by Lisa Martin
“But the eggs are worth it.”
“Well, there’s not a lot of variety on this island.”
Anton considered this. “And if you eat the eggs, there are fewer clackers.”
“Right. Say, you’ve got nice-looking little paws. Have you got good claws in those?”
Anton raised his forepaw and popped out his claws.
“Wow,” said Dave. “Retractable.”
“Useful,” Anton agreed.
“Do you think you could pull some of these feathers off my shoulders? I can’t reach them, they stick me when I move, and I’m really sick of looking like a bird.”
Cautiously, Anton approached the lizard and stood looking up at the feathers, which hung at odd angles from the leathery hide. “Put your head down so I can reach them,” he said, and Dave obeyed, dropping down on his haunches and resting his lower jaw on the ground. Anton eased a paw around a big feather and pulled it as best he could, but his pads slipped off. He tried again, pinching the feather between his claw and pad. With a tug it came loose.
“Great,” Dave said. “Do a few more.”
Anton pulled feathers from Dave’s shoulders while Dave asked him questions. “So,” he said. “You come from the land of cats.”
“Well,” Anton replied. “Not just cats. But there are a lot of us.”
“And you all know each other.”
“I don’t know all cats, but I know all the ones who live on the docks. Do you know the other lizards here?”
“There aren’t many of us, so I pretty much know everyone. But we don’t spend time together.”
“Don’t you get lonely?”
“Not really. We’re cold-blooded, you know.”
“Oh,” said Anton, though he didn’t quite understand.
“Are you lonely? Do you miss other cats?”
“I miss my brother. Do you have a brother?”
“Not so you could call it that. We come from eggs.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Anton, confused. “I had no idea.”
“It’s okay. It’s natural. So what’s your brother like?”
“He’s a lot bigger than me, he’s mostly black, and he’s very brave, but he’s foolhardy. There, now you don’t look like a bird.”
Dave got to his feet and stood, turning his head from side to side. “That’s great,” he said. His eyes rolled about on their separate quests, and he opened and closed his mouth again. “Will you look at that sky,” he said. “Something weird is going on.” Anton followed Dave’s roving left eye. The sun had set, the sky had darkened, and a thick blanket of pale clouds unrolled toward the land from the horizon. As Anton and one of Dave’s eyes watched, the clouds parted overhead, and a bright stream of moonlight, like a moving white finger, pointed at the beach just beyond where he and the lizard stood. Then Anton saw the spooky phenomenon he had glimpsed once before: an eye, a cat’s eye, gazing down at him from the clouds.
Dave studied the heavenly cat’s eye with one of his eyes and the real cat with the other. “To me, that eye looks a lot like your eye.”
“Do you think?” said Anton.
“You know what they say about the eye,” said Dave.
“No,” said Anton, though he did remember something. “What do they say?”
The lizard sat back on his haunches and managed to get both eyes focused straight ahead, reciting in a deep, sonorous voice, “Where the eye sees the eye, the lost shall be found.”
“And who are they?”
Dave relaxed, doing his open-and-close-mouth routine. “Who are who?”
“The ones who say that?”
“That’s a really good question. I never thought about it, because I never lost anything.”
“Right,” said Anton. Lizard and cat gazed seaward, following the bright beam as it moved beyond the beach and over the water.
“Holy chameleon,” Dave said. “Do you see what I see?”
Anton did see, but he could hardly believe his eyes. He closed them tight, then opened them again. It was a beautiful silvery ship, outlined in white like a drawing on dark paper, anchored before the horizon, its sails furled and its flag fluttering in the thin shore breeze.
A ship! Anton let out a cry.
“That must be your ride,” Dave said.
Anton frowned, gazing out at the ship. It had only two masts, so it wasn’t the Mary Anne. Dave might be right—it could be a way off the island, but how was he going to get to it?
