by Andre Norton
Perhaps the Matter that most engages Sir Athelstan’s regard is the Literacy of my Kind. He has interested Himself closely in the Education of my new Litter, which has now reached a Point at which all are scribbling away for an Hour each Day, using pinfeather-quill Pen and small Thimbles of Ink. They must prepare for their own Futures, and of course I am Teaching them all that I may.
Their tiny Copybooks litter the Space about the Master’s Table, and he takes Care to place his Feet so as to avoid damaging any Work in Progress. I found him, some Days ago, with Rufus, the most precocious Tom in the Litter, sitting upon his Desk. The Kit was Writing busily, and Sir Athelstan was helping him to form his Letters with the Copperplate Swirls and Curlicues that he uses Himself in his Correspondence with other Astronomers about the Realm.
I was upset at the Time, although I could find no immediate Reason. Was that the Intuition common to my Kind? I can only feel that to be True, for Misfortune came of it, and very soon.
Being young and flexible of Mind, the Kits seem to have absorbed Much of the Esoteric Detail concerning Sir Athelstan’s Work. Rufus in particular loved to work the Astrolabe, when it was not in use, and he has also learned, much to my Astonishment, quite a Lot of the Mathematical Calculation necessary for plotting the Orbits of Stars and Planets.
Finding his Copybook filled with this Lore, I felt some Pride at his Accomplishment. Foolish Hermione! I have been taught, as have all my Kind, that Pride goeth before a Fall, and such has proven to be the Case.
That became obvious two Days past, when there came a Knock at the Door. Musgrave, Sir Athelstan’s Manservant, upon receiving the Communication handed in by the Servant outside, brought it directly to the Study. I watched my Charge’s Face as he read, and I knew at once that something had gone Amiss.
His Cheeks went quite Scarlet, and his white Beard seemed almost to Bristle with Outrage. “What Audacity!” he shouted, ringing for Musgrave with unaccustomed Vigor. “Some Charlatan is endeavoring to sully my spotless Reputation! A Letter must be sent at once, Musgrave (for that Individual had arrived promptly).”
He turned to his Table and his Quills, but when he thrust the first into the Silver Inkwell, so disturbed was he that he broke its Nib against the Bottom. Ink splashed onto the Calculations laid ready for Work, and he looked as if he might burst into Tears.
“If I might be of Service,” I told him in the Private Speech used between Familiar and Charge, “I will be Happy to Inscribe the Message for you.”
He lifted me onto the Table with much Gratitude and sent Musgrave from the Room on a Pretext. We try never to disturb Servants with our Association, for many of those become Fearful when faced with our Abilities.
My Kit had left his small Pen on a Corner of the Table, and I managed to make my Letters large enough for easy Reading by Humankind. Slowly, my Master dictated his Missive, and as I copied his Words, I felt a Chill in my Heart. This was Mischief, not Conspiracy, and I had a dreadful Intuition as to its Cause.
Learned Sirs: the letter began,
It was with Dismay that I received your Communication of two Hours past. A Comet that threatens to destroy the Terrestrial Globe? I have found no trace of such a Matter, though I have scanned the Sky each clear Night through the best Telescope within my Means.
The Letter sent to you over my Signature is obviously a Forgery of the rankest Sort. I had not supposed that Jealousy existed among our Fellowship, and I refuse to believe that any of our Trusted Peers are involved in this Conspiracy. I can only suppose that Others, unknown to the Society of Amateur Astronomers, have decided to disrupt our Cooperative Endeavors and misguide our Investigations of the Heavens.
You have my deepest Apologies for the Unease this unfounded Report must have caused within the Group. I will, rest assured, look into the Matter with all possible Assiduity, and if the Culprit is discovered, I will reveal his Name to the Society, that he may be called to account.
Your Friend and Servant,
Athelstan Grisby, Brt.
As Sir Athelstan read the Letter, sprinkled Sand on the ink, and appended his Signature, I was investigating for myself. Beside the Spot on which Rufus’s Pen had rested Lay his Copybook. I strolled to sit beside it and washed my Face daintily, managing while so doing to Read what was Inscribed there.
