The Cat's Job (5 page)

Suppose the fat man had worked
hyperspatial math within the world, Miri thought, then groaned as
her imaginatiion conjured an image of Panore upon Panore,
stretching away into unthought-of distance, one edge of each
superimposed on the next.

The may-be worlds of alternate chance
would run smack into the problem of time: Each mainline of When
would have its aurora of alternate Whats.

"Sort of thing a lunatic would
do."

She rolled to her feet, tossing her
hair behind her back.

"Gods, I hate math," she grumped,
moving across the room to the discreetly screened-off
workstation.

She sat on the edge of the soft chair,
fingers already on the board, calling up equations -- Liaden math,
not Terran. This was one of those things it was going to be easier
to think about in Liaden, she just knew it.

* * *

The King of the Cats had closed his
bright eyes, giving Kinzel the opportunity to study him more
closely.

The black leather leggings and vest
marked him a fighting man, though he wore no sword. The wide belt
with its built-on pouch was certainly capable of supporting a
weapon. There was, in fact, a sense of edges about him: That he
carried knives on his person Kinzel didn't doubt.

His dark shirt was of fine, soft cloth
-- surely the sort of garment a nobleman would wear next to his
skin. It was loosely laced with black cord, leaving the slender
throat bare. Kinzel looked more closely, eyes caught by something
that shone there, suspended by a dusky velvet riband.

"So, friend Kinzel," murmured the
King. "You say you do not know what Fallan does with the cats, once
they are captured, only that he threatens to leave nothing cat-like
in the world."

"Isn't that enough?" asked Kinzel.
"Think of the upset to the Balance! There is a reason for cats to
be as they are. Fallan is only thinking of vengeance, not of the
harm done the whole world, if cats are no longer cats!"

He sighed suddenly, and continued in a
much younger voice.

"It is true that Fallan is a very
learned wizard. He may be able to do what he threatens and not
endanger Balance."

"Or he may be lying to you," said the
other briskly; "with no intention of harming further cats, or,
indeed, the ones he now holds. If he holds any."

"He does," said Kinzel with certainty.
"And he doesn't make idle threats. He has a reputation for never
threatening to do what he won't -- or can't -- perform."

"Useful," murmured the King. He did
not seem disposed to speak further and silence grew between
them.

It had stretched a time when Kinzel
stirred and, typically, spoke what first popped into his
head.

"I was admiring your amulet. The work
is very fine. Of silver, too, so it is Moon-potent. I'm sorry I
hadn't noticed it before, for it's true that you might have hurled
your will against the Forces to good purpose, possessing such a
thing."

"Might I have, indeed?" He touched the
shining thing at his throat with a light fingertip. "But this is
not a -- magical --thing, friend Kinzel. It is a gift from my lady,
given with laughter and love, to commemorate a dragon I once
slew."

"A potent charm," said the pudgy
wizard admiringly. Then, in awe: "Dragons are very rare -- at least
on this continent. Unicorns, now... But did it really need to be
slain, this dragon?"

The King of the Cats smiled. "Alas, it
was determined to eat my friend. I did attempt to -- dissuade --
it, but it would not be turned away."

"In that case," said Kinzel, with a
touch of sadness. "Still, it might have been better, had you been
able to find another way to save your friend, and let the creature
go with its life."

Almost, the King laughed. "I agree
with you. However, I was very young and very frightened, so that I
clutched the first means to hand. Perhaps now things would go
differently." He shrugged, in cat indifference. "But who can
know?"

Suddenly, he was not indifferent at
all, his eyes were intent, lithe body tipped forward, one hand out
-- perhaps in supplication.

"Friend Kinzel, return me to my
lady."

Kinzel sighed, pity warring with --
was it envy?

And why should I be envious
, he wondered.
Because he has
seen a dragon? Becaues he loves his wife so well? Or because he
wears a thing of dreadful Power and is wise enough to honor it for
the love it was given with, rather than the Force it might
command?

He was jerked from these thoughts by
the brightness of the gaze upon his face and shook his head
sadly.

"I am sorry, my friend. The cats are
in danger. The staff chose you to aid them. After the Right has
been served, then I am certain the staff will send you
home."

"So." The King came fluidly to his
feet. "If I may not return until the task is done, then it is best
we begin at once."

Kinzel nodded and climbed awkwardly to
his feet. Closing his eyes, he rubbed the old wood of the staff
lightly, listening, feeling. Eventually, he opened his eyes and
struck off in a northerly direction, the King of the Cats walking
silent at his side.

* * *

The manager arrived with the
carpenters.

Miri ignored him while she pointed out
the exact spot, elucidated the precise dimensions and the deadline.
The job-boss nodded, barked orders in his turn and the crew set to
work.

"Stop!" yelled the manager.

One of the carpenters hesitated. The
boss snapped two words and she went back to work.

Miri turned to the manager. "Get out.
You're in the way. You're holding up construction. You're annoying
me."

"You," said the manager, "are in
violation of the law. Guests are not allowed to construct things in
the room. The owner --"

"Shut up," said Miri, without raising
her voice. He blinked, words dying. "I ain't interested in the law.
Or in the owner. How much is this place worth? In
cantra."

"What!" The manager stared, feeling
absurdly vulnerable without his desk-counter between them. The
woman stared back, gray eyes as warm as fog off the
ocean.

"You will," she stated clearly, "tell me the purchase price
of this building. If you don't know, get the company lawyer on the
talkie. Or the owner. Or whoever else I gotta talk at to buy this
hyatt. I intend to own it by local sundown." Then, with some snap
to it, since he just stood there, staring: "
Now
!"

