The Sign of the Cat (18 page)

Duncan felt a shiver go up his spine at the thought. Still, if he didn't tell the earl, the earl would not get rid of Bertram, and Duncan would be in danger.…
Fia
would be in danger.

Night fell, and a thin rain began to drizzle. The rigging was coarse under Duncan's hands as he slid down, but in the month he had been at sea, he had developed thicker calluses. He dropped lightly to the deck and skipped down the ladder beneath the raised stern deck.

He knocked quietly at the door of the great cabin. The latch on the door needed fixing, or had not completely shut, for the door swung open slightly. Duncan poked his head in. “Sir?”

The great cabin was empty. The wide sweep of windows glassily reflected a shimmer of light from the passageway behind him. Duncan could see the door to the balcony—or the gallery, he had to remember to call it that—and the curving row of lockers beneath the bench, the solid table with its carved chairs, and a wooden crate that looked as if it had once held fruit.

There was a creak on the companionway, and Duncan glanced up to see feet descending the ladder. They were shod not in the earl's polished boots but in the canvas shoes of a sailor.

Duncan ducked inside the door to the earl's cabin. He did not want to explain to anyone why he was waiting for the earl; he would step out as soon as the man had passed by.

The cabin door swung open and shut with the pitch and roll of the ship, letting in a shaft of light that grew wide and then narrow. The footsteps came closer, and now there was a sound of clinking. When the door gaped open a third time, Duncan caught sight of a broad, hairy arm and a stained and dirty apron.

Quick as thought and twice as silent, Duncan ducked behind the curtain that hung before the earl's closet. He pushed between the earl's hanging clothes and pressed his back against the bulkhead.

Cook bumped the door open with his wide posterior and shuffled in with a covered tray and small lantern. There was a clatter of cutlery and the ring of a crystal wineglass, and then the hanging lantern was lit; Duncan could see its warm glow at the edge of the closet, where the curtain didn't quite meet the bulkhead wall. He shifted position, bracing himself so that he would not stumble at the ship's motion, and put his eye to the half-inch gap.

There was a bump at the door—here was the earl at last. He strode into the cabin, boots glistening with spray, his cloak swirling. The earl's hands undid the clasp at his throat and let the cloak fall. A hairy arm caught it before it hit the deck.

“Should I hang this up in the closet, my lord?” Cook asked.

Duncan stopped breathing.

“No, spread it over that crate to dry first,” came the earl's voice. “And open a window. It's stuffy in here.”

Duncan breathed again, slowly, soundlessly. He watched, willing the cook to go away.

Footsteps. The cook's cheeks bunching in a smile. The clink of silverware and the sound of a cover being lifted off. Then the cook stepped back, and Duncan could see.

There was a deep pie plate, with a golden crust on top. Something long and fuzzy curled around one side. Two pointed triangles stuck out above the golden crust, just the size of … of cat ears.

“Ah!” said the earl. “Kitty Pot Pie! My favorite!”

 

CHAPTER 14

Overboard

D
UNCAN'S KNEES FELT STRANGELY WEAK.
He sank to the floor of the closet, numb with shock. The Earl of Merrick ate
kittens
?

The atmosphere behind the curtain was stifling—he felt as if he couldn't breathe—but Duncan didn't dare stir. The earl would know he had been spying.

And what would the earl do then?

Duncan sat in dull misery as the earl finished his supper. The horrible sound of jaws steadily chewing was almost more than he could bear. He bent his forehead to his knees and tried to think of something else, something happy. He failed.

Someone knocked at the cabin door; a voice spoke. The earl dabbed his lips with a napkin and laid it over his plate, covering up the tail and ears garnish. “Come in.”

Through the crack, Duncan could see a blue-trousered leg and a man's hand holding a long roll of paper.

Something soft and furry touched Duncan's ankle, and his heart nearly bolted through his chest. Was it a rat? Fia had once found a rathole in this closet.…

It wasn't a rat. The eyes were larger than a rat's, and they glowed different colors. Fia nestled against his ankle, her tail curled around her. She started to meow a soft question, but Duncan shook his head and touched her muzzle with his forefinger.

She climbed lightly up his sleeve and pushed her mouth against his ear. Her meow was so soft he could barely hear it.

“I've come to spy on the earl, like you told me to,” she said.

Duncan flinched. It was his fault Fia had put herself in this danger. He gave her his most serious, earnest look. “Shhhh,” he whispered in her soft, pointed ear.

The voice of the sailing master boomed out suddenly. “I need to know where we're going, in order to set a course. North, my lord? Back toward civilization? Here's the chart.”

Duncan put his eye to the gap between the curtain and bulkhead once more. There was a sound of rustling as the paper was unrolled. The earl set his dinner tray down on the deck to make room. The napkin had slipped a little, showing one fuzzy ear, and the earl twitched the napkin back in place to cover it. The master had not bothered to look at the supper tray. He leaned on the table, both hands on the chart.

“No,” said the earl, and his fingernail tapped on the paper. “Here's where I want to go. It's not far. We'll pick up the Arvidian Current soon, and it will take us there.”

“To the Great Rift?” Mr. Corbie blew his breath out forcibly. “You can't be serious. There's nothing there but danger—and death if you get too close.”

The Earl of Merrick laughed, high and sharp, and the hair on Duncan's skin lifted. “Death for someone, perhaps,” he said, “but not for me.”

