The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat (5 page)

Orris, the royal chef, had been in the queen's service for many years. Talented and devoted, he was the creative force behind the queen's Great Feasts and was unmatched in his skillful use of cutlery and seasonings. There wasn't a dish you could name that Orris had not perfected. If it swam in the sea, flew through the air, grew or grazed in the field, the queen's man knew how to prepare it.

Like most men of considerable ability, Orris had a rather large ego. Nothing got the fires going in him like the challenge of putting together a great feast. He likened himself to a great composer, only rather than musical notes, his medium was food. He and his dozen or so assistants would regularly prepare masterpieces of delectability, and the kitchen would resound with the aromas of his savory symphonies.

Breads and pastries were his personal favorites to work with. He was a genius when it came to creating new recipes for cakes and pies. And if you were among those lucky enough to have sampled his mouthwatering lemon almond soufflé, you could expect to die a happy man. He used to boast that he could bake anything blindfolded and with one arm tied behind his back. Unfortunately in recent years, he'd had dwindling opportunities to practice his craft. There had not been a Grand Ball or a Great Feast in a very long time.

Still like most performers, Orris needed to perform. If he could not display his talents for the Harsizzle elite, he would have to make do with what audience was available. These days, the audience for his presentations usually consisted of Warwick Vane Bezel III and a few of his henchmen. Oh well . . . what they may have lacked in discriminating palates was more than made up for by their complete absence of table manners.

Then of course, there was the queen herself. Though her appetite for fanciful parties was gone, she still was able to offer Orris regular challenges. Unfortunately, more often than not, these were designed not to delight her subjects, but to cause them misery.

The chef knew his talents were being wasted, but he dared not say anything out of fear that his predecessor's fate might befall him as well. Orris remembered how Elias, the queen's last personal chef, was confined to the castle's dungeon for months because the queen found a hair in her shepherd's pie.

Even thinking about it caused him to become uneasy. Orris, who was but an assistant at the time, recalled Elias arguing with the queen over whose hair it was that was in the pie. The argument was pointless because no matter which of them was right, the cook was doomed either way.

The former chef sealed his fate when he pointed out that the small piece of meat to which the hair was attached looked suspiciously like a mole that had, until only moments before, been twitching on the queen's upper lip.

Orris would not make that or any other mistake, so he kept his mouth shut and his kitchen spotless. Since he didn't have much to prepare, he spent his time scrubbing, polishing, and sanitizing most of the day. He was in the midst of this cleaning when he received the queen's summons. Druciah was grinning ear to ear when her chef approached.

“You wanted to see me, my queen?”

“Yes, Orris,” she said, “I have a special challenge for you. One I think will enable you to exercise your culinary muscles and test your creativity.”

“Are we going to have a Grand Ball this year, your highness?” asked Orris excitedly.

“No, you fool. Those days are long past, I'm afraid, but I said I had a challenge for you, and I think this is one you will appreciate. I need you to assemble every recipe you have containing eggs. We are catering a wedding in three days.”

She was absolutely giddy as she gave Orris his instructions.

“We shall spare no expense. I want you to really stretch out creatively here. You are going to make the most elaborate and decorative dishes you can come up with. I don't care what you create, my friend, just make sure that whatever you cook contains eggs.

“I even want the side dishes and desserts to have eggs in them. Get started now and have them ready by the morning of the third day. Then when you're done, have the whole lot delivered to Count Freeholder for his wedding reception.”

Two days later, Secret Police Commander Warwick Vane Bezel III returned to the castle. He had followed the queen's orders to the letter. “The caterers have been paid off, and your seamstress has completed the dress you asked for. And if you don't mind my saying so, I believe that she really outdid herself this time. I am afraid, however, that I made the dress quite a mess, your majesty.” He handed her what appeared to be an orange circus tent adorned with bright circles of purple and green. “I was going to surprise you by having my horse wear it for the journey home, but he refused to allow me to get on his back. It was quite embarrassing to the steed.”

“Excellent work, Warwick! I knew I could count on you!” She unfolded the dress, which was designed to make the wearer look like an oversized, human Easter egg. She burst out laughing. “Yes, Warwick, this is perfect . . . In this outfit our bride-to-be will look like a cross between a clown and Humpty Dumpty. I think it goes perfectly with our theme for the day.” She broke into a roar.

After she had time to compose herself, she asked, “What other mischief did you get into on your visit to the village? You know how much I love to hear of your adventures.”

“Well, I don't mean to brag, your highness, but I took a bit of liberty in giving the bride a new hairstyle. It's a bit radical, but I trust that your majesty will approve,” said the commander with an evil grin.

“Oh?” she inquired. “And what new coiffure did you leave her with? A bouffant, a beehive, a flattop, or worse? A Mohawk perhaps?”

“None of the above, my queen,” he said with a laugh. “I am afraid my cosmetological skills leave something to be desired. I couldn't decide what to do, so I just took it all.” He tossed her a leather bag. She reached inside and pulled out several handfuls of long, red hair.

