He need not have feared. A few of the companions dropped back, not interested, thinking the prince mad or the cat a witch in disguise, but the prince perservered. Marco thought of his friends, but above all the princess. She must not sleep forever. Reynard was his best hope.
They broke through the trees, now higher and thicker, that marked the end of Hawellia. Marco looked ahead toward the isthmus. It was blocked by a tangle of dense black thorns.
Theo frowned. “This is where your brother came to see the princess who grievously insulted him.”
“How did she insult him?”
“She refused to marry him, sire.”
Reynard snorted. “So would I. Well, this is where you wish us to go, puss. But how do we get in?”
“This mess is impenetrable,” complained Theo.
Marco spotted a hole in the tangle. He jumped off the horse’s neck and crawled into a niche that only he saw. Inside was a tunnel large enough for a man to crawl. He came to lead Reynard to it. Theo scoffed, but Reynard followed, trusting.
“You can’t go in there, sire!” Marco gave Theo a disgusted look. He would never win a princess or a kingdom with a quitter’s attitude like that. Reynard seemed equally fed up.
“If you won’t come, then hold my horse and guard my back! Come on, friend puss. Show me what you’ve brought me so far to see.”
With the aid of Reynard’s sword they chopped through the thorns and emerged on the road to the capital. Beyond the hedge it felt as though the very air was asleep. Not an insect buzzed, nor a bird sang. Now Marco could see the castle. He trotted toward it with Reynard beside him.
Just outside the walls Marco smelled sulfur. He stopped, on guard. Reynard wrinkled his nose.
“Let’s go in. It stinks out here.” He made for the drawbridge, and a black shape rose out from moat. It roared, baring hundreds of white fangs. The prince drew his sword. “A dragon!”
Desdemona! Marco threw himself at her neck, clawing and biting. Her big head swung around to snap him asunder. Reynard recovered his wits and dove into the fray.
Together they slashed at the scaly hide. Desdemona must have been hiding here all these years to prevent Briar Rose’s rescue. She raked at Reynard’s arm and drew blood. In spite of her size she was not as swift as Marco, and Reynard’s sword thrusts were weakening her. She knocked Marco sprawling with a backhanded swipe and aimed a bite at the prince’s head. He jumped back and chopped down on her neck. She shuddered, her shape collapsing into a smaller beast: a manticore. Reynard was surprised, but only for a moment. He redoubled his attack, striking again and again, ignoring the pain in his arm. The manticore shrank to a leopard, then to a fox, and finally to a mouse racing for the safety of the black tangled thorns.
Marco sprang after her and grabbed her by the scruff. With one shake, he broke her neck. Dangling the corpse from his mouth, he trotted back to the prince. When he passed the midden heap, he dropped Desdemona’s body on it.
“Why, you’re as brave as a man,” Reynard said, following him into the castle environs.
Marco gave him a look. The prince was covered with dust and blood. He must not go to the princess like that! Marco led him up to the well in the center of the silent courtyard, sat down on the cobbles and began to wash himself with his tongue.
“I see!” The prince laughed. “Wherever you are taking me, you wish me to clean up first. Well,” he said, wrinkling his nose,” I do smell like I’ve traveled a thousand leagues.” He threw the bucket down the well. The sound of the winch as it hauled the full pail to the top was the first homely sound heard there in ten years.
Once they were both washed, Marco led him to the White Tower. The guards at the door still slept.
At the top of the stairs, a fantastic web of thread barred their way. It was a thing of beauty, but also of danger. Skeletons of monsters were tangled in it, as well as the bones of a man or two, like flies caught in lace. Reynard pushed at the fine netting, and it enveloped his hand. He tried to pull free, to no avail.
“What is this, friend? A trap? Help me!” Scrabbling in the walls made Reynard grab his sword from his scabbard. Marco turned his big eyes to look for the source of the sound.
“Who is there?” a high-pitched voice squeaked.
“It is I, Humberto!” Marco called in their shared language.
“Marco!” The mouse scrambled out of a hole near the floor. He embraced the cat, and looked up at the man. “My goodness, he’s big. Is he the one?”
“I hope so.”