He had, as I suspected, been Writing in Sir Athelstan’s distinctive Hand, making the Letters large enough to convince anyone that they had been formed by a Human Being. Additionally, those Letters were intermixed with Calculations resembling Those on my Master’s unfinished Pages.
Without any Doubt, I was looking at the Practice Sheet that was the Forerunner of the Forged Letter sent to the Society. How? That was, of course, instantly Apparent. Sir Athelstan’s Secretary, who came each Morning to tidy his Correspondence, must have seen this Missive lying on the Table, ready for the Post, and he had Sealed it and placed it with the outgoing Packet.
Musgrave entered the Room, took the new Letter, and left again. With my most beguiling Purr, I settled onto Sir Athelstan’s Lap, the Kits at the moment being engaged in being Fed in the Scullery.
I stared up at him, my Eyes pleading. “I know the Culprit,” I conveyed to my Charge. “And it is no Enemy of yours, but instead a great Admirer. He meant no Harm, rest assured. I do hope that you will not be Angry with him!”
He stared down, his eyes wide. “But-but how could You possibly know who did this Outrageous thing?”
I sighed and licked one paw reflectively. Then I rubbed my Chin against his Knee. “Because it was Rufus. Look at his Copybook, there on the farther Side of the Table.”
He reached and found the Item in question. When he began Perusing it, I felt his Stomach begin to quiver with Chuckles.
“That little Devil!” he said. Now he was beginning to Laugh aloud. “Would you believe that a mere Kit could comprehend my Discipline well enough to mislead an entire Society of Astronomers, if only for a short While?”
“Rufus is not your ordinary Kit,” I responded, feeling great Relief that he was reacting with Amusement rather than Fury.
“But why did he imitate my Style and my Handwriting?” asked Sir Athelstan, rereading the scribbled Page.
“Admiration? Emulation? Who can say what motivates a Child?” I asked. “But you do need to Caution your Secretary, when you find the Opportunity. Unless you have outgoing Letters in a certain Spot, he should never send them out without asking you.”
“I will see to it.” His Stomach was still joggling gently. He stroked my Head with his free Hand as he read the Page yet a third Time.
As one might suppose, I had Words of my own with my Precocious Kit. Rufus was suitably Subdued when I was done, for not only the Society was misled for a Time. The News had been sent to the Newspapers, before the Recipients of the Letter thought to verify the Information therein. This led to considerable Excitement and Distress among the Readership of the Publications involved.
So respected was Sir Athelstan that his Name (which was admirably forged) was enough to convince the most Skeptical of the Authenticity of the Danger. By the time Corrections were made, the Damage was done.
It was not an easy Matter to correct this Mishap. Some unnamed Villain is still blamed, for not even one so Secure in his own Skill as Sir Athelstan could possibly admit that this sort of Deception could be managed by a Domestic Animal.
However, nowadays when my Charge is busy with his Mathematics, Rufus is usually at his Elbow. The Kit has a Gift for this, and Sir Athelstan plans to Work with him in Future, using his unusual Skills to Augment his own.
As the Child’s Mother, I am, of course, extremely Proud and Grateful. But as Sir Athelstan’s Familiar, I keep a very close Watch upon them Both. Neither is as Mature as one would Wish, and both tend to be Daring in the Extreme.
I have no wish to deal with another such near Catastrophe as the last might have become. And though I have Worked extremely hard, I still cannot comprehend the Calculations needed for charting the Course
s of the Stars. It is difficult enough to keep an Eye upon my pair of Astronomers.
Quest of Souls by Ann Miller and Karen Rigley
“Prosh! Where are you?” Rasson called, running from room to room as his voice echoed through the huge stone dwelling.
The boy heard an annoyed “meow” in answer and skidded to a stop in front of a stretching gray cat. “Cat Prosh, I can’t wake the Master!”
Then let him sleep. Prosh licked his left paw to express disinterest.
“You don’t understand. My master cannot wake. He lies white as morning snow and still, so still. Come see!”
Rasson raced through the main chamber into Master’s bedroom with the cat darting past him. Prosh hopped upon the bed, using nose, whiskers and very keen cat eyes to examine the pale master.
You’re right. Master cannot wake-his soul is gone. Cat Prosh gazed unblinkingly at the boy.
