Anton and Cecil, Book 2

by Lisa Martin

  Cecil gazed up at the sky again. “I wonder if old Hieronymus can see these same stars, wherever he is.”

  “Wherever he is.” Anton shuddered in the warm breeze. “You know what we need? We need a new perspective. A fresh pair of eyes. Some good advice.”

  “Hmmm,” said Cecil. “Somebody wise and experienced?”

  “Yes,” said Anton.

  “Okay,” said Cecil. “I know just the cat.”

  “Yep.” Anton smiled. “I do too.”

  Cecil woke Katya early and then sat cleaning his fur while Anton explained the whole story. Anton had told her bits and pieces, but now he recounted the entire journey, starting with the call for help over the mouse network. He described Hieronymus, his steadfast and eloquent best mouse friend, who was the object of the rescue effort. Katya shook her head in amazement at that part, but said nothing. She listened to the tales of the ship, the owl and the dog, the trains, the prairie dogs and bison. Cecil told of his encounter with the coyote, but left out most of the details that would have chilled Anton to the bone.

  “So,” concluded Cecil. “Now we’re stuck.”

  Katya flicked her pointed ears back and forth, thinking. “Tell me again the strange clue that the mice gave you.”

  “They said that our friend could be found ‘between the whale and the coyote.’ ”

  “Well, I know what a coyote is, and you wouldn’t want to be between one and anything, I can tell you that. But what is a whale?”

  “It’s an enormous creature that lives in water, in the ocean,” said Cecil, gesturing widely.

  Katya shook her head. “Never have seen the ocean.”

  “Exactly the problem!” said Anton, exasperated. “There’s no ocean anywhere near here!”

  Cecil ignored Anton and pressed on. “Have you ever seen a fish?” he asked.

  “Sure,” said Katya. “I’ve crossed rivers and streams before and I’ve seen them swimming there. My sister eats them, but they’re hard to catch.”

  “Right. But a whale is not a fish; it’s much bigger. Shaped the same, but its head is as big as a train carriage, and its giant flat tail thrashes the water when it dives. Its mouth goes halfway around its head, and it can blow water straight out of a hole on top. That’s a whale.”

  Katya nodded thoughtfully, her gaze moving slowly across the foothills. “Hmmm,” she murmured. “A whale, but no ocean. A whale on dry land. Maybe not a real whale, then.” She paused and squinted. “Could it look something like that ?” She raised a paw, pointing over the prairie grass, past the town, down the train tracks. Anton and Cecil sat up tall and stared in that direction, searching for what she was trying to show them. Katya had even better vision than they did, and at first they saw only the misty gray shapes of the higher rocky mountains looming over the rails miles away.

  But then the sun rose behind them, its honeyed light melting the mist, and they saw it. Far away and just beyond the tracks stood a craggy slab of mountaintop, elongated and angled with a thick, rounded base and a wide, curling peak jutting skyward. At this distance it seemed small, but it must have been enormous.

  It looked just like a great diving whale.

  Anton sat speechless, his mouth hanging open.

  Cecil couldn’t believe his eyes. He suddenly found himself filled with memories of the fear and loneliness and despair and the deep, thrilling joy of their last adventure on the ocean. He passed a paw over his eyes and took a slow breath. Finally he answered Katya.

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Just like that.”

  CHAPTER 11

  The Sign of the Coyote

  Katya accompanied the brothers back to the train station, advising them along the way that any attempt to get near a coyote might put a severe crimp in their rescue plan. “You two are so little,” she said, “you wouldn’t stand a chance, especially as coyotes tend to travel in packs.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Cecil, remembering their acrid smell, their rough laughter, the way they’d paced hungrily just outside his prairie dog hole.

  “We’ll be careful,” Anton assured her. “We’ll start by getting close to the whale mountain and see if we can find this witch’s house from there.”

  “I’m not eager to tangle with any animal in this crazy place,” Cecil agreed. “I’m going to stay on my own four paws as much as possible.”

