The Sign of the Cat (37 page)

“She's the
queen
now,” Duncan shouted down.

The earl laughed, a harsh noise almost like a sob. “You're a bigger fool than your father, you stupid boy.”

Duncan frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You could have been
king.
…” The earl's voice drifted up like smoke, dark and oily. “But now you're only second-best.”

Something glistened briefly in midair, like a short burst of falling golden rain.

“Noooooooo! Not
again
!” The two men ducked and covered their heads, moving as far down their benches as their chains would allow.

Duncan looked up. Wooden beams crossed the tower above him, going from wall to wall in a pattern like the spokes of a wheel, and on the beams were …

“
Kittens?
” said Duncan in disbelief.

Spike meowed, “Why not? They're practicing their balancing skills. Of course,” he added, his whiskers twitching, “they're not all litter-trained yet. They're still very young, you know.”

“Litter-trained?” Duncan mouthed.

“You'd call it potty-trained, I believe.” Spike turned aside to cough into his paw. “It seems to cause some inconvenience to the gentlemen below. However, what they did to kittens was far worse.”

Duncan had to agree. The earl
had
done far worse, and not just to kittens, either. He gazed out along the wooden beam and saw Fia's bright, mismatched eyes staring back. He waved.

“So,” Duncan said to Lydia, “what are you going to do with the earl and Bertram? Leave them here forever?”

Fia leaped down from the beam to sit on the ledge beside Spike. “She could cut off their heads!”

“Or have them clawed to death,” Spike meowed. “We cats would be glad to oblige. Or we could feed them a diet of hairballs until they exploded.”

Lydia pulled her head out of the dungeon tower. “I think I'll just put them on the chain gang and have them break rocks the rest of their lives.”

“If they break rocks into gravel, you could use it for kitty litter,” Spike said.

“I know some cats who could use it,” Fia said darkly.

Duncan snorted with laughter. “Kitty litter—that's perfect!” he meowed without thinking.

Lydia turned, her eyes brightly attentive. Her hand went to her pocket, and there was a sound of crinkling paper.

Duncan stopped meowing. He had forgotten to be careful in front of Lydia.

“Go on,” she said. “Talk to the cats. I know you can.”

“Er—what?” Duncan hoped he looked mystified. He carefully shut the sliding panel to the dungeon tower.

Lydia pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. “The baron gave this to me last night—he found it among my father's papers. It was in a sealed envelope, addressed to me. My father wrote it just before he died.”

Duncan moved beneath a flaring torch in a wall cresset, and read:

My Dear Lydia,

If you are reading this, you have been found at long last. How I wish I could give you a father's last embrace and the counsel you will need to rule wisely as queen! I can, however, tell you a secret that only I know. I pass it on to you in the hope that there is still one person in this land who can speak Cat.

Duncan sagged against the stone wall.

Grizel padded down the steps, curling her tail like a question mark.

“You're the one, aren't you?” Lydia took a step closer. “You're the one who can speak Cat.”

Duncan looked at Grizel. She had made him promise not to tell, ever.

Grizel's whiskers cupped forward. “Read it aloud,” she meowed.

Duncan read.

A cat can go everywhere and hear everything. Someone who can speak Cat, therefore, is a valuable adviser to a ruler who wishes to know the truth—and I had such an adviser, in Duke Charles of Arvidia.

Duncan slid down to sit on the narrow steps, and Grizel leaped up to his shoulder, looking down at the letter.

Now, I know you may think the duke is a traitor, yet I think there may have been some terrible misunderstanding. I can hardly believe that my old friend would change so much.

Duncan blinked. For some reason, his eyes were filling. He brushed the back of his hand across his eyes and read on.

Be that as it may, long ago, Duke Charles promised he would make sure his son was instructed in Cat, so that someday the boy could be your adviser, as Duke Charles was mine.

The boy has disappeared. But if he is found, ask him if he has this skill, for it will help you greatly as you try to discover the heart and mind of your people.

