Calling on Dragons (2 page)

“It's Archaniz? Oh, bother,” said Morwen, sticking her paintbrush into the can. “Has she got that idiot cat Grendel with her? I told her not to bring him anymore, but nine times out of ten she doesn't listen.”

Fiddlesticks joined Trouble at the top of the porch steps. “I don't see him. I don't see anyone but her. I don't want to see her, either. She doesn't like me.”

“That's because you talk too much,” Trouble told him.

“I'm going inside,” Fiddlesticks announced. “Then I won't have to see her. Maybe someone's dropped some fish on the floor,” he added hopefully as he trotted into the house.

Morwen landed her broomstick and stood up, just as the Chairwitch reached the porch steps. The Chairwitch looked exactly as a witch ought: tall, with a crooked black hat, stringy black hair, sharp black eyes, a long, bony nose, and a wide, thin-lipped mouth. She hunched over as she walked, leaning on her broom as if it were a cane.

Morwen put the paint can on the window ledge next to Jasmine, set her broom against the wall, and said, “Good morning, Archaniz.”

“Good morning, Morwen,” Chairwitch Archaniz croaked. “What's this I hear about you growing lilacs in your garden?”

“Since I don't know what you've heard, I can't answer you,” Morwen replied. “Come in and have some cider.”

Archaniz pounded the end of her broom against the porch floor, breaking some of the twigs and scattering bits of dust and bark in all directions. “Don't be provoking, Morwen. You're a witch. You're supposed to grow poison oak and snakeroot and wolfsbane, not lilacs. You'll get thrown out of the Deadly Nightshade Gardening Club if you aren't careful.”

“Nonsense. Where in the rules does it say that I can't grow what I please in my own garden?”

“It doesn't,” Archaniz admitted. “And I'll tell you right away that you aren't the only one who puts a few lilacs and daylilies in with the rampion and henbane. Why, I've got a perfectly ordinary patch of daisies in the corner myself.”

“Daisies.” Jasmine snorted softly. “She would.”

“But I've been getting complaints,” Archaniz continued, “and I have to do
something
about them.”

“What sort of complaints?”

“That the Deadly Nightshade Gardening Club is too normal for witches,” Archaniz said gloomily. “That all we grow are everyday plants like cabbages and apples—”

“Apples are a basic necessity for witches,” Morwen said. “And everyday plants don't turn the people who eat them into donkeys. Who's complaining?”

“Some fellow with an impossible name—Arona Mc-something-or-other.”

“Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist?”

The Chairwitch nodded. “That's the one. I've gotten six regular letters and two by Eagle Express in the past month. He says he's going to write a letter to the
Times
next.”

“He would,” Trouble muttered. “I
said
you should turn him into a toad.”

“That idea sounds better all the time,” Morwen told Trouble. Then she looked back at Archaniz, who of course had not understood a word Trouble had said. “Vamist isn't a witch,” Morwen said. “He's an idiot. Why worry about what he says?”

“That's all very well, Morwen, but if he convinces people he's right, it'll ruin our image. And if people think we're not dangerous, they'll come around asking for love potions and penny curses whenever they like. We'll be so busy mixing up cures for gout that we won't have time for the things
we
want to do. Look what happened to the sorceresses!”

“I haven't seen many of them around lately.”

Archaniz nodded. “They got a reputation for being kind and beneficent, and the next thing you knew everyone was begging them for help. Most of them moved to remote islands or deep forests, just to get away from the pestering. It's all very well for you, Morwen, living out here in the Enchanted Forest anyway, but I—”

A loud yowl interrupted the Chairwitch in mid-sentence. An instant later, four cats tore around the corner of the house. The one in front was a heavy, short-legged tomcat with yellow eyes and fur as black as night. Behind him came a fat, long-haired tabby tomcat and two females, one a large calico and the other a fluffy white cat with blue eyes. The black cat streaked out into the front yard, made a hairpin turn, and leapt for the porch, where he clawed his way up Archaniz's skirts to a perch on her shoulder.

The three pursuing cats jumped gracefully onto the porch railing and sat down, curling their tails around their feet, just as Fiddlesticks poked his head out of the front door.