  Katya nodded at this. “A wise cat is a cautious cat,” she said. “I don’t know much about the ‘trains,’ but you’ve come this far already so you probably know what to do. Just be careful, and keep your eyes and ears open.”

  “I’m almost looking forward to a nice train ride,” said Cecil. They had come out of the low hills and the meadow stretched before them, with the squat station building nestled at its edge and a few humans milling about on the platform.

  “I’ll leave you here,” Katya said. “Good luck on your quest.”

  Anton and Cecil stopped and turned to face Katya, sitting side by side as they often had when leaving their mother for a day on the docks. Sonya would look them over affectionately, patting one on the shoulder or passing her tongue over the forehead of the other.

  “We can’t thank you enough for helping us,” Anton said.

  Cecil chimed in. “I was pretty beat up when you came to my rescue.”

  Katya smiled at them. “Cats have to look out for each other,” she said. “Especially the big for the small. There is a Great Cat who lives up in those hills where you’re headed. They say he’s the wisest and greatest of us all. I’ve never seen him, but maybe you will. I’m sure he’s never met any cats as small as you two.”

  Cecil felt a shiver in his spine at the thought of meeting such a fabled creature, and he murmured softly, “The Great Cat.”

  “Good luck to you both,” Katya said. She raised her paw and gave Cecil a gentle pat on the shoulder. She turned to Anton, who sat still as her big rough tongue swept across his head between his ears. Then in a flash Katya was bounding away, back to her home in the hills.

  Anton and Cecil had no difficulty getting on the train. After the cars were unloaded the men went into the building where the lights were bright and there was food being served. The carriage doors were open and the cats jumped right in. It was easy to hide among the crates and bales still aboard. When the men returned, they barely glanced inside before they slid the big door closed.

  “Good night,” Cecil said wearily. “I can really use a rest.”

  “But you’re going to be all right, aren’t you?” Anton asked.

  “Sure, I will. That boy was a kindly one. He gave me a lot to eat. It wasn’t tasty—it was kind of like that gluey porridge Cloudy used to serve—but it was filling enough. And they eat this dry stuff—it looks like twigs—I ate some of that, too. You have to chew it a lot, but it’s okay. The boy put a wet paste on my leg and wrapped it up. It felt better right away. But then he wrapped the cord around my neck and I panicked. They were folding up their sails and packing up blankets. I thought they were going to take me away with them and you’d never find me.”

  “But I’d keep looking,” Anton assured him. “You know I would.”

  “I know.” Cecil flexed his injured leg a few times, thinking about what it would be like to be a pet. “I’ve been in lots of tight spots, but . . .” He paused. “That boy had a cord around my neck in the blink of an eye. I couldn’t get away. I was more scared than I’ve ever been in my life.”

  “Remember when we were stuffed in that cage in the animal market?” Anton asked quietly. “We couldn’t get away then either.”

  “That was different.” Cecil tried to think of how. “We were together.”

  “Together is different,” Anton agreed.

  “I don’t understand it,” said Cecil. “I go out on human ships and I swipe their food when I’m hungry. I like how they build huge things that go fast. Humans are powerful. But they’re dangerous. More dangerous than I thought.”

  “How can you be surprised?” asked Anton.
“We’ve been warned about humans impressing us into service on ships since we were little kits, haven’t we?”

  “Yeah, but . . .” Cecil began, and then fell silent.

  Anton gave a soft snort. “You never thought it could happen to you, did you?”

  “Not really, no,” admitted Cecil.

  “It’s a strange kind of danger, isn’t it?” Anton mused. “The boy fed you plenty and took good care of you. Healed your leg.”

  “That’s true.” Cecil pondered a moment. “So I guess the danger is in not being able to leave. We want to go wherever we want, whenever we want.”

  “To be free.” Anton nodded. “All cats are wild, like Katya said. And yet here we are, riding on one of their trains to reach our imprisoned mate.”

  The shriek of the whistle—once, then again—seemed to agree with Anton’s observation. The engine huffed, the steel pistons turned, and with a jolt and a clank the carriages began to roll on the track.

