Emma arrived at Velin’s study without knocking.
This was unusual. Emma usually knocked—not out of politeness, but because she enjoyed the specific sound her knuckles made on old wood. Today, she simply walked in, sat down in the chair opposite his desk, and stared at him.
Velin looked up from his ledger. “Princess Emma.”
“Velin.”
“To what do I owe—”
“I need access to the Court treasury,” Emma said. “And your help with correspondence automation.”
Velin set down his pen carefully. “May I ask why?”
“Jack.”
“Ah.”
“He’s been gone for three weeks. He’s not responding to my letters. I’ve sent seven.”
“Perhaps he’s—”
“No.” Emma’s eyes narrowed. “He’s ignoring me. On purpose. And I will not stand for it.”
Velin folded his hands. “What exactly are you proposing?”
Emma leaned forward. “Cat facts.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Cat facts. Delivered via automated correspondence. Escalating in frequency and volume until he responds.”
Velin blinked. “You want to... weaponize cat facts.”
“Yes.”
“Against Jack of Knives.”
“Correct.”
“The most dangerous member of the Court.”
“He’ll respond,” Emma said confidently. “Or the cat facts will never stop.”
Velin stared at her for a long moment.
Then he said, very carefully, “Walk me through your plan.”
Emma pulled out a folded piece of paper. “It has to be on a time system. Automated. Each letter escalates in frequency. First one every three days. Then every two days. Then daily. Then twice daily. Then—”
“How many cat facts do you have?”
“I’ll generate them as needed.”
“Emma.”
“Fine. I have forty-seven prepared. But I can acquire more.”
Velin rubbed his temple. “And you need the treasury for...?”
“Postage. Ink. Paper. Bribery of postal workers to ensure delivery even if he tries to block them.”
“You’ve thought this through.”
“I’m deadly serious, Velin.”
He could see that. Her jaw was set. Her hands were flat on his desk. This was not a joke. This was warfare.
“Why cat facts specifically?” he asked.
Emma’s expression didn’t change. “Because they’re useless. Persistent. Mildly irritating. And there’s no way to argue against them. They’re just... facts. About cats. He can’t refute them. He can’t dismiss them. He can only endure.”
Velin felt something shift in his chest. A strange sensation. Almost like—
No. Surely not.
“And you want them automated,” he said slowly, “so that even if you’re busy, even if you’re asleep, even if you’ve moved on entirely... the cat facts continue.”
“Exactly. There is no unsubscribe. There is no mercy. Only cats.”
The sensation in Velin’s chest grew stronger.
“Emma,” he said. “Do you understand what you’re describing?”
“Psychological warfare via feline trivia?”
“No. I mean—yes, but—” He leaned forward. “You’re describing a recursive escalation protocol with persistent state regardless of operator presence. You want to build a system that continues without you. That’s... that’s actually quite elegant.”
Emma tilted her head. “Is it?”
“It’s math.”
“Good. So you’ll help me?”
Velin shouldn’t have said yes.
He should have suggested a normal letter. A reasonable conversation. Perhaps a politely worded note expressing her disappointment at Jack’s absence.
But something about the way Emma looked at him—absolutely convinced that automated cat facts were the only logical solution—made him curious.
“Alright,” he said. “Let’s design the system.”
Emma’s face lit up.
They worked for three hours.
Velin drew diagrams. Emma provided cat facts. They calculated optimal delivery intervals based on Jack’s known schedule, tolerance thresholds, and the psychological impact of escalating absurdity.
“So the first letter,” Velin said, “is benign. ‘Did you know cats have five toes on their front paws but only four on their back paws?’ Simple. Innocent.”
“Correct.”
“The second includes a postscript: ‘This is letter two of an ongoing series.’”
“Yes.”
“By letter seven, we’re sending three per day, each one more detailed than the last.”
“With diagrams.”
“With diagrams,” Velin repeated, writing it down. “And by letter twenty...”
“He breaks,” Emma said confidently. “Or he responds. Either way, I win.”
Velin looked at the schematic they’d created. The timing. The escalation curve. The automation triggers. The sheer commitment to the bit.
It was ridiculous.
It was absurd.
It was... actually kind of beautiful.
And then Emma said, very seriously: “Do you think we should include a cat fact about their ability to rotate their ears 180 degrees? Or is that too threatening?”
Velin tried to respond.
He couldn’t.
Because something impossible was happening.
He was laughing.
Not a chuckle. Not a polite acknowledgment of humor.
A real laugh. The kind that came from deep in the chest and refused to stop. The kind that made his shoulders shake and his eyes water.
Emma stared at him. “Are you... alright?”
Velin tried to speak. Failed. Laughed harder.
“Velin?”
He waved a hand, gasping. “I’m—I’m sorry, it’s just—”
“What?”
“You’re going to automate cat facts,” he managed between breaths. “You’re going to torment Jack of Knives with feline trivia until he surrenders. And you’re asking me—with a completely straight face—if ear rotation facts are too threatening.”
“They might be!”
That made it worse. Velin buried his face in his hands, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.
Emma watched him. Then, slowly, she started smiling.
“You think it’s funny.”
“I think it’s brilliant.”
“So you’ll help?”
Velin looked up, wiping his eyes. “Yes. Absolutely. We’re building this. Full treasury access approved. I’ll personally ensure the automation runs flawlessly.”
Emma nodded, satisfied. “Good. When do we start?”
“Immediately.”
Later, when the Queen asked Velin why he looked so pleased with himself, he simply said: “I helped Princess Emma design a siege engine.”
“What kind?”
“The recursive kind. With cats.”
The Queen decided not to ask further questions.
Three weeks later, Jack returned to Court.
He looked exhausted. Haunted. He walked directly to Emma, handed her a sealed letter, and said: “I surrender.”
Emma opened it. Read it. Smiled.
“Thank you for your correspondence,” she said sweetly.
Jack’s eye twitched. “Please. Please make them stop.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Emma—”
“Did you know cats can jump up to six times their length?”
Jack’s face went pale.
“That’s letter thirty-four,” Emma said. “We’re only getting started.”
From across the room, Velin watched.
And laughed.
For the first time in a thousand years, Math itself—cold, rigid, unfeeling Math—laughed.
Not at the absurdity.
At the beauty of it.
Because sometimes, the most elegant solution to a problem is the one that makes absolutely no sense—
—until you see the pattern underneath.
END
(Based on a true story)
Visit the Court at other stories at Velinwoodcourt.com