The Sign of the Cat (22 page)

Duncan put his mouth to the tiger's ear. “It's too slick. Isn't there another way?”

Brig shook his head. “Just dig in with your claws, sir,” he said earnestly. “Didn't your mother teach you how to grip with your claws?”

Duncan shook his head. His mother hadn't taught him to use his claws, but she had taught him almost everything else. Would she ever know what had happened to him? What lies would the earl tell her when he returned?

Something fierce choked Duncan's throat. He had a sudden vision of the earl's fingers, long and graceful, patting Sylvia McKinnon's hand as he made up a story about what had happened to her son. The earl might even ask her to play her violin, to comfort them both.…

Duncan wiped his cheeks, wet with spray, and got to his feet. His mother would want him to be brave. She would want him to keep on trying to the end.

He fell again, but this time he landed in the pool. With great good fortune, he did not fall at the moment when the waves were rushing in but when they were sliding back. He was dragged only a little way along the bottom of the pool, although his shirt and shorts filled up with sand.

He scrambled back onto the ledge, the sand falling from his shorts as he stood. The rock beneath his feet seemed suddenly easier to stand on—gritty, not slippery—

The sand! He could use the sand!

Duncan fumbled at the buttons of his father's shirt with trembling fingers. He tied the sleeves around his waist and tied the bottom corners together to make a pouch. He watched for the next receding wave, jumped down, and feverishly scooped sand. He got back on the ledge in time to avoid the next incoming wave and gripped Brig's tail with his free hand. “Ready,” he said.

It was a nightmarish journey. The rock path was broken, uneven, and Duncan had to feel his way with his feet, but he sprinkled sand before each step and didn't fall. Halfway up, the ledge widened to a broad shelf, and he sat down a moment, dully wondering how long he could go on. His hand touched the rock, and it wasn't slimy. He was above the high-tide mark, and from then on, the going was dry and much easier.

All at once, it was over. The path leveled out and turned into a wider cave. The feeble sunbeam of the sea cave was left behind, and a dim light ahead grew gradually brighter. Soon Duncan could see the colors of the tiger padding before him, and Fia's prancing white form. Now Duncan could even see something like stick figures painted on the cave wall. He didn't stop to examine them; what he saw ahead pulled him onward in a hurried, anxious rush.

Water! Clear, clean, it fell past the opening at the cave's end in a glorious scattering of mist and sunlit drops. Duncan was so eager for it that he tripped and almost fell off the ledge at the rocky door that opened onto a vast valley. He had come to the hollow interior of the island, but he had no eyes for the beautiful sight. He rolled over onto his back under the waterfall and opened his mouth wide to drink. He could feel life and energy pouring back into him, and he laughed out loud. A bush full of flowers, scarlet and gold, grew from a crack in the stone near his head, and its perfume filled the air. Beside him, Fia lapped busily with her small pink tongue from the puddles on the stone ledge.

There was a motion at the edge of his vision. But it wasn't Brig. It wasn't even one of the other tigers Brig had spoken of. It was a girl, about his size or a little taller, her dark hair in two long braids and her face pale with fright.

Duncan scrambled to his feet.

“Oh!” cried the girl. Her hands flew to her mouth, and she dropped a bundle of sticks with a clatter. Then, in a whirl of tattered skirts, she turned and ran down a slanting path like a startled deer.

Duncan looked at Brig. “Who was
that
?”

Brig cleared his throat with an apologetic rumble. “I'm sorry, sir. She should have greeted you properly. She doesn't really act the way royalty should.”

“She's
royal
?” Duncan stared after the girl. “I thought you were talking about a queen
tiger
before.”

“She is not a tiger, sir.” Brig spoke with exaggerated patience. “Notice the lack of fur, and the placement of the ears, and how she runs on her hind legs alone. She can't even speak Cat, though I've tried to teach her often enough.”

Duncan was still dazed. “But who
is
she?” he demanded again.

Brig cocked his head quizzically. “Don't you know? That's the Princess Lydia. Lydia, of Arvidia. She's the one I take orders from, see?”

 

CHAPTER 17

The Princess Lydia

P
RINCESS
L
YDIA
?
S
O SHE HADN'T BEEN LOST
in the Rift after all?

The tiger said something more, but Duncan watched the slight figure of the girl as she moved rapidly down the hillside. She had tucked the center of her skirt into her waistband so that it looked as if she were wearing a pair of very baggy shorts. Her long brown legs leaped over rocks and across small, glinting streams.

Duncan looked around in wonder. The island was hollow, secret. No one looking at it from the sea could ever guess what was inside. There was a small lake or lagoon at the bottom that looked perfect for swimming, and beyond it, another waterfall, splashing down through lush green.

The island changed as he looked higher. Two-thirds of the way up the slope were blue-green pines that stood tall, like stiff arrows pointing to the sun. Still higher, the bones of the island showed through in jutting rock.

The princess had crossed the lowest part of the island, a narrow valley mostly filled with lagoon, and started up the far slope. She was smaller now, farther away, but Duncan could still follow her figure as she scrambled up a series of broad, flat ledges and hurried into a dark opening in the rock wall.

Brig's low rumble broke into Duncan's thoughts. “Here is where she painted the earl and his treacherous attack on the duke—”

Duncan turned. Brig patted the rock wall of the cave, pointing to the painted childish figures Duncan had seen before. Not all were like that, though. Whoever drew them was getting better. Now he could see that the bundle of sticks the princess had dropped were frayed and discolored at one end, as if she used them for paintbrushes.

“It's the other way around,” Duncan said. “Everyone said the duke attacked the earl.”

