Anton and Cecil, Book 2 (4 page)

Anton was overpowered by the strange chuffing sound. He backed up cautiously, drawing his head in as if to avoid a blow. A shriek like a giant hawk tore through the air in front of him at the same time as a blast of wet, hot air struck him from behind. Without thinking, