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It's not said out loud, but he's clear on the Cat's stance - this is it, Howard. This is your last chance.

It means facing it all. Not just everything from before. And the very idea rocks him to his core. He's not ready, that broken part of him weeps. But he never will be. This one's for the keeps.

not just you , kid . the gods & their crew . their cruelty so pointless , but ol' knowhere knows just what to do ...

if he pulls back his punches , howard will die . They won't show him mercy , so neither will i . but this WILL be a kindness , the boy's saving grace . knowhere pays no mind to the tears on howard's face .

the bar is low lit-ed , the pianist's gone , but it's significantly warmer than the outside's going-on . the cat sits at a table , a dealer of some kind . all four eyes are revealed , it's no trick of the mind . four lights a'glowin' , a new cigarette's the fifth . a sight that would make any unready soul turn stiff .

“ you brought what i asked ? ” the pot & the plum .

"But...why?" How could anybody care, whether he were to live or to die? "I'm a selfish little monster. Of all the people you could pick -"

Oh dear, Howard looks like he might be sick. Why must the cat talk of things that could never be? And yet all he can think is: please don't be mad at me.

He winces again, when he thinks of that place, the unsympathetic doctors, and Philip's poor face. He grips the torch tight to his chest, long since smouldered out, he's trying his best.

"He didn't need me to survive," like poor Phil did, he's sure now he's not alive. It's not that he loved this new mentor or Angelique more! "He's the only one who could outrun what Morose had in store."

But the tears are coming now, he has to plead his case. Oh how he wishes Knowhere couldn't see his face.

so self-righteous . so self hating . begging for the cat's help , but his pride still debating . refusing responsibility . refusing the yoke . the unseen cat actually hisses . this isn't a joke .

“ i see most . ” he insists . “ howard . that you can bet . & this weight on my soul you WILL respect . ”

there's quiet again , but the air's thicker , yet fine . like when one holds their breath to keep themself from crying . but knowhere regains himself , or at the very least , he's tryin' .

“ if you want to save your friend , ” he sneers . “ you must save yourself first . & that , my friend , means facing what you fear the worst . ”

the wall began to deepen , going farther into blue . & only at its end would the cat appeared in true . he'd look thinner , almost tired , with his cigarettes & pool stick . & dryly he'd reply :

When the cat talks, he jumps nearly out of his skin. He can't see him anywhere, but it feels like ages since he heard another voice aside from his own. Why does he keep hearing clarinet tones, tapering up and down? He's losing it, cat!

"do you really all think I wanted all this?" who else is Howard talking about? There's something amiss. "You think I wanted the - the end of the world?"

Howard is not a child, but a foolish young man. And he hadn't come back with much of a plan. It's not my fault! He wants to rant and cry, on the feet of one person, why would the fate of the world lie?

"I didn't know," he says, voice small, it's a lie. He convinced himself otherwise, but he just hadn't wanted to die.

And is that so evil? To want somebody else to do the task?

He can't find it in him to spit and yell, the cat's voice, unrelenting in this hell, fills him with relief he doesn't bother to quell. The cat does not want to help him anymore, but maybe he can convince him someone else needs it more!

"I know you probably want me to meet a fitting end. But there's someone still here to save, and he's my...friend..."

“ don't lie to me , boy . ”

just WHO do you think you're kidding ? it's almost a threat . the last of knowhere's anger hasn't tempered quite yet . not the dangerous sort , but the kind of thin lips , the tapping of tails , & hands upon hips .

“ i want a fitting end for you , alright— the kind where you'd flourish ! & you could have HAD it , too ! if your acts weren't so boorish ! ”

just what does he have to do to make that get through your head ?! he wants you to live , howard ! he doesn't want you dead !

He doesn't know he's being watched, but the quiet that greets him on Morose's shore is the stuff of nightmares. And as he wanders, he re-reads his old friend's journal again. It's all madness, but he seeks out the items the cat spoke of before. He glimpses a figure with long hair, transcalent as glass.

The plum pit he finds, and by that time, his hands are numb with cold. His stomach aches, and one of the blood-hims had knocked him quite bad, and now he's got the shakes...

When he first returned, all bitter and brash, he avoided the Lucky Bar like it would give him a rash. As the hours tick on, he starts to inch near where doorways would lead him thus...only to find walls, and why's not hard to suss.

A teapot has found its way into his bag, along with a muddy yellow hat, with no grinchy owner to be had.

"Go on then, have a good laugh! You won't be the first to have one on my behalf!" He'll find a way himself, he just has to read more notes, find more secrets, steal more boats?

But he doesn't storm away, he stays right there, like a kicked puppy, left on the mat.

"...cat?"

he's met with silence . a dry , gray wall . perhaps knowhere's sharp tongue would be better than nothing . nothing at all .

knowhere isn't laughing , howard . this whole thing is a schlup . it's a wonder at all that the old cat hasn't already given up . he'd be in the right , too dealing with a headache case like you .

or maybe it was his fault . had he been too harsh ? should his approach have been more softer ? gentler ? to melt this hard-heart's heart into marsh ? but howard isn't a child & this world is not his fort . how tired the cat is of these bleaker bleakins & the un-human sort ! that only ever care to kill , consume , & con-strive ! not the everything else that makes it so good to be alive .

all alone . all utterly alone in this universe , poor howard stands shivering outside .

“ ..... ”

well . well , what good are those collect-inkets now ? there's no friend to save . even the cat cannot bring someone back from the grave .

... but there is another . another unlikely knave .

“ ...look who's come a'skunkerin' back . ” someone replies after a long time of lack .