The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat (7 page)

“Is this place haunted?” one of the guards asked.

“If it's not haunted, it is certainly dangerous,” the commander answered. “I expect some of us may not survive. But that doesn't matter, as long as your queen is safe.”

“Your sacrifices are, of course, appreciated,” added the queen, with a sardonic grin.

The Red Moon Forest had been the setting for many tales of the supernatural. For generations, these tales had entertained and frightened people of all stripes throughout the kingdom, from beggars to nobles. Now here was Queen Druciah, standing at the entrance, gazing down the pathway that would soon bring her face to face with the legendary Parliament of Possums.

The guards whispered to one another, as if giving each other last rites. Leaving one of the guards behind with the queen's carriage and its driver, the party stepped into the unknown. Two of the guards carried between them a large, intricately carved chest made of cedar wood.

“Let's go!” Druciah barked condescendingly. “I can't believe what pathetic guards I have. All of you keep your eyes and ears open at all times. And whatever you do, do not drop that cedar chest,” she said. “If anything happens to that box we are all finished, do you understand me?” The group nodded in unison and moved slowly along the pathway into the forest.

“Your Highness, I'll go first,” Warwick volunteered. “There is no danger that I am afraid to face and no animal that I'm unwilling to eat. There is no spook or specter alive or dead that I will not willingly confront to defend your majesty.”

“Thank you, Warwick. Sometimes it's nice to see a little backbone. You may proceed,” the queen said. “But be careful. I do not want us to make any enemies out of creatures we may need to use for our gain.”

Warwick Vane Bezel III took up the lead position, followed by the rest of the party. The forest was a whole lot spookier than any of them had expected. They followed the path and soon entered a part of the wood that could almost be called a swamp. It was dark and wet and reeked of many unpleasant things, which they'd often smell as the wind shifted directions. However, as terrible and foul as the odors were, the group was far more unsettled by the continuous barrage of strange and eerie sounds echoing through the trees.

They traveled the path through the marsh for most of a day, not really knowing in which direction they were headed, when they finally came to a clearing. As this was the first clear, dry area they'd come across in a while not crawling with worms, bugs, and other nasty lurking things, Druciah gave the order to stop. “We will camp here for the night.”

“Camp here?” came a voice from above. “You most certainly will not camp here. Can't you see that Parliament is in session?”

The queen looked up to see, hanging upside down from the tree limbs, quite a large gathering of possums. Each of them had on a stark-white, powdered wig secured to its gray and black ears with tiny straps, and they all wore long, black robes which, considering most of the possums hung upside down, appeared to cover nothing.

The queen shielded her eyes. “Parliament indeed. What sort of Parliament goes about exposing themselves to unsuspecting people who accidently wander into their midst? You wear such beautiful wigs and robes of state. Are you telling me that none among you has ever heard of undergarments? Come down from those trees at once! There is a lady present, and all of you are positively indecent!” exclaimed the queen.

Embarrassed at the offense they had caused, the possums all quietly scurried down the tree trunks to the ground.

“We are sorry, madam . . . we are not used to the presence a lady, or any humans for that matter, around here,” said one of the possums as the others tried to present themselves respectably. “We are the Parliament of Possums, and we are the government in this part of the forest.”

The possums surrounded them as Warwick unsheathed his sword. Queen Druciah watched as the group of marsupials melted into what appeared to be little chairs filling a great open hall. The animals began to mutter amongst themselves in Possumese.

“If you do anything to us, you will be lost in this forest forever . . . so I suggest you place that carving tool back where it was and show us some respect! I am Prime Minister Pickford, and I need to know why you are here. I need to be sure that you are not here to exploit the raw materials of this forest,” he said. “You could say we are environmentalists. We protect this great unspoiled land. You humans have a habit of destroying places like this. You like to call it progress, I believe.

“This Parliament has been formed to protect this land from being ravaged by the likes of you. Your kind mines for minerals and leaves the landscape bare and burning. You chop down trees and destroy whole communities of animals so that you can have more space. You are always looking for more space to live in. You are monsters.”

He found a tree limb, which was especially close to the queen's face and scurried onto it. “It is all done for your own greed. You are the most selfish of species. My brethren and I would sooner see you as fodder for the vultures than help you to chop down even one tree. Everything in this forest is precious to us, and nothing may leave except by choice. Now if you understand me, speak,” said Pickford. He rose up on his hind legs to his full and massive height of two feet and three inches. “Now be truthful because the Parliament of Possums has ways to know if you speak the truth.”

The queen spoke, surprisingly humbly, “Mr. Prime Minister . . . if that is the correct protocol for addressing such an august personage . . . or rather I should say ‘possumage' . . . I assure you, I have all the wealth that I will ever need. Though we obviously caught you in the midst of important deliberations, I swear to you that we did not intend to disturb you or anything within this great and noble forest.

“My business is with the Witch, who is reported to live in these parts. That is the only reason I am here. If you could just point me in the right direction, we will be off and out of your affairs forever. I am sure you don't want us ‘hanging around' here any longer than absolutely necessary,” the queen giggled.

“The Witch, you say? Not rocks nor trees nor water source? Why should I believe you when so many of your kind have lied in the past? Well, there is no way for me to know for certain if you are telling me the truth.”

Just then a young, female possum in the third row spoke up. “Point of order, Mr. Prime Minister.” The possum's name was Patience, and she was being considered as a possible future replacement for Pickford, who was her uncle.