The manager jumped a foot and left,
nearly colliding with the candlemaker and the glassblower, who were
arriving together.

* * *

Fallan's keep loomed like a ship of
stone and steel, full Moon just visible beyond the tip of the
eastern tower.

The King of the Cats
sighed.

"So then," he murmured. "Where do you
think Fallan holds the cats?"

Kinzel tipped his head, listening to
the soft purring of his staff. He nodded and walked forward, at a
slight angle to the wall.

"There's a door," he said to the
shadow at his side. "Then a long corridor, then another door.
Beyond that is -- I am sorry, my friend -- a cage. The cats are in
the cage."

"Are they indeed?" It was too dark for
Kinzel to see the ironic lift of the eyebrow. "Are there watchers?
Men and women with weapons? Alarms?"

Kinzel took further counsel from his
staff. "No watchers. Fallan and his 'prentice are the only men in
the keep and they are both far from the cage."

"Alarms?" insisted Val Con, keeping
pace with the wizard, though the wall loomed close.

"I don't --" began Kinzel -- and
stopped.

Half a pace beyond, Val Con spun to
face him, both brows up and clearly visible in the Moon's
light.

"Friend Kinzel?"

The mage frowned, moved back two steps
and cast about, as if looking for a way around a wall perceived,
yet unseen. He shrugged gracelessly and walked forward again,
gripping his staff with its green vines tightly.

Two paces underway, he stopped. Sharply. Almost, Val Con
thought he heard a
thump
, as if wizardly nose had brought up against
invisible barrier.

"Alarms?" he guessed, glancing over
his shoulder at the keep.

"Wards," corrected Kinzel, bringing
his hand up and rubbing his nose. He smiled sheepishly. "I don't
seem to be able to come any further."

Val Con pushed his hair from his eyes,
stepped to Kinzel's side, turned and walked toward the wall,
one-two-three paces. He turned back, hands on hips.

"The way is clear. I discover no
barrier."

"For you, no barrier," Kinzel said,
eyes half-closed as the staff hummed in his hand. "The wards are
set to keep out anything -- anyone -- born to the
world."

"Ah. I begin to see the why behind
your staff's actions." He sighed. "I go on alone, then?"

"It will be easier for you that way,
won't it? Even if I weren't warded away? You are silent -- and so
quick. I'm clumsy, and you would have to wait for me." He gestured
with the staff.

"That clump of rock and scrub we
passed?" Val Con nodded. "I will wait for you and the cats there.
The staff will re-Balance and then it will send you home to your
wife."

"So? And how many cats are in this
cage? Does your staff know that? And how shall I bring them away?
In my pouch?"

Kinzel thought. "There are one hundred
and forty-seven cats in the cage," he said slowly. "And as to how
you'll bring them out -- you're the King of the Cats. Surely
they'll follow you?"

Suddenly, surprisingly, the King
laughed, flinging his hands Moonward; then he was leaning forward,
speaking with earnest briskness.

"In all my experience of cats, never
have I seen anything that leads me to suppose that they will follow
anyone -- King or no. Especially, perhaps, would they fail to
follow their King. Who, if he is truly that, would not ask it of
them. Another way, I implore you. Some assurance that the task is
not wholly the errand of a fool."

Kinzel was already reaching into his
pouch, pulling out a twist of paper tied with yellow string.
Bracing the staff against his shoulder, he untied the
string.

"Come here."

The other man stepped forward until
their noses nearly touched and Kinzel could smell old leather and
new cloth and another scent, which was that of the King
himself.

Kinzel paused, blinking into the green
eyes. "Are you a man, my friend?"

"Yes." said Val Con softly. "I will
tell you this: Cats are not found on all worlds. But on the worlds
on which they are found, they are -- cats. Other creatures change.
Including men. Especially men. It is a mystery, is it not? A
wonder. But I am a man -- human -- as much as you are."

"All right," said Kinzel, pulling the
string free and stashing it in his pouch. "It is only that, if you
were a cat, the herb might make you a little drunk."

He untwisted the parchment and took
out a pinch of dried leaf, which he sprinkled over the King's head.
He liberally treated hair, shirt, belt and boot-tops, repeating the
process until the leaf was gone.

Val Con stepped back, nose wrinkling.
"What is it?"

"An herb cats find enjoyable. I think
they'll follow you now."

"Behold me delighted," murmured the
King and sighed.

"Friend Kinzel. This I lay upon you.
Should I not return -- you will go to my lady and explain what has
transpired. You will tell her how you were able to call me here, so
she may guard herself from like attack." He sighed
again.

"She will know, should I die. So ward
yourself well before you go to her. Her temper is not overgentle,
and her way with weapons nearly equals my own."

Kinzel bowed and brought the staff
between them, so the other could see the Power glittering there.
"This thing I do swear, should you fall in the service of the
Right."

"A mighty oath, friend Kinzel..." And
the King was gone, one shadow among many, fading toward the steel
and stone walls.

The outer door was locked -- the work
of a moment. Val Con slid into the corridor beyond, making sure
that the door did not relock itself.

Empty, the hallway; lit sporadically
by three smoky torches. The shadows were deep and
plentiful.

The second door stood wide
open.

Val Con paused in a pool of shadow,
glaring. He bent and located two stones on the floor.
Straightening, he tossed one through the door.

Nothing.

He faded closer, and threw the second
stone.

A lance fell point-first from high up
and buried itself solidly in the granite floor just beyond the
doorway.

"Ah," breathed Val Con. Then he was
through, hugging the wall and pretending himself invisibly
weightless.