  “Here we go,” Anton said, wide-eyed. But the two stowaways had not gone very far when they fell to yawning and curled back-to-back against a pile of horse blankets, quickly drifting into sleep.

  Anton woke first. He had no idea how long he’d slept, but he could tell the train was slowing down. “Cecil,” he whispered to his sleeping brother, who didn’t respond. Anton poked him on the head with a paw and repeated, “Cecil, I think we’re stopping.”

  Cecil lifted his head, gazed at the carriage door, and dropped his chin back down on his paws. “I was dreaming,” he said. “We were sailing into the harbor and the schooner was full of fish.”

  “Well, I doubt we’ll find any fish here. But maybe we’ll find Hieronymus,” Anton said. He got to his feet and moved near the door. The wheels were grinding loudly, and the door rattled in its frame. “We’re definitely stopping.”

  Soon the carriage was still and they could hear the men outside, talking and laughing. Anton and Cecil crouched behind a crate. The door slid open and a man stepped inside, glanced about, said something to another man on the platform, and stepped back out again.

  “I guess we’d better make a run for it,” Cecil said. “Before they come back and start loading stuff in here.”

  “Right,” said Anton. “Just pick a direction and I’ll follow you.” Cautiously they approached the open door. Cecil peered out while Anton crouched behind him, ready to spring.

  “There are some steps toward the front,” Cecil said. “Not many humans around. Should be a breeze.”

  And it was. They dashed across the planks and into a dusty road where a few horses stood about tied up to fence posts. Anton glanced up past the line of rooftops and gasped. The whale-topped mountain was quite close now, looming above the town, its tail arched against the blue sky as if breaching a wide blue sea. Hieronymus has got to be here somewhere, Anton thought, beginning to hope. Now all we need is a coyote.

  Cecil, moving faster than Anton thought he could, darted into an open space under a building without so much as a pause. Anton followed so quickly even the horses didn’t notice the two cats. But there was something happening overhead that was the opposite of peaceful. Humans were stamping up and down on the floorboards, men were shouting, and a woman was singing. Anton hunkered down, but Cecil scowled and crept back toward the dusty street. Cecil approached the first horse, who watched him warily from one of his big eyes.

  “Don’t you get under my hooves now, little cat,” said the horse.

  Anton stepped out and joined his brother. “You’ve seen cats like us before?” he asked.

  “Sure,” said the horse. “I’ve seen every kind of animal there is. Some humans come out here in those smoke machines, but others just get on their horses and ride, and that’s how I got here. I walked across the country from the ocean.” He nodded in the direction of the setting sun.

  Cecil and Anton looked at each other. Willy had said there was a lot of water at the end of the line.

  “There’s an ocean in that direction?” Anton asked, incredulous.

  “Beautiful place,” the horse said. “There’s a big town, every kind of human and animal you can imagine, and a harbor full of enormous ships with sails. A lot of good grass out that way too, but not in the town.”

  “You two got names?” asked another horse.

  “I’m Anton. This is my brother Cecil.”

  “I’m Rusty,” said the well-traveled horse.

  “I’m called Snickers,” said the other as he raised his head, craning his neck to look down the street where a cloud of dust appeared to be rolling toward the town. “Whoa, look at that. Here comes a whole lotta trouble.”

  “You little beasts better run for cover,” said Rusty. The cloud was getting close and at the front of it one, two, then more horses’ heads broke through, running so fast that the earth trembled beneath their hooves. The door of the saloon flew open, and a few men in big hats came barreling out into the street. One man yanked Rusty’s reins from the rail and leaped onto his back, turning him this way and that until he stood up on his hind legs and came down facing the horde of men and horses roaring toward them. There were shouts and confusion and whinnies from the horses.

  Anton and Cecil took off down the road, past the line of shops that ended abruptly at a field of dirt and sand. “This way,” Cecil said, turning the corner. In a moment they were on a second street, very different from the first, with a couple of trees and a line of buildings that looked more like houses. One had an awning across the front, another had a patch of garden and a gate.

