No One Noticed the Cat

by Anne McCaffrey

  “I’m not waiting around again, either,” Laurel said, doing the same thing.

  “I think I will,” the countess said, reaching for another piece of cheese. “I’m not at my best anymore crawling around dark and dusty places.”

  “What dark and dusty places?” Salinah demanded, returning with Mavron, whose wrists were now bandaged neatly. He was also wearing fresh clothing of an informal nature, though how Salinah had managed to fit him from what was generally in a woman’s wardrobe remained a bit of a mystery. At least to everyone but Mavron.

  “Just before dawn is the very best time to catch your enemy out,” Jamas said, shifting his sword on his hip.

  “Who?” demanded Salinah.

  “Her, of course,” Mavron said. “With any luck, she’s asleep and dreaming happily of seeing my head bounce down the palace steps.”

  “Ohhh, ugh!” Salinah gave a massive shudder. “How can you jest about it?”

  “Easily enough,” Mavron said, “since now it won’t happen, thanks to Jamas and my loyal subjects.”

  There was a rumble of deep voices “here-here-ing, your majesty,” but softly. As most of the men had darkened their faces with soot, Willow couldn’t tell who was who, Esphanian or Mauritian. She did identify the Moxtell sons and brothers by height and bulk. She thought she recognized one or two Mauritians— soldiers from the household guards.

  Niffy said an imperious “MaaaaROW!”

  “Coming,” Jamas said, grinning all around, and he obediently followed the purposeful cat into the passageway.

  Some of the cobwebs had been stirred by recent usage, and they heard the scurryings of frightened small creatures, but these did not cause anyone a moment’s concern. Traversing such dark ways, however, with only the flickering of torches and candles did make the journey seem endless.

  When the forward movement stopped, it was so abrupt that Willow ran into Jamas. He’d nearly stepped on Niffy. There were low exclamations of surprise from behind them.

  Then Jamas saw a little spot of light at eye level and realized that they had reached Niffy’s destination. Putting his eye to the hole, he peeked once and drew back.

  Turning to Willow, he whispered right into her ear.

  “We’re in her bedchamber and she is asleep.”

  Willow made a strangled sound, pointing to the floor as Niffy pushed open a panel and disappeared…into the chamber. The panel began to shut silently behind her.

  “Huh?” Jamas whirled round to see the tip of Niffy’s tail disappearing. “Whoa…” He cut off the sound he had inadvertently made by clapping his hand to his mouth. He peered anxiously back through the spy-hole to be sure he hadn’t been heard inside the room. He gave a single nod of his head in relief.

  Mavron tapped Willow’s shoulder, and she could just make out the querying look on his face. So she passed him word of what had just happened. Just then, Jamas gestured for Willow to peek through the hole. He was grinning broadly.

  If Willow had not known that Niffy was in the room, she might have just thought—as the drowsing guards about the royal bed would have, had they been as alert as they should have been—that a shadow moved stealthily around the room and to the bed, centered on the longest wall. Willow wondered if Mangan had chosen Niffy especially for her dark fur, so suitable for lurking in dark corners. Then she remembered Jamas saying that Mangan told him Niffy had done the choosing.

  Willow was conscious of a noise, an odd one: a soft snore in fact. And since the guards were all standing, more or less, the noise emanated from the bed. Her eyes adjusting to the dim light, Willow now realized that the queen lay on her back, arms outstretched, her mouth slightly ajar. How very unattractive, she thought.

  A touch on her shoulder and she gave way to Mavron, who breathed out a noise of satisfaction, Willow thought, or maybe contempt. Several others, including Salinah, took their turn at the peek hole, squeezing past each other in the tight passage. Then Laurel hssted at Jamas to come quickly to see.

  Jamas took a quick look, then pulled Willow to the hole, and she gave way to Mavron.

  Niffy had reached the head of the bed, climbing silently up the hangings, until she could step onto the surface, still in shadow. Willow saw her creeping slowly, with delicate stalking steps across the pillows to the sleeper’s head.

  “What is she planning to do?” Willow mouthed to Jamas who shrugged as he put his lips to her ear to answer.

  “She usually knows what she’s doing, even if we don’t.”

  Careful shufflings and those in the vanguard had a chance to look in on the bedchamber. The oldest Moxtell son asked why they were waiting. Jamas could only shrug. They were beginning to notice that the air in the secret passageway was becoming fusty with all of them in a space where there was little ventilation.

  “She’s curling herself up on the pillow now,” Willow said, for it was her eye occupying the peephole. “Right beside her head!”

  Jamas crowded in and almost instantly a sharp noise could be heard. He drew back his head so his eye would not be noticed.

  “Ooops,” he said noncommittally.

  “What?” Mavron mouthed.

  “She sneezed.”

  “Who? The cat?”

  “The queen,” Jamas murmured. He peeped in again. Then all of them heard an outraged cry. “Niffy scratched her cheek!”

  “Is Niffy all right?” Willow asked anxiously.

  “She just scrambled up the bed curtains and out of sight.”

  The sneezing continued, punctuated by irate screams and imprecations until the sneezing became so constant the queen couldn’t do anything else. She now sat bolt upright in bed, eyes watering, one hand on her cheek, trying to give orders to guards on the expiration of each sneeze.

  “The reason she hates cats,” Salinah murmured with a malicious grin, “is because she’s so violently allergic to them!”

  From the bedchamber the covert watchers heard her rantings.

