Norton, Andre - Anthology (9 page)

 
          
 
Harry had to laugh. "They aren't. Don't
be fooled by

 
          
 
Jetlag, or the big cats. They're circus
animals. Most of them like the roar of the crowd. But most cats are totally
independent beasts. Humans don't understand them, really, but they like sharing
their lives with them. I'll bet even the guy who lost all his work didn't do
that much to the kitten, past yelling at him. Cats are—" He hesitated.
"Cats. We love them, and live with them. But they are—not pets." He
would have shrugged if not for the claws. "It's hard to explain. I get the
impression you don't have pets in your culture, and you sure don't have the
equivalent of cats."

 
          
 
A snarl. **we eat monkeys, otherwise they are
useless**

 
          
 
Harry was staring over Diavolo's shoulder, an
odd smile on his face. "Your loss, big cat." His gaze focused on the
animal, and his face was suddenly grim. "Understand this, boyo. I've done
what you said. But you're a prisoner here, and you don't get released until my
family is well, all of them. And you better understand this. If I die, you'll
be put down. Amii doesn't trust the exotics."

 
          
 
A low growl. **the dose your cubling was given
was carefully calculated, he will be well before i leave.**

 
          
 
"When?" Harry couldn't keep the
eagerness out of his voice.

 
          
 
**my mission is over, i have all i could get.
on the next space lap of your voyage, you will program one of the lifeboats for
me when i tell you to. then your part will be over.**

 
          
 
"If Petey is healthy."

 
          
 
**he will be. i must report, so i must
survive.**

 
          
 
Suspicious: "What report?"

 
          
 
Another devilish cat chuckle. **nothing to
worry you, apething. now. i havejound too many strengths in your people and not
enouglr weaknesses, so our people will meet yours openly and then only to
trade.**

 
          
 
"Oh, God!" Harry sagged against the
black shoulder. "You're a—a scout. A war scout!"

 
          
 
**what else?** Diavolo pushed, and Harry
crumpled to the flexifloor. Diavolo stood glaring over the trembling man, and
then laid a paw on his chest. **i like you like this, your people are weak, but
your defenses are strong, this last one might have told me different, but
without him i still have enough, you have the technological edge, so we will
treat you carefully.**

 
          
 
Harry swiped at his eyes and sat up. The paw
was still on his chest. "I thought you were like our cats. Independent. I
thought you were doing it on your own, for meanness, pure cat
maliciousness."

 
          
 
**you are weak and stupid, apething.**

 
          
 
'"Not that weak!'" He spat in
Diavolo's face. “If I’d known what you were up to. I would have killed you, or
tried to, whatever you threatened my family with! You— “ His mouth worked.
Then, low: "I will kill you!"

 
          
 
The topaz eyes held his. solemn now. and
intelligent. **yes. you can. it was a risk i always had to take, if i kill you.
i die. i know that, but my report is good, apething, good for your people,
you've picked rich worlds, ape-thing, juicy worlds, and who knows what lie
beyond them. without my report, my leaders may look at the glorious worlds you
apethings hold and try to take them and you anyway, who knows, they may succeed
despite the strength i detect in you now.**

 
          
 
"They won't." Harry was certain.
"We're different in wartime, cat. Your folk won't stand a chance!"

 
          
 
**you believe it. and i believe you. it is the
missing factor that didn't make sense to us. yet we'd have the advantage of
surprise, who will believe you if you survive and tell about my people, so.
apething. kill me and a lot of your people will die for nothing, send me back
and your people will not be threatened ** Diavolo grinned another cat grin.
**and the war resources of my people will be saved to use against a weaker
enemy, which is what i want**

 
          
 
"I want to kill you."

 
          
 
**but you won't, i begin to understand your
different breed of courage, when you let me do what i did to you, it was a form
of courage, none of my people would have knuckled down like you. for what you
saw- as a higher cause, unless they were cowards and only allowed to live as long
as they were useful, but you were in truth being brave, enduring pain and
humiliation for a higher reason. my people must think much on this.**

 
          
 
'Think hard, cat. If I let you live now, it's
not cowardice, it's to protect those of my people who would die if your people
attack."

 
          
 
**yes, i see now. i think your people would be
safe even if i had found more technical weaknesses** Dia-volo's head went up.
He had heard, before Harry did, the sound of childish footsteps, and an
imperative cat's meow. **but i don't understand your relationship with the
nithings you call cats.**

 
          
 
"Don't worry, big cat,” Harry used the
massive shoulder to heave himself upright. He gave the big sentient a twisted
half smile, leg still touching so they had contact. "Neither do we.
Sometimes I think they run us."

 
          
 
As his leg moved, he caught a last message.
**it almost appears so.**

 
          
 
Then there was a knock on the cage.
"Daddy, you okay? You been in there a long time."

 
          
 
"Mew-urrrrppp," added Jetlag.

 
          
 
"Everything's okay, honey. I was
just—" He laughed suddenly. "I was just discussing the state of the
universe with ol' Diavolo here."

