Norton, Andre - Anthology (39 page)

 
          
 
That something deep in him which was his only
direction homeward seemed soothed also, and somehow he was sure he was headed
in the right direction.

 
          
 
There were, Noble Warrior discovered as they
trundled along, three of these wagons. They did not ride as smoothly as the
carriage he had shared with Emmy, but they each had their own store of the most
enticing smells. There were other children beside Jankos also, but Noble
Warrior held aloof from their coaxing, keeping close to his first friend.

 
          
 
At least they were getting away from the place
of noise and bad smells, and at last Noble Warrior felt secure enough to curl
up on the blanket bed to which Jankos introduced him and got to sleep, relaxing
for the first time since his terrors when he had seen the smoke breathing
dragon swallow Emmy and he had been stolen away.

 
          
 
Once he had had a refreshing sleep, he did
some exploring. No one shooed him away or yelled at him. He spent some time
sitting under a cage swinging with the movements of the cart in which hunched a
bird, brightly feathered. Noble Warrior sniffed and sniffed again.

 
          
 
He had seen tame birds many times and knew
that they were not to be troubled by guard cats. But there was something wrong
with this one—it was sick. And the woman fussed over it, trying to get it to
eat and drink, folding it closely in her arms from time to time, making soft
chirruping sounds as if it could understand her.

 
          
 
They did not keep to the main highways in
their traveling, but rather took lanes and often forest tracks. Yet all the
time Noble Warrior felt the pull of his instinct. Home WAS in this direction.

 
          
 
On the fourth morning the bird had fallen from
its perch and lay a crumpled mass of feathers on the floor of the cage. Noble
Warrior watched the woman dig a resting place for its small body in the softer
earth of a ditch side. There were tear marks on her brown cheeks.

 
          
 
"No Thother," she said when she
returned to the wagon. "He served us well, always seemed to know just
which card to pick. Remember the gentleman who gave a gold piece—hunted us up
after the race and said Thother had picked the winner for him. We shall not see
such a clever feathered one again."

 
          
 
That night, when they halted, she brought out
a small folding table and set it up as straight as she could on the ground, a
lamp stationed at its side. Then she produced a long bag which glinted in the
subdued light as if made from one of Princess Suphron's fine robes.

 
          
 
Out of that she shook a number of flat sticks
of a dull yellowish color. Noble Warrior's ears flattened a little.

 
          
 
This woman was going to play some of the
tricks he had seen used to amuse the Women of the court. Much of the past faded
from his mind—he was back in a garden beside a pool where a woman, much older
and more raggedly dressed than this one, went through the same gestures.

 
          
 
He jumped to the second caravan step, whiskers
twitching. Was this woman also one of power whom even the treacherous Khons
would answer?

 
          
 
Each stick was marked on one side—the other
was plain of any pattern. She gathered them all up again, holding the plain
sides uppermost, and tossed them once more.

 
          
 
For a long time she just sat there. Noble
Warrior grew impatient. This was not the way matters should go at all. He gave
a snort, leaned closer. With a dark paw flipped one of the pieces over.

 
          
 
There was a sharp exclamation from the woman.
She snatched up the stick he had moved and examined the pattern on it—then she
looked beyond it at Noble Warrior himself as if she had never seen him before.

 
          
 
"Mammam—" Jankos had pushed past the
door curtain.

 
          
 
"Quiet!" Her voice carried the snap
of an order. "I must—I must think!" She set her elbows on the table
and steadied her head on the support of her hands. With a breath which was
almost a whistle she again gathered up the sticks, the eyes focusing on Noble
Warrior holding a new wariness.

 
          
 
For the second time she tossed them loosely and
then leaned back, her attention centered on the cat.

 
          
 
She—she wanted— He put out a paw which hovered
over three sticks and then flipped up and over the middle one, settling back to
watch her reaction.

 
          
 
He knew the danger of the Great Dark—one
learned that as a kitten hardly before one's eyes were open— but this was no
harmful curse play.

 
          
 
The woman did not pick up the stick he had
chosen, just leaned forward to see it the better as it lay on the table. Jankos
crowded closer and now Pettros loomed on the other side.

 
          
 
'This—this one—" The woman's voice began
as a half whisper and then arose louder. 'This one—" She flung out her
hands as if she could not find the words for more of an explanation. Now the
man leaned the closer.

 
          
 
"A far journey—" he said slowly.

 
          
 
"Gatto can SEE—just like Thother!"
Jankos grabbed up a handful of the sticks and tossed them so that a number fell
just in front of Noble Warrior's waiting paws. He bent his head and sniffed—the
old knowledge. Yes, it still was with him. He flipped another of the sticks.

 
          
 
“Trouble—" the woman shook her head. But
Noble warrior was not yet through; he had already curved a claw around a second
stick so that once in the air, it fell across the first. Then he sat back
satisfied.

