The Sign of the Cat (30 page)

“My head hurts, too,” said Duncan, “but we can nap later. First let's go over our plans. Now, listen…”

*   *   *

Duncan woke to voices from one deck up.

“Who's going to be left on anchor watch, then?” The words floated down through the cargo hatch from the tween deck. “We're not all going off the ship at once, are we?”

“Bertram's on guard,” another voice answered. “And a few are going to the manor house to announce the earl and bring back a carriage. But who cares? We're off duty! I just want to get my hands on a drink and some decent food for a change—”

“And someone friendly to dance with!” cried another.

Duncan tipped back his head. Through the bars of his cage, he could look up past the cargo hatch and see the first faint star in a far-off dusky sky, the distant crisscross of ship's rigging, and the big square sail on a yardarm in a bunt, looking like the scalloped edge of a piecrust against the sunset's pink glow.

They were still moving, but the endless rushing snore of the sea had changed to something quieter. They were in calmer waters, then—the Bay of Dulle, probably. Duncan's shoulders tightened. When the signal came, they would have to move fast.

He reached through the bars and poked Brig. “Keep your ears open. You'll hear Fia's signal before I do.”

“Tigers do have excellent hearing,” agreed Brig sleepily.

Boots clattered across the deck above and thumped down the ladder. Duncan gripped the bars with his hands as two sailors came near.

“So the earl's going to get a confession out of the boy, eh?” The voice was hushed, but Duncan could hear it well enough.

“I wouldn't want to be in his shoes, not for a hundred silver barons. He'll end up in prison for tiger stealing—or worse. Hey! These padlocks are open!”

Strong callused hands snapped the locks shut. “Someone was stupid,” said the first sailor, “not making sure they were shut all the way. Lucky the prisoners didn't escape. How'd you have liked it if a tiger jumped into your hammock with you, eh?”

Duncan gripped the bars; no need to panic yet, Fia could still unlock the cages. Meantime he would try something else. “I'm not a thief!” he whispered to the sailors. “I want to get a message to the king. Can you help me?”

The men's breathing was loud in the sudden stillness. “No talking to the prisoner—that's the order,” said the first sailor.

“Now, lad,” said the second sailor, “you're young, and the Earl of Merrick may have pity on you. Just tell him the truth about that tiger, where you got it and who you're working for, and things will go better for you in the end—”

“Hey! You down there!” The bellow came through the cargo hatch with the force of a gale. “No talking to the prisoner! Knot the line around that cage and be quick about it—unless you want your shore leave cancelled!”

Duncan tilted his head back. Two decks up, looming over the edge of the large square hole, was Bertram's unmistakable silhouette.

The deck creaked under the men's agitated feet. “Sorry, sir,” called their spokesman. “Right away, sir.”

A clatter of feet, high above, and the calling of orders. The yardarms creaked as sails were furled. The windlass clanked. The ship settled straight, its decks no longer at a slant. Suddenly Duncan heard a thin, high meow, repeated twice. Fia's signal.

“Should I try to bash my way out?” asked Brig worriedly. “I don't think I can—there's not enough room to get any force behind my bashing, so to speak.”

The ship had grown quiet. Now and then, a distant burst of laughter or music came faintly to Duncan's ears, as if a door had been opened somewhere on the waterfront and then abruptly shut again. The sailors must have gone on their shore leave.

Duncan clenched his fists and relaxed them. “Fia!” he meowed softly. “Where are you?”

Clank. Creeeeaaak
.

Duncan jerked his head up. Somewhere above him, metal was moving, scraping. What
was
that sound? If Fia were here, she would do Cat Trick #7—Perky Ears—and find out in no time. Duncan did his best to prick up his ears and listened intently.

The combination of noises was oddly familiar. It sounded like gears, pulleys, maybe a chain all working together. He knew he'd heard it before, somewhere, sometime.

His cage slid, scraped—and then it was rising. The ropes around it tightened as they took the strain. Duncan rocked sideways and then back against the corner as the cage tipped abruptly. Overhead was the dark shape of a heavy iron hook and a long linked chain above it. He could see the sharp tip against the evening sky, and slanting lines of ropes pulled tight. The cage swayed, turning gently in the air as it was raised inch by inch up through the cargo hatch.

As the cage slowly cleared the upper deck, he could see the arm of the crane that was lifting him. It was a harbor crane, mounted on the wharf with an arm that could swing over a ship to lift out cargo and then swing back to set the cargo down.

The ship was docked at a long pier, in a deep-water channel. With growing excitement, Duncan gazed through the bars of his cage at the lights lining the waterfront, the lanterns on poles—it was the island of Dulle. He was home.

But the wharf was empty of anyone who could help. Fishing boats were huddled far up on the beach, and even the harbormaster's hut was dark. And the waterfront places where the sailors were eating and drinking and dancing were too noisy for anyone to hear Duncan if he yelled.

Duncan took a deep breath and knotted his fingers around the rough bars. Where, oh where was Fia?

The long arm of the crane swung the cage across the deck, and Duncan swung dizzily with it. The gangplank passed beneath him, and now he was suspended over the dark gap of water between the ship and the massive wooden piers. He could see the man at the controls of the crane; it was Bertram. So the blurred figure standing at the railing must be the Earl of Merrick.

The cage dangled in midair, twirling slightly. Duncan twirled with it, his ears perked and ready for the slightest hint of a meow. Fia had to come. She
had
to.

He scanned the darkening waterfront. Weren't there
any
cats out there?