“Gone?” Rasson leaned over the bed to poke at his master’s cheek. “You mean he’s dead?”
No, but he will die, Prosh warned, if you do not rescue his soul by the next new moon.
“How can I do that?”
Get help from the village witch. Prosh leapt off the bed. Now I must find Cook and get my meal.
“Cat Prosh,” called Rasson. “Come back!”
The cat ignored Rasson and shot away toward the kitchen with the pleading boy trailing behind. They found no one in the kitchen and the black stove had not been lit. No aroma of baking bread greeted them, no hearty good morning from Cook, and no breakfast for cat or boy.
“Maybe Cook is in her room behind the pantry,” Rasson suggested. The cat and the boy found her door unlocked and cautiously entered Cook’s chambers. No snores sounded from the huge lump in bed. Still, the boy stayed back fearing Cook’s temper, and allowed Cat Prosh to investigate.
Her soul has been stolen, too, Prosh announced.
The boy crept forward. “Why?”
Prosh sniffed and stared at the human boy. Soul robbers steal souls and imprison them in the Dark Fortress until the seventh new moon. Then they drain the kidnapped souls, using that essence to increase their evil power.
“I thought soul robbers things of legend only-stories told to frighten children. If you knew about them, why didn’t you protect Master?” Rasson cried in anger and fear.
Who knows when soul robbers will attack? A long time has passed since they last ventured forth-longer than either of our memories. Soul robbers strike at random, after dark. Cat Prosh leaped down and pattered back into the kitchen. Last night I was outside exercising Hound. He needs it.
“I should’ve been here-I would’ve saved them.”
Where were you? Prosh’s ears perked.
“In the woods catching glowflies,” Rasson answered, hanging his head down in remorse and feeling as if he wanted to cry.
Did you catch any? The boy nodded, and Prosh added, Good. Put the glowflies in a lantern and take them with you on your quest. Their light will guide you at night.
“Please, Prosh, I need you to help me free Master and Cook,” Rasson said. A thought struck him. He stopped and blinked down at the big gray cat. “Oh, no! Do you think they got Mistress?”
“Meooow!” screeched Prosh.
Prosh darted up the stairs with the boy scrambling after, Rasson reaching Mistress Sunlee’s chambers seconds behind the cat.
Rasson knocked lightly. No response. He cracked the door open and Cat Prosh swished past to pounce upon the bed. There, stretched out like exquisitely carved ivory, lay Mistress, her golden hair spread out over the pillow. She slept deeply as if she had abandoned the living world. Prosh wailed so loudly, Rasson jumped. Though aware Cat Prosh adored Mistress, it still startled the boy to hear such deep anguish from the normally aloof feline. “Don’t grieve, Prosh. We shall free their souls and bring our people back to life.” The boy picked up Prosh and carried the trembling cat away from Mistress and back toward the kitchen. “I’ll find us something to eat, then we can plan the rescue.”
Prosh emitted a weak meow as Rasson put him down by an empty bowl and disappeared into the pantry. Soon the boy came out with Cook’s prize cream instead of plain milk. He poured most of the cream into the bowl, then gulped down the remainder from the bottle. He divided a chunk of smoked fish between himself and the cat, glad to see Prosh eating and acting normal again.
As their fish disappeared, the boy began to chatter. “Once I told Koge that you talk to me. He didn’t believe me. Why can’t Koge hear you like I can?” Rasson said, remembering how the older boy had laughed and ridiculed him.
I don’t wish to talk to that ruffian. Cat Prosh finished off the cream, then sat back to lick his whiskers. Why you speak to Koge, I’ll never understand.
“Koge says I’m crazy if I think cats talk. I told him you don’t say words out loud, you say them into my head, but he just called me stupid.”
If you were stupid, boy, I would not bother talking to you. Prosh turned attention back to the fish, nibbling delicately at a small chunk of it. Is there more of this?
“Yes, but you’ll get sick if I feed you too much.”
No, boy. Store it in your pack with water and foodstuffs that humans eat. Don’t forget the glowfly lantern and a blanket. Prosh began licking his fur with his rough pink tongue. Also you need to gather dahi blossoms, wild fluta, and bloka leaves from the woods before we go.
“Does this mean you’re coming with me?”