Duncan let the letter fall to his lap.

“I always sort of wondered.” Lydia faltered. “I mean, you meowed and growled, and Brig obeyed you right away—but it seemed so crazy.”

“Go ahead,” meowed Grizel. “You can tell her.”

“But—” Duncan was meowing now, too. “You always told me the reason you taught me Cat was because you felt sorry for me when my father died.”

“I did feel sorry for you.” Grizel slipped down onto his lap and looked up into his face. “But your father also asked me to teach you when the time was right.”

Duncan still felt dazed. “Who taught
him
, though? You?”

“Of course not. I'm not that old,” said Grizel. “But I knew the granddaughter of the cat who taught him. And the great-great-grandson of the cat who taught
his
father.”

“You mean this has been going on for three dukes in a row?”

“Longer than that,” said Grizel, looking pleased with herself. “I admit, the first cat who began it did it for her own amusement. But ever since then, it's been a duty we cats take very seriously. Haven't you ever wondered why the insignia for the Duke of Arvidia looks like a cat?”

“It does?” said Duncan.

Grizel used her claw to scratch lightly on the stone. “See this square with the two triangles on top?”

“That's a crown.”

“No, it's a cat. See, the triangles are the ears.”

Duncan bent over the drawing. Of course! And the lines at the side weren't rays of light, but—

“Whiskers,” said Grizel, drawing them in. “You see? It's the Sign of the Cat.”

“With the letters
McK
to show that the McKinnons are the Cat-Speakers,” Duncan finished. It was all starting to fit. But there was one thing more that bothered him. “Did you ever hear about my father serving a dish called…” He hesitated.

“Kitty pie? Cataroni and cheese?” Grizel chuckled in the half-coughing, half-hissing way that cats express amusement. “Charming idea of your father's. He had his cook make special dishes when the cats came in with their reports. A little incentive, you might say.”

Duncan looked at her, horrified.

“Those little pastry ears!” Grizel purred, squeezing her eyes shut. “That braided pastry tail wound around the outside of the pie … so delicately crunchy! And the cataroni and cheese was very good indeed, very slippery in the mouth.”

Duncan felt as if his voice were coming from far away. “But what was
in
the pies?”

Grizel lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “Fish, bird, mouse—mouse was my favorite.”

Duncan breathed again. Of course! The earl had misunderstood. He had thought the dishes were made
of
cats, not
for
cats. The earl had misunderstood a lot of things. But Duncan had not answered Lydia yet.

“Yes,” he said to Queen Lydia. “I can speak Cat.”

*   *   *

It was late at night in the palace. The crowning ceremony was over. Duncan shrugged off his velvet coronation robe with the ermine collar, set his gold coronet on a dressing table, and sent his servant to bed.

He was tired, but he could not sleep. The day had been packed full—first the visit to the dungeon, then the crowning, then the coronation dinner and dance—and he couldn't slow his mind enough to rest. He paced his room, pausing by the table that held his coronet. It was a smaller crown than the queen's, and it had only one jewel.

Duncan turned abruptly away. He padded softly across the marble hall to the landing and the window that looked out over the city. Someone had left newspapers on the window seat. The moon was so bright that he could pick out the headlines: “Earl of Merrick's No Hero!” and “Queen Safe, Thanks to Bold Young Duke!”

He pushed aside the papers and sat down. Capital City spread beneath him, etched in silvery light. Far down the hill lay the wharf, with its tall ships floating quietly, sails furled; he had arrived on one of them yesterday. High on the hill was the cathedral, where today a queen had been crowned to the peal of bells and a crowd's roaring acclaim. And off in the distance was the Academy, where he would enroll tomorrow.

What did he have left to wish for?

To come in first
, the earl's voice seemed to whisper in his ear.
To be king
.

Duncan felt something twist inside, as if a coiled snake had suddenly lifted its head. Was it true? Was that what he had secretly wanted, all along?