She was positively giddy. “Excellent! Now she will really look like an egg! My dear Warwick, you really are a devil. I'm afraid that the count and his fiancée are really going to have to ‘scramble' if they are to have any hope whatsoever of saving this wedding.”

4

Vanity's Curse

“I
hate these mirrors!” the queen shouted one morning. She hurried across the room from her mirror to a bookshelf. “What is it, my queen?” asked the cat.

“Why is it that every day when I look at one of those wretched things, the only things I see are more wrinkles and furrows and unwanted hairs in unwanted places?” She took a book of magic spells from the bookshelf and thumbed through its contents. She threw it down and grabbed another, and yet another after that.

“Nothing!” she wailed dejectedly. “None of my books have even one spell to slow the aging process, much less anything to restore my former youth and beauty.”

“Well, of course not, your majesty,” the cat retorted. “To do that would require some heavy-duty magic, a magic of the black variety, if you know what I mean. In order to turn back the hands of time and restore you to the way you once were would require access to the kind of magic that only a very powerful witch or wizard would possess.”

“Why Caterwaul, my love, you were once enthralled to a witch. You told me yourself that while you were with her you learned quite a bit of magic. Do you possess the necessary skills to restore my lost beauty?”

“I am afraid not, my queen,” he said. “That kind of mischief is way out of my league. Even if I did have that kind of power, I would be afraid to use it. Trust me. There are some forces in this world that are just not worth trifling with.”

“A pity,” she lamented, “because I would give anything, perhaps even my entire kingdom, to possess that knowledge.” She stroked Caterwaul's fur, and the cat purred contentedly. “Take you, for example. You are a cat and you are beautiful and you will keep hold of that beauty for nine lives.

“If only there was a spell that could give me that kind of beauty and longevity. Just imagine that, Caterwaul. How wonderful would it be if I, Druciah, could rule the land for nine lifetimes, the most beautiful and powerful of queens ever to walk the earth? I would be virtually immortal.”

Caterwaul briefly considered explaining to her that the whole “nine-lives” thing was actually more of an expression than something to be taken literally, but then he thought better of it. She was in a terrible mood, and there was no use in upsetting her further.

“Oh, why can't I be beautiful again, my pet? I really would give anything to not have to see what I've become every time I look in a mirror. Is there anything that you can do, anything at all to help me?”

“Well,” he said joking, “I suppose I could put a curse on all the castle's mirrors. We could make it a curse that would turn you from a human into something else—perhaps a cat like me, or something silly like that—if you glanced into one. That would make you think twice before looking at a mirror, wouldn't it? Ha ha, wouldn't it?” he repeated, laughing.

The queen looked at him, and he could tell that, though he had only been joking around, she was seriously considering this. “You could do this for me?” she asked. “Oh Caterwaul, if you will do this for me, I will share the castle with you.”

“Share the . . . the castle? You mean to say that this huge castle would be partly mine?” He could not believe his ears.

“You would like that wouldn't you, Caterwaul? I mean we share it right now, don't we? You are my only true friend in the world. My life has become so much more enjoyable since you first arrived. Why not make it official? Wouldn't that be wonderful?”

She went on. “You could remake half the castle in your image. Design it to what you think cats would enjoy. And then you could invite your new cat friends over to enjoy it with us. I do so much prefer the company of cats to that of dreary old humans.”

“Yes, of course . . .” Caterwaul stammered, surprised. “I mean, I suppose I could. But why would you want me to do it? I mean, aren't there enough unwanted cats in the world already? The sudden appearance of more could create a lot of problems. Who would take care of them all?

“And what if you were to forget that all of the mirrors were cursed, and you accidentally looked into one? You don't really think that you would be happy as a cat? Do you, my queen?”

But the wheels were already turning inside her corrupt mind. “Oh don't worry, my dear. If there is a sudden rise in the feline population, things won't be so bad. The people who remain will just have to take care of them. And they will, Caterwaul, because now the cats will literally be part of their family. And those cats that don't have someone to love them can come live here with us in the castle. We have more than enough room here at Castle Cathoon. Oh Caterwaul, it will be a paradise.” She was positively beaming.

“But remember my beloved pet, it must be every single mirror in my kingdom; you have to curse them all.”

Druciah chuckled—no, it was more of a cackle of delight.

She thought to herself: every time that a beautiful young girl and a handsome man even glanced at a mirror, they will be transformed. Pretty soon, there will be cats everywhere, and people will wonder what happened to all of their loved ones. Eventually, the people will catch on, and they will smash every mirror in the kingdom, but by then the damage will be done.

“Oh vanity, thy name is Kitty,” she whispered as she turned her mirror around to face the wall.

“I imagine the mouse population will suffer some,” Caterwaul joked, not really expecting any kind of response. And it was a good thing he was being rhetorical, because the queen was far away, lost in her own thoughts.

“Druciah, my queen,” Caterwaul became serious again. “Just assume that I can do this for you, my dear friend. You know that it really isn't going to solve the root problem here. You are going to continue getting older. It's a part of nature, and because of this, it's unfortunately unavoidable. Unless . . .” his voice trailed off as he was thinking.