“This is big,” Dave continued, gazing up again. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”
Anton nodded, looking up as well, but the streaming finger of light had disappeared, and the cat’s eye was gone. Then, as they looked back to the shore, a more amazing sight met their eyes. Three black rocks rose up in the shallows, like magical stepping-stones. A breeze, or was it a shiver, seemed to draw Anton along and he stepped out onto the sand. At once from the forest, he heard a less mysterious sound, the screams of the clackers gathering into a vicious cloud. They had spotted him.
Dave started talking fast, his eyes moving around in opposite directions, taking in everything, the ship, the stones, the clackers. “Okay,” he said. “I think I get it. You don’t have much time. Make a run for those rocks and don’t look back. The clackers will chase you but they can’t land in the sand—they fall over—and they won’t go far from shore, so you should be able to make it, but you need to go fast and you need to go now.”
The enormous birds were rising over the treetops. “Dinner,” screamed one.
Another shrieked, “Dead meat.”
“You’re right,” Anton said. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” said Dave. “Nice to meet you. Give my regards to the land of cats.”
“Thanks,” Anton said. “I will.” And then he sprinted for the water, not looking back. He could hear the rush of wings behind him and the screaming avian mob descending from above. One dived and crashed in front of Anton, falling on its side in the sand, its claws battling the air. Anton tore past the sputtering bird. Another tried for an eaglelike swoop from behind and caught Anton’s tail in its talons. Anton yelped and turned on the bird, digging his claws into one of the wings, which served to make the clacker open its beak, but still the bird held on with its talons. Anton sunk his teeth into the wing, pulling away with a mouthful of feathers. Then he leaped forward, nearing the water’s edge. The clacker took a bit of cat flesh as it bounced off, stumbling in the sand like a drunken sailor.
At last Anton was at the shoreline and leaping for the first rock. He landed, gripping with his claws, expecting a slippery surface that would give him no purchase, but to his surprise the rock had a leathery quality that allowed him to pull himself easily upon it. He sprang from the first rock to the second, and then to the third, which was wider and well above the water. The clackers had pulled up, a mass of shrieking feathers, but the higher they went, the more graceful they became, until in a loose, swirling squadron, they circled overhead and turned back toward their island.
That was when Anton felt the rock shift beneath his paws. It was rising, shedding water from all sides. The smaller pieces behind him sank, disappearing in the shallows. The rock was moving out away from the shore, slowly at first, but then picking up speed. Anton dug in all his claws and stared into the darkness. Ahead he could make out the ship, its running lanterns glittering and reflected in the water like a double line of fallen stars. More and more of the leathery rock was exposed until a round black hole, spewing seawater like a fountain, broke through the surface of the water. “Great cats in heaven,” Anton whispered. “I’m on a whale.”
And then it was full whale speed ahead, so fast that Anton’s fur was flattened in the draft and the salt spray flew up and stung his eyes. The ship grew bigger and bigger, until he could see two sailors on the deck, and another descending from the rigging. A tremor ran along his arched spine—were they going to ram into the ship? The whale slowed and Anton had a moment to take in the ship, r
ocking softly in the calm sea, the anchor line taut off the stern. The whale veered sharply toward that rope, bringing his passenger within an easy leap, then gradually submerging until Anton really had no choice but to jump. He scrambled up the rope and threw himself over the stern with an umph of relief. What a ride!
Unbeknownst to Anton, he wore across his shoulders an honorary mantle of black feathers. He stood on his hind legs, his front paws pressed to the rail, and looked down to see his silent rescuer. In the swinging light over the stern he could just make out the enormous creature, rolling smoothly onto his side so that his great barnacled eye came into view. Anton, with a shiver, saw that the immense beast was looking up at the very small, wet, grateful cat.
He heard the shouts of the approaching sailors, who had at last spotted the whale. “Thank you, thank you, Mr. Whale,” Anton called, as his rescuer dived back to his watery home below the surface and sped away.
CHAPTER 10
Gretchen’s Tale
As the pirate raid of the clipper ship carried on raucously outside the small room, Gretchen and Cecil faced each other in astonishment.