Of course. Mistress Sunlee needs me and we might as well save the other souls, too.
“I’m ready,” Rasson announced breathlessly, a short time later. He stood by the door, clutching a knapsack bulging with supplies, determined to rescue the people who, in great kindness, had taken in the small orphan boy. He could not fail them.
About time. Prosh swished his tail. Did you pick the herbs?
“Yes, here they are.” The boy touched a leather pouch hanging from his belt. “But why do we need them?” Just a little cat magic. You’ll learn when it’s time. Come, let us go before more of the day passes.
They journeyed west, using the ascending sun as a compass. Sometimes the cat trotted ahead, making Rasson break into a run to catch up to Prosh. After a few hours, the boy took the lead. He darted past ferns and wild berry bushes, calling, “I see something shiny and bright in that clump of olla flowers. Maybe it’s a jewel that someone dropped.”
No, boy, don’t touch it! Prosh admonished, reaching Rasson as the boy stretched a hand toward the shimmering gold spot among pink flowers.
“I found it, so it’s mine,” Rasson replied, annoyed at the cat for trying to keep him from his treasure.
SSsSsst! The gold spot undulated with shiny scales as a hooded head raised up hissing, a forked tongue darting from the snake’s mouth.
Horror flooded Rasson as he heard Prosh caution, Do not move. Stay completely still. Glimmer snakes are poison. The boy held his breath, too terrified to move. From the corner of his eye he saw Cat Prosh circle in closer while the snake held Rasson prisoner with a cold black gaze. The snake reared back its head, preparing to strike. “I’m doomed,” Rasson whispered.
At that moment a cat paw knocked the snake’s head. Before the serpent could recoil, the cat snapped jaws over its midsection and pulled it from the flowers. Prosh swung the squirming snake, whipping its head against a boulder until he beat all life out of the golden serpent. The cat dropped the dead snake to the ground.
You are greedy and impulsive like all of your kind, Cat Prosh told Rasson, before moving away to wash the snake scent from his fur. I should have let the snake bite you.
“But you need me,” pleaded Rasson, ashamed of himself. He offered the cat some water in a small cup and placed a piece of smoked fish next to the cup. “Forgive me for being so foolish. Next time I shall help you, Cat Prosh.”
The cat regally accepted the boy’s offering, but as he nibbled the fish he replied, I do not need you. A cat does not need a human.
“Wait and see,” Rass
on promised. “I will prove useful and you will be glad you saved me.” He tried hard to think of something he could do for Prosh besides the offering of food. Nothing came to mind, but Rasson vowed he would find something during their journey.
The afternoon wore on as they traveled westward, the countryside changing from flat wooded ground to hills strewn with boulders and fallen rock. The sun blazed hot, sometimes glaring right into Rasson’s eyes and he couldn’t help wonder how Prosh felt under all that fur. The boy stopped to sip from his flask and watch the cat trot ahead. Rasson gazed around the strange countryside, thinking how different it was so far from home. The next hill looked more like a mountain and he wanted to explore it. Up the trail, he noticed the cat slowing down.
Cat Prosh surveyed the rugged terrain, glancing back at Rasson. The feline stretched and yawned under the shade of a waala bush where fern leaves fanned the air. Boy, you scout a ways up the mountain and I’ll keep watch here.
With a hop and a skip Rasson started off to hike up the rocky trail until he stood by a big boulder at the cliff top. “Look, Prosh! I can move this big rock.”
The dozing cat meowed a protest before opening green eyes to stare as the boy teetered the precarious boulder to and fro. Be careful, it may roll off the edge, Prosh warned, then curled himself in the other direction and closed his eyes again.
“On my way up I passed a cave, not far from you,” Rasson yelled down at the cat. “Can we sleep there tonight?”
Prosh snoozed under the bush, ignoring Rasson. The boy began tossing pebbles off the cliff to land in front of the cave, several yards from the cat.
Stop that racket and come down, Prosh commanded.
The boy shinnied down the mountain side, but just as he reached the bottom, a ferocious growl thundered from the cave. Rasson glanced over to see a huge gray beast standing at the entrance. He blinked disbelieving eyes at the giant wolf-dog, blood dripping from its fangs and a half-eaten zincod clenched in its teeth.
