Part 9 (1/2)

”Work?” Cecil snorted in Anton's direction. ”No offense to your friend, but that'd take forever.”

”It could,” said Anton, amused.

”It would,” said Hieronymus, ”but it seems worth a try anyway.” He turned and slipped through the ragged slats of the cage and made his way around to the latch, where he set to chewing.

The keeper of the market was a short man with long hair braided down his back and necklaces of painted wooden beads stacked on his chest. Brandis.h.i.+ng a long stick made of cane, he strode back and forth calling out to potential customers, whacking the stick sharply on the tops of the cages of braying or mewling animals. Gretchen tried to strike up a conversation with a few of the other creatures, but none of them were friendly.

”I can't get any of these other prisoners to tell me a thing,” she remarked to Cecil. After several hours of languis.h.i.+ng in the sweltering stall, Gretchen was finding the routine of dutifully falling into a realistic dead faint whenever a human strolled by tiresome. Hieronymus had worked industriously on the wooden latch while avoiding the keeper, who periodically spotted him and hit the front of the cage with his stick, but the mouse had made little progress.

Leaning toward Cecil, Gretchen lowered her voice. ”Are you sure we shouldn't be trying to find a new home, like Anton said?” she asked him.

”Not if it means getting split up again,” Cecil replied, glancing anxiously at Anton, who was by the door encouraging the mouse's efforts. Gretchen could see the resolve on Cecil's face; he wasn't going to let Anton out of his sight if he could help it. ”Nope, we're a team,” he said. ”Three heads are better than one!”

”Four!” squeaked Hieronymus from up front. Cecil rolled his eyes.

Anton was worried about the mouse's endurance. ”You know, my friend,” he said seriously, ”you could just . . . go.”

Hieronymus spat out a tiny sliver of wood. ”What do you mean, go?” he asked.

”You're not captive in this cage like we are,” said Anton. ”You have a chance to escape, and you should take it. Really, you should get out of here.”

Hieronymus held up one paw. ”I've pledged my troth; I will not leave a friend in danger.” The mouse gave him such a severe look that Anton retreated a bit, trying to think of something else to say. In the next moment, in the din of the stall, Anton heard a human's voice. He knew he had heard it before, somewhere, but where? He raised his head to listen.

”Yes, yes, I need a cat, mayhap more than one,” a man was saying to the keeper, looking around at the creatures. ”I have rats in my larder like you would not believe, such awful brutes!” Anton couldn't see his face and he didn't understand the words, but the voice drew him. Cecil saw the man peering into the cages and murmured to the others to get down, but Anton remained standing at the cage door.

”Anton! Get away from there!” Cecil whispered loudly.

”Just a minute,” said Anton, stretching his neck to get a better look. ”I think I know this one somehow.”

”Come on, it could be anybody. It's too risky.”

The man finally turned toward their cage, and Anton saw the tall, thin build and the puffy white beard, like a cloud pa.s.sing by. It was Cloudy! Anton's mind raced. Cloudy, from his first s.h.i.+p, for whom he had killed the fearsome rat, the cook who had treated him so kindly and given him the delicious little fishes. Surely he would remember the little gray cat. Anton leaped up with both paws pressed high on the cage door, meowing as loudly as he could. Cecil rose to tackle Anton if necessary.

”What are you doing?” demanded Cecil. ”Don't call attention to yourself. You'll be traded for sure!”

”It's all right!” Anton a.s.sured him in between yowls. ”He's a good one. He knows me.” Anton was out of breath, but he kept yowling. ”And,” he gasped, turning to Cecil, ”he knows where I'm from.”

Cecil and Gretchen stared at Anton for a long moment, absorbing the meaning of this statement, then hurtled themselves to the door, adding their voices to the clamor. Cloudy moved down the row to stand in front of the cage.

”Well, what's all this?” he asked, bending to look at their faces. ”Quite a spirited group, aren't ye?” He caught sight of Anton and paused, furrowing his brow. ”And who is this here? Have I met you before, little one?”

Anton thrust his paw through the slats, and Cloudy gently grasped it. The cook touched the scar where the rat's teeth had sunk in and took in a sharp breath. He quickly looked to Anton's throat to confirm the deeper one there, then stepped back and smacked his hand on his forehead. ”Bless my beard, it's Mr. Gray, is it? How the devil did ye end up here?” He blinked from Anton to the others. ”Well, no matter, we've got to get ye out.”

