by Andre Norton
“Blue eyes,” that was the boy. “He don’t look like any moggy as I ever saw—”
“Sssssisss—” The man held out his hand and slowly, as if he were dealing with one of his horse charges. “You sure be a different one.”
Thragun sniffed at the knuckles of the hand offered him. There were smells in plenty, but none were cold or threatening. He ventured a small sound deep in his throat.
“You be a grand one, ben’t you! Asa, get yourself over an’ speak up to Missus Cobb. She’s already got a hankerin’ for moggys an’ she’ll give you somethin’ for this fine fellow.”
The boy disappeared. Thragun decided to take a chance. Moving warily, with an eye continually on the man, he jumped out of the basket, still facing the small man.
“Yis—” that almost was a hiss again. “You ain’t no common moggy.” His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I thinks as ‘ow th’ Cap’n, he mustta thought as ‘ow you was right for Miss Emmy—she likin’ beasties so well. An’ th’ Cap’n sure ain’t goin’ to take it calm if you go a-missin’—
Standing up, the man rubbed his bristly chin.
“Trouble is, that ole she-devil up to th’ house, she’s doin’ all th’ talkin’ these days. We don’t get to see our Lady a-tall—jus’ tell us, they do—that fine gentlemun o’ a doctor, an’ Mr. Crisp, th’ agent—that our lady can’t be bothered by anythin’ now she is so bad took.
An’ Miss Emmy, she ain’t got no chance t’ say nothin’. Th’ Cap’n so far away an’ nobody knows when he’s coming back again. It ain’t got a good smell ‘bout all this, that it ain’t. So,” he leaned back against the wall of a stall, a proud horse head raised over his shoulder to regard Thragun also.
“Soo—” the man repeated, one hand raised to scratch between the large bright eyes of the horse, “we has us a thin’ as needs thinkin’ on. Now was you,” Thragun congratulated himself that he had indeed found a very sensible man here, “to get out of that there basket an’ disappear. How are you goin’ to be found—with these ‘ere stables as full of holes and ‘idey places as a bit o’ cheese. An’ out there—” he waved one hand toward the open door, “there’s a garden an’ beyond that, woods—Our lady, she don’t allow no huntin’ an’ them two what wants to answer for her—they ain’t changed that—yet. So supposin’, Rog, ‘e comes along for t’ see you an’ he finds that there basket busted open an’ you gone—might be ‘e’d jus’ put somethin’ in his pocket and say as how ‘e did as ‘e was told—”
“Now,” the man raised his voice and caught up a broom. He aimed a blow at Thragun—well off target and yelled, “Get you out, you mangy critter, we don’t want th’ likes of you a hanging ‘round, no ways we don’t.”
Thragun leaped effortlessly to the top of a stall partition, but he made no effort to go farther for a moment. Then he walked leisurely along that narrow path to a place from which he could jump again, this time to a cross beam. At the same moment Asa returned, a small bundle in his hand.
“Ralf, what you be about—”
The man rounded on him. “Me? I ‘as been a-chasin’ a beast what ‘as no place ‘ere. An’ don’t you forget that, lad.”
Asa laughed, and then darted into the stall where Thragun had made himself comfortable. Flipping open the handkerchief, Asa turned out a chunk of grayish meat, still dripping from the boiling pan, and a wedge of cheese. He hacked the meat into several large chunks with a knife he took from his pocket and crumbled the cheese, leaving the bounty spread out on the napkin well within reach of Thragun. The cat was already licking the meat inquiringly when Asa returned with a cracked cup in which there was water.
“Couldn’ get milk,” he said as he set the cup down. “Missus Cobb, she’s mad as a cow wot’s lost ‘er calf. Old Pickle-Face is a-giving orders again. No tea for Miss Emmy ‘cause she’s been a-askin’ for th’ cat. When Pickle-Face tol’ her that the cat was gone for good, she stiffed up an’ hit the old besom, then said as how her pa would ‘ave th’ law on Pickle-Face for gettin’ rid o’ th’ cat. She would not ask pardon, so she’s not to ‘ave no vittles except dry bread and water ‘til she gets down on her two knees an’ asks for it.”