“What's all the noise about? Who's shouting? Is it a fight? Who's winning? Can I join?” With every question, Fiddlesticks pushed a little farther, until he was entirely outside the house, staring up at Archaniz and the cat on her shoulder. “Who's
that?
”

“Mrow!” said the black cat in a complaining tone. “Yow wow mrrrum!”

“Oh, yeah?” said Trouble. “Well,
your
father wears
boots!
”

Morwen gave the black cat a speculative look. “One of these days, I am going to have to work up a spell that will let me understand other people's cats as well as my own,” she said to Archaniz. “What was that about?”

“We caught him nosing around in back of the garden,” the long-haired tabby growled.

“He had no business there,” the white cat added primly. “He's not one of
us,
after all. So we thought we would drive him away.”

“Stupid creature was babbling something about a rabbit,” the calico cat said with a disdainful look at the black cat. “As if that was any excuse.”

“Why didn't you call me?” Trouble demanded. “I never get to have any fun.” Radiating hurt pride, he stalked to the far end of the porch and disappeared into a large clump of beebalm.

“You know, people have been trying to perfect a universal cat-translating spell for years,” Archaniz said to Morwen in a dry tone. She glanced at the cats on the porch railing. “If you
do
come up with one, I'd like a copy for myself.”

“Nosy old biddy,” said the calico cat.

“On second thought, perhaps it would be better if I left things as they are,” Morwen said.

“Being disagreeable, are they?” Archaniz said knowingly. “It's only to be expected. Who ever heard of a polite cat?”

The black cat hissed. “Grendel!” said Archaniz. “Behave yourself. It wasn't that bad, and besides, you can use the exercise.”

“He certainly can,” said the calico cat.

“What's all this racket?” rumbled a low, sleepy cat voice from under the porch. “Dash it, can't a fellow take a nap in peace?” A moment later, a long cream-and-silver cat oozed around the steps to blink at the growing assembly above him.

“That's another thing, Morwen,” Archaniz said, scowling at the newcomer. “Cats and witches go together, I admit. And I know they're a big help with your spells, but one really ought to observe some reasonable limits.”

“I do,” said Morwen. All nine cats were useful, particularly when it came to working long, involved spells that required both concentration and power. Nine cats working together could channel a lot of magic. To explain all this would sound uncomfortably like bragging, however, so Morwen only added, “Anyway, I like cats.”

“She is simply jealous because we're all smarter than
he
is,” the white cat informed Morwen with a look at the black cat on Archaniz's shoulder.

“What, all of you?” Morwen said, raising an eyebrow.

“All of us,” the white cat said firmly. “Even Fiddlesticks.”

“I'm very smart,” Fiddlesticks agreed. “I'm
lots
smarter than Fatso there. Don't you think I'm smart, Morwen?”

Grendel hissed and bunched together as if he were preparing to launch himself from Archaniz's shoulder. Hastily, Archaniz put up her free hand to hold him back. “Perhaps I had better leave now,” she said. “We can finish our discussion some other—”

“There's a big garden show coming up in Lower Sandis,” Morwen said thoughtfully. “Why doesn't the Deadly Nightshade Garden Club enter an exhibit? If we all work together, we should be able to put together something quite impressive.”

Archaniz considered. “Monkshood and snakeroot and so on? In a large black tent.”

“And if everyone sends one or two really exotic things—”

“Morwen, you're a genius! People will talk about it for years, and that Airy McAiling Grinny person won't have a leg to stand on.”

“I don't think it will be that simple,” Morwen cautioned. “But an exhibit will buy us time to find out why he's so interested in making witches do things
his
way. And stop him.”

“Of course,” the Chairwitch said happily. “Let's see—Kanikak grows Midnight fire-flowers, and I have half a dozen Giant Weaselweeds. If I can talk Wully into letting us use her smokeblossoms . . .”

“I'll contribute two Black Diamond snake lilies and an invisible dusk-blooming chokevine,” Morwen said. “I won't keep you any longer now; just let me know when you've got things arranged. Chaos, Miss Eliza, Scorn, wait for me inside, if you please.”