“I can’t believe it!” Cecil purred, swishing his tail back and forth. “Aren’t you Gretchen from back home? It’s me, Cecil! You remember me from around the docks, right?” Cecil bobbed his head as the white cat stared at him with wide gray eyes. She said not a word. Had she forgotten her home village already?
“You were taken, weren’t you?” Cecil asked in a lower voice. “That’s what we heard. Awful story!” He looked closely into her face. Was she embarrassed? Did she not remember him at all? “My brother, Anton, was impressed, too, right off the dock in broad daylight if you can believe it.” Cecil waited for her to speak.
“I’m Gretchen,” she said finally, her voice low and cold. She paused, looking away. “But no one calls me that here.”
Cecil leaned back, casting his eyes around in the dim light. “Here, eh?” He chuckled. “So where is here?” he asked. “What happened to you?”
“Long story,” she said shortly. She turned back to Cecil and sighed. “I never expected to see anyone from back there again.”
“Back there? Home, you mean?” Cecil asked, surprised. “Well, I don’t know about you but I’m sure glad to see a familiar face.”
“I just never expected it,” Gretchen repeated. She paused and looked toward the door. “I could show you around the ship. Are you hungry?”
Cecil nodded. “My favorite question.” He thought about showing her the stone he had hidden, but her manner made him hesitate. She was strange, distant in a way. She didn’t seem happy to see him.
“Come on then,” Gretchen said. They walked to the doorway and stepped out into the late afternoon haze.
The starboard side of the vessel was away from the mayhem of the raid, and the two cats sniffed through boxes on the deck in search of food. Cecil hadn’t eaten well for quite some time, and smells of spices, cheeses, and tangy meats were all around. After they found a suitable cache of cheese and fish to snack on, Gretchen began to tell her story.
“Getting impressed in the first place was really stupid. I never thought it would happen to me,” she said briskly. “I always liked fishing at night.”
Cecil swallowed a chunk of fish. “Didn’t Billy ever tell you—”
“About the danger?” Gretchen snorted. “Of course. Everyone told me, but I thought I was too smart to be captured, too quick anyway.” She looked up, as if remembering. “But there I was, stuck in a dark hold, my head pounding, and the next time I saw daylight the ship was surrounded by water. That was it.” She shook her head bitterly.
Cecil noticed a long scar running across her neck and shoulder. “Rough times, were they?” he asked.
She picked at a slab of cheese and shrugged. “On that ship, the crew were mean and mad all the time. The captain spent most of the days sleeping and the men were always fighting each other. They thought to kick me if they saw me, but nobody thought to feed me. It was almost a relief when the buccaneers attacked us and took me along with the loot. That’s how I got to be here. Much more interesting.” Cecil saw a glint of amusement in her eyes. She looked up at him quickly, returning to the present. “Were you taken, too, then?” she asked.
“No,” replied Cecil, and the weight of his mission slid back over him like an anvil. “I have to find Anton, so I stowed away to follow him. Though, actually, I don’t know if I’m following, or just lost . . . It’s bigger out here than I imagined.” He gestured widely with his paw.
Gretchen’s mouth dropped open. “You’re telling me you got on a ship voluntarily, and you’re searching the whole ocean for your brother?” she asked, her voice rising. “That’s . . . crazy.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” said Cecil, leaning back to gaze at the intricate rigging and billowing red flags high above their heads. “Kind of fun, though, I have to say.”
“And brave,” Gretchen added softly, dropping her eyes back to the cheese.
“What is all this stuff, anyway?” Cecil asked as they made their way through a maze of boxes and barrels, heading toward the stern of the ship. The men moved among the piles, stacking crates on top of other crates and dragging stuffed seabags to stand leaning against one another. Often they stopped their work to root through the contents, snarling or snorting depending on what they discovered of worth.
“This is all the stuff that we’ve taken on from other ships,” explained Gretchen, sniffing curiously at the new cargo.