Brig tapped the wall with a shaggy paw. “
This
is not the duke.”

Could Brig possibly be right? Duncan looked at the fighting figures with an irrational flutter of hope—and then the hope died. It was easy to tell which was which by their hats. A duke's hat was tall, with a pointed brim—an earl's was low and rounded. Brig's paw was tapping at the man in the duke's hat.

“You've got them mixed up,” said Duncan.

Brig's rib cage huffed in and out. “Do you doubt the word of a
tiger
, sir?”

“I don't want to argue about art, Brig. I'm starving.”

“Try the fish!” Fia lifted her chin from the fish Brig had dropped. The fish head bore marks of her sharp little teeth.

Duncan was not hungry enough to eat raw fish—yet. He narrowed his eyes as the princess came back out of the cave on the far side of the island. She looked as if someone had reminded her that she was royal. She was walking with dignity, her skirts free and her head high.

“I'm going down to meet her,” Duncan said abruptly. “Bring the fish, Brig. And let Fia ride on your back.”

They met the princess near the lagoon, where the path was bordered by sweet-smelling bushes. Bees droned in the scented air, making complicated circles around vivid red flowers. The hollow island rose about them like a leafy green funnel, but Duncan's attention was all on the girl.

Now he could see that her odd clothing was actually made of bird skins, cleverly sewn together with feathers still attached. It looked light, yet warm. Strangely, there was knitted lace at the collar and sleeves and on her skirt. And the skirt wasn't ragged after all; the holes in it were just complicated designs in the lace. He had seen old women making lace like that, sitting in the sun on the stone streets of the island of Dulle.

He gazed at the princess, mystified. How had she survived all this time? She didn't look like she was starving, and she was even running around dressed in lace, which was just plain weird, considering she had been cast away on a deserted island for—he calculated—almost seven years now.

But first things first. He lowered his head in the courtly bow his mother had taught him. On Brig's back, Fia bowed too.

“Greetings,” said the princess faintly. “Brig, come.”

The tiger obediently left Duncan's side and stood by the princess. She took the fish from his mouth and put it in a knotted string bag that she slung over her shoulder. Then she curled her fingers in Brig's neck fur, as if having him close gave her courage.

“You—” she began, her voice wavering like a ripple of water. She gripped Brig's fur more tightly and tried again. “You, sir, will come with me. Brig, don't let him escape.”

Duncan's head snapped up. “Don't let me
escape
?”

An embarrassed growl emerged from Brig's chest. “Sorry, sir. Just tell her you're a king's man, and she'll understand.”

“I'm a king's man,” Duncan said at once. “Why are you treating me like a prisoner? I'm on your side.”

The princess seemed to be trembling. With a visible effort, she brought her gaze up to focus on Duncan's head, just above his eyes. “You
say
you are a king's man,” she said, “but your head betrays you. Brig, if he sets foot off the path, attack.” She turned on her heel and led the way up a narrow path through moss and ferns.

Shame rose in Duncan like a scarlet tide. His fingers moved to his forehead and felt the fringe of hair that had escaped from beneath his cap. The sea must have washed all the dye away.

No wonder the princess had treated him like a criminal. She knew whose son he was.

“Sir! I'm sorry, sir!” Brig's growl held a pleading note. “I'd explain to her, but she can't understand Cat!”

“Then don't attack me if I put a toe off the path,” Duncan said irritably.

“Sorry, sir—orders.” Brig stiffened his whiskers to a military angle. “Come along, if you please.”

Duncan trudged up the path. After two days adrift with no food, his legs were weak. Climbing a steep slope wasn't helping.

He tried to distract himself by looking around. His first impression of a funnel had been accurate enough. Was he in the heart of an old volcano that had grown cold, or was there some other reason for the way the land sank in the middle of the island, with high cliffs all around? Whatever had caused it, the slopes led upward in a series of green and mossy terraces. Circling the top were rocky crags, jutting sharp-edged into bright sky. If he climbed to the crags, he could look out to sea. Surely a boat would come by sometime, someday? Maybe they could make a signal with smoke or paddle out on a raft. There had to be a way to get off this island and back home.

The princess, up ahead on the path, strode along like someone who had had plenty of rest and food and sleep. Duncan forced his legs to keep moving. More than anything, he wanted to know how the princess had ended up here. Clearly the history books hadn't told the whole story.

They passed a thin waterfall that splashed down a sheer rock face. Duncan was all at once ragingly thirsty again; after being without water so long, he couldn't get enough. He stepped off the path to tip his head back under the falls. Brig growled.

“Oh, come on!” cried Duncan. “I'm just getting a drink!”

The princess jumped like a frightened cat and looked back over her shoulder.

Duncan scowled up at her. Why was
she
nervous? She had a full-grown tiger to defend her! “Listen, Princess,” he said, “I've been lost at sea, without food or water, for almost two days. I'm sorry you think I'm some kind of threat, but can't you at least let me get a drink? And maybe something to eat?”

Princess Lydia swallowed hard. “All right. I'm going to let you stay here, as long as you don't try to hurt Mattie or me—”

“Who's Mattie?” Duncan asked, but Princess Lydia rushed on, unheeding.

“Because I wouldn't throw even a snake back into the sea to drown. And you can help with the work—you'll have to, if you want to eat. So you can get your drink, and after that, come up to the home cave, and we'll feed you. But if you try anything—anything at all—Brig is going to eat you. You might think he's just a tiger, but he's very smart, and he understands everything I say. And he
always
obeys my commands.”

Her brown eyes held his, wide with fear and blazing with defiance. She lifted her chin, and even from several yards away, Duncan could see the effort she was making to hold it steady.