  “Find that…(sneeze)…cat. (sneeze) It scrat(sneeze)ched me. Find…(sneeze) it! Now! Who (sneeze, sneeze) let (sneeze, gasp) the (gasp sneeze sneeze) mon(sneeze)ster in? I’ll…(sneeze, gasp, choke, sniff) chop off his (sneeze)—!”

  The queen had bounced out of her bed, sneezing, each new explosion more forceful so that she could barely stand upright. She clung to the bedpost, gasping for breath in between monumental sneezes.

  “FIND IT!”

  The guards were running here and there trying to locate a cat. No one thought of the bed drapes—and the queen had been too paralyzed by her sneezing to have heard Niffy’s rapid ascent. The guards looked behind the curtains at the windows, under the furniture, in the wardrobes, while the queen became more and more helpless with her paroxysm.

  Jamas took a good look at the woman who had caused so much trouble. She was small, even swathed by the voluminous nightdress, and not even remotely appealing. His Willow gave a polite little whisper of a sneeze on the one occasion he had heard her. Not these great gusty violent affairs. Queen Yasmin’s face, contorted by the sneezing and the one cheek marked by a single thin claw line, was pinched and her features more sharp than classic. Perhaps in full court regalia and her charms artfully enhanced cosmetically, she might have been more attractive. Certainly the tangled mess of teased hair that framed her face added nothing to her appearance. Jamas did wonder how she had contrived to dominate Egdril for eight years or longer. She might just have been prettier when she was younger. She certainly was not pretty now, sneezing, snorting, her nose running, screaming when she had the breath for it—for her maid, for her physician, for help.

  All of a sudden her body went rigid and her face froze into a mask of horror. She clutched once at her chest and then fell to the floor, eyes staring—almost accusingly, Jamas thought—in his direction.

  “She’s dead, I think.”

  The guards waited only long enough to come to the same conclusion before they bolted out the door, yelling at the top of their lungs. Jamas didn’t know if they
screamed from relief, for salvation, or just for someone in authority to come and take over.

  “Now, where is the release mechanism?” he asked as Mavron reached across him and pressed something.

  A section of the wall swung open.

  “Niffy?” Jamas called, concerned until her face appeared over the top of the bed hangings.

  “Meh!” she said with great satisfaction and, reversing her body, lowered herself, tail first, by clever claws to the point where she could make an easy leap to the floor without bruising her paw pads.

  “Such a good cat! Such a clever cat!” Jamas tried to take her up in his arms but she eluded him. She made for the washstand and looked imperiously over her shoulder at him.

  “She needs to wash her paws, I suspect,” Willow said and hastened to pour water in the over-decorated and gilded porcelain basin.

  Neatly Niffy jumped up to the stand and then into the water, where she walked around and around, her claws scraping the china. Just then Mavron and the Moxtell sons and brothers, filing into the bedchamber, exclaimed in surprise at seeing a cat deliberately immersing itself.

  “She’s always played with water,” Jamas said, half-amused and half-annoyed at their reaction.

  Willow found a clean towel and spread it on the floor for Niffy to dry her feet on. Niffy spent a good time in the water until she was satisfied that she had rinsed off whatever it was she had put on her claws.

  With a face devoid of expression, Mavron stripped the embroidered satin cover from the bed and flipped it negligently over the corpse of his stepmother. Then he brushed his hands together, straightened his shoulders and turned to the assembled, every inch the royal personage he was.

  “As my first official duty as King of Mauritia, let me thank my loyal allies and subjects for their assistance throughout this…ah…”

  “Regrettable hiatus?” Jamas suggested, grinning.

  “Long live King Mavron!” one of the Mauritians said in a loud and penetrating voice.

  “Long live King Mavron!” Salinah echoed as they all heard a commotion in the hall.

  The group that paused on the threshold just stared, some briefly, before they turned to flee down the hall as fast as their legs could carry them. Others remained, relief showing in their pale faces as they turned with hopeful expressions to Mavron.

  It took the rest of the morning to restore order to the palace and city. Mavron evidently had had time to consider the most necessary steps to be taken. Firmly ushering everyone out of the death chamber, he led all to his own apartments. There, installed in his office, he barked out orders, wrote more, called for messengers, and generally organized the start of his reign.

  By dinnertime, elation had dissolved into fatigue, and it was a weary group who joined Mavron for an informal meal. King Mavron installed Niffy on her own chair with a table just the right height for her to eat from a dish of livers and other tender morsels which he himself had interviewed the chef to provide.

  “I never thought I’d be so grateful to a cat,” he told Jamas and Willow with a fond smile at Niffy. The effects of his incarceration were still etched on his face. He had chosen a coat with sufficient lace on the cuff to cover the bandages. “However did you train her to do such things, Jamas? She was magnificent.”

  “Mrraow?” Niffy looked up from her plate, her almond-shaped green eyes wide.

  Jamas cleared his throat hastily, lest Mavron inadvertently speak her private name.

  “Actually, she’s extremely intelligent and not just for a cat.”

  “Meh!” Niffy said.

  “Special breeding, you see,” Jamas went on in the most indolent tone, turning his wineglass and leaving red semicircles on the white table linen. “My regent bred her. And trained her, for that matter.” He cleared his throat again. “She’s been a great help to me, I can assure you. Warning me now and then, and always to my advantage.”

  “Ah, yes,” Mavron said, indulgently, “forewarned is forearmed, isn’t it.”

  “Meh!”

  As it was then, so it is now!