The Sign of the Cat (33 page)

Duncan backed up as the cats surged forward. If Grizel was at the manor house, then he knew what to do. Cats could go where humans could not, without suspicion. Robert and Betsy, the baron's children, had a cat, too, though Duncan was never sure if he should call him Mr. Fluffers or Spike.

Duncan had the beginnings of a plan now. But he didn't like the idea of going anywhere near the earl with no greater weapon than a couple of cats.

He had a tiger, of course. But all at once Duncan remembered something else that was his, by right. He ran up the long, narrow gangway to the ship, found a lantern and matches by the binnacle, and slid down the ladders to the hold. It did not take him long to find the old black sea chest and his father's sword.

Duncan stepped off the ship, sword in one hand and the swordbelt over his shoulder. Under the light of a harbor lantern, he strapped the belt around his hips and fitted the sword in the looped scabbard. The sword was too long for him, and awkward, but he felt better with it on. He practiced pulling it out, trying for one smooth motion.

Mabel had pressed back into the ranks of voting cats. Fia, off to one side, was talking to three half-grown cats who looked familiar. It took Duncan a moment to remember the names of Fia's sisters and brother: Tibby, Tabby, and Tuff.

“You actually fought
rats
?” Tibby was saying in a breathless tone. “We're only up to mice and voles.”

“Did you really climb all the way up the tallest mast?” asked Tabby, her head tipped back to look up at the docked ship. “How did you get down?”

“I wish
I
could have gone to sea,” said Tuff, in tones of unmistakable envy. “Some cats have all the luck.”

There was a sudden chorus of meows from the cat council and another call for hisses, which was met with silence.

“Aren't you voting?” Duncan asked Fia.

“She's not of voting age yet,” said Tabby. “None of us are. Look, they've decided!”

The marmalade cat held up a paw for quiet. “We are unanimous, then. Backs up, claws out, and send the kittens home. Onward to the Big House!”

The cats milled about, breaking ranks and then re-forming into lines.

“And the Big House means…?” said Duncan.

Tibby flicked her ears toward the baron's manor house, festive with lights. “Up there. That's where the earl went, they say.”

Duncan was taken aback. He had not expected a whole army of cats to come with him. “Has anybody seen the tiger?”

“You mean that very
big
cat?” came a meow from the crowd.

Something moved amid the trees, and the shape of a large, tawny tiger appeared where Duncan would have sworn there was only leaf-dappled shadow.

“Just practicing my camouflage skills, sir,” said Brig.

Mabel wound her way through the crowd to her children. “Tibby, Tabby, and Tuff, you must go to the monastery at once. The rest of us are going after the earl, and that is not a job for young cats.”

The three cats looked sulky. Their ears flattened slightly. “What about Fia?” said Tibby. “She's the same age as we are.”

“Fia has been on her own for a long time now,” said their mother. “She's had to grow up faster.”

“It's not
fair
!” hissed Tabby. “She hasn't even passed her kitten examinations!”

 

CHAPTER 26

The Young Duke

M
ICE SQUEAKED THE ALARM;
chipmunks scampered for their burrows. A red fox, out for a night of hunting, stepped back in surprise as a long line of cats rippled in single file up the hillside path.

Behind them was the glimmering sea; above them was the crescent moon. But the cats kept their eyes on the great manor house halfway up the hill and padded steadily forward, eyes glowing in the dark.

Duncan trudged alongside the line of cats, stumbling on rocks he couldn't see. His ankle twisted beneath him, and he grunted in pain.

Brig bulked large next to him, his voice a comforting rumble. “Hold on to me, sir. You can't expect to see in the dark; you're not a cat.”

“I've noticed that.” Duncan twined his fingers into Brig's neck fur and limped on at a slower pace.

The baron's house loomed larger, ablaze with light in every window square. Somewhere behind those windows was his mother. Somewhere in that house was the earl. Duncan had to find one and keep out of sight of the other. He had to warn his mother—in fact, he should warn everyone! He should tell every single person on the island the truth about the earl, and the princess, and his father. But would they believe his word against the earl's?

The adults would think he was confused or was making it up to get attention. His mother might believe that the earl was a dangerous traitor, but no one else would—not right away, not when they were used to thinking of him as a hero. Duncan wouldn't have believed it himself, a few months ago.

A lone owl glided silently overhead, blocking the crescent moon for a single heartbeat. The line of cats, their backs rising and falling, looked like one long, furry animal—far too large to be an owl's prey.

Duncan stumbled again. He was very tired. If only he had proof of the earl's treachery! He had the feeling there was something he had missed, something in the story of the earl and his father that didn't fit.

“Brig?” he said.

“Right here, sir.”

“You know, the earl and his men are up there in that lighted house.”

Brig's hackles rose beneath Duncan's hand. “I'll be ready for them,” the tiger growled.

“This time,” Duncan said firmly, “you're going to control yourself. Wait for my orders. Do you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” rumbled the tiger, hanging his head.

“And now tell me again what happened the day the earl betrayed my father. Tell me every detail—don't leave anything out.”

*   *   *

The great arched doors of the manor house were shut. Torches blazed in iron cressets on either side, flaring yellow against the sooty stone. Overhead, drifting down from the crenellated tower, Duncan could hear the click of dice and the low laughter of men. The baron's guards must be up on the battlements, keeping watch for incoming ships or any danger. Duncan had a feeling they weren't expecting a cat invasion. Even if they were, they couldn't have seen the cats in the dark, not unless a cat happened to look up at the precise moment a guard looked down in its direction. Cats' eyes gleamed in the dark only when you looked right at them.

