began
suffocating—an irony not lost upon him.
But Lyeia was having none of it.
It no longer mattered.
Oscar was here.
Her friend.
Her only friend.
Which did seem odd, considering he’d just
been run over by an ambulance. Relinquishing
him, Oscar stumbled backwards in dire need of air.
“Really! I thought you were dead!”
Oscar coughed amidst frantic pulls at his
collar, unable to reply.
“Why aren’t you dead!”
He then doubled over.
“Are you sure you’re not dead?”
Oscar continued as he had.
“You’re dead aren’t you!” she realised.
“You’re dead and I’m having an episode within an
episode!” She shook her head. “I should have
known; you’re a figment. You’re a figment of my
imagination and you’re dead!”
Having recovered, he stared at her. It had
been bad enough dealing with the latter chapters of

29
the previous book, but to then find himself cast
upon some mountainside with a dog, who was by
her own admission, even more insane than she’d
been previously, did little to fill him with
encouragement. “I think,” he said, “that is quite
possibly the single most insulting thing I have ever
heard.”
“You’re dead,” she continued, ignoring him,
“I saw it happen. Right in front of me. You’re
dead. It’s as simple as that. I saw you get mashed
into the pavement by a very large ambulance.”
“And that’s not very nice either.”
Lyeia shrugged. “What does it matter? This is
all made up. You’re dead. You’re not real. None
of this is. This is my screwed up mind having
decided to really let its fur down and come up with
the most insane episode of insanity I have ever had
the misfortune to experience!”
“Lyeia—”
“Shut up, figment!” She hit her paws upon
her head then. “I am so stupid! I should have
known! How can this be anything other than total
immersion into psychosis? After all these years of
struggle, it’s actually happened; I am now

Thomas Corfield
30
irretrievably insane-of-the-mind. There’s no way
back. This is it; welcome to insanity, Lyeia.
You’re here to stay!”
Oscar stared at her.
“I just watched you die!” she swore. “You got
run over by an ambulance! Do you have any idea
what that’s like?”
“Well, yes, considering—”
“It was horrible. Just awful. There was
nothing good about it at all. And witnessing it has
clearly pushed me over the edge.” She turned from
him, waving her paws as detail fell into place. “I
understand now: all these years of punching
animals in the face, and not speaking to any
creature for longer than twenty minutes, was an
unconscious means of prevention! To preserve the
small bit of sanity keeping me free of this place!”
Oscar blinked at her, surprised she’d found an
explanation, and hoped his would soon be
forthcoming.
Turning to him again, there was nothing of
her prior affection. “This is your fault!”
“What?!”
“Yes. Your getting run over has pushed me

31
over the edge! I am here because of you! Thank
you so much! Thanks very much indeed!”
Oscar sighed and looked across the valley,
not knowing where to start. He’d begun this
conversation hoping Lyeia might offer
explanation. And she had. Just a ridiculous one.
Which wasn’t her fault. She was after all, insane-
of-the-mind. But, judging by this chapter, so was
he.
He turned to her. “Is insanity contagious?”
“What?”
“Insanity. Is it contagious perhaps?”
She frowned. “I don’t know. I shouldn’t think
so.”
“It’s just that insanity might be my
explanation as well. Remember in the library you
said you were about to have one of your turns, and
I said I think I’m about to join you?”
“Not really.”
“Well, I think you are possibly so deeply
disturbed, Lyeia, that I am now clinically insane as
well.”
“You must be joking!”
“No, I’m serious. Think about it; how on

Thomas Corfield
32
earth did I come to be here when I’ve just been run
over?”
“You didn’t. You’re dead.”
“I’m insane, Lyeia. Not dead. There’s a
difference. You of all animals should know that.”
“You’re dead, Oscar.”
“I can assure you I am not.”
“You must be.”
“I think I’d know.”
“How?” she asked. “You’re dead. You can’t
know anything when you’re dead.”
“No, but I can if I’m insane.”
“I still think you’re dead.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“You are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“I’m telling you, Oscar, you are dead. I saw
you get run over. We all did.”
Oscar frowned in thought. “But I don’t feel
dead.”
“Well, you must be. You were in pretty bad
shape before being run over, and I dread to think
of the shape you were in afterwards.”
“Do I look dead?”