Reynard had stopped struggling to stare at them. “Now I have seen a further wonder: a mouse embracing a cat. What other miracles will I see?”
“He is properly respectful,” Marco said to Humberto. “Set him free.”
The mouse clambered up the shining mesh to the very top. With his tiny pink hands he selected a thread, lifted it to his mouth, and chewed through it. The net collapsed in coils around Reynard’s feet.
“There,” Humberto said.
Rubbing his wrist, Reynard followed Marco to the princess’s door. Marco pawed, and Reynard opened the latch.
Barking, hoarse at first, erupted from the room. A dusty brown beast charged toward them out of the shadows, only to skid to a halt at the cat’s feet.
“Marco!” Bruno cried, with a howl that shook the rafters. He sniffed Reynard all over. “He smells good! You have found a good one! She will like him.”
“Is she well?” Marco asked. “Bring us to her.”
“She sleeps,” Bruno said simply. “I have not left this place in ten long years. Humberto has fed and cared for me.” He trotted ahead of the prince, who had been struck silent by yet another miracle.
But Marco knew the greatest wonder was about to come.
As the heavy wooden portal swung aside, they could see a single shaft of sunlight falling through the window onto the bed. Exactly as Marco had left her, the Princess Briar Rose lay upon her bed, blue silk velvet coverlet drawn up to her breast, a single red rose caught in her fingertips. Her golden hair was outspread upon the white silk pillow, and her thick-lashed eyelids were closed above pale, alabaster cheeks. Reynard stood and adored her.
“How beautiful,” he whispered. “She is a dryad. An angel. A goddess!” But he did not move.
“Push him,” Marco ordered. He and Bruno applied their noses to the back of Reynard’s knees. The prince nearly fell over, but he stumbled forward. He halted again at the bedside.
“Very well, friend puss,” he said to Marco. “You have led me here. What must I do to awaken this sleeping beauty?”
“Humans!” Marco said scornfully. He leaped up onto the princess’s pillow. The little hollow where he had always slept was still indented. Marco’s heart pined a moment for that soft recess. If this man married his adored Briar Rose he could be relegated to the floor, or worse yet, the stables! But she must not sleep on into eternity. She must arise and marry and fulfill her promised life of happiness. He had sworn faithfully to the fairy godmothers that he would bring back a prince worthy of her. He must not hesitate now. Humbly and with love, he leaned down and licked Briar Rose on the cheek. Then he turned and looked meaningfully at Reynard.
The prince smiled. “I see. I hope I can give as much of myself to her as you have, to trot all the way across the land to me on your four feet. Give me room, my brave friend.”
Marco made way for Reynard as the prince leaned over and touched her lips very gently with his own. The gold-lashed eyes fluttered open, and Briar Rose smiled up at her own true love.
As if a thick door had suddenly been opened onto a room where a party was going on, sounds erupted outside. Men shouted, animals bellowed, birds sang. The cat heard the joyful voices of the fairy godmothers and the king and queen. The prince lifted Marco up to show him to Briar Rose.
“Your valiant little friend led me here to you. I am Reynard,
second son of the king of Greenaway. Since I’ve been so bold as to kiss you, may I ask you to marry me?”
“Yes!” Briar Rose said. She sat up to embrace Reynard, squeezing Marco between them until he emitted a squall of protest.
“I am sorry, O brave one,” Reynard said, laughing. “Here.” He reached down for a silk cushion from the floor and plumped Marco down onto it on the foot of the bed. “So long as you live you shall have a place of honor here, in token of our thanks to you. Your brave friends shall stay here as well.”
“That’s as it should be,” Marco said, curling himself up gratefully. At last, a suitor—nay, a fiance—who had the proper respect for Briar Rose, and for him! “I’m relieved everyone is awake at last. I can at last take up the task that is right for me, one that I’ve neglected for almost ten years.”
“And what is that?” Briar Rose asked, stroking his black and white fur.
“Sleeping,” Marco said, with a yawn. “Men slay dragons. Women inspire poetry. But if there’s any sleeping to be done around here, I will do it. Wake me in time for the wedding, will you?”
He buried his nose under his paw, and closed his eyes.