  “This is more like it,” Anton said. They trotted along quietly, taking in the tamer side of the town. Anton stopped to sniff a spicy herb that reminded him of the paste the villagers had put on Cecil’s leg. When he looked up he saw Cecil sitting stock-still, staring wide-eyed at a flat metal sign in the shape of a dog hanging from a gatepost.

  “What is it?” Anton asked, walking to Cecil’s side.

  “That’s a coyote.”

  “Wow,” Anton said. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You think this is what we’re looking for?” Anton gazed at the long snout and big pointed ears of the animal on the rusted sign. “I don’t know. It’s not a real coyote.”

  “Neither is the whale a real whale, if we’re on the right track,” said Cecil. He moved a dozen paces into the dirt road, then turned and faced the sign. “Come see this.”

  Anton followed and stood next to Cecil. He looked past the sign and saw a little walkway ending at a two-story house with an awning across the front. Rising behind the house was the whale-like gray face of the mountain, with the twin points of the tail pointing up at the blue sky overhead.

  “Between the whale and the coyote,” Anton said slowly, his eyes moving from the mountain to the sign to the house in between.

  “This is it,” Cecil agreed. “Hieronymus is in that house.”

  The sign squeaked on its hinges in the dusty breeze, and the coyote pictured on it seemed to be gazing down, smiling mischievously at the brother cats. Or hungrily, perhaps. Either way, it gave Anton the shivers as he stepped onto the porch with Cecil. Unfamiliar sounds floated across from the main street of the town—heavy boots thunking in time with jingling bells, the squeaks of swinging doors, horses clopping at a full gallop down the road, strange music that was more like the clamor of shorebirds than the sailors’ tuneful songs from back home. The cats pressed close to the rough planked wall under a window and craned their necks up and around, inspecting the house.

  “What now?” asked Anton. “We’ll have to find a way in somehow.”

  “Yup, that about sums it up,” said Cecil. He stood on his hind legs and peered in the low window, which was shut, his nose working along the sill. “Hmmm, smells good in there.”

  “You think it smells good everywhere,” said Anton.

  Cecil dropped down and shook his head. “Not over by those horses I didn’t. Phew, that was awful.”

  A shriek cut through the wa
rm air, high and fluted like a train whistle, and Anton turned to look down the street. But the train had left the station; there was nothing on the tracks. And besides, the sound seemed to have come from over their heads, inside the house. How could that be?

  They heard footsteps approaching from within.

  “Get ready,” murmured Cecil, prodding Anton toward the door.

  The door opened and closed quickly, and a little girl stepped onto the porch. She wore a long, many-layered dress and her blond hair was gathered with a silky blue ribbon. She walked over to a rocking chair and sat down, arranging the folds of her dress carefully, and began speaking in a pleasant voice. The cats watched her curiously.

  “Who’s she talking to?” whispered Cecil. “There’s nobody else over there.”

  “Not to us, I hope,” said Anton.

  “No, she’s looking down.” Cecil lifted his head to see better. “There’s something in her lap.”

  The girl held up the thing in her lap, and the cats saw a tiny version of the girl in her hands, complete with a miniature flouncy dress and ribboned hair.

  “What shall we do today, dolly?” said the girl to the thing, stroking its yellow hair. “Shall we play with Merlin and Snowball?”

  Anton nudged Cecil’s shoulder. “What’s she holding? I can’t tell. A baby human?”

  Cecil squinted. “I don’t think so. I’ve seen those, and they wriggle. This is just one of those unmoving ones they play with.” He stood and stretched his back. “The human seems safe enough. I’m going to go make friends.”

  “That’s not what we’re here to do!” whispered Anton as his brother sauntered across the porch.

  Cecil approached the girl slowly with soft eyes, tail up. The girl saw him and squealed, tossing the doll down behind her and plopping to her knees in front of Cecil, her fingers extended.

  “Kitty!” she said with delight. “Hello, what’s your name?”

  Cecil rubbed the side of his face along her hand and pressed against her legs as she rubbed his ears.