“I’ll be a-thinkin’ that little Miss is na going to have so ‘ard of it,” Ralf said. Thragun snarled. He had somehow got another whiff of that evil smell. Though the words these two stable slaves used to each other were totally foreign, he could pick out thoughts like little flashes of pictures. Not all the temple and palace four-footed guards could do that. But to Thragun it had become increasingly easy over the years.
Asa kicked at a handful of bedding straw and reached for the broom.
“Meggy, she says as how she ‘as heard him two nights now—”
Ralf stopped, his hand on the latch of the stall, but not yet opening it. His face was suddenly blank. There was a long moment of silence before he spoke. Thragun raised his head from tearing at a lump of meat. Back in the dusky stall his eyes shone, not blue, but faintly reddish.
“Missus Cobb, she put out a milk bowl last night,” Asa continued, his eyes on the floor he was mechanically sweeping.
“Sooo—” Ralf swung the latch of the stall up. “She’s one as can sometimes see moren’ most. M’ granny was like that.”
“There’s them what says as he ain’t ‘ere nor never was.”
“Look to th’ name o’ this place, boy. ‘Twas his they say before any folks came ‘ere. They also say as how he brings luck or fetches it away. Lord Jeffery, him as was master ‘ere in m’ granny’s time, he got on th’ wrong side o’ him an’ never took no good of life after that. Died young o’ a broken neck when his mare stepped in a rabbit ‘ole. But his lady, she was from right believin’ folks an’ they say as how she came down by candlelight an’ went to his own stone wi’ a plate of sugar cakes an’ a cup o’ true cream. Begged pardon, she did. After that, all what ‘ad been goin’ wrong became right again.”
“That were a long time ago,” said Asa.
“Some things there is, boy, wot’ll never change. You get a rightful part o’ th’ land an’ do your duty to it an’ them what knew it before you, will do right by you. But if he was to come, aye, it would be o’ a time like’n this.”
He led the horse into the stable yard and Asa fell to cleaning out the stall. Thragun swallowed the last of the food. Not that it was what should be served to Thragun Neklop, but these two had done their best. He washed his whiskers and prepared to explore the stable.
There was a good deal to be examined, sniffed, and stored in memory. Asa and Ralf were in and out on various tasks for the comfort of three horses.
It was very late afternoon before a man came in, Asa with him. He was grinning, wiping his hands on his stained and patched breeches. Thragun’s lip curled, but he made no noise. This was evil again—though not as cold and deadly as that he had met when he had confronted that black Khon in the house.
The basket in which he had arrived still sat there, but Asa had dealt with it earlier. There was a break in the bamboo frame door leaving jagged ends pointing outward. Thragun was critical of the work. If he had done that, he would have made a neater job of it.
“Us came back,” Asa was saying, “an’ there it was. Th’ beast. He made his own way out.”
The other young man spat. “Think you’d better ‘ave a better story when th’ Missus asks.”
Asa shrugged. “We ain’t been hired, me an’ Ralf, to take care o’ anythin’ ‘cept th’ horses. An’ Ralf, ‘e ain’t really got anythin’ to watch except Black Knight. She can’t come a-botherin’ at us nohow. Why tell ‘er? Th’ beast’s gone, ain’t it?”
“An’ what if he comes back?” demanded the other.
“Then you gets ‘im, don’t you? Ain’t I seen you throw that there sticker o’ yours quicker than Ned Parzon can shoot?”
“Maybe so.” The other kicked the basket, sending it against the wall. “You keep your own mouth shut, do you ‘ear?”
“I ‘ear, Rog, you
a-makin’ noise enough to fright m’ horses.” Ralf strode in. “You ain’t got no right in ‘ere an’ you knows it. Now get!”
The younger man scowled and tramped out of the stable. Asa and Ralf stood looking after him.