“All right, pretty kitty, you don’t have to raise the roof,” Daddy said, coming into the darkened apartment. “Shh. You’ll rouse the neighbors. Come on, sweetie baby. Let me take of my coat and I’ll go straight to the kitchen. I promise.”
Pretty Kitty and Sweetie Baby, a pair of tabby cats, jumped out of the way as the thin, slightly-balding man tossed the warm wool coat over their heads onto the back of the couch, then hurried to trot after his moving heels to make sure he was going where he promised. He didn’t bother to turn lights on as he went, but that was all right with Pretty Kitty and Sweetie Baby. People often liked things too bright, unsuitable for the subtleties enjoyed by cats. They knew they ought to berate him for being so very, very late, but that could wait until after they had been given their dinner. It was bad enough that Mommy was away, resulting in a shortage of available laps, another unforgivable misdemeanor that would require considerable amounts of petting and treats to compensate for. They knew Daddy would pay the penalties willingly. In this home, the cats were the masters. They knew it, and their people knew it.
Pretty Kitty, the silver tabby, in particular was proud that they had intelligent people. Other cats of their acquaintance in the comfortable, good-smelling building had people that were not quite as obedient. No smelly dogs were allowed here, and only two cats to a territory, or ‘apartment,’ as the people called it, so it was usually very quiet. The cats enjoyed that except when they wanted to express their own opinions volubly. Then, the string-and-ringer on the wall would go off, causing Daddy or Mommy to have to pick it up and talk to the blunt end. That usually resulted in a scolding, which the cats would accept without grace.
Daddy moved soft-footed around the floor of the kitchen. Freshly washed bowls were in the steamy-noise cupboard. Proper food came out of paper wrapping from the butcher, but the cats would be satisfied with canned; it was too late to be finicky. Pretty Kitty couldn’t help throwing herself against Daddy’s legs for joy at the musical ‘grink-grink-grink’ of the can opener. Sweetie Baby, the brown tabby, just sat poised, waiting for that exquisite moment of diving in and gulping down mouthfuls of delicious, smelly food. Pretty Kitty thought that greed was why Sweetie Baby threw up her meals so often.
Daddy laid down the can opener with a clunk on the counter, and reached for the silverware drawer to get a spoon. Suddenly, there was an answering clunk from the bedroom. Pretty Kitty danced a couple of steps in alarm and stared into the darkness. She smelled a strange scent. The hair on her tail fluffed up. Daddy pulled a sharp knife out of the knife rack.
“Who’s there?” he shouted. Sweetie Baby, beside her companion, was huge-eyed with fear. Her fur stood up all around her neck and down her spine. Daddy took a firmer grip on his knife and marched out of the kitchen.
He fell back almost at once. A bigger person, dressed all in close-fitting black clothing, bounded out of the shadows, clasping Daddy around the chest exactly the way Sweetie Baby and Pretty Kitty fought after meals. Daddy pushed back, trying to break free. The person in black was very strong, and kept forcing him backwards. The scuffle took them through the kitchen, out into the hall, into the front room, back into the hall, and into the kitchen again, where the stranger picked up the can opener and struck Daddy over the head with it. Dropping the knife, Daddy fell to the floor. He groaned, stirred, and lay still. The person in black picked up a black sack that was lying in the shadows and started going through the cupboards.
Pretty Kitty and Sweetie Baby were aghast. They went over to nose at Daddy. He was breathing heavily as though he was asleep. No matter what efforts they used—nudging at his chin, tickling his nose with whiskers, yowling in his ear—he didn’t move. This would not do. Their dinner was late! They were only just consenting to forgive him for the initial tardiness when the stranger burst in. Who knew how long it would be delayed now? The cats looked at one another. Someone must give them their dinner. Sweetie Baby looked up. How about the person in black, who was now going through the interesting-smelling spice cabinet where even she was not allowed to go?
Pretty Kitty agreed. He must feed them. They would show him where the food was.
At first, Pretty Kitty tried the friendly approach. She walked up to sit beside the stranger, and watched as he filled his bag with clangy dishes and things from the high-up glass cabinet. Pretty Kitty waited for him to notice her, then rubbed up against his ankle, doing her best hungry-cat approach in sign language made simple for people. This activity usually produced fast service with admirable contrition from Daddy, and even better, petting and extra praise in a soothing voice from Mommy.
