The Sign of the Cat (26 page)

 

CHAPTER 20

Shadow Fight

T
HE RAFT WAS READY.
Food and water, in kelp bags, was stowed safely and tied in place. The harpoon Duncan had whittled was slung around his body; his knife hung on a cord tied to his belt. Mattie had given the sail its last stitch, and she had even given Duncan one of her precious needles.

“Just in case the sail rips,” Mattie said, winding the needle up in a roll of stout thread. She tucked it into Duncan's pocket and buttoned the pocket shut. “Do you have to go now? Can't it wait a little?”

Duncan shook his head. It was already fall; he did not want to be afloat when winter came, and he didn't want to wait until spring. “Don't worry. A raft stands up to a storm better than a boat. If a raft flips, it will still float.”

He trotted across the valley and up to the sea cave. The princess was trying to lash yet another kelp bag of water on board, Brig was pressing one furry toe on the knot so that she could tie it tight, and Fia had clawed her way to the top of the mast for a better view of the action.

“I'm coming with you!” she meowed as she caught sight of Duncan, and leaped for his shoulder.

It was high tide, and the water in the sea cave was almost up to the ledge. With Brig's help, they shoved the raft off until it bobbed gently on the water.

“We'll pay out the rope as the tide goes down,” Duncan said, winding the rope's end around an outcropping of rock. The raft would sink with the tide, and when the water was low enough that the raft could float out the sea entrance to the cave, he would go.

Lydia turned to Duncan, her pale face smudged and her braid half-undone. “I put on extra water for Brig. He can catch fish to eat.”

Duncan paced the cave. He was keyed up, ready to go, but he had hours to wait. “Brig has to stay here,” he said abruptly. “To hunt for you and Mattie.”

“I can hunt,” said the princess stiffly. “And fish. If you won't take Brig, then I'm coming with you.”

“What? No!” Duncan stopped his pacing to stare at the princess.

“Brig is a strong swimmer,” said Lydia. “He can keep you afloat if something happens to the raft, and he can protect you.”

“He's going to protect
you
,” said Duncan. “You're the heir to the kingdom! I can't let you risk your life.”

“But you're going to risk yours,” Lydia said stubbornly. “I don't want you to be alone on the sea.”

Fia meowed, twining around Duncan's legs. “Tell her that
I'll
be with you!”

Duncan paused by the cave wall. Maybe the best thing to do was change the subject. He held his torch high to peer at the figures of the duke and the earl fighting. “Listen, I've always wondered about this painting you did. See, this is supposed to be the earl, right? Stabbing my father treacherously?”

Lydia nodded.

“Well, you've got the earl wearing the duke's hat. You mixed them up.”

“
You've
got it wrong. Bertram was wearing the duke's hat.”

“What?” Duncan blinked at her, confused.

Princess Lydia's mouth gave a twist. “It was simple enough. Once we landed on the beach for our little ceremony—you know, the whole ‘princess of the realm sets her foot on the farthest island' thing—the earl had his cook bring out glasses and his special cherry punch. It was drugged, of course,” she added. “By the time we woke up, your father was tied in the sea cave, wounded and bleeding, and Bertram had taken his hat. Then the earl and Bertram staged a little shadow play, out on the tip of the rocky point, where everyone from the ship could see them. The sun was setting behind them, so even if someone had a spyglass, all they could have seen were the silhouettes.”

Duncan's mouth fell open slightly. It
was
simple. Yet it had never occurred to him—or to anyone else, apparently—that it had all been faked.

“The earl and Bertram had a long time to plan it out,” Lydia said bitterly. “The whole time your father was taking the miners back to Fahr, risking his life, they were plotting what they'd do if he ever came back. They thought of everything. They even dragged Mattie and me out to the rocky point so our silhouettes would show up, too. Bertram pushed Mattie and me down on the rocks, pretended to stab the earl in the back, rolled him off to the side of the point where the ship's crew couldn't see, threw me over his shoulder, and ran off.”

“All with my father's tall hat on,” Duncan said grimly.

“That's right. Then they brought us to the sea cave. Duke Charles was tied, but he was waking up, fighting to get out of the ropes. So Bertram stood over him and stabbed him. Your father was quiet after that.” Tears stood in Princess Lydia's eyes.

Duncan felt his muscles hardening like rock; his mouth set in a bleak line. There was no heat in him, only a cold anger that reached to every part of his body.

But the princess was still talking. “Then the earl knelt beside him and whispered in his ear. I couldn't hear it all, but it was something about a secret and—” The princess hesitated. “The next part didn't make any sense.”

“Just tell me anyway,” said Duncan.

Lydia's face crinkled into puzzlement. “Eating cats,” she said. “Maybe I heard it wrong.”

Duncan sat bolt upright. “Eating
cats
?”

“I know, it's crazy!” said the princess. “But that's what it sounded like. And then the duke moved a little, and he said, like he was in a temper, ‘Right. Eating cats. That's brilliant—I guess you've figured out the secret at last,' and he shut his eyes like he'd fainted. And then—and then the earl told Bertram to stab him one more time, for luck, and to take the duke's jacket and put it on. And so he did.”

Princess Lydia's eyes spilled over with tears. Duncan knew he should comfort her, but he was too shaken by Lydia's story. His
father
had told the earl to eat cats? Why?