“That’s another who don’t ‘ave no place ‘ere. Were th’ Lady herself, she’d see that in a flick o’ a horses’s tail an’ ‘ave ‘im out on th’ road with a flea in his ear, she would. Asa,” he looked straight at the boy, “I ain’t a-likin’ what’s goin’ on over there—” he nodded toward the house. “She an’ that lardy doctor ‘ave been puttin’ heads together again. Jennie says as how she was tellin’ the doctor something about Miss Emmy being hard to manage ‘cause she ain’t thinkin’ straight. They don’t know as Jennie was in the little room off th’ hall when they was talkin’ together. Little Miss—that ain’t no one as would take her part was they tryin’ to get ‘er shut up or something. The old crow, she’s always smarmy and soft tongued when any of the Lady’s friends come askin’. Oh,” he raised his voice into high squeaking note, “Lady Ashely, she’s no better, poor dear. I fear we won’t see her long. Miss Emmy, oh, th’ little dear is so sad feelin’. She is too sad for a child. We cannot get her comforted. Now that there I ‘eard when Mrs. Bateman came a-calling. Told Mrs. Bateman as how Miss Emmy couldn’t go to no picnic ‘cause she was so worried about her aunt. Miss Emmy was up in ‘er room where Pickle-Face had sent her to be ashamed of herself because she tried to slip in an’ see her aunt that very morning.”
“Seems as if someone should know,” Asa said.
“Who? Supposin’ even Missus Cobb were to get herself over to th’ Bateman place an’ try to tell them—what ‘as she really got to tell? An’ Pickle-Face would say as how she is a-lyin’—make it stick, too. There ain’t any way as I can see that we can help.”
“Ain’t right!” exploded Asa.
“Boy, there’s a good lot what ain’t right in this ‘ere world an’ not much as can be done to clean it up neither. Come on, we’ve got to see to that tack.”
Thragun’s well cultivated guard sense might have been confused by the strange language that these slaves used, but he thought he could fit part of it all together. The little princess to whom HIS princess had sent him on his honorable task of protection was under threat from that Khon of full evil. She was now a prisoner somewhere in the house. With a knowledgeable eye he measured the shadows in the stable yard. There was a time of dark fast on its way and dark aided both the evildoer and the guard. His kind, for many lives, had patroled palaces, searched gardens, and knew their own ways of taking care. This was a new place and he knew very little about it. The time was ready not only for him to learn, but to be about what was perhaps more important, defending his new princess. Thragun’s jaws opened upon a soundless snarl and his curved and very sharp claws came momentarily out of the fur screening on his toes.
*
Emmy huddled behind the curtain, both hands pressed against the small panes of the window as she looked down to the terrace. Rog went clumping by, and she scrunched herself into as small a space as possible. Of course, he was not looking in this direction, and, anyway, he was well below her, but she always felt afraid of Rog. Twice he had come out suddenly from dark places in the garden and stood grinning and laughing at her. Also Miss Wyker liked him. He did errands for her. Emmy had seen him take notes and go out the other way—not passing where anyone could see him unless that one was specially watching. He padded heavy-footed along now, and it was near dark. Maybe he was just going back to the hut where he lived—a nasty, evil-smelling place. But the worst of it was those nails hammered into the wall on which hung little bodies, some furred and some feathered—birds and a weasel, and—Emmy rubbed both her wet eyes with her hands.
Her eyes hurt because she had been crying. She tried to see even the edge of the drive to the stable. What had happened out there to Thragun Neklop? Somehow now she thought all a lie, he must be somewhere. She had her own plan, but it might be hours and hours yet before it would be dark enough for her to put it to the test. With her tear-sticky hands she tried again with all her strength to push out one side of the divided panes of the window. Tendrils of ivy waved in the breeze back and forth, but there was no wind enough to make a difference, Emmy thought. This was an idea she had had for some time and she now had a very good reason to try it.
A door away down the hall Jennie tapped, her other hand supporting a tray with a porringer on it. The nutmeg smell was faint, but she could smell it even though the lid was on the small silver bowl to keep its contents warm. Cook had made this special—a smooth, light custard that she said even a newborn babe could take without any hurt. Jennie gave a slight start and looked back over her shoulder. Old houses had many strange noises in the night. But this evening—she drew a deep breath. HIM—that patter sound all the way up the stairs behind her—like to scare her into falling or take her death from it. She knocked again and with more force.
The door opened so suddenly that she might have skidded right in had she not caught herself.
