Anton and Cecil, Book 2 (5 page)

The owl swung its stout head smoothly around to gaze at Anton. In the moonlight Anton could see tufts of feathers sticking up on top, like pointed ears or horns. Its long hooked beak protruded in a dark slash just under its eyes. Brown and black feathers circled the yellow eyes in such a way that they seemed to take up half of its head.

“Ah, the cowardly savior emerges,” the owl said, its voice deep and hollow like wind through tall pines. “If not for you, I'd be enjoying a tasty meal right now.”

“Oh, you think so, do you?” called Cecil from the shadows below. “Well come and get me, then.”

“Perhaps you don't realize to whom you are issuing this reckless challenge,” the owl said. “I am a great horned owl, one of the finest predators in the avian kingdom.”

“You'll be one step closer to extinction if you stick your beak under this carriage,” Cecil retorted.

Anton thought fast. Cecil was making things worse. This bird was no seagull—this bird was intelligent and vain.

“Don't you know the old song?” Anton said calmly to the owl.

The bird swiveled its head to Anton. “What song?”

Anton raised his voice so his brother could hear.

“A cat one night while on the prowl

was dinner for a great horned owl.

Before the night had turned to day,

the great horned owl had passed away.”

The owl tightened its talons on the railing. “Are you implying that cats are poisonous to owls?”

“Yes,” called Cecil from under the carriage. “Fatal. Everyone knows that.”

Anton watched the big owl yawn and shake out its wings, considering the possibilities.

“Excuse me, great horned owl,” Anton began, but the owl interrupted.

“Athena is my name.” The owl shifted position, her talons pinging lightly on the rail.

Anton cleared his throat and spoke up. “Athena, then. Do you know how these landships work?”

Athena blinked at him. “Landships,” she repeated. “I don't know what you mean.”

Anton sighed. “The thing you're sitting on,” he said, enunciating. “Isn't that a landship?”

Athena blinked again, her expression still stern. “It is not. Some birds call it a
screecher
, as it produces an admirable screech before it moves, louder than even our most piercing cries.” She demonstrated by lifting her head and producing an earsplitting scream, which made Anton shudder. “But the humans made it, and they call it a
train
,” she added. “They shout the word all day long.”

“Train,” Anton repeated. This owl was a know-it-all; perhaps Anton could keep her talking until she'd forgotten about her planned meal. “Do the trains travel into the setting sun?”

The owl turned her head impossibly far around and looked down the path of thick gray metal strips embedded in the pavement. “Often they do,” she said, “though just as often they come from that direction instead.”

Cecil's voice floated up from his place in the shadows. “How do you know which one to get on?”

Athena returned her gaze to Anton. “I've been told that cats are more intelligent than dogs. Myself, I doubt it. What creature in its right mind would want to
get on
a train? Animals don't travel with humans unless they're in a cage.”

“We have a mission,” Anton replied. He didn't think the owl would sympathize with a mission to rescue a mouse, so he left it at that.

But Cecil had to have the last word with the owl. “I bet we've traveled farther than you have. We've crossed the ocean on ships, and not in a cage, either. We may not have wings, but we know how to get where we're going.”

Athena paused and clacked her beak, deliberating. The sound set Anton's teeth on edge and he waited in silence. Finally she raised one long wing with a flourish. Anton tensed, but she was merely pointing. “It's quite straightforward,” she said. “All of these carriages lined up
here
are connected to, and pulled by, the train in the first position
there
. That's called the engine.”

“Engine,” Anton repeated. “Right.”

“The engine follows the
track
in the ground. It travels only on the track, never away from it.”

Anton nodded, and Athena swept the other wing into the air pointing the opposite way. “You can choose any of the carriages to
get on,
but I'd avoid those with lots of humans if I were you.” She eyed Anton. “Which I am very glad that I am not.”

“Which are the ones with fewer humans?” asked Anton.

Athena fluffed her wings impatiently. “At the far end the carriages are hollow, like boxes, with doors that slide open and closed.” She paused again, rotating her head as she inspected the length of the train, then continued in a softer tone. “You know, you really shouldn't wait until the sun rises, because all of the humans will come back and they'll chase you away.” She raised her voice a little, leaning over the side so Cecil could clearly hear. “I advise you to go
now,
to be safe.”

A long silence stretched across the yard as the cats considered this advice.

“Anton?” called Cecil from underneath. His moonlit whiskers protruded from the dark space next to the wheel, and the owl seemed to swell a bit, watching from above.

“Right here,” Anton replied.

“Does she look hungry to you?”

Anton heard the warning in Cecil's voice. “Oh yes, brother. She looks hungry to me.”

“Brothers?” said Athena with delight. “How sweet.” She was poised to dive now.

“Cats are sweet,” said Cecil. “But not to eat.”

“We shall see about that,” said Athena. She perched, motionless as any good hunter, holding both cats in her sights and waiting for their slightest mistake.

The minutes crept past. Anton tried to think. If he moved from under the tank, he'd be exposed. Cecil could stay under his train, but Anton saw that large snarls of metal parts hung down where each carriage connected to the next, so moving quickly underneath them in either direction would be difficult. And the owl was right—if they stayed where they were until morning, the humans might not let them board. He didn't know if trains had rodent problems.

Anton suspected Athena could wait all night. He wondered if Cecil had any bright ideas.

And then they all heard it—a scuffling sound near a tall stack of papers bound with string on the ground near the engine. Anton saw the owl's eyes lift, her head flick toward the noise. Cecil's whiskers rose and turned in the shadows as well. A fat rat crept out from behind the stack and sat up, nibbling intently on a seed, oblivious to the three pairs of eyes upon it.

With barely a ruffle, Athena dropped from her perch and swooped down toward the rat. Cecil's head poked out as he watched the owl's silent descent, and Anton realized that this was their chance.

“Cecil! Run!” Anton bounded from under the tank and scampered across the yard, swerving away from the engine when he reached Cecil's spot. “Come on!” he shouted, but Cecil had already shot from the dark hiding place and into step with him. They sprinted down the length of the building in a narrow corridor between two sets of linked train carriages, dodging boxes and bags, the strong smells of metal and machinery in their noses. As they raced, Anton tried to make out the shapes of the carriages in the dim light. Many were closed, and they'd almost reached the back of the train, which stuck out from the far end of the open building like a tail in the moonlight.

“Look for an open one!” shouted Cecil. But what if Athena had sent them to the box carriages as a trap? Still, it was their only hope. Anton knew they wouldn't hear the owl behind them until it was too late, so he made himself glance back. There she was, a stealthy shadow skimming over the trains, her beak aimed like the tip of an arrow speeding toward them.

“She's coming!” yelled Anton.

“Here!” shouted Cecil. He turned sharply and leaped up to and through a narrow space in the side of one of the carriages.

Anton tried to slow and turn but found himself skidding in a slippery puddle on the pavement, his legs cycling frantically in place. He looked up and yowled as the owl locked her yellow eyes on him and dropped into a dive. Out of breath and scrambling toward the train, Anton braced for the owl's attack.

At that moment a loud hiss sounded above his head. He leaped for the opening in the carriage just as Cecil bounded out again, teeth bared and claws swiping the air, soaring over Anton's head and straight toward the owl. Athena screeched and banked awkwardly to avoid Cecil, grazing one wing against a post and tumbling in the air. The cats heard a
thud
and a fluttering shuffle in the distance.

“Come on, quick!” called Anton as Cecil landed and turned. Cecil scrambled back into the carriage, and the brothers pressed into the farthest corner of the box and waited, watching the open doorway, their hearts hammering in the silence.

Anton finally caught his breath. “Thanks,” he whispered. “That was close.”

“You don't have to whisper,” said Cecil. “She knows we're in here.”

“Maybe she's given up,” Anton whispered. He couldn't help it.

Cecil sniffed and rolled his shoulders back. “She won't try again. She knows we're too tough.”

“And poisonous, don't forget.” Anton shivered and peered around the dusty, dark carriage. “Oh, brother. What have we gotten ourselves into?”

CHAPTER 5

A Dog's Tale

T
he owl must have found some other poor creature to terrorize or lecture, and the night passed peacefully as the cat brothers settled down in the empty carriage. There wasn't anything to eat, but it was warm enough and there were a few bales of hay in one corner that made a comfortable resting place. They talked for a while, recounting the day's escapade of getting from the sailing ship to the landship, and then they drifted off to sleep. Cecil awoke when the morning sun shot a wedge of light into the narrow opening of the carriage door. It was still and silent as the light stole across the floor. First from a distance, but gradually closer, the sound of human activity drifted in. Cecil heard men talking and shouting, clanging metal, wheels turning, laughter, and something heavy being dragged this way and that.

Anton woke up and climbed off the hay bale to look out the door. “The owl was right,” he said. “There are a lot of folks out there.”

Cecil followed and peeked out in the opposite direction. A rolling cart piled with boxes was lumbering toward their car at a fast clip. As the cats ducked back inside, there was a shout, then an answering shout, and the cart came to a halt right in front of the sliding door to their carriage. Immediately a dog began barking in a high-pitched voice, “Back off, back off, stay away, back off this instant!”

Cecil smiled at his brother. “I bet that's one of those dogs no bigger than a shrimp.”

Before Anton could reply, the door began to slide open, and two men looked inside. The cats backed up to the hay bales, making themselves as small as possible. Anton closed his eyes, since he believed humans couldn't see him when he did. But Cecil looked on as the men began unloading boxes and canvas bags and all manner of luggage from the cart, bumping, shoving, and pulling them into the carriage.

As he was sliding one crate next to another, one of the men, who wore a cap with a bill like a duck's, looked right at Cecil and winked. “I see you,” he said. Cecil didn't know what he meant, but the man appeared undisturbed, so Cecil stayed put.

When the carriage was about half-full of luggage, the duck-billed man jumped back in carrying a small crate from which the high-pitched barking of the dog continued the incessant and useless commands. “Back off. Don't do that. Back off. No. NO, NO, NO, NO!”

The man seemed amused by the racket and spoke softly when he set the crate down near the back of the carriage. Cecil observed that it had a door with a grate at the front. The slats all around the sides were a few inches apart and he could see the creature inside—a runty tan fury shouting at the top of his little lungs. “No, no, not again, no. I don't want to be in here. Back off, now. NO, NO, NO.”

“You can open your eyes now,” Cecil said to Anton. “They know we're here.”

Anton sat up cautiously. “They do?”

“That man looked right at me,” Cecil informed him.

That man was speaking softly to the dog, whose barking had faded to a low whine. The man retrieved two metal bowls, then filled one with water and poured some little tidbits that smelled like salt and dust into the other. He opened the grate carefully, and the dog, who seemed to know what was going on, backed up to the farthest reaches of the crate.

“Oh, all right. All right,” he said in his high snuffly voice. “Just make sure the water bowl is full, pul-ease.”

When the man had finished with the dog and closed the grate, he turned and stared openly at the two cats, who sat side by side, their tails wrapped around their legs, alert and ready to bolt.

“So how far are you going?” he asked pleasantly, but the brothers didn't understand a word. The man didn't appear alarmed in the least by their presence. He turned and went out to the cart and then came back with two more bowls and another bottle of water.

“There's not much to eat, where you're going,” he said. “This'll give you a start.”

And to Cecil's amazement, he filled the bowls with the tidbits and water and set them along the wall of the carriage, not far from the door. His coworker looked in and they exchanged some amused remarks, then the kind, duck-billed man climbed down and they slid the door closed. But the man didn't close it all the way. Cecil noted that he pulled it back a bit on its track, a space just big enough to let a little light and air in, and a cat, if he had a mind to leave, out.

The dog got up and lapped at his water, without speaking. Cecil sniffed, then tried a mouthful of the food in the bowl, working his jaws over it carefully. “It's not good,” he pronounced. “But it's not bad.”

The dog came to his grate and looked at his travel companions, his tongue out, panting. He had a dark, smushed-looking snout and big, brown, bulging eyes that made him look like he was horrified by what he saw. But evidently he wasn't.

“I've never seen cats on a train before,” he said. “Did somebody put you on here? I think you must be in the wrong car.”

Anton went over and looked through the bars at the little dog. “We got on by ourselves,” he replied. “We're going to wherever this thing goes to help a friend in need. My name is Anton, and that's my brother Cecil.”

The dog made a snuffling sound, then ran his bright pink tongue across his black lips. “What do you mean, you got on by yourselves? Animals don't just get on trains like that. And anyway, you got on the wrong car. This car is for dogs. Obviously.”

“That man seemed to think it was for cats, too,” Cecil observed from his station by the food bowl. “He brought us dinner.”

The dog snorted. “He's just uninformed. Cats and dogs don't travel together. Everybody knows that.”

“Have you been on a train before?” Anton asked.

“I've made this trip five times, and I don't like it one bit.”

“It doesn't seem so bad to me,” said Cecil. “There's lots of room and they serve meals. It takes you where you want to go. I like it fine.”

“That's easy for you to say,” the dog replied. “You're not stuck in a steaming hot box.”

“Yeah,” Anton agreed. “That's not so great.”

A loud whistle interrupted this conversation, followed by a ringing bell. A powerful vibration ran across the floor, followed by a rough, clanking jolt to the whole car, first one way, then the other. A man shouted something.

“We're pulling out of the station,” the dog informed Anton. “There's no turning back now.”

Cecil dashed to the door and looked out as the chuffing sound grew louder and a hot blast of air swept in from outside. “Whoa,” he said. “So this is a landship . . . I mean, a train. It's amazing!”

Anton was studying the latch on the dog's crate. “What's your name?” he said, as he brought his paw to the metal plate.

“I'm Willy,” said the dog.

“Well, Willy,” Anton said. “I think you may be glad you got to travel with a couple of cats.”

Willy, panting miserably, didn't seem to notice Anton's paw working around the latch. “I guess it will kill time to have somebody to talk to,” he admitted.

“You can give us the benefit of your travel experience,” Anton agreed.

Cecil, turning away from the view, joined his brother at the crate and peered in. He saw that there was a blanket folded at the back, and something round and red in one corner. He thought it must be some stuff to keep the dog comfortable while he traveled.

Cecil watched Anton's paw on the latch and recalled the time he'd opened a pirate's chest by pressing on the lid. “Try pushing on it,” he suggested.

Anton slid his paw along the latch, pressing and pressing. “I'm not getting anywhere,” he said.

Willy finally noticed Anton's paw. “Hey, what are you doing to my cage?” he snapped. “You don't know anything about these; they're for dogs. You'll break it, and then I'll never get out!”

“Let me give it a try,” said Cecil, ignoring Willy. Anton stepped back and Cecil studied the latch for a moment before placing his paw on one end. The latch was just a metal bar that dropped into an open slot. “If we let you out, will you be polite?” he asked Willy.

“Let me out?” cried Willy, looking from Cecil to Anton and back. “Can you really do that? I'd be crazy with gratitude!” He did a couple of quick spins in the crate.

Cecil slid his paw down to the far end of the bar and pressed. It lifted with a clink and the door swung open. “There you go,” he said.

Willy was awestruck. For a moment all he could do was drop his mouth open and roll his bulgy eyes. But as Cecil pushed the door away, he hurtled out of the cage into the wide-open space of the carriage.

“You did it,” he barked. “You did it. I'm free.” He ran with abandon, up one side of the car and down the other. “I love cats!” he shouted. “Cats are great!”

Anton and Cecil watched him, smiling smugly at each other. The chuffing noise had settled into a deep snore and they could see the scenery passing by, speeding up now as the train left the bustling city behind. Willy continued racing up and down.

“Dogs are weird,” Cecil said.

Willy made a few more wild circuits and then slowed to a trot. He went to the water bowl the man had left for the cats and lapped up half of it.

“This is the way to travel,” he said, approaching Anton and Cecil. He stretched his front legs down and raised his back legs, snuffling gleefully. He had a silly, curly tail that quivered in the air. Then he sat down with a grunt and addressed the brothers. “I am now prepared to entertain any questions you cats may have about train travel. I can also enlighten you about the many interesting characters and places you may encounter on your journey.”

“I thought you didn't want to go,” said Cecil.

Willy chuckled. “I just hate that box and I always protest injustice in the strongest possible terms. I actually look forward to my destination, which is the family home of my young mistress, who is traveling in one of the other carriages.” He lifted one back foot and scratched at his ear. “In the winter we live in the city, which has its charms, but in the summer I spend my time in the open and come and go as I please.”

“What is the open like?” Anton asked.

“Very open,” Willy replied.

Cecil groaned. “I'm unenlightened,” he said.

“Are there no buildings?” Anton asked. “Are there no trees?”

“Near the house there are trees and a road. But beyond that it's all tall grass, taller than any of us, waving and rustling like water, as far as you can see in any direction. An ocean of swaying golden grass. That's the open. One can scare up all sorts of little frightened creatures that live in holes.”

“Mice?” Cecil said.

“Some are mouse-like. Some are furry and chatter a lot. There are turtles, which can bite. I avoid those. Little snakes. I've caught a few of those. And there are all manner of large creatures as well.”

“Like horses?”

“Horses are generally kept inside fences. But in the open there are animals with hooves, smaller than horses, some with horns growing out of their heads. They run away when approached. There are also animals that resemble dogs but are not exactly dogs. I've never met one, nor do I hope to, as they are large and travel in groups making a great deal of noise, especially at night, when they howl in a most unseemly way.”

“How do you know they're not dogs?” Cecil asked. In his view there was too much variety among animals called dogs, some big, some tiny, and all manner of noses and tails. But presumably dogs knew dogs when they saw them.

“Well, for one thing they live in the open, and run wild all the time. No human wants them around. In fact they chase them away. I always hide when I see one. It must be a very different sort of life they lead. They eat whatever they can catch!”

Cecil smiled. “They're hunters. I think I like these dogs.”

Willy snuffed and bugged out his eyes. “They're
not
dogs, that's the point. Humans call them coyotes.”

“Coyotes!” Anton and Cecil exclaimed.

“Have you met any?”

“No,” Anton said. “But we're looking for one. We're trying to find a friend and he lives between a coyote and a whale.”

“Well, there are a lot of coyotes,” said Willy. “I don't know how you'll find the right one.”

“No,” Anton agreed, looking at Cecil, who grunted and shook his head. The whistle shrieked and the train seemed to shudder as it slowed down to travel around a bend.

Willy walked over to the door and stuck his head out. “We're coming into a little town.”

“Do you get off here?” asked Cecil.

“Oh no,” said Willy. “I'll be with you all day and all night. We'll get to my stop tomorrow morning. I'm not sure where the train goes after that, but I know it's not the end of the line.”

“The end of the line,” Anton repeated.