The cats had taken up positions in a ring around the manor house. Silent, eyes glowing in the dark, they sat without moving. Only the occasional tail flick showed that they were alive.

What were their plans?

Well, it was their business. He had to make plans himself. But now, looking at the great iron-studded doors, his heart failed him. What was he going to do—just go up and knock? The earl might have men stationed inside the doors.

“Brig,” Duncan whispered, “do you see Fia? I need her.”

Brig was not listening. The sheep that normally grazed the wide green lawn had taken one look at the tiger and, bleating, had scattered and then bunched together in a far corner by a stone wall. Brig was watching them with great interest.

“They look easy to catch,” he rumbled under his breath. “But doesn't all that fluff get stuck in your teeth?”

“Leave them alone, Brig.” Duncan scanned the circle of glowing cats' eyes for a mismatched set, and saw Fia at last. “All right, Brig, remember—no attacking anyone unless I order it.”

The tiger gazed earnestly in the direction of the bunched sheep. A small line of drool glistened at the corner of his mouth.

“Brig!” Duncan whispered sharply.

“Sir?” Brig turned his head away from the sheep with an obvious effort.

“You
can't
go after someone else's sheep—especially the baron's. He'd turn you into a tigerskin rug in no time.”

Brig sighed. “Understood, sir.” He looked at the sheep with obvious regret. “But sooner or later, I
would
like some dinner.”

*   *   *

The sword made it awkward to climb. Duncan struggled up the familiar footholds; he had not eaten for a long time, and his near drowning in the cage, followed by the steep climb up the hill, had exhausted him. Arms trembling with fatigue, he heaved himself up onto the second-story ledge and bumped the drainpipe with a rattle. Fia, tucked in his shirt, gave a protesting meow.

He sidled along the ledge to Robert's window and levered the window up with his toes. “Stay quiet,” he warned Fia, and ducked into Robert's room.

He crossed the floor carefully, sliding his feet forward in case he needed to kick clothes out of the way. Robert had never kept his room very tidy. But the floor was clear. Of course—Robert must be away at the Academy.

Duncan inched the door open and peered out. The long hallway was deserted.

Betsy's bedroom was two doors down. She was probably at the concert, but just in case.… He tapped at her door and opened it a crack. Something extremely fluffy butted it farther open and slipped past his legs.

“Hey!” Duncan's whisper was urgent. “Mr. Fluffers!”

The smoke-colored Persian was halfway down the hall already. “Spike is the preferred name,” he said coldly, and then he turned. “I know you! You're the one who turned out to be a duke's son and sent a letter saying you were running away to sea. You made your mother weep, sir.”

“I didn't run away; I was kidnapped!” Duncan said hotly. “And the earl tricked me into signing my name. I didn't know he would write a fake letter and send it.”

Spike crooked his tail at the tip as he considered this information. “The cat council was furious about that earl. They suspected him of stealing a crate full of kittens, but the humans still think he's a big hero.”

“He's not,” said Duncan briefly.

“He's a kitten squisher!” Fia mewed.

Spike's ears flattened, and a low hiss escaped him.

“He's a traitor to the king, too,” Duncan added, “and he just tried to murder me. I'm going to tell everyone at the concert the truth about him right now.”

Spike tapped his claws against the polished wooden floor. “May I suggest—may I
strongly
suggest—that you change your clothes? Robert's room is just down the hall; I am sure you can find something in his closet that isn't damp, torn, or smelling of seaweed.”

Duncan glanced down at his clothes. It was true that he looked bad and smelled worse.

“In fact,” Spike meowed, “I suggest that you put on Robert's braided jacket with the gold buttons and sash.”

Duncan blinked. “What for?”

“Remember that you are the young duke,” Spike said. “You should look like one, especially when meeting the enemy. A cat looks more formidable if he fluffs out his fur, my lord.”

*   *   *

Resplendent in gold buttons, sash, and sword, Duncan moved silently along the passage, followed by two cats. Fia was busy meowing all the news to Spike, but Duncan had other things on his mind. He had to get Brig into the house, but the back door would be crowded with servants.

Three corridors and one side stair later, Duncan slipped into the small garden room, breathing hard. It had large windows, he knew, and was seldom used.

“What are we doing here?” meowed Fia.

Duncan pushed open the window shutters and stuck his head out into the night. Across the lawn he could see small pinpoints of light, all in a line—the cats' eyes, gleaming in the dark. But there were no larger, higher gleaming eyes. Maybe Brig was on the other side of the house. Duncan fervently hoped Brig was not chasing sheep.

Could the tiger leap through the window? It was at least six feet off the ground.

Duncan unwound the gold sash from Robert's jacket. “Fia, go find Brig for me.”

Fia poked her head over the sill. “That's a long way down.”

“Hook your claws into the sash, and I'll lower you. When you find Brig, bring him back to this window and tell him to jump in. He can follow my scent to where I am. Oh, and, Fia?”

The kitten, swinging from the sash, looked up, her mismatched eyes glowing orange and gold.

“You'd better say those are my orders.”

*   *   *

Duncan crouched beneath the final curve of the grand staircase and peered past the newel post. This was a place where he and Robert had hidden many times while playing bandits, and though a little small for him now, it still served. Spike was on the other side of the carved fretwork panels and curled up in front of the stairs, his ears alert.

The entrance hall was a vast, echoing space, with flagstone floor and high timbered ceiling. From his position, Duncan could see the massive front door, its oaken slabs studded with iron. Two of the baron's footmen stood stiffly at either side. Near them, two of the earl's sailors leaned against the wall, their arms folded. Each had a cutlass in his belt.