“What do you mean? All this clamor when she is asleep! You stupid, clumsy girl!” Miss Wyker’s voice was like the hiss of a snake and Jennie cringed. Somehow she got the tray and the porringer between them.
“Please, Cook did think as ‘ow the poor lady might find this tasty. She used to be quite fond of it—jus’ good milk, and eggs from the brown hen, the best and biggest ever—”
With a snap Miss Wyker had the tray out of her hands and was thrusting before her as if to push Jennie out of the room.
“Cook is impertinent,” Miss Wyker scowled, enough, as Jennie said later, to make the flesh fair creep on your bones. “Lady Ashely’s food must be carefully selected to match the diet Dr. Riggs has planned. Get back to the kitchen and don’t let me see you above the back stairs again or it will be the worse for you.” Jennie had backed well into the hall. Now the door was slammed and she quite clearly heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.
For a moment she just stood there and then she gave a quick turn of the head—facing down the hall. Her own face puckered and she put the knuckles of one hand up to cover her mouth as she turned and ran—ran as far and as fast as she could, to get away from that thin high shriek which seemed somehow to echo in her head more than in her ears.
Him! With him loose what could a body expect but trouble? Bad trouble. She’d give notice, that she would! There was no one who was going to make her stay here. Her heavy shoes clattered on the uncarpeted backstairs as she sought the kitchen three stories below.
Emmy got to her feet. She had been down on her knees trying to see through the keyhole. These past weeks she had used every method she could to learn things. How long had it been since she had actually seen Great-Aunt Amelie? Three—maybe four weeks, and then she had only gotten a short peek at her through the door before Miss Wyker had come up and pulled her away, her fingers pinching Emmy sharply to propel the girl toward her bedroom where she had also been locked in. That was another night Emmy might not have had any supper, but Jennie had crept up after dark to bring her some of Cook’s sugary rolls and a small plum tart. Emmy had discovered some nights ago that, whether she was being openly punished or not, she was always locked in at night. That was when she first began to explore outside the window. She had awakened from a very queer dream.
Emmy had never remembered any other dream so well. This one was different. It made her go all shivery, and yet not so fearful that she was afraid to try what she had done in her dream. Of course, then there had been someone with her—though she never really saw who it was—just knew that the unseen had watched her with approval and that had made her feel better.
Now she stood in the middle of the room and unfastened the buttons of her dress, shrugging it off, so that its full skirt lay in a circle around her. Next came her two petticoats. Gathering up all these, she threw them in an untidy bundle on the bed. Then, stopping to think, she gathered them up to roll into a thick armload
which she shoved under the covers, pulling the pillow around so it just might look like a sleeper spent from crying.
Emmy herself was through crying. She went to the bottom drawer of the bureau and opened it. There was her mother’s beautiful shawl which she brought home from India when she had come with Emmy to Great-Aunt Amelie’s. There were other things mother brought, too, and Emmy jerked out a package from the very bottom, struggling to pull it open. Then she was looking at what had belonged to her brother she had never seen—to remember. He had died in India, that was why mother brought her here as the bad seasons did make so many die.
For only a moment she hesitated. Mother had kept this suit as one of her treasures. What would she think of Emmy wearing it? No, she would understand! It was important, Emmy did not know how she was sure of that, no one had told her—unless it was the person in her dream whom she had never seen.
She pulled on the trousers, and pushed her chemise into the top of them. They were a little too big and she had to tie them on with a hair ribbon.
So readied, she returned to the window. It was dark enough now, of that she was sure. She climbed on the sill and slipped through, her feet finding the ledge which ran along the wall just below the windows.
Taking the best grip she could on the ivy, Emmy began to edge along that narrow footway.
*
Thragun slipped like a shadow from one bit of cover to the next. There were lights in some windows and now and then he heard voices. The slaves were gathered in the largest room along the wall. He heard their coarse, rough voices. But he was more intent upon the fact that the walls before him appeared to be covered with a growth of vines. Of course, they were not the thick, properly stemmed ones which provided such excellent highways in the palace and temple gardens. However, he would test just what good footholds they had to offer. There were strange smells in plenty, but he was not to be turned away from his firm purpose now.