 
          
 
"Gain!" it was Pettros who cried out
that word. "Trouble and then gain! Maritza, this is no cat—he is a
treasure for us. Do you not see?"

 
          
 
She drew a deep breath. "I see," she
answered slowly. With the upraised fingers of one hand she made a sign in the
air.

 
          
 
Thus Noble Warrior became indeed one who chose
futures. Where Thother had before picked sticks from the bundles people held
out, he waited until they were tossed and then turned one, sometimes two, or
even three. It was dabbling in things beyond the curtain of this world, that
was true. But he was of the breed who knew both worlds. Had he not dealt with
Hob on his arrival in this land, soothing the spirit of the house no man could
see? Had he not identified the evil Khon sent to destroy Emmy and her father,
and finished that nasty spirit off? Had he not talked with ghosts and managed
to defeat a would-be follower of the black arts?

 
          
 
Thus they traveled from one village to
another. Always, Noble Warrior was assured by instinct in the right way for
him. Maritza made him a velvet collar marked with glittering spangles which he
wore when he was on duty at the table. Sometimes he thought that she was a
little afraid of him for some reason. But the villagers who came to have their
fortunes told were certainly in awe and there were a number of coins to ring in
the bag Jankos carried when he escorted Noble Warrior back to the caravan.

 
          
 
It was when they came to the fair that there
was a shadow sensed by the cat. Something tickled his innermost thoughts as
might a wisp of a dream. It was of the dark—not intensely, threateningly so, as
had been the Khon, but it was here and he had no wish to seek it out.

 
          
 
Others than the villagers had come to see what
might be offered by the dealers. There was a girl with a thin, sharp-nosed
face, a mouth which was a line of discontent and peevishness, dressed like Emmy
when she went to some place of importance.

 
          
 
When she came up to the table, the villagers
gave way and none of them showed any smiles.

 
          
 
She flounced herself down on the stool
opposite Maritza and looked at Noble Warrior with a sly smirk.

 
          
 
"A fortune-telling cat! La, what will it
be next, I wonder. A horse to sing opera, a pig to dance? All right, Gypsy, let
this animal of yours tell my fortune!"

 
          
 
Noble Warrior's blue eyes stared into hers
which seemed unable to meet his squarely. The faint whiff of the dark which had
disturbed him since early morning was now like a full puff of rising incense in
his face.

 
          
 
She was not a Khon, no. Nor was she of some
very ancient evil of this land. But in her there was darkness and danger—not
for herself but for others.

 
          
 
Catching up a handful of the sticks, she threw
them straight at the cat. One caught in his collar and swung there. But the
rest hit the tabletop. He was aware that Maritza had drawn bade a.little, that
Jankos was on the move to come between this girl and Noble Warrior.

 
          
 
For a long instant Noble Warrior simply stared
at the girl. She gave a spiteful giggle.

 
          
 
"No fortune for me then, cat. As I
thought, it is all a hum—gypsy trickery."

 
          
 
Noble Warrior's right paw swept out. He did
not linger to make any choice, he simply snapped one of the sticks into the air
and it flew much as the one she had shot at him through the air to land flatly
before her.

 
          
 
The pattern on that stick was red and black
and curled in a tight series of circles. He heard Maritza gasp.

 
          
 
"Well, what is the meaning?" The
girl tapped the stick with one fingernail.

 
          
 
"Lady—" Noble Warrior saw Maritza
stiffen. Pettros had come up behind her. Now his hand had reached out to close
protectingly on her shoulder. "Lady, you must watch yourself—your
thoughts—well—there is danger—"

 
          
 
The girl's giggle became a crow of unpleasant
laughter. "What, no dark haired knight to court me? Your cat is not very
polite, Gypsy. You should teach him better manners."

 
          
 
She stood up abruptly. Jankos made no attempt
to offer her the money bag, nor did she show any sign of dropping in a coin.

 
          
 
"Gypsies," she said as she turned
away. "There are those hereabout who have little liking for your kind. I
would advise you to be on the road before sundown— well away from here."

 
          
 
Her wide skirts swept around in a swirl and
she went off. Maritza's hand came up to cover her husband's where it rested on
her shoulder.

 
          
 
"The evil," she said in a voice
which was close to a whisper, "is not against her—it is in that one,
Pettros— she is the danger."

 
          
 
"She is the stepdaughter of the
squire," he answered. "A word from her and—" he shrugged.
"Best that we take her advice and get on the road—now."

 
          
 
As they trundled off, Noble Warrior, in his
favorite place on the driver's seat of the wagon, was no longer concerned. The
dark-thoughted one was gone, but there was something else— His head was held
high and he tried with all his might to locate that trace. Yes! It was growing
much stronger. Home—he was nearly home!