But no—they would have recognized the earl's ship. They would stay far away from the man who stole kittens and put them in a crate. Still, Grizel knew he had been taken away on this ship; maybe she would come.…

“Oh, Grizel,” he murmured, filled with a sudden longing for her comforting weight in his lap, for the steady grumble of her purr. She had tried to teach him what she could, and even in his last glimpse of her she had been offering good advice. She had signaled in Cataphore everything he needed to know.

Perky Ears. Back Up. Claws Out. They were classic cat strategies for dealing with an opponent who was larger, stronger, who had you backed into a corner. Grizel had signaled danger to him with her tail and given him all the advice she could think of in Cataphore; she had known Duncan had an enemy and would need to defend himself.

And she had told him who that enemy was, he realized suddenly. Fia had told him that Grizel had spelled “watch out for eels” with her tail. But Fia had gotten the last word wrong. It had been
earl
.

The tall man at the railing lifted a long, straight hook and caught one of the ropes that was knotted around Duncan's cage. The cage stopped its lazy twirling with a jerk.

Duncan staggered slightly and glared through the bars. The Earl of Merrick watched him from the railing a few feet away, smiling with one corner of his cruel mouth.

“It's such a pleasure to see you again, my boy,” said the earl, “but the little excitement with the tiger interrupted our chance to chat.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a shining chain that Duncan recognized. A ring dangled from it, gleaming gold.

“So,” said the earl, “are you going to let me know how you got hold of Princess Lydia's ring and what you were doing with a tiger from Fahr? Or shall I tell Bertram to drop you into the sea?”

 

CHAPTER 24

The Rusty Lock

D
UNCAN'S HEART PUNCHED INSIDE HIM
like a fist. Below, water as black as tar sucked and splashed at the low-tide marks on the pier. The thought of being lowered into the sea in a
cage
filled him with horror.

The lantern on the dock cast its light upward to the ship's railing where the Earl of Merrick stood, making his face a mask with dark hollows for eyes. The slit that was his mouth opened, formed words.

“Is the princess still alive?” The earl showed his teeth in a terrifying parody of a smile. “How did you get the ring?” He gave the hook a twist, and Duncan's cage rocked a little.

Duncan swallowed down the fear that rose in his throat. He opened his eyes wide and blinked.

This was Melting Kitty Eyes—a tactic meant to confuse enemies, to make them think you were innocent and harmless. But all Duncan hoped to do was buy a little more time. If he could keep the earl at bay until Fia came up, if he could somehow get Bertram to set the cage down on the dock, if the two men could be distracted just long enough for Fia to pick the lock, then Duncan would have a chance.

At the crane's controls, Bertram moved impatiently. “Let me dunk him, sir. He's not telling you anything.”

The earl's eyebrows lowered. “Start from the beginning. What happened when you jumped off my ship after your kitten?”

“Well,” said Duncan, choosing his words slowly, “I washed up on an island. And there was a tiger.”

“Yes? And then?” The earl's eyes glittered in the lantern light.

“I followed the tiger to where he lived, and there was the ring,” Duncan said, quite truthfully. (He
had
followed the tiger to the princess, and she
had
been wearing the ring.)

“The tiger led you to the ring?” The earl's eyes narrowed. “Where was the ring, exactly?”

“In a cave,” said Duncan, with sudden inspiration. It was true that the ring
had
been in a cave … among other places. “I think the tiger likes shiny things. The chain was there, too.”

The earl sucked in his breath. “So the tiger survived somehow … perhaps bit the ring off her finger. Yes, yes, I suppose it's possible. The tiger must have made his way to the interior of the island somehow. I'll have to take a closer look at that island. If a tiger could live there all this time…”

His fingers tapped on the long metal hook, and the cage swung a little more. “The princess—did
she
survive?”

Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Everyone knows she drowned, sir,” he said politely. “You said it yourself.”

The earl leaned forward. “I didn't actually
see
her drown. It was a logical assumption. But you, boy—if you know anything at all about the princess, you'd better tell me now!” He spun the cage with a vicious jerk.

Duncan, whirling around like a top, saw the nightmarish face of the earl in blinks, succeeded by the harbor, the sea, and then the earl again. Wait—was that Fia? The pale blur was gone so fast he couldn't be certain.

“I can't tell you what I don't know,” said Duncan loudly. “If you have more questions, why don't you set me down? I can't think while I'm dizzy.”

“I have an idea,” said Bertram from his place at the harbor crane's controls. He leaned out, and the lantern shone full on the brutal contours of his face. “Get rid of him now, with no more talking. It's safer.”

“You always want blood, Bertram.” The earl laced his elegant fingers together. “There are other ways more suitable for an earl. I have never dirtied my hands with another's blood, and I never will.”

Bertram gave a coarse laugh. “But you'll give the orders for someone else to do it. Give the orders now, sir—I can take care of him in a minute!”

Meow! Meow! Meeeeeooooww!

“Bertram! Get that cat!” the earl snapped.

Bertram left the crane's controls and ran heavily from the dock up the gangplank. Duncan was spinning less quickly now, and he could see the kitten's pale fur streaking past, all too visible in the lantern light.

Meow! Meeeow! Meeeoww!
Fia's voice was piercing as she tore across the deck.

“Get moving, Bertram!” the earl cried.

Duncan's nails bit into his palms. It was time for Back Up and Claws Out. “You're not much of a hero, are you?” he said. “It's not exactly
noble
to steal little kittens and squish them for dinner. Why do you do it? Do you think you're going to get furry? Grow a tail?” He was spinning very slowly now. He had time to see Fia race up the mast and out onto the yardarm just above. By the next time his cage spun around, Bertram was climbing the rigging with the slow, reluctant motions of a man doing something he didn't want to do.