“We,” Cecil repeated. “Interesting. You think of yourself as part of the crew, do you?”
Gretchen sent him a tepid look. “Some things you just get used to,” she said, as she turned to walk ahead.
Eager to show off his shipboard savvy, Cecil crouched to spring up to a nearby barrelhead. “I usually like the view from on top of one of these to get my bearings.”
“Wouldn’t do that,” she said, not looking back.
Cecil leaped, but the barrel was open and full of rice. His paws sank down and he flailed for a few seconds, sloshing grains onto the deck, until he finally scrambled out, shaking his fur from head to tail. A pirate grabbed the handle of his cutlass and swung it at Cecil, narrowly missing his ears. Cecil dived between two barrels and caught up with Gretchen.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide. “That was close.”
Gretchen was unfazed. “It’s no big deal,” she said coolly, leading them up to a ledge by the rail where they could look out over the water. “That’s just the way they are.”
Cecil watched her face. “So your life hasn’t been easier here,” he said.
Gretchen surveyed him for a moment, as if considering what to say. “When I first came aboard, there was already a cat here—a fat, lazy, ginger-colored cat. I learned to do her job better than she did. She didn’t care for that and began attacking me while I slept.” She stopped and licked her shoulder a few times, where the long scar ran from her jawline. “It took a while, but I figured out how to defend myself—I fought the ginger cat and won—and afterward she was terrified of me and worthless to the crew. The captain finally dumped her onto a packet ship we raided. That was a good day.” A smile of satisfaction briefly lit her hard face. She turned back to him. “So now it’s my ship,” she finished simply.
Cecil sat looking at her, wide-eyed. “Wow, that must have been tough.” He cocked his head. “Nice scar, though,” he said with a small smile. “It makes you look worldly, like you can take care of yourself. But you’re too thin. You need to eat more.”
Gretchen gave him a smirk. “Well, you look like you’ve been eating well enough. In fact, a diet might be a good idea.” As Cecil surveyed his own bulk—he thought he’d lost weight—she resumed her role as tour guide, turning to the crew at their work. “The men here obey the captain, which makes life easier,” she said. “I know how to stay on his good side. He gave me a name; Pearl, he calls me. They all do. Sometimes they laugh at me and hold their fingers around their e
yes, making fun of my black mask, I guess, but none of them has the courage to hurt me.”
Cecil was startled by a strange thought. “Have you seen your black mask?” he asked slowly.
Gretchen closed her eyes, as though considering something. When she opened them again, she said, “Follow me. I’ll show you,” and she hopped down from the ledge and moved off between the barrels without looking back.
Cecil sat for a moment longer, inhaling the briny ocean breeze. Gretchen was quite an adventurer, all right—a pirate cat through and through. The question was, did she want a friend, or did she want to be left alone? A gray-bearded crewman stomped toward Cecil and he decided it was time to move along.
They had to pass through the port side of the ship, which was where the action was. They crouched under a box on its side to avoid getting hit by falling items, and watched the scene. The men were still swinging on the long ropes attached to the crossbars, sailing across to Cecil’s old clipper with wild abandon, laughing loudly and singing snatches of bawdy songs. They seemed to be having a delightful time, although Cecil thought there really couldn’t have been that much to plunder on the other ship.
Sometimes one of the pirates lost his grip on the rope and sprawled across one or the other decks, or dropped into the sea between the ships and had to be fished out by men with ropes hanging over the sides. Undaunted, smiling, the dunked sailor jumped back and shimmied up the ratlines again. If a crewman successfully swung back to the pirate ship and got his feet planted on the spars once more, he dropped whatever loot he had onto the deck before taking off again.
Cecil craned his neck to look up at the men on the crossbars. They seemed to be slowing down, taking fewer trips across. “Do they always swing over like this? Doesn’t a lot of good stuff get broken this way?” he asked as a small chest crashed on the deck and burst open.