 
          
 
"Oh, Daddy!" She sounded just like
Amii, sometimes. Harry thought happily. "You're so silly. Stop telling
Diavolo how the universe runs, and come on. It's lunchtime, and I'm hungry. So
is Jetlag."

 
          
 
"Jetlag's always hungry." Harry
looked down at the relaxed exotic, sprawled in a cat's easy, boneless pose.
"Just keep your word, cat, and Til keep mine."

 
          
 
Diavolo yawned, and curved around to lick his
privates.

 
          
 
In Boris* study, Oberon was also licking his
privates, to finish a long luxurious bath. All was right in his home, his
world, his universe. Which was the way it should be. All cats knew that!

            
India Edghill's
interest in fantasy can be blamed squarely on her father, who read her The
Wizard of Oz, The Five Children and It, and Alf's Button before she was old
enough to object. Later, she discovered Andrew Lang's multicolored fairy books,
Edward Eager, and the fact that Persian cats make the best paperweights. She
and her cats own too many books on far too many subjects.

            
One of those who
lives in the
land
of
Always Night
, where the moon never sets, is Tybalt,
Prince of Cats. He is Prince only, for cats have no king. A cat speaks for
himself.

            
As Prince of Cats,
Tybalt is proud indeed, for a cat is prouder than Lucifer in all his glory.
"Proud as a cat," they say in Queen Persephone's dark kingdom.
"Proud as Tybalt."

            
He cannot be
outstared. Make a cat, blink first, and you have won; but cats cannot abide
losing. Even the least kitten, whose eyes are still foggy with blue, can

stare down a king. Tybalt's gaze has made basilisks turn aside their
heads.

            
Tybalt walks by day,
when he chooses. More often he walks by night, for then all ways are open. A
cat walks by himself, and all places are alike to him. Once Tybalt told this to
a mortal man, who wrote it down that all might read and take heed of it.

 
          
 
It is true, when a cat wishes it to be.

 
          
 
Tybalt looked at the smiling moon, the Lady
who had made a pact with them at the Gates of Day and Night, and had given cats
her eyes. Coin-gold eyes; moon-round eyes. Cat-eyes, to see in dark and light.

 
          
 
And what Tybalt saw now was roads through day
and night that he had walked time and time over. "I am bored," he
told the moon. U I would go a-roaming, and there are no new ways for me to
travel."

 
          
 
The Mother of Cats says little at any time,
and that little only silken hints, whispers through moon-silvered leaves. She
veiled her face, and was silent.

 
          
 
Tybalt sat, and yawned, and thought. Once he
had roamed the mortal world for his sport, but it had been long, and long
again, since he had done so. It was an unlucky road to walk now, so the tales
and gossips said. Tybalt smiled, and uncoiled to stretch long and tall.

 
          
 
'The Prince of Cats makes his own luck,"
he said. "I will go and walk among my little cousins in the Lands of Men.
Perhaps it will amuse me, for a night."

 
          
 
He stood upon his castle wall on two feet; he
landed on the path on four. He would go velvet-footed down forbidden paths
tonight. A cat walked where he wished; the Prince of Cats could do no less.

 
          
 
Cathy was not and never had been
superstitious. A person named Catharine Courtney Carrington, with all that
implied, had enough problems without adding to them. A black cat crossing her
path didn't worry her; black cats were a positive godsend compared to muggers,
street people, and other delights of modern urban life in
New York
. It was the cat who needed to worry.

 
          
 
Sleek as jet in the harsh uneven glare of the
streetlights, the cat walked as if he were king of the sidewalk—or of all
Manhattan, Cathy thought with a smile. Not a streetwise cat; he was too clean,
too cocky. Street cats hugged shadows, shunned humans. A house cat, then, either
escaped or released, and one about to get a series of rude shocks.

 
          
 
"Be smart, cat," said Cathy.
"Go home, cat. You won't like it out here."

 
          
 
Her voice echoed slightly in the night air,
and she looked around automatically. Her apartment was in a "good"
section of the city, but she still didn't like being out on the street alone
this late. You never knew .. . and there were a lot of crazy people in the
world today.

 
          
 
The cat stopped and turned, one paw curled in
mid-step. He regarded her with eyes as round and unblinking as coins. Golden
coins, gleaming hot in the dark quiet street. Then he smiled. Cathy could have
sworn he smiled at her; a trick of the halogen lights.

 
          
 
She sighed. "Okay, damn it," she
said. She was a sucker, but she couldn't just leave him. She'd take him home
with her, and advertise for his damn-fool-stupid owner. "Here, cat."
She held out a hand and made the sort of noises usually considered attractive
to felines.

 
          
 
They were not attractive to him. Cathy sighed
again and moved slowly and carefully toward the cat. "Come on, stupid cat.
Come to Cathy .- .. who's just as stupid as you are—you can't stay out here,
poor baby, you'll get run over—"

 
          
 
He waited; Cathy came up to him and crouched
down. "Nice boy," she said. "Good cat." It seemed oddly
inadequate as she looked into the black cat's eyes. Hot eyes. Eyes full
of—what? Wildness? Intelligence? Glowing—

 
          
 
She reached out and slowly put her hands on
him. Fur over muscle; softness sliding over resilient firmness. A moment's tension,
testing; would he let her pick him up?

