Cliff clung for dear life to the driver as his motorcycle sped down the road that hugged the edge of a sheer drop-off. The cat sat in the front of the motorcycle, enjoying the wind blowing in his fur. The bird sat in Cliff's shirt pocket, also enjoying himself.

The tour guide, Betsy, rattled off facts about the local scenery which was transmitted into headphones built inside their helmets. An officer of the local biker's club and history enthusiasts, History's Angels (chosen by the mission planners, who were mostly budget-conscious birds, because they were the cheapest), she also happened to be the driver of Cliff's bike. Filling out her leather jacket like a football captain and barking out her deep Irish brogue like a sea captain, she made Cliff feel like a shivering stick insect. But one look over the edge at the crashing waves a hundred feet down made him glad to be clutching her waist.

To the right was a steep drop-off of several hundred feet into the ocean, sometimes with a thin strip of hardy grass. Sheep grazed right up to the edge, making Cliff wonder what kept them from wandering off. "Evolution," said the bird. "The dumbest ones fall off, taking their stupid genes with them." He looked a little too long at Cliff.

After a long (and, for Cliff, unpleasant) journey the tour group reached a tourist stop, the ruins of a 12th century abbey. A taxi cab also pulled into the lot, but no one took any notice. Cliff disembarked from the motorcycle, looking very pale, and paid the fee for the trip, a bottle of high-quality whiskey. Against the persuasions of the motorcycle group not to go walking off into the wasteland, they left. "Friggin' eejit, he is," Cliff could hear them say.

"Ignore them, Clifford," said Bismarck trotting alongside him. "They do not understand the fantastic technology we have at our disposal."

"Yeah? I suppose you have a global positioning system, digital compass, that sort of thing?"

"Only a human would require those crude devices," Twake sneered from Cliff's shoulder. "We have all the navigational instruments we require built inside our heads."

"Uh, I hope this mission doesn't rely on only what is inside your head," said Bismarck nervously. "Do we at least have a satellite map?"

"Better than that," said Twake proudly. "We have an engraving. Taken from a book written 800 years ago, written by Tvitter the Very Wise, a rock pigeon. It is a perfect map to the very entrance of Serpentopolis, with every landmark along the way."

"May I see?" asked Cliff. He craned his neck sideways to see what the bird was holding.

"No." Twake tried to hide it but it was too late. Cliff had caught a glimpse of the postage stamp-sized piece of paper.

"That thing? How can that tiny scrap possibly serve as a map?"

Twake removed a loupe from his eye. "It is condensed. Like microfilm. Anyway, shut up and keep moving. I will do the navigation. In that direction, yes."

"Well, this is where we part, I guess," Noella shook hands with Jake.

"Aye. I'll be anxious to learn how you fare. So give me a call when you get back." He handed her a business card.

"I will. Can I keep these?"

"The binoculars? Sure. Go crazy with them. You'll be bringing them back, of course. Now off with ya, while you can still see them."

Noella passed the tour group who were just getting back on their motorcycles. She walked into a field which became more and more rocky until it was a continuous carpet of craggy stone. She found it hard to see Cliff up ahead and also find her footing, as she had to keep looking down. If she didn't look down, her foot would slip into a big crack. Thank goodness she was still wearing her doc martens with their heavy tread.

She had a terrain map with her, another gift from Jake. It was not very useful at the closer level, but it gave her a rough idea where she was in relation to the big hills. Still, it seemed like the map was not totally accurate all the time, almost like the terrain was rearranging itself when she was not looking.

But more disconcerting was the feeling she was being followed. She turned quickly around several times, but saw nothing definite. There could have been something slinking in the shadows, but... no, it was probably nothing.

Cliff found the Burren to be a very beautiful place. As far as he could see it was an ocean of flat gray limestone split and cracked in regular lines. It was as if a huge wall that reached up to heaven had fallen over on its side, the big bricks still in an orderly array but now riddled with huge cracks and pockmarks. He had to be careful where he stepped, but it was easy after a while.

Pushing through the cracks were tufts of the greenest grass he had ever seen, the stuff that Arizona gardeners would kill for, and that golf balls would die to roll through. Clusters of orchids and other tiny flowers provided some color against the pallet of green and gray.

Occasionally he would spy a pile of rocks that looked like it could not have happened on its own. The tour guide had explained that these were put there by faeries as beacons or some other purpose. It was bad luck to touch them. He reached with his foot to kick one and the bird bit him.

"Ow! What's the big deal?" Cliff rubbed his ear.

"Idiot! If you disturb the signposts, how will we find our way?"

"Whatever. So, Bismarck, where are these snakes living anyhow?"

"Underground."

"I don't see any holes. How do they come and go, and why hasn't anyone seen them?"

"There is only one entrance to their city, which is what we are trying to find. It is very well hidden. The snakes have been sealed up in the city for many centuries."

"There is a whole city down there?" Cliff said doubtfully.

"A vast, sprawling metropolis. This limestone is full of caves and underground rivers. There is plenty of room down there. You'll see when we get inside. Won't be long now, right, partner?"

"Er, yes." Twake was busy analyzing the engraving-map with a complex set of magnifying lenses. "Yes, we will find it soon enough. Turn left at that cairn over there. No, wait. Turn right."

"Pardon me," said Cliff, "but isn't that the same cairn we passed an hour ago?" He recognized the runes carved in its side.

"No! That is new. A completely new cairn. Keep walking."

"But I recognise my claw marks in the lichen on this stone here. We have circled around. You don't have any idea where we are, do you?"

"Cat, you are damaging the morale of the team. Now shut up and let me navigate. Human, increase your speed by 50%."

"Guys," Cliff sighed, "I need to take a break. We've been walking for hours. These shoes are killing me. And why didn't your cat teams pack any rain gear for me? This drizzle has soaked through my shirt and I'm freezing."

At least he did not have to lug the 14 suitcases anymore. The cats supplied him with a rucksack into which he put as many useful things he could find. However, they had not thought to pack clothes for him back at his house, so he found himself shivering without recourse.

He removed the pack and sat down on a sofa-shaped rock. Opening it up he started taking out plastic containers that contained a buffet of everything from honey glazed ham to gelatin desserts. "I guess if I'm going to die of exposure, I might as well have a full stomach."

"Enough!" Twake screamed shrilly. He fluttered off Cliff's shoulder onto the cairn. "You remind me of my fledgling brother. He complained incessantly about every discomfort. And you know what we did? We pushed him out of the nest. He fell to the ground and was left to die. Whining is worthy of the weak."

Bismarck leaped up to the top of the rock and stared closely at the bird. "It has become painfully obvious to me that this mission is on the verge of failure. Locating the entrance to Serpentopolis was entrusted to the Avians. Yet here we are traveling in circles because you are following a flawed map." She swiped the scrap of paper out of Twake's clutch with a claw and stared at with squinting eyes. "How can you make out anything on this? The map is rubbish."

Twake's feathers fluffed out with anger. "You cannot hope to understand it because you are an idiot. Oh yes, I know about your schooling records. You were third from the bottom of your class. Your teachers' comments state that you are a dreamer, fail to follow orders, are hopelessly incompetant."

"Er... I don't see how that..."

"Your liberal cat society is rife with weakness. How can they entrust an important mission like this to a failure? You should have been discarded in kittenhood as an imperfection. I thought perhaps they saw something special in you so I reserved judgement. But now I see you for what you are: a weakling and a fool."

For a long minute Bismarck stared at Twake through narrowed eyes. Cliff could hear her growling. Her lips curled back to show her teeth.

Twake did not back down. He said again: "weakling."

At last the cat relented. Her taut spine sagged and her head turned to the side. She jumped down from the cairn and walked away.

"Where are you going?" Cliff asked.

Bismarck didn't reply. She just walked slowly away.

"How the hell is that supposed to help?" Cliff pointedly asked Twake. "Does it make you feel bigger to cut people down with insults? All through this misadventure you have been treating me like an amoeba. Well, I'm sick of it."

"Clifford, we need to talk."

"Oh? I'm not sure I want to..."

"Shut up for a second and listen. Don't feel sorry for that cat. There is a lot you don't understand."

"Like the dinosaur project? That's right, I found out about that. Surprised?"

Twake rolled his eyes and whispered, "Avius, give me strength." Then, to Cliff: "There is no 'dinosaur project'. That is a lie perpetrated by feline malcontents."

"Oh sure. I would expect you to say that."

"Did she tell you they are from space?"

"Yes."

"And did she tell you that before they came to our planet, they were barbaric pirates who rampaged and looted much of the galaxy?"

"Um, no."

"It's true. They crashed on our planet. The explosion killed off most of the dinosaurs. We forgave them and let them live here until they could rebuild their craft and return home -- with the stipulation that they renounce their old violent ways. They used to use humans for sport in hunting games, but we put a stop to that too."

"I don't believe you."

"I can furnish proof for you later. Honestly. Look into my eye and see if I am lying."

Cliff stared closely at the bird's dark eye, with the brightness of the land reflected in it. Little feathers ringed the eye, so delicate and soft.

"You don't trust me. Human, you should realize that we have much in common. We are both bipeds, are we not? I can even be friendly. Here, stroke me on my neck..." He lowered his head.

Cliff reached over and scratched the tiny bird's neck.

"NOT THERE, YOU OAF. Further down. Yes, over more. Okay. Good. Enough. Stop petting me. STOP NOW. There. See? Am I not every bit as cuddly as your mammal friend? We are only separated by a few rungs on the DNA ladder, are we not?"

"Right."

"Excellent! I am glad we had this talk. Now go and find your fat, furry friend while I study this map."

Cliff walked in the direction he had seen the cat go. He was confused, not sure what to think or whom to believe.

He soon found Bismarck sitting in a hollow, licking her fur. He seated himself next to her and lay a hand on her head. Purring, she licked his hand.

"Oh Clifford, I am so tired. That wicked bird goes right for the kill. He doesn't care about feelings, has no warmth, no soul. You look into his eyes and see only blackness. Do you see why we must fear the Avians?"

"Right. Yeah. Listen, I'm really uncomfortably cold out here and there aren't many hours of daylight left. What are we going to do?"

"We should get on with the mission, I suppose."

They walked together back to the cairn. The bird was still intently studying his scrap of paper.

"Ahem," said the cat. "No hard feelings and all that."

Twake looked up. "Oh. Yes. I am sorry if I... That is, I didn't mean to... Well, you understand."

"Have you figured out where we are?" Bismarck asked.

"Yes, I think we're quite close. In fact, just over this hill should be the place."

Noella sat on a cairn and watched the group she had been tailing through her binoculars. They were stopped as well, pulling items out of a sack for a picnic. She had not brought anything to eat and her rumbling stomach was chiding her for it. She wished she could go up and announce herself, and join in the repast.

She also had started to entertain thoughts about heading back. It was cold and damp now, a light mist settling on everything, making the wind feel depressingly chill. The problem was, she had no idea where she was. She had long since given up on the map. Where she was didn't match anyplace she could discern in the lines and dots on paper. It was as if the landscape were mocking her. In any case, the light was getting dim and it was harder to read. She realized she had not brought a flashlight.

She put down the binoculars and looked around. Strange piles of rocks caught the light and made eerie shadows. Tufts of grass shook in the wind and played havoc with her senses. She kept thinking somebody was sneaking up on her. There was noplace to hide, to feel safe. She was utterly exposed.

"What the hell am I doing out here?" She wondered aloud.

"We are wondering the same thing," said Cliff.

Noella shrieked. He had just stepped from behind an outcropping, and was joined by Bismarck and Twake.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to--" Cliff held up a hand to calm her. The bird was jumping excitedly on his shoulder. "No! I'm not going to tie her up. You've already kidnapped me, what do you need her for? So what if she's seen us here. It's not like we're committing any crime, other than stupidity. Gah!"

He fell to the ground and twitched as Twake landed on his chest.

"What are you doing to him? Stop that, you freaks!"

The black cats chose that moment to reveal themselves. Striding out of the long shadows, they took up positions all around. Noella felt as if her chest had filled with ice water. With Cliff on the ground, possibly unconscious, and cats all around (mostly the bad kind), she was certain this would be the end.

"I-I think I need to leave now," she said, stuttering and walking shakily in the least cat-blocked direction.

The cats narrowed the gap. Slowly, stealthily, they closed in on her. She scrunched down in a defensive crouch and covered her face with her hands. She hoped it would be over quickly and painlessly.

Actually, it hurt. A lot.