The three cats sitting on the railing looked at each other. Then Chaos, the long-haired tabby, jumped down and sauntered past Fiddlesticks into the house. The white cat, Miss Eliza Tudor, followed, tail high, and Fiddlesticks fell in behind her, apparently without even thinking about what he was doing. Scorn sat where she was, staring stubbornly at Morwen.

“I'm not leaving while that idiot of hers is still here,” Scorn said with a sidelong glance at Grendel and Archaniz. “There's no telling
what
he might get up to.”

As this did not seem unreasonable, for a cat, Morwen let it pass. She walked Archaniz out into the yard, where there was plenty of room for a takeoff, and bade her a polite goodbye. As soon as the Chairwitch was out of sight above the trees, Morwen turned to go back inside. Jasper Darlington Higgins IV was sitting in front of the porch steps, watching her.

“Was that a good idea?” he said. “Invisible dusk-blooming chokevines aren't exactly easy to find, you know. Much less to grow. And you haven't got any, unless you've added them to the garden since early this morning.”

“I'm well aware of that,” Morwen said. “But I've been wanting some for a long time, to put along the fence by the back gate. Now I've got a good excuse to hunt them up.”

“As long as you know what you're getting into,” Jasper said. “Can I go back to sleep now, or is there going to be more noisy excitement?”

“Go to sleep,” said Morwen. As she climbed the porch steps, she gave Scorn a pointed glare. Dignity dripping from every whisker, Scorn jumped down from the railing and walked into the house. Morwen shook her head, picked up her broomstick and her paint can, and followed.

M
ISS ELIZA, SCORN, AND CHAOS
were sitting in the kitchen, trying to look as if they were waiting for something interesting to happen and not as if they were doing as Morwen had told them. The only one who managed it was Scorn, who had jumped up onto the bench below the side window and begun washing her face. When Morwen entered, she looked up briefly and then returned to washing. In contrast, Chaos jumped guiltily and Miss Eliza Tudor looked away. There was no sign of Fiddlesticks.

“Archaniz has left, and Grendel has gone with her,” Morwen said, setting the paint on the table. “Now, which of you three would like to begin?”

“Begin what?” Chaos asked warily.

Scorn stopped washing and snorted. “Don't be dense. She wants to know about our chasing Grendel.”

“We have already explained that,” Miss Eliza said.

“Not to my satisfaction,” Morwen said. “You know better than to pick a fight with another witch's cat. At least, I thought you did.”

“It's our job to keep things out of the garden,” Chaos said, looking up with his green eyes wide. “That's all we were doing.”

Morwen sighed. “Well, at least I don't have to ask who started it. What happened, exactly?”

The cats exchanged looks. “We were out by the back fence, the three of us and Aunt Ophelia and Murgatroyd,” Miss Eliza said. “Chaos was in the apple tree—”

“As usual,” Scorn put in. “You'd think it belonged to him.”

“—and he saw that witch swoop down over the hill behind the house. He said he saw her cat jump off the broomstick—”

“Probably looking for that blue catnip that grows on the far side,” Scorn said. “Grendel's a little too fond of his nibbles, if you ask me.”

“Nobody did,” said Chaos.

Miss Eliza glared at the other two and lashed her tail. “
If
I may continue . . . ?”

“Nobody's stopping you,” Scorn said, and to show her complete indifference she bent sideways and began washing her side.

“We were concerned,” Miss Eliza went on. “It seemed unusual. A minute or two later, while we were discussing whether to do anything about it, that black cat came tearing over the hill and down toward the garden, shouting about some rabbit.”

“Stupid excuse for a cat,” Chaos muttered. “Running away from a
rabbit!
I ask you!”

Scorn merely snorted expressively.

Miss Eliza looked at them. “While I do not like all these interruptions, I must confess that I agree with you. It is
not
the kind of behavior one hopes for in a cat.”

“So you couldn't resist tearing off after him.” Morwen shook her head.

“He was heading for the garden,” Chaos said, avoiding her eyes. “We were just doing our job.”

“Murgatroyd and Aunt Ophelia stayed in back, in case the rabbit showed up,” Miss Eliza Tudor offered.