A Shadow All of Light (32 page)

“How does the affair progress?” I asked him. “Do you still speak only feline?”

In that language he told me that negotiations had taken a different turn entirely. He had found out that the precious treasure, the valuable to which Tyl Rendig had unbreakably shackled the length of his life, was in the possession of Brotero.

When I asked how this impresario of cats had come by it, he told me that it had been brought to him from the château by a huge black rat he had trained to filch and poach and despoil and do dire damage upon the valuables of Brotero's foes.

“Is it not his proper purpose to kill rats and not to league with 'em?”

“Ho now, Defender,” he said. “Be still.” The horse was always restless when addressed in cattish.

Mutano scratched with his thumbnail along the line of the black mane and said, “Now and again he will choose one rat and train it in infamous trickeries. He plucks more strings than one upon his cithara.”

“Do you know what this treasure is?”

“I do not, but we are shortly to find out.”

“How so?”

“I made a wager with the man to match Sunbolt in battle against the best of his Maulers. When Sunbolt defeats his champion, Brotero will give over the treasure to me.”

“Do you not run a dread risk? Doth Sunbolt agree to such an arrangement?”

“He is avid upon the prospect.”

“How may he profit?”

“I have wagered with him also. If he loses the battle, I will give back his shadow. If he wins, we will bargain again on different terms.”

“He has the best of it,” I said.

“We shall see.”

“Have you looked upon this Mauler? He may be of size and strength to kill your Sunbolt.”

“Incertitude makes possible the wager,” he replied.

“And the contest will be fair? Brotero does not seem an exemplar of plain dealing.”

“He may try to take a knavish advantage.”

“What then?”

“You shall be looking out for't and, if it befall, I shall pin his carcass to the wall with a sword and possess myself of a cattery.”

“You are well fit,” I said, “as you already speak the language.”

“Make clear your hours for the second night hence,” he said. “That is the appointed time.”

*   *   *

The appointed place was a large, resounding, empty warehouse on Rovers Wharf. A dolorous edifice of crumbling red and black brick, it sat squat upon waterside, poking a rotting pier out over the tides like a twig thrust into a campfire. I arrived early and made a tour of the outer structure but found nothing amiss. I made short work of the lock on a narrow side door and entered the cavernous space. Unlit torches were set about the walls and a low, makeshift gallery had been carpentered around the large, dusty space in the center, the space where the trial of strength would occur.

I examined all closely. The only cause for suspicion was a profusion of rat-holes at the base of the walls; these would be ordinary, except that I formed a strong impression that no rats had infested here for a long period. When I left the building, I took care to set the door-lock back as it had been.

A brothel catercornered eastward offered a balcony with a view of the warehouse, and I stationed there to watch the arrivals. They began to show just before the hour and they made up an expectable crowd of some four score or more: sailors, draymen, panders, cobblers, doxies, grooms, and the like. They were a vocal, excited rabble, already trading lies and offering wagers.

When I saw Mutano go inside, bearing on his left shoulder a large, leather-bound trunk outfitted with numerous small holes, I left my elevated post, pushed through the remnant of the throng, and entered.

No time was wasted on preliminaries. Brotero, dressed in his gray tunic and trunks, brought in his big black Mauler cat on a red leather leash attached to a length of hempen rope. He led the animal to the middle of the floor and announced his name: “Uccisore.” I thought “Murderer” a proper name for the specimen.

When Brotero stepped away into the first row of spectators, Mutano approached slowly. His leisurely progress gave me time to look about, paying particular attention to the heavily shadowed rafters. I saw nothing untoward.

Mutano did not speak, of course, but lifted the trunk from his shoulder and set it down eight paces from where Uccisore sat on his haunches, watching closely my friend's every move. The trunk was constructed so that the hasps opened along the bottom. Mutano unlatched them one by one and lifted off the trunk as a whole to reveal Sunbolt. Our fine orange cat was the most colorful object in the room, except for the flambeaux with their swaying red-and-yellow flames.

Sunbolt was lying, with his paws tucked under, upon a fat cushion of bright scarlet silk outlined with yellow piping. The cat seemed to be dozing at first; then he opened his eyes lazily, one at a time, and gave a wide yawn that lasted for a long space. Then he rose and arched his back. Then he crouched forward and, inserting his claws into the cushion, gave himself a languorous, thorough stretch.

All this calculated insolence brought from the gapers and bettors a round of tipsy laughter.

Sunbolt disembarked his pillow in dainty, lethargic fashion, setting one slow paw at a time upon the floor, whose rough planks, laid loosely, showed between the cracks the bay water that flowed and ebbed beneath. The cat took no notice when Mutano came into the arena, took up the pillow, gave it an affectionate kiss—which occasioned more laughter—and removed it.

Of all catfights witnessed by humankind, this one might have been the most extraordinary. The opponents did not rush upon one another squalling in fury, with slit eyes and flattened ears. Nay, they stepped round in circles, their watchful eyes full open, erect ears twitching alertly. They closely resembled two pugilists taking careful stock of the size and style of each other. Their tails curled and uncurled.

Uccisore made his initial assault a quick feint toward the left flank of Sunbolt, but this maneuver the red one had anticipated and he appeared to react in no way, merely continuing his methodical circling and staring.

Uccisore repeated this same tactic but then turned in midair and came straight on to confront his counterpart face-to-face. He stopped abruptly in front of Sunbolt and, planting his feet, arched his back to its tallest extent, giving the aspect of an inky storm cloud ready to release its winds and lightning.

Sunbolt responded in kind, elevating his spine so that his shape was as large or larger. He took the shape of a fireball poised to roll destructively through a landscape.

Now they both backed away and shifted their foci of interest to their surroundings—the smelly warehouse and the red-faced spectators. These folk had been japing, laughing, muttering, and caterwauling, but when Sunbolt delicately lifted a paw and began to lick it, they fell so silent that the wash of tide beneath the floorboards was audible.

As if this ablution were an insult he could not abide, Uccisore flung himself like a falling star. Sunbolt dodged nimbly but had miscalculated his foe's speed. A black paw swiped his left hindquarter, snatching off a thatch of reddish hair that hung for a moment in the air. He squirmed about in a flash and bit Uccisore's tail, to strong effect, as I judged by the outraged howl that ensued. Then they were at it in earnest. The big black cat was the more savage in attack, so wild in his rage of combat that he fought more as a demon than as a feline. His strength was greater than Sunbolt's and when he clutched the red one by his shoulders to sink teeth behind his head, he rolled him off his feet. Sunbolt was energetic too, as quick to pounce and scratch and bite as was his opponent, but his maneuvers were more calculated and he was willing to take blows and swipes and nips in order to conserve his strength and to judge the style of the other. This meant that he was often on the defensive, rolling onto his back and working all four paws furiously in a disemboweling action. Uccisore could not attack against those flurrying paws, but neither could Sunbolt gain advantage.

The wagers of the assemblage, which had plumped in favor of Uccisore at the outset, now swelled even more heavily in his favor, and the spectators grew noisier.

The fury had continued already much longer than the usual battle and a few of the more observant spectators saw that many of Sunbolt's attacks were but feints and that Uccisore reacted to them in exaggerated fashion, expending strength but wreaking little damage. As the combat continued, his ferocity began to abate and he took a more thoughtful approach to his attacks.

But this meant that he was fighting Sunbolt's preferred kind of fight, and he had burned away so much
vis
in his initial onslaught that he responded tardily to the flanking sallies and almost nonchalant leap-overs. Then it became obvious that Sunbolt was gaining advantage, sometimes toying with his opponent, then rushing in to mark a telling slash upon a shoulder or along the ribs.

The noise of the onlookers subsided gradually and fell into a puzzled muttering. These folk might be regular spectators at the rat-routs and cat-battles that Brotero exhibited, but they had never seen a struggle like this one, wherein one combatant went at it like a brawny, fight-hardened, experienced beast while the other seemed to fore-think his actions, as would a human wrestler or swordsman. The duel—for that was what it had become—had already lasted long past the expected duration and appeared as if it would continue at length.

This lengthiness gave Sunbolt the advantage, and a promise of victory hung in the air.

Now is the time, methought, that if Brotero is going to play an underhand trick, it will be done. I made my way carefully to where Mutano stood at the edge of the arena, and though my attention was mainly upon my forward progress, I saw out of the corner of my eye one of the planks of the floor lift.

Immediately I understood the mistake I had made. The avenue of interference would not be from the exterior of the warehouse upon which I had kept watch, but from below. There was space enough beneath the floor for a dinghy to come under and for a Worrier cat to be introduced by Brotero's men. I would be the only one who noticed, since I was looking out for foul play and the others were intent on the duel.

This new combatant was about half the size of Uccisore, of a silver-gray color and as lithe and sinewy as any stoat. Whether Sunbolt was aware of its presence, I could not tell. He kept bedeviling Uccisore with feints, buffets, and occasional earnest slashes that drew lines of blood.

The gray Worrier paused for a moment, as if to take in the situation, and then began to initiate the movements familiar to it. It would sidle swiftly to any blind side, then rush in to nip smartly, then leap back before Sunbolt could retaliate with a hind paw.

This was the game customary in their wars with rats and both Uccisore and the gray one had it well by heart.

I watched closely, for I knew that Mutano would stand by his vow to expose to the torchlight the guts of Brotero upon any such impudence. And he did begin to unsheathe his blade and step toward the nervy, smirking little fellow. But, as I had expected, two of Brotero's henchmen approached Mutano at the same time. I waited for the near one to pass me by and just as he did, I placed the point of my poniard behind his ear and told him in a soft but earnest voice that if he came upon my friend but one half step more I would pierce his brain with a piece of intelligence he would not relish.

He stepped away and I disarmed him.

When Mutano unsheathed, the other assailant retreated. He had counted upon the advantage of number and, not having that, was uneager to cross blades with my expert comrade.

And so the feline fight continued in its course. No one wished to try to come between the cats because of the danger of being shredded like a red cabbage. Mutano would have opportunity to exert his justice upon Brotero when the conflict concluded.

It was not going well for Sunbolt. His two opponents had the superiority a wolf pack enjoys, one of them confronting forwardly, the other coming from the sides. Sunbolt was as limber and swift as a serpent in striking and withdrawing, but the incessant attacks were tiring him quickly and his counterswipes became less frequent and less forceful. The exhibition began to wind down.

At this point, Sunbolt gave a great leap backward, almost a somersault, that afforded him open space from his attackers. There he braced his four feet, puffed out his chest, opened his mouth as wide as it would gape, and shouted, in Mutano's most commanding manner:

“AVAUNT, COWARD MISCREANTS!”

Again the smoky room fell silent. The spectators all drew in their breath at once and stared at Sunbolt as if he were something brought down from the skies by a war-god in a flaming chariot.

His battle cry took even greater effect upon the Mauler and the Worrier. The pair of them scrambled back away, looking at Sunbolt in fright and dazed confusion. Uccisore's eyes crossed. The Worrier arched his back and spat.

Uttering another thunderous, though wordless shout, Sunbolt sprang across the whole of the vacated space and seized Uccisore by the throat. Then, bracing his back feet and standing himself erect, he pulled the black Mauler from the floor and, with a quick jerk of his head, flung the heavier beast into the second rank of spectators.

Seeing the unexpected and dismal fate of his counterpart, the Worrier bounded away from the combat area and ran to the farther part of the floor, to the place where the board had been lifted to admit him to the arena. He clawed frenziedly at the wood, but that exit was no longer available. As Sunbolt advanced upon him grimly, he gave a piteous little
“Miaou”
and slunk away with head and ears and tail drooping, into the guffawing crowd.

In this manner did Mutano win his wager with Brotero, and thus he received a small canvas bag containing fourteen candle stubs. This reward he procured by producing a scrap of paper torn in half upon which an agreement had been inscribed. Brotero, with unfeigned disgust, produced its other half and returned it to Mutano. In the matter of the candles, he muttered, “I think thee shall get little good of them. The baron is not right of mind.”