“Mattie had her sewing scissors in her pocket,” the princess went on, “and when the earl bent over to tie her up, she stabbed him in the forehead. He bled all over the place,” she said with satisfaction.

Duncan gave a harsh laugh.
That
was the wound in the earl's forehead that he'd kept a bandage on for seven years? A cut from an old woman's sewing scissors?

“They dragged us into the sea cave. Then they took the ship's small boats and sailed away. They left us in the cave, with the tide coming in, to drown.”

Duncan glanced back at the raft. The rope that held it was strained taut—the water level was going down. He unwound two more loops and turned back to the princess. “But you didn't drown.”

Brig cut in with a growl. “I saw the shadow fight from the ship, too. But tigers, unlike humans, do not pay so much attention to hats. The man in the duke's hat didn't move like the duke or hold his sword like the duke. And so I leaped off the ship and swam to the island to find the real duke.”

Lydia reached for the tiger and buried her hands in his neck fur, stroking him. “Brig saved us. Somehow he knew something was wrong. He swam to the island and bit through our ropes. Then he led us up the back wall to the ledge. Your father was still unconscious, so Brig dragged him—I don't know how he did it.”

Duncan could imagine the rest, from his experience serving on a big ship. It would have taken a good deal of time for the royal ship to raise the anchor, set sail, and begin the chase—perhaps half an hour. Meantime, the sun would have set. Duncan supposed that the earl and his men had staged a pursuit for the benefit of anyone on the ship with a spyglass—Bertram in the sailboat, wearing the duke's jacket and hat, and the earl's men in the jolly boat chasing after. Once the sky went dark and the boats were impossible to see, they would have sunk the extra boat and sailed back to the ship with their tale of seeing the duke and princess go down in a whirlpool before their eyes. The earl would have been covered in blood and ready for his role as hero of the nation.

“They took my necklace of jewels,” Lydia said suddenly. “But they forgot to take my ring.” She lifted a chain from around her neck. On it dangled a small golden ring with a finely wrought crest stamped on its flat oval top. “That was my ring when I was seven. My father put it on my hand himself, when I set sail.”

She threw the chain over Duncan's head and tucked the ring inside his shirt, a small but definite weight. “There. Show that to the king. Then he'll know that I am alive and you are telling the truth.”

Duncan bent his head. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” he said. “I'll come back for you and Mattie, I promise. And don't forget—Brig stays here.”

*   *   *

Thigh-deep in water, on the bottom level of the sea cave, Duncan braced himself against the ebbing tide. With Fia clinging to his shoulder, he edged past an outcropping of rock sharp with barnacles and hoisted himself onto the raft. The cave smelled of seaweed and brine, and the torch in his hand cast wild, flickering shadows on the walls of stone.

Brig padded down the rough steps along the back wall and splashed through the water.

“You're not coming with me, Brig,” Duncan said.

“
I'm
going, though!” Fia leaped from Duncan's shoulder to the mast and clung there with her sharp little claws. She squinted toward the seaward entrance to the cave. “I can see stars!” she meowed. “It's a clear night, sir!”

Duncan grinned. She had come a long way from the scared little kitten he had rescued from the yardarm on the earl's ship.

“Ready?” called the princess from her perch on the ledge, above.

Duncan grasped the steering oar. “Ready!” he shouted. “Cast off!”

Lydia tossed down the loose end of the mooring line, and the raft was in motion. Duncan's stomach lurched, and his heart was beating high. He was really going to do it.

There was another lurch, this time of the raft, and a snuffling sound. Duncan turned to see two large green eyes shining in the dark and two wet paws gripping the raft's stern.

“Hey!” shouted Duncan. “Go back, Brig!”

The raft moved in successive washes toward the sea entrance to the cave. Duncan gripped the steering oar and wondered if his lashings were strong enough to hold the raft together. Everything had seemed tight on the ledge, but the sea was violent and wild.

“I'll just help you over this sandbar,” panted Brig, scrabbling with his hind legs.

Duncan slipped off the back end of the raft and grabbed the cleat. With his weight gone, the raft rose just enough so that he could slide it out the cave's mouth to the sea. Knee-deep in water, with hard sand underfoot, Duncan shoved hard to get the raft away from the rocks.

“Push us out, Brig!” He scrambled onto the raft, grabbed the steering oar, and let out the sail all in an instant. Sweat fell into his eyes, and he blinked it out. Getting away from the rocks was the main thing. Even on the ebb tide, rocks were still a danger.

It wasn't until he was clear of the point that he felt the wind take hold of the sail. At last—he couldn't steer without wind. Duncan cast a quick, tense look at the rising moon, the position of the island, and nodded to himself. The wind had picked up a little, and it was behind him. A good breeze to push him toward the current.

The constellations were clear and bright. Duncan found the point that was due north and set his course from that, keeping the top of the mast in line with the stars. Then he wound the line around a cleat and relaxed slightly. He was on his way.

It was only then that he noticed that Brig was still hanging on to the stern.

“Brig! Swim back to the island!” Duncan ordered.

Brig clawed at the raft's frame and heaved himself on board. “I'm coming with you, sir.”

“But—the princess and Mattie! You can't leave them alone!” Duncan protested.

“I'm here at Princess Lydia's order,” Brig said, shaking the water from his furry coat. “She outranks you, sir.”

 

CHAPTER 21

Duke's Island