Cloudy collared the keeper and pointed to the cage. The three cats fell silent, suddenly fearful that only Anton would be chosen, but after haggling with the keeper, Cloudy seemed pleased enough to buy the whole lot. The cats huddled together, and Hieronymus stayed out of sight-tucked into the crook of Anton's elbow-as Cloudy paid a pa.s.sing boy to cart the cage out of the market and into the fresh sea air of the docks.

After the group had made their way back to the s.h.i.+p-there she was, the Mary Anne, her figurehead of the two little girls still dancing off the bow-the cats were given a quick meal in the galley. Hieronymus was able to slip safely into a dark corner, where he found plenty of crumbs to nibble. They quickly discovered why Cloudy was in need of aid. Cecil heard the noise first, his ears pivoting.

”Rats,” he said with a mix of disdain and antic.i.p.ation. ”A fair number of them, I believe. In there.” He nodded toward the larder.

”Ugh, rats,” said Anton with a sigh. ”I had a tough fight with one.”

Cecil eyed Anton's scar approvingly. ”You won, though, didn't you?”

Anton smiled. ”Yes, brother,” he said. ”I was the victor.”

Gretchen stepped up so all three stood side by side, facing the larder. They could hear faint clicking and twitching sounds coming from inside. ”I ain't afraid of no stinkin' rats,” she said fiercely. Cecil and Anton glanced at her with respect.

Cloudy followed the trio to the larder and opened the door. The cats barged in shoulder to shoulder, and Cecil raised his voice.

”All right, you nauseating lowlifes, your time on this s.h.i.+p is UP.” The clicking sounds ceased completely; he had the rats' attention. ”You know why we're here, and this will not be a pleasure cruise. We'll give you ONE CHANCE to save your worthless, revolting skins, but if you stupidly choose to stay, which would not be surprising given the puny size of your brains, then we're looking forward to what comes next.” He paused, popped out his claws, and dragged them sharply across the wooden floorboard, leaving five distinct lines. Gretchen grinned and nodded slowly. Anton squared his shoulders and pa.s.sed a paw over his cheeks, smoothing his whiskers.

”Count of three, then your time in this world is DONE,” Cecil thundered, leaning forward. ”One . . . two . . .” Simultaneously, the three cats crouched to spring.

There was an explosion in the larder as the rats bounded out of their hiding places, knocking boxes and tins off shelves, careening toward the doorway. Anton stepped aside and counted seven or eight of them as they streaked past. Cecil remained planted in the center of the small room so the rodents had to swerve around him, their claws sc.r.a.ping the floor as they scrambled. In seconds they were gone.

”My,” said Gretchen, wide-eyed and smiling at the brothers. ”That went well.”

When the cats returned to the galley they found Cloudy, who had briefly hopped up on the table as the rats rushed past, pouring milk from a tin into a large saucer for them. Anton spotted Hieronymus's eyes s.h.i.+ning from the shadows in the corner, the mouse's little head nodding with pleasure.

”Wonderful!” Cloudy exclaimed, stroking each of them while they purred over the milk. ”Better than I could have hoped for.” He put his hands on his hips and leaned against the table, chuckling. ”Mr. Gray, you have made some fine friends, you have. We shall enjoy our voyage now.” He waved a large spoon over his head with a flourish. ”Next stop, Lunenburg, Nova Scotia!”

And though our heroes could not understand him, dear reader, we know that this was very good news indeed.

Two kittens hurried up the path to the lighthouse, tumbling and rolling as they went. It was tiring, but Billy had entrusted them with an important message, so they pushed on until they could see Sonya sitting on the brick ap.r.o.n by the back door. She was cleaning her tail with long strokes, and she looked up smiling when she heard them coming. Her kittens were only a few months old and so dear to her, with ears too big for their faces and skinny little tails. They were allowed to go exploring during the daylight hours, and she wondered what had these two in such a rush.

”Mama!” panted the black one, who arrived ahead of his sister. ”Billy says to come!” A b.u.t.terfly in the gra.s.s distracted him and he veered off.

”Why?” asked Sonya, as the second kitten, gray-striped, flopped down in a heap.

”Don't know why,” she puffed. ”He says to come now, Mama.” She closed her eyes.