Cats Triumphant (4 page)

“Come quickly,” the mouse cried.

* * *

At the terrible news everyone burst out talking, crying and running around frantically. Shouting for quiet, the king ordered everyone to stop where he was.

“Anyone who knows anything about this matter, come forward,” he commanded. “Otherwise, all guests must leave the castle by noon!”

Marco sprang onto the table, searching for Desdemona, but she was gone. Daffodil picked him up under her arm. Lavinia had Humberto in her hands, and Nocila took Bruno’s collar. They went to the princess’s chambers. Briar Rose had been laid upon her bed, a soft coverlet placed over her. Her face was like that of a waxen image, beautiful and still.

“This is all my fault!” the mouse wailed over and over again.

“Is she dead?” the queen repeated, sitting beside the princess as dawn cast its pale light through the window. Tears ran down her face. “Her hand is cold.”

“She only sleeps,” Nocila promised them. Whimpering. Bruno rested his big head against her leg.

“Then wake her,” the king ordered.

“We cannot,” Daffodil said. “Only true love’s kiss can break the spell.”

“Call back the princes,” the queen begged her husband. He set his jaw.

“Our daughter turned them all away. Obviously she is not in love with any of them. It is no use. Her true love does not exist.”

“I cannot bear this,” said the queen. She clutched her husband’s hand. “To have her return to us, only to lose her again. I cannot bear it!”

Marco jumped up on the bed and began to lick Briar Rose’s face. “I must wake her! No one loves her as much as I do!”

Daffodil picked him up and cuddled his head under her chin. “I know, my friend, but her true love must be of her own species.” She turned to the king. “Your love and ours prevented her from dying. Only love’s first kiss may awaken her. All the kingdom shall sleep until that day. You shall have peace.” The fairies all put their right hands together. A scented smoke rose from their joined fingers, filling the air. The king and queen sighed and turned, trancelike, toward the door.

“I think I will go to bed,” said the queen, in a distant voice.

“So shall I,” said the king.

Marco looked out of the window. The smoke poured down the tower wall and across the courtyard. Courtiers sagged to the ground where they stood. Men-at-arms leaned heavily over their shields and spears. Even the animals fell asleep.

All but the three guardians.

“What about us?” Marco asked. He hung his head. “You put me in charge, and I failed you.”

Daffodil clicked her tongue. “The dark one has had centuries to hone her cunning, and sixteen years to polish her grudge,” she said, her round green eyes glinting like the cat’s. “You can and shall put this terrible wrong right.”

“Can’t you act?” Humberto asked the three wise women.

Nocila shook her head. “We can only watch and guard. What kept the curse from coming true for 16 years was inaccessibility. Briar Rose never saw spinning wheels, so she did not touch one. Desdemona planted that single one here many years ago for just this moment. The lock should have foiled her, but Humberto opened it.”

The mouse was mortified. Marco glared at him. “Maybe the palace cats have the right idea about mice.” He looked up at the fairies. “I shall go in search of Briar Rose’s true love,” he vowed. “If you say there is one who loves her more than we do, I will find him.”

“I shall sit by her side,” Bruno said. “None shall approach, I swear it by my heart.”

“I will wind the room round with a trap of threads so dense that all may see but none may touch her,” promised Humberto. “I will not fail again.”

“We give you one more gift,” Lavinia said, “the gift of long life. You will need it in your tasks. We wish you all good luck. For now, we must search out Desdemona and try to persuade her to break her spell, though I hold out no hope she will relent.”

“Good luck, my little friend,” Daffodil said, setting Marco on his feet. “Keep your standards high. Farewell.”

Before their eyes the three little women faded into bright streaks of light and were gone.

“Well,” Marco said, steeling himself. “The task won’t improve for the waiting. Farewell.”

The dog and mouse nuzzled him fondly. “We shall think of you every day.

“Don’t think of me,” Marco said, peeved but pleased. “Think of her. Guard our Briar Rose.”

“We shall,” said Humberto.

Marco nodded. With one long backward look at the princess, lying so still on the bed, he turned and trotted down the tower steps.

* * *

But where to begin? The princess had already seen every elegible prince on the continent. Yet the fairy godmothers had assured him that a prince was out there waiting for her. Perhaps Marco had overlooked some good qualities in the men who had come to woo her. Perhaps they were different in their home settings. Perhaps pigs flew, and he could find one to transport him across the wide world.

Instead, he had to rely upon his four small feet to carry him on his mission. The gift of long life from the godmothers didn’t help at all against cold, hunger or sore pads. It was a long, long way from the capital of Cadmonia to its nearest neighbor, Hawellia. Marco left the palace in the spring. It was not until late summer that he arrived at Hawellia Castle.

The stronghold was in terrible disarray. Marco could tell from the moment he arrived that the rulers did not care for their people or their possessions. Rats ruled in the cellars, the stables and the grain storage.

He crept in, posing as an ordinary pest-catcher. Following the smell of rotten food and the sound of drunken voices raised in raucous song, Marco found his way to the great hall.

The floor cloths in the huge room hadn’t been changed in years. Hordes of overfed dogs snored in front of the fire. Men in hunting clothes lounged all over the benches and chairs around the tables. Marco spotted the prince right away. He was the horse-beating barbarian who had proposed to Briar Rose first at the dinner table. If he was a day under thirty, Marco wouldn’t believe it. He crept closer, wanting to give the man every chance.

Unluckily, the prince spotted him. He drew back the flagon from which he had been drinking, and flung it straight at the cat.

Marco leaped to one side. He was footsore from his long journey, but he seemed to grow wings on his feet as he fled. He dived into one of the huge rat-holes in the wall just as a wineskin struck beside him, splattering him in sour wine. He spent one night in the stables before departing. His pads were so tender they bled, but he was eager to put this horrible place behind him. Briar Rose’s true love lay elsewhere.

* * *

From kingdom to kingdom Marco traveled, seeking the worthy prince who would break the dark fairy’s deadly spell. Most, as he remembered them from the feast, were rough-and-tumble men of the field. A few were learned in the gentle arts, but were cruel to women and animals. In the fourth kingdom Marco just missed being skewered by an arrow launched by one of these who was out reciting poetry he had written to a woman. It did kill an innocent pigeon who was sitting on a branch. Marco crossed Prince Dysart of Olmbenia off the list, but dragged the dead pigeon into the underbrush as soon as Dysart was out of sight. No wind blew only ill. At least Marco would get a meal to make up for his fright. But he would not trust this man. He wished he could warn the girl.

The same sad scenario repeated itself again and again. The princes were the same ones he had seen. The only difference was that they were growing older. By the time he reached them, many had married and had children. A few were already going gray.

Marco fell into despair as he entered the last realm, Greenaway. Footsore, matted and hungry, he trudged toward the castle whose pennant-topped turrets he could see in the distance. This was his last chance. He remembered this prince: Golther was big, burly and smelly. If he truly was the princess’s love, it was because he had changed after all these years. But Marco doubted it. He wondered if he could take ship from here to another continent to continue his search.

The well-worn road was blocked by a cluster of men lounging around the steps to a small traveler’s inn. Marco crept into the undergrowth. Some men sat on horses with hawks on their wrists. Others held leashed dogs, who scented Marco and strained toward him. One tall man with red-gold hair addressed a slender, dark man sitting on a stump with one boot off. Beside him was the body of a huge stag. Marco’s stomach gurgled. If only he could have a piece of venison. He was so hungry!

“Gave you and your horse quite a run,” said the redhead. The seated man pulled a cluster of leaves out of his boot and pulled it back on.

“Indeed he did, the big old fellow,” he said, patting his prey on the neck. “He gave us an honorable chase. We were only victors because we outnumbered him so greatly.” He tossed away the leaves, which landed on Marco. Marco jumped.

The seated man’s eyes widened. “Why, I’m sorry, puss! Come here and let me make it up to you.” He rubbed his fingers together. Marco edged forward with great care. The prince in the seventeenth kingdom had sought to entice him in exactly the same way, then tried to run him through with a dagger. “Come on, do.”

“He’s just a stray, your highness.”

Highness! Marco looked at the young man. He resembled Prince Golther, but he was smaller and slighter. Why had he not come to the princess’s ball? Every royal male over 12 had been invited. Then Marco calculated in his mind the length of his travels. It had been
nine years
since the disastrous celebration party. This lad was no more than twenty. He would have been a child. But now he was grown to manhood, and what a handsome fellow he was, with soft black hair and hazel-colored eyes! Marco came to his outstretched hand and sniffed. The hand shifted and came down on his head. Stroked. Rose from his hindquarters and stroked again. Marco stood stock-still with astonishment.

“There, you see? Why, you’re down to skin and bones, you poor fellow. Here.” The prince took out his dagger. Marco started back, but the prince reached beside him and cut a slice of flesh from the belly of the stag. “Have a bite. The cooks will never miss it.” Marco seized it and retreated to a safe distance to eat.

“Sire!” the companion scolded him. Marco paid no attention, as the prince did not. Obviously this young man made his own decisions. He was kind. He was respectful to his fallen foe. He was generous to those less fortunate than himself. He was handsome enough, as humans went. And he must indeed be brave, because the stag was a 12-pointer, not a beast to be borne down by a white-livered hunter. He could be the man Marco had been looking for.

But was he curious enough? When his meal was through, Marco rubbed against the prince’s leg and went a few feet away. He looked hard at the young man.

“What do you want, puss?” he asked. Marco came up, rubbed again, then danced a short distance away, his eyes fixed on the prince’s face, and waited. The prince stood up, stomped his boot to seat his heel again, and came up beside Marco. Marco, his heart racing with hope, trotted a little farther. The prince followed. “Where are you trying to lead me?”

“Prince Reynard, where are you going?”

“On a quest,” the prince said, his eyes alight. “If you do not wish to come, then run and tell my brother I am going. He’ll be happy to see the back of me. There’s nothing so useless as an extra prince.”

Marco’s calloused pads were as sore as ever he remembered them, but his heart was light. The prince ran back for his horse. Several of Reynard’s friends followed. Marco waited, then began to lead them. The horses overshot his fastest trot in a matter of seconds. Reynard leaned down from the saddle and scooped him up to the horse’s neck.

“Point where you wish us to go, puss,” the prince said. “Tell me when to change direction. Otherwise we shall ride straight and true.” Marco nodded. “He understands me!”

“How can he, sire? He’s just a cat.”

“I don’t know, but he does,” Reynard said. “It is a wonder.”

“Where are we going, highness?” the redhead asked. Reynard smiled.

“I do not know, Theo, but it’s an adventure! Ride on!”

Marco clung to the saddle cloth, his heart racing. This must be the man. He must be!

* * *

It took months to ride along the coast back to Cadmonia. Marco slept at night on the prince’s blanket, one paw touching his shoulder or arm, just to make sure he didn’t disappear in the night. He must not lose this man.

He need not have feared. A few of the companions dropped back, not interested, thinking the prince mad or the cat a witch in disguise, but the prince perservered. Marco thought of his friends, but above all the princess. She must not sleep forever. Reynard was his best hope.

They broke through the trees, now higher and thicker, that marked the end of Hawellia. Marco looked ahead toward the isthmus. It was blocked by a tangle of dense black thorns.

Theo frowned. “This is where your brother came to see the princess who grievously insulted him.”

“How did she insult him?”

“She refused to marry him, sire.”

Reynard snorted. “So would I. Well, this is where you wish us to go, puss. But how do we get in?”

“This mess is impenetrable,” complained Theo.

Marco spotted a hole in the tangle. He jumped off the horse’s neck and crawled into a niche that only he saw. Inside was a tunnel large enough for a man to crawl. He came to lead Reynard to it. Theo scoffed, but Reynard followed, trusting.

“You can’t go in there, sire!” Marco gave Theo a disgusted look. He would never win a princess or a kingdom with a quitter’s attitude like that. Reynard seemed equally fed up.

“If you won’t come, then hold my horse and guard my back! Come on, friend puss. Show me what you’ve brought me so far to see.”

With the aid of Reynard’s sword they chopped through the thorns and emerged on the road to the capital. Beyond the hedge it felt as though the very air was asleep. Not an insect buzzed, nor a bird sang. Now Marco could see the castle. He trotted toward it with Reynard beside him.

Just outside the walls Marco smelled sulfur. He stopped, on guard. Reynard wrinkled his nose.