Operation Queenstrike

Yes, sir, I understand sir.

Yes, I’m aware how much money and time was invested in this operation.

No, sir, I don’t believe I could have done anything differently.

Yes, I understand that the King is very upset.

Sir, if you would only let me explain what happened.

Sir, as you know, I arrived in London about 6 weeks ago.  After about 2 weeks of searching and contacting other agents already in the field, I discovered a way into Buckingham Castle.  Taking the supplies I brought from Madrid, I made my way into the castle undetected.  I found a little-used room where I settled and began my preparations.  As instructed in my training, I mixed the chemicals together to prepare the poison, all the while observing the Queen to discover her routine.  As we had learned from our agents, she held court every Thursday, during which minor nobles from around the kingdom would travel to have their petty disputes heard.  Judging by the Queen’s manner, she certainly did not view this as one of the more pleasant aspects of being a monarch.

In any case, as we had decided during my training, I chose one of these open court sessions to strike, as it would cause the most sensational assassination.  The week before the chosen date, I sneaked into the throne room at night, and began the final preparations.  I scurried under her throne and created a little hole in the cushion, where I could lie in wait.

The morning of the court, before there were any signs of life in the castle, I took the poison and my weapon, a long, sharp needle, into the throne room, under the throne, and into the hole I had created.  I waited until court commenced. The throne room began filling with a number of despicable beings, men who in Spain wouldn’t merit the title of peasant, much less noble.  One particularly brutish fellow caught my eye only because he brought with him a vile creature, one of the rattiest cats I’ve had the misfortune to encounter.

Once the Queen had sat in her throne and began hearing the various cases brought before her, I dipped the needle into the bottle of poison and was about to thrust it through the cushion into the Queen when that ratty, vile monster appeared under the throne, its eyes glowing a hideous yellow color.  As it hissed and swiped at me, I lost my balance and fell to the floor.  The bottle of poison fell with me, smashing on the stone floor, spilling its contents.  The needle, too, fell and bounced from under the throne.

Fortunately, I was able to escape the infernal beast’s claws, but only just.  I scurried out from under the throne just as the cat’s claws caught my tail, severing it, as you’ve seen for yourself.  I raced for the needle, intending to complete my mission or die trying, when one of the Queen’s vassals stepped on the needle and immediately collapsed.  This of course caused a great commotion, due to which I was able to escape from the throne room, having realized that the mission had failed.

I made my way back to Spain, finally reaching Madrid only last week.  I’d lost of bit of blood from my encounter with that damnable cat, and was very weak upon my return.  The last week I’ve been recovering from my wounds.

That is the extent of my report, sir.

Yes, sir, I realize the opportunity that was lost.  But, as I described, there was little to be done.  The cat completely disrupted my plan.  There was little I could do against such a beast.

Possibly, sir, if I had kept my calm when the cat attacked, I may have been able to complete the mission.  Given the circumstances, sir, I don’t think there was much I could have done differently.

Yes, sir, I understand.  I will report immediately for reassignment to Paris (that god-forsaken cat-hole).

Nothing, sir.

Inspired by the children’s rhyme Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat.

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