The person in black went right on doing what he was doing. The cats were incensed. How could he think that house-cleaning was more important than petting the cat? Sweetie Baby scowled at her companion in frustration. All right, if this person was too stupid for the subtle approach, a more direct one was called for. While Pretty Kitty continued with her best ankle-winding appeal, Sweetie Baby jumped up onto the counter to confront him directly. She couldn’t see very much of his face. The black cloth covered everything but his nose and his eyes. Sweetie Baby tried to touch his nose with hers, but he backed off, almost stumbling over Pretty Kitty. Perhaps he was shy. She squeezed her eyes closed at him, feigning an affection she didn’t feel, but she was willing to dissemble in hopes of getting a meal before dawn. She sashayed up and back on the smooth counter, rubbing up against the cabinet and swishing her tail sensuously. All her efforts were wasted. With one swipe of the stranger’s paw, she was shoved out of the way and down onto the floor.
Pretty Kitty rushed over to sniff Sweetie Baby’s nose, to make sure she was all right. This person was too rude. He was ignoring them. Didn’t he understand who they were? Didn’t he know they were hungry? This was the most important thing in the world!
Pretty Kitty felt the pang in her middle grow until it was positively painful. She couldn’t go without food much longer. She leaped up onto the counter and batted at the person’s hands with her paw, hoping to make him see reason. He tried to swat her away, but she was wary of him. He missed, then turned back to his task. She came up to him again, pulling at his arm with her paw, trying to draw him toward the can sitting not eight feet away from him on the counter. Tantalizing scents of fresh turkey feast were making her frantic. Sweetie Baby could smell it, too. She stretched up as high as she could to paw at the person’s arm.
He continued to clatter things into the bag. He must be too stupid to understand body language, too. All right, then: they must employ verbal communication.
“Feed me,” sang Pretty Kitty. “Feed me,” carolled Sweetie Baby. “Feed me!” they sang together. “The food is good, the food is good. We want more, we want more, we want more!”
“Shut up, you damned
cats,” the person growled in a low voice. Pretty Kitty and Sweetie Baby refused to be quiet. At last they had gotten a reaction out of him. Now they might be able to guide him to do his duty. Still singing their entreaty, Pretty Kitty leaped up onto his shoulders. Sweetie Baby bounded up, trying to snuggle into his arms. Such an appeal always worked on Daddy.
“Feed me!” they chorused. Damn Cat and How’s My Little Darling from the two territories adjacent to the tabbies’ added their protest to the night. “Feed us, too!”
The person backed away from the cabinet and dropped the bag with a clang.
Almost at once the string-and-ringer started its annoying bleebling. Pounding noises came at the door. The cats continued their song, but now they could hear people outside.
“Miller? Your damned cats are raising the roof!” shouted Damn Cat’s Daddy. “Are you all right in there?”
“Shut up, curse you,” the person in black hissed, trying to shake the cats off. They held on with determination. They had his attention at last. Now, if only they could guide him toward the can on the counter. The bowls were beside it.
“Wait a moment. Mr. Miller gave me his spare key,” said Lovecat’s Mommy. “I’ll go get the key. He might need our help.”
“No, call the police!” a female voice shrilled. It was How’s My Little Darling’s Mommy. “I hear strange noises in there. He might be having a heart attack!”
The person in black showed signs of alarm. He stopped pushing at the cats and began running toward the bedroom. Sweetie Baby could smell the outside air from an open window and became frightened. Outside was where the vet lurked! She climbed up the person’s front and pawed at his face, careless of whether her claws were sheathed. He couldn’t take her to the vet. They’d just been there!
The person staggered backwards, shrieking. Alarmed in her turn at his unsteady movements and strange noises, Pretty Kitty clambered up to the top of the stranger’s head and held on with all four paws. The person’s hands batted at her, making her hold on harder in fright. She could feel her fluffed-up tail wrapped around the stranger’s mouth puffed in and out by his breath.
Cats Triumphant Page 4
