by Lynne Jonell
Duncan turned abruptly away. He padded softly across the marble hall to the landing and the window that looked out over the city. Someone had left newspapers on the window seat. The moon was so bright that he could pick out the headlines: “Earl of Merrick’s No Hero!” and “Queen Safe, Thanks to Bold Young Duke!”
He pushed aside the papers and sat down. Capital City spread beneath him, etched in silvery light. Far down the hill lay the wharf, with its tall ships floating quietly, sails furled; he had arrived on one of them yesterday. High on the hill was the cathedral, where today a queen had been crowned to the peal of bells and a crowd’s roaring acclaim. And off in the distance was the Academy, where he would enroll tomorrow.
What did he have left to wish for?
To come in first, the earl’s voice seemed to whisper in his ear. To be king.
Duncan felt something twist inside, as if a coiled snake had suddenly lifted its head. Was it true? Was that what he had secretly wanted, all along?
“Can’t sleep?” Mattie’s gentle voice interrupted his thoughts. Her slippers shuffled along the marble floor, and her candle spread a soft glow on the wall.
Duncan jumped up. “Please, sit down,” he said, clearing the papers away. His eye caught the bold type below the fold: “Wild Tiger Stripes—Hot New Style for Fall,” and “Stop! Don’t Eat That Sausage (It May Be Someone’s Pet).”
Mattie clasped her gnarled hands in her lap, and moonlight traced the fine network of wrinkles in her cheeks. “We old folks are often wakeful. But what’s keeping a young man like you up at night?”
Duncan did not answer. He was wondering why he didn’t mind coming in second, this time.
“Do you miss Traitor Island?” he asked abruptly.
“Oh, yes,” Mattie said, raising her cloudy eyes. “But I’ll see it again, I’m sure.”
“How will you get there?”
“You’ll take me,” she said, and a crinkling smile spread over her face. She pulled a square of lace out of her pocket and held it up to the moonlight. “Because I’m going to Fahr.”
Duncan didn’t know what to say. Was the old lady losing her wits?
Mattie chuckled as if she knew what was on his mind. “I may not have told you,” she said, “but when your father, Duke Charles, said he would take the miners back across the Rift to their land, I gave him a bit of lace for luck. To tuck in his pocket, you see?”
Duncan nodded, still confused.
“When he returned, he had a necklace of small jewels. Lydia told you about it, I think.”
Duncan nodded again. Was this going anywhere?
Mattie leaned forward, her cloudy eyes suddenly bright. “The miners had never seen anything like my lace! No one in Fahr knows how to knit!”
“That’s nice,” said Duncan, “but I still don’t get—”
“They traded a jeweled necklace for that square of lace! And they said that if your father ever came back, he should bring all the lace he could, because they could sell it in their country.”
Duncan was dumbfounded.
“Now, on the ship you showed us that chart of your father’s. You said the earl had planned to use it to rob the Fahrians of their jewels. Why shouldn’t we use the chart to trade with them, instead of stealing and going to war? The Rift is still dangerous, but in the summer months, with a good crew and a sailing master…”
Grizel came padding down the hall with the slowness of an old cat, but her ears were alert.
“Well, it’s been a lovely chat,” said Mattie, getting up with an effort. “Remember, there are lots of old women like me who make lace.”
Duncan stared after the elderly figure limping down the hall with growing excitement. That was it! That was exactly what he wanted to do! He had always wanted to explore, to find new places, and—well, of course school had to come first. But why shouldn’t he do what Mattie suggested? Maybe his mother wouldn’t let him cross the Rift when he was this young. But every summer he could sail with Tammas. Every year he would learn more and grow older. There would come a time when he could cross the Rift, with a tiger to help sense the rocks and dangerous shoals. There would come a time when he could lead an expedition to the country of Fahr and give the old women of Arvidia a chance to earn a decent living and bring back jewels in trade.
Grizel butted her head against Duncan’s leg, and he picked her up and held her in his lap. In the distance the Academy dome shone pale against the darker trees, and its spire pierced the moon. Suddenly Duncan felt light, as light as seafoam on a high, curling wave.
Who said he wanted to be king? That had never been his dream. He didn’t want to be stuck in a palace, making judgments and having meetings and wearing heavy robes that itched.
And he had never expected to come in first all the time. No one could do that. The thing he had really wanted was to stop pretending to be less than he was.
Grizel purred under his hand, and Duncan stroked her head, smiling. He didn’t need to plan the rest of his life out this minute. He was going to the Academy tomorrow. He would line his room with books, and he would hang his father’s sword on the wall. That was enough glory for now.
“I’m looking forward to fencing with Robert,” Duncan told Grizel.
The cat twisted her neck to look back at him. “I hope you’re not going to lose on purpose next time.”
Duncan grinned. “Never again,” he said.
Acknowledgments
THE AUTHOR WISHES TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE following, with a grateful heart:
Drue Heinz, for the Hawthornden Castle Fellowship—a precious month in which to write with no distractions whatsoever, in an atmosphere of “peace and decent ease.”
Kathleen Coskran, for weeks of splendid hospitality at the Malmo Art Colony.
Lisa Bullard, for lending me her very thick cat book and answering questions for three solid hours on all things feline.
Stephen Barbara, agent of agents, who listened to the story at its earliest stage and said, “I like the tiger.”
Laura Amy Schlitz, friend of friends, who sent me her best cat books and all her knowledge of Murphy and Susannah, cats extraordinaire.
Swati Avasthi, Heather Bouwman, Stephanie Watson, and Anne Ursu, who gave critiques that exceeded all prior standards of excellence for any writers’ group heretofore known.
Christy Ottaviano, who loved the book, bought the book, edited the book, and patiently shepherded the book as it jumped through the many hoops of publishing.
And Bill, as always.
About the Author
Lynne Jonell is the author of The Secret of Zoom and the Emmy and the Rat series: Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat, Emmy and the Home for Troubled Girls, and Emmy and the Rats in the Belfry. Lynne has two sons, loves to sail, and lives with her husband in Plymouth, Minnesota. She does not speak Cat (yet) but has run into her share of evil villains. She teaches writing at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis.
www.lynnejonell.com. Or sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
CHAPTER 1 The Cat Speaker
CHAPTER 2 A Strange Sail
CHAPTER 3 Up the Drainpipe
CHAPTER 4 Not-So-Good News
CHAPTER 5 Graveyard Council
CHAPTER 6 A Visitor in the Night
CHAPTER 7 A Noble Summons
CHAPTER 8 Hero of the Nation
CHAPTER 9 A Glass of Cherry Punch
CHAPTER 10 Dangerous Duty
CHAPTER 11 The Bloodstained Jacket
&nbs
p; CHAPTER 12 Squisher and Grinder
CHAPTER 13 The Unknown Enemy
CHAPTER 14 Overboard
CHAPTER 15 Lost at Sea
CHAPTER 16 The Sea Cave
CHAPTER 17 The Princess Lydia
CHAPTER 18 Traitor Island
CHAPTER 19 Building the Raft
CHAPTER 20 Shadow Fight
CHAPTER 21 Duke’s Island
CHAPTER 22 Captured!
CHAPTER 23 In the Cage
CHAPTER 24 The Rusty Lock
CHAPTER 25 Army of Cats
CHAPTER 26 The Young Duke
CHAPTER 27 Cat Justice
CHAPTER 28 Kittens’ Revenge
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 by Lynne Jonell
Interior illustrations copyright © 2015 by Lynne Jonell
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
First hardcover edition 2015
eBook edition June 2015
eISBN 9780805096842