“There is a way of knowing whether or not she speaks true. It is an old method, and granted, one that we don't like to use today, civilized society and all, but there is a way; and I will volunteer to administer the test, if no one else will.”

Hushed whispers flew around the clearing through the Parliament's membership. The test was foolproof, but it was also very dangerous to the possum that performed it.

Pickford turned to the Parliament of Possums. “Is there anyone else here among the Parliament who would volunteer to perform this procedure?” There was silence. “Patience, very well, you may proceed.”

Patience came forward and sat on a stump before the queen. “Stick your hand in my pouch. By the trembling of your hand, I will know if you speak the truth. If you are lying to me, I will know this too. And for any deception you will be sent away from here, and neither you nor your men will ever find your way out of the forest. Are we in agreement?”

“We are agreed,” said the queen.

Druciah slowly slipped her hand in the possum's pouch as Patience began to snicker. “That tickles . . . ooh and it's cold too.” The queen kept her hand in the possum's pouch for what must have been a full two minutes. She remained completely motionless for the entire time. Patience then indicated to the queen that she could remove her hand, and Druciah withdrew very slowly.

“It's okay, Mr. Prime Minister,” said the young possum. “She is being truthful.”

Prime Minister Pickford swung around on his tree limb and dropped to the ground, where he replaced his niece on the stump before the queen. “Very well,” he said, “we will have a vote. All possums in favor in telling her the way to go, say aye!” When the vote was called, it seemed unanimous. The Parliament agreed to help Druciah on her way.

“All right miss, this is what you will do. Head west from this clearing until you come to a massive oak, and from there head south towards Bug Stool Creek.” Pickford paused there as if to gather his thoughts before continuing. “But I warn you, and this is extremely important, so you must listen well. When you near the area with the oak tree, you should take special care not to disturb the layout anywhere close to the tree.

“If you should leave so much as a branch or stone disturbed, you will have a very large and angry turtle to deal with. And when I say large, I do not even begin to properly represent this reptile. This turtle's head alone is so large it is capable of snapping a man in half with a single bite. When you come near him, you will see what I mean. And while you are there, make sure you pick up your trash.”

“Thank you, Sir Pickford, for all your help,” said the queen. “We will take your advice to heart.” Then the queen turned to speak with Patience. “I just wanted to say to you, my young possum, that you acted very bravely, especially considering your condition.”

The Parliament did not know what the queen was talking about. Druciah continued, “When my hand was in your pouch I could feel your babies kicking. I imagine that it will only be a few more days until you will need that pouch for more than just detecting lies. If I were you, I would be expecting at least four or five new family members.”

The party spent the night feasting with the possums. The next morning, they rose to continue their journey.

6

While the Queen's Away the Cat Will Play

Q
ueen Druciah was in excessively high spirits while she prepared for her journey to see the Witch. Caterwaul had done his part. The spell was cast, cursing all of the mirrors in Harsizzle. If anyone dared to look into one, they instantly became a cat. Most of the people who owned mirrors smashed them shortly after seeing what was happening to their loved ones. If Druciah had not been en route to the forest, she undoubtedly would have found it all quite hilarious.

Since he had done what she asked of him, Druciah kept her promise and allowed the cat to stay behind in the castle. She could hardly have done otherwise, as he was unconscious and likely to remain that way for several days at least.

The queen had been so pleased with him in fact, that her last words to her staff were, “If you need anything done, see Caterwaul. I am leaving him in charge.”

As she and her party had ridden away, she'd smiled at the sight of all of the new cats that had already taken up residence in her lands.

If she had given it any real thought whatsoever, Druciah probably would have liked it better had she not added the part about Caterwaul being “in charge,” because once he regained consciousness, Caterwaul took it to heart. The way he looked at things, if he really was in charge, he was going to do things his way. You see, Caterwaul assumed that the queen and her party would fail. He knew what the forest was like, and he assumed that the queen would come running home before she got even fifty yards into the woods. Therefore, if she did not return within two weeks, he would assume it was because she couldn't and had been killed by some forest peril.

After two weeks and a couple of days had passed, the cat was sure they were all dead. That meant, or at least he assumed so, that Castle Cathoon was his to do with as he liked. Ever since he had arrived, he'd been dropping hints to the queen about redecorating at least part of the palace. Plus most everyone on staff heard that she had made him her heir. Now it was his chance to go all the way.

He was sad that the queen had to die for him to get this chance. But such was life. If he had to wager on which of the perils got the travelers, he would have guessed Joffrey. That crazy Joffrey was always a snap-first-and-ask-questions-later kind of turtle. He kind of liked the idea of Warwick Vane Bezel III becoming turtle food, but not his friend, the queen.

Nevertheless, it was now more than a month since they'd set out, and they were all dead to his mind. To a cat, a month was an eternity. There was no use in wasting valuable time grieving. He had brick masons coming over in the afternoon to build him a nice low bridge overlooking the brand new koi pond he had installed the day before. If there was one thing that Caterwaul really enjoyed, it was popping a big, ugly goldfish in the face with his paw.

Pretty soon, most of the castle's residents were also convinced that the queen was dead and that Caterwaul was now the new master of the kingdom. He decided to pull out all the stops in his attempt to remake Cathoon Castle in his image. He assembled the most talented builders, painters, gardeners, and artisans from all of the nearby villages and told them what he wanted them to do.