“Can't sleep?” Mattie's gentle voice interrupted his thoughts. Her slippers shuffled along the marble floor, and her candle spread a soft glow on the wall.

Duncan jumped up. “Please, sit down,” he said, clearing the papers away. His eye caught the bold type below the fold: “Wild Tiger Stripes—Hot New Style for Fall,” and “Stop! Don't Eat That Sausage (It May Be Someone's Pet).”

Mattie clasped her gnarled hands in her lap, and moonlight traced the fine network of wrinkles in her cheeks. “We old folks are often wakeful. But what's keeping a young man like you up at night?”

Duncan did not answer. He was wondering why he didn't mind coming in second, this time.

“Do you miss Traitor Island?” he asked abruptly.

“Oh, yes,” Mattie said, raising her cloudy eyes. “But I'll see it again, I'm sure.”

“How will you get there?”

“You'll take me,” she said, and a crinkling smile spread over her face. She pulled a square of lace out of her pocket and held it up to the moonlight. “Because I'm going to Fahr.”

Duncan didn't know what to say. Was the old lady losing her wits?

Mattie chuckled as if she knew what was on his mind. “I may not have told you,” she said, “but when your father, Duke Charles, said he would take the miners back across the Rift to their land, I gave him a bit of lace for luck. To tuck in his pocket, you see?”

Duncan nodded, still confused.

“When he returned, he had a necklace of small jewels. Lydia told you about it, I think.”

Duncan nodded again. Was this going anywhere?

Mattie leaned forward, her cloudy eyes suddenly bright. “The miners had never seen anything like my lace! No one in Fahr knows how to knit!”

“That's nice,” said Duncan, “but I still don't get—”

“They traded a
jeweled necklace
for that square of lace! And they said that if your father ever came back, he should bring all the lace he could, because they could sell it in their country.”

Duncan was dumbfounded.

“Now, on the ship you showed us that chart of your father's. You said the earl had planned to use it to rob the Fahrians of their jewels. Why shouldn't we use the chart to trade with them, instead of stealing and going to war? The Rift is still dangerous, but in the summer months, with a good crew and a sailing master…”

Grizel came padding down the hall with the slowness of an old cat, but her ears were alert.

“Well, it's been a lovely chat,” said Mattie, getting up with an effort. “Remember, there are lots of old women like me who make lace.”

Duncan stared after the elderly figure limping down the hall with growing excitement. That was it! That was
exactly
what he wanted to do! He had always wanted to explore, to find new places, and—well, of course school had to come first. But why shouldn't he do what Mattie suggested? Maybe his mother wouldn't let him cross the Rift when he was this young. But every summer he could sail with Tammas. Every year he would learn more and grow older. There
would
come a time when he could cross the Rift, with a tiger to help sense the rocks and dangerous shoals. There would come a time when he could lead an expedition to the country of Fahr and give the old women of Arvidia a chance to earn a decent living and bring back jewels in trade.

Grizel butted her head against Duncan's leg, and he picked her up and held her in his lap. In the distance the Academy dome shone pale against the darker trees, and its spire pierced the moon. Suddenly Duncan felt light, as light as seafoam on a high, curling wave.

Who said he wanted to be king? That had never been his dream. He didn't want to be stuck in a palace, making judgments and having meetings and wearing heavy robes that itched.

And he had never expected to come in first
all
the time. No one could do that. The thing he had really wanted was to stop pretending to be less than he was.

Grizel purred under his hand, and Duncan stroked her head, smiling. He didn't need to plan the rest of his life out this minute. He was going to the Academy tomorrow. He would line his room with books, and he would hang his father's sword on the wall. That was enough glory for now.

“I'm looking forward to fencing with Robert,” Duncan told Grizel.

The cat twisted her neck to look back at him. “I hope you're not going to lose on purpose next time.”

Duncan grinned. “Never again,” he said.