DISCLAIMER: The characters of Smallville are the property of DC Comics and The WB. The character of Maurice and the Discworld are the property of Terry Pratchett and his publishers. They are used here without their creators’ knowledge or consent and only for enjoyment. The situation and the plot (what there is of it) belong to the author.

Authors note: This story is the result of a 20 minute challenge between a friend and myself. Please ask before archiving. Constructive criticism is welcomed.

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Jonathan breathed in the sweet, nose-tickling scent of hay with appreciation as he entered the barn. Even though it didn’t often function as a place to keep animals, previous generations had embedded that particular feel of a barn into the very wood of the building.

This time, to Jonathan’s surprise, there was an animal in it. A big orange tomcat had taken up residence on the table he saved for his recreation.

“How’d you get out her, big fella? Someone not want an old tom like you? Listen, if you can catch mice, you’re welcome to stay. I hate them.”

In the back, a partially rebuilt engine waited for him. Pulling out his tools and laying them out in order beside the cat, he started to relax into his hobby.

It was over an hour later that Clark came out and asked to go to town. After getting him to lift the engine so he could get at a spot, he sent the boy off to have a bit of fun with his friends.

He had just settled into poking and prying at the new area of the engine when a voice nearly gave him a heart attack.

“That kid of yours is a strong one, isn’t he? Can’t recall that I’ve ever seen anything like that. Of course, I have seen stranger.”

Heart pounding in terror that someone had seen - SEEN - Clark use his powers, he swung around, a heavy duty wrench held in a white-knuckled grip. He wouldn’t let his boy be hurt again. There might not be much that could physically hurt him, but that last psychopath still gave Clark nightmares.

“Who’s there?!”

“Maurice. The Amazing Maurice. I’m not entirely certain how I got here, although I can tell you that conning Wizards just isn’t worth the trouble it causes. No matter how sparkly and pretty their gold is, all glisteny and - - Um, sorry. Now, about your boy - Have you thought of the circus? They expect strongmen in a circus to be unusual and I’d be glad to go along and keep him out of trouble. For a fee, of course.”

He was dealing with a madman. Definitely another psycho.

“WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?!”

“I told you. The Amazing Maurice. I could give you a good deal. The fee, I mean.”

He kept on talking, but Jonathan wasn’t listening.

He had just realized that it was the old Tom who was talking. The cat. Was talking.

Jonathan had time to cry out as he fell over backwards, before he knocked himself out on the gutted engine.

*****

“Jonathan! Jonathan!”

Martha’s voice echoed menacingly through his head.

“Are you all right, Jonathan?!”

“He saw Clark lift the engine. He was talking about forcing him into a circus!”

“What? WHO?!” There was terror in her voice.

“Maurice! The - the cat!”

“. . . “

“Jonathan, you’re going to the hospital. Come on, up you go.”

“But - “

“No ‘Buts’, mister. Come on.”

Jonathan only had time to look dubiously over his shoulder at the grooming cat before he was pulled out of the barn.

He would later wonder if the cat had really raised it’s head and winked at him.