“My lord,” said the master, his voice strained, “it's not a laughing matter. Look here.” A stout finger jabbed on the table with a thump. “That's where the warm Arvidian Current curves and begins to go north—and meets the cold Rift Current that flows in the other direction. When they meet, they brew up all sorts of weather. The farther we go toward the Rift, the more we'll run into fog and wind and storm. There are hidden reefs, rocks to break a ship upon, and that's a bad thing in a fog—or anytime, my lord. There are whirlpools, too, great wide ones and small treacherous ones. I've heard that, at times, the Rift boils like a cauldron; one of those whirlpools could suck your ship down before you knew what was happening. Then there are waterspouts—whirling tornados that pick you up and put you down in pieces—and if that isn't enough, we don't know how wide it is. Nor do we know what's on the other side. And there's no reason to go there. None at all, my lord.”

“I have my own reasons,” said the Earl of Merrick. “And I have a chart.”

“A chart, my lord? For the
Rift
?”

“A new chart,” said the earl, his voice suddenly cold. “Drawn by someone who crossed it and returned. Successfully. As I shall do.”

“Sir! If you're still looking for the princess, all Arvidia knows that you've done your best. You won't find any trace of her in the Rift—not even a scrap of her petticoat or a beaded shoe!”

The earl did not answer. His gaze swept the room and stopped at the closet. No, at the bottom of the closet curtain, where it nearly touched the deck.…

The skin on Duncan's arms grew cold. Was something showing? His feet were well inside the curtain, as were his hands. Fia was tucked out of sight next to his ankle, and her tail—

Her tail. Back and forth, Fia flicked the tip in and out beneath the hanging curtain. A keen eye might have caught the movement.

Duncan's hand stole down and covered Fia's tail, stopping the telltale motion.

The earl's chair scraped, as if he had made an impatient movement. “You agreed to be my sailing master, Corbie. You agreed to take this ship where I want it to go.”

“I didn't agree to suicide, my lord,” said the master. “Begging your pardon, but that's what it will be if we go into the Rift.”

“Not into it. Just to the very edge. There's an island I know of where we can take our bearings.”

“You mean we're going to the island where—” The master's voice wavered.

“Where Duke Charles betrayed king and country?” The earl smiled. “Just near enough to take a bearing. There's no sense going to the island itself—it's just a barren rock. Then we'll explore the edge of the Rift, making plans for the real expedition, when I become the—”

The earl coughed, took a drink of water, cleared his throat. “I mean to say, at some future time, I will hire a new sailing master—one
not
too timid to brave the Rift—and he will be well rewarded.”

The master cleared his throat. “Beg pardon, my lord. It's just that when it comes to danger for the ship—”

“I quite understand,” said the earl. “Now, set that course.”

There was a low murmur as the sailing master mumbled calculations to himself. Then came a rustle as the chart was rolled up, a quick stamp and stride, and Earl and Master were out of the cabin. In a moment, Duncan heard their feet on the ladder.

“All hands to tack ship!” The cry echoed down the hatch and was immediately followed by the usual thunder of rushing feet.

Duncan had no desire to be seen coming out of the earl's cabin. At last, cautiously, he pushed aside the curtain that hung over the closet door.

The ship heeled suddenly as, above decks, the sails were sheeted home and caught the breeze. Duncan staggered on the slanted deck and tripped over the wooden fruit crate, falling to his knees. He reached for Fia, but she was already sliding halfway across the wooden planks. She banged against the earl's supper tray with a clatter of crockery, clawing at the napkin.

Duncan got across the deck quickly, but he was too late. Fia was staring at the remains of the earl's dinner in horror. Her wide eyes caught the lantern's light in amber and gold. She looked uncanny, like a ghost cat haunting the ship, but her meow was the simple, wailing cry of a frightened kitten for her mother.

“Shh, it's all right, I'm here!” Duncan reached for her, but his sudden motion startled the terrified kitten. She leaped past him and skittered around the fruit crate. A gust of wind swirled through the half-open window, and the candle in the big hanging lantern flickered wildly. The door blew open to the gallery outside, and the candle went out.

“Fia! Where are you?”

A thin meow came faintly to Duncan's ears. In the dark cabin, the starlit sky shone through the windows in repeated squares. Had she run outside, onto the gallery?

Duncan felt his way along the window bench, scraping his shin. The open balcony at the stern of the ship might seem like a safer place, to a cat.…

The cloud shelf had blown away, leaving only ragged wisps to trail across the face of a gibbous moon. The stars were bright, and the sea creamed behind the ship in a gleaming silver wake.

“Fia!” Duncan called softly. He stepped high over the coaming and through the door, out onto the narrow walkway.

The ship took a sudden lurch, rising to a rogue wave. Duncan's knees buckled, and he grabbed the railing. There was spray in his face, and he turned, crouching, in the dark. The rushing sound of water and the thrumming tune of the wind in the rigging were loud out in the open. Duncan strained his ears, but he could not hear Fia's meow.

All at once, the windows behind him glowed with golden light. A shadow moved across the railing, and Duncan could see someone's hand lighting candles.

He raised his head another inch, enough to see the ragged tail of a bandage and a shadow looming large. In the next instant, the shadow pounced on something Duncan could not see, then held up a tiny, struggling shadow to the light.

“Here's a fresh kitty, just the size I like best!”

Duncan was through the door and into the cabin in a heartbeat. He bashed his shin on the crate but barely felt it. “Don't eat her!” he cried.

The earl held Fia by the scruff of her neck. The white kitten hung there, writhing and twisting, but the earl only tightened his grip, smiling. “Eat her? Why would you say such a thing?”

“I saw you! I saw your kitty pie—” Duncan choked on the words. He flung back his head, defiant. He couldn't hope to beat the earl in a fight, but maybe he could make the earl loosen his grip long enough for Fia to leap away and hide.

And what would the earl do to him then? Duncan told himself that it didn't matter—his world was shattered already. His father was the nation's most despised traitor. And the nation's hero was a monster who ate kittens.