33
She peered at him. He didn’t look dead at all.
In fact, she’d never seen him so smart. He even
wore a splendid pair of fresh pantaloons. And his
fur was no longer grubby or singed, but instead
beautifully white and fluffy. He wore a smart blue
collar as well. With a bell.
“You don’t look dead,” she admitted. “In
fact, you look wonderful.”
Oscar humphed. “If I don’t look dead, and I
don’t feel dead, then I don’t think I am dead. I am
certain however, that I am now quite insane.”
“I’m sorry, Oscar, but you’re just a figment
of my imagination. You’re here as a coping
mechanism.”
“A coping mechanism?”
“Yes. To manage my immersion into full-
blown psychosis.”
“Well, that’s strange, because I don’t feel like
a coping mechanism either. I do, however, feel
completely insane-of-the-mind.”
Regardless, Lyeia realised she was no longer
alone, and lunged at him a second time. Holding
him tight, she refused to let him go even when he
again insisted upon air—which inadvertently went

Thomas Corfield
34
some way to proving he wasn’t dead.
“Welcome to my world, Oscar,” she said,
when relinquishing him.
He nodded, coughed and pulled at his collar
again.
“Are you quite certain you’re not dead?”
Sighing, Oscar shrugged and sat down in the
leaves. “I don’t know. One minute I was extremely
sore in Liebe, and the next I’m standing on the
side of a mountain without a bruise upon me.” He
shrugged. “Perhaps I am dead and you’re a
figment of my imagination?”
But Lyeia shook her head. “I’m not dead,
Oscar. And this place is not new to me. I have
been here many times before. And anyway, I
didn’t get run over by an ambulance.”
“I don’t actually remember the ambulance.
And I feel remarkably well for an animal whose
apparently been run over by one.”
Lyeia sat next to him. “Well, it must be one
or the other. Either you’re dead or insane. I can’t
really help you with the former, but certainly have
ample experience with the latter.”
“Perhaps I was already going mad, but just

35
wasn’t aware of it,” he wondered. “I’ve had some
pretty strange experiences in corridors recently.
And hearing paws bereft of owners. And seeing
horrible monsters. And fighting animals that
disappear—”
“I saw then too, remember?”
“Yes, but you’re already mad. Perhaps I was
merely in the process of becoming insane. It really
wouldn’t surprise me, actually. I’ve dealt with a
fair bit of absurdity over the past four novels.
Perhaps meeting you has pushed me over the
edge.”
“Perhaps we’ve both gone over the edge
together.”
They sat for a while.
“So where are we?” Oscar asked.
And Lyeia shrugged while playing her spoon
through leaves. “I have no idea. Which is odd
considering I’ve been here many times before. It is
both familiar and unfamiliar. Though whenever
I’ve arrived previously I’ve never remained long
enough to find out. There were always screams
encroaching upon me. In as much, I often woke up
in a mess of my own making.”

Thomas Corfield
36
“I sometimes have the same trouble on bath
night.”
She looked at him puzzled. “With screams?”
“No. A mess of my own—look it doesn’t
matter. Why have you got a spoon?”
Lyeia peered at it. “It was given to me.”
“By who?”
“One of the animals screaming past me in
flee.”
Oscar blinked at her.
“You didn’t see them?” she asked.
Oscar shook his head.
“They just careered past me on this path,
screaming and waving spoons around.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. To some degree
I’m not surprised. My being mad has me accepting
a great deal of peculiarities. Not the least of which
is a horde of hysterical animals in colourful
jumpers offering cutlery.”
“But why hysterical?”
She shrugged again.
Oscar turned back to the view. “Being insane
sounds exhausting.”

37
“It’s not that difficult, really. Just don’t
question anything and smile a great deal.”
He looked at her. “But you don’t smile,
Lyeia. You punch animals in the face.”
“Yes, but I’ve had a lifetime of insanity,
Oscar. My bitterness is earnt. You, however, have
just been born into it.”
“But why a spoon?”
“Just accept it, Oscar. Don’t question it.”
“Yes, but why were they screaming?”
“Again, just accept—”
But he couldn’t, and stood in frustration. “I
can’t just accept it, Lyeia! I don’t know where I
am! And where’s the Loud Purr? He was here a
moment ago! And Binklemitre? And the Great
Library of Liebe for goodness sake?” He pointed
across the valley. “It was there a moment ago!
Right there! I know it was there because we’d just
fled the place! Now there’s nothing resembling
Liebe here whatsoever! Just a great big valley
shrouded in mist, which, when one thinks about it,
is almost the complete opposite of a library!” He
glared at her. “Where is the city of Liebe, Lyeia?
Where have you put it?”

Thomas Corfield
38
“Me? I haven’t put it anywhere.”
“Then where is it?”
She sighed and shrugged in accepting that it
was gone.
“Don’t you think it strange to say the least?”
he implored, paws in the air. “Insane or not, surely
you must acknowledge the question as to where on
earth—literally—we actually are?”
But she didn’t, and looked at him instead.
“Welcome to my world,” she said, before digging
at leaves again.
####

With Eyes No Longer Blind - the first three chapters

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