 
          
 
He would. Cathy gathered him up, wondering
where a cat really put its bones when it relaxed in your arms like that.
"What am I going to do with you?" she said. "I've already got
two cats. They'll kill me."

 
          
 
The black cat purred and rubbed his head on
her hand. "Oh, shut up." said Cathy crossly. "If you'd stayed
where you belonged, we wouldn't be in this mess."

 
          
 
"That's right, lady. Now do as you're
told and you and your kittycat won't get hurt."

 
          
 
Cathy froze. She didn't care if the object
touching her back was a gun, a knife, or only a rolled-up newspaper. The mugger
had come on silent feet, and could hurt or kill her and be gone as swiftly and
silently. All she had was a cat. If only he were a dog, preferably a pit bull—

 
          
 
"Just stand real still and drop the
pocketbook."

 
          
 
Cathy carefully juggled the cat and her
pocketbook until she could ease the strap off her arm. The pocket-book hit the
sidewalk and disappeared from her line of sight. The cat was oddly still in her
arms. His tail hit her ribs with a solid thump every other second. That was
all.

 
          
 
"Okay," she said. Her voice still
worked, which was a nice surprise. "I did what you said. Take it and go
away, please."

 
          
 
He didn't. Fingers on her neck—fumbling for
her gold chain—at least, she hoped that was what he wanted. She couldn't
breathe, or move, or hear anything but blood pounding through her body, hard
enough to shake her bones—

 
          
 
Then there was clawed pain burning her arm and
a flow of dark fur up her chest. Small pain again, as the cat used her shoulder
as a launching pad and she staggered forward, fell to her hands and knees.
Noises from behind her. Unpleasant noises. A pause; stillness. She was afraid
to move; afraid not to.

 
          
 
"You can get up now. But don't look
around." A new voice. Low, intense—amused?

 
          
 
She pushed herself to her feet, automatically
grabbing her pocketbook when her numb fingers touched it. "The cat,"
she said, gasping for breath. "The cat."

 
          
 
Laughter behind her; a rich purr of sound.
"Don't worry about the cat. Go home, Cathy. Run."

 
          
 
A hand strong between her shoulder blades,
pushing her forward. Cathy rjin. She didn't stop until she half-fell up the
steps to^the* dtfor of her apartment building and grabbed the outer door. It
took two tries to get her keys out and into the lock. When she had the outer
door safely open, Cathy sucked in a deep breath and turned to look back down
the block.

 
          
 
There was nothing there. Nothing, and nobody.
At the far end of the block, where it crossed
First Avenue
, a man with a pair of small busy dogs was
entering the street. Halfway down the block a dark blotch marred the pavement.
From this distance, it could be anything. A splash of blood. A rag. A shadow.

 
          
 
Cathy flung herself into the tiny lobby and
slammed the door behind her. One more door between her and inside, and real
safety. She turned, key ready.

 
          
 
The black cat sat before the inner door, still
as night.

 
          
 
Cathy gasped, then began to laugh in a way
that was not quite hysterical. "You're smarter than I am, cat, and braver,
too, and if nobody claims you, you're mine, damn it. Come on in. You've earned
it."

 
          
 
Sleep did not come easily that night, and when
she did sleep, she dreamed. Nightmares first; she expected that. Horrors chased
her through empty streets, had their hands on her, she would die of fright and
could not wake and save herself . . . but then there were other hands, gentle
hands to stroke away the fear, and change her nightmares to waking dreams.

 
          
 
Eyes like hot moonlight, gold on glitter-gold
cutting light to pieces and throwing it back at her. Hands like strong velvet
on her body. Skin fur-soft, fur-supple. A dream not long enough. Only forever
was long enough.

 
          
 
"No. Don't do that. I don't want to wake
up."

 
          
 
"You are awake, Cathy. And the moon is
setting. It's time for me to go."

 
          
 
"I can't be awake, or I wouldn't be doing
any of these things—you're laughing at me. Stop it."

 
          
 
"Good-bye, Cathy. I thank you for your
kindness to a stranger."

 
          
 
"No, wait! I'm awake?"

 
          
 
"As awake as you will ever be."

 
          
 
"You're the—the person who saved me
tonight, aren't you?"

 
          
 
"What do you think?"

 
          
 
"I still think I'm dreaming and that
you're laughing at me—but if I'm not—don't go. Stay. Please."

 
          
 
"If I stayed here when the moon had set
and the sun is high, I would be very little company for you. There are
pleasures of the night that may not be indulged by day. I will kiss you
good-bye, and you will kiss me, and then I will go. I wonder if you will
remember me, when the sun is high? Theories differ on that point."

 
          
 
"I'll always remember you. Will you come
back? Please say you'll come back!"

 
          
 
"I may. If the moon is full, and you
remember—yes, I will come."

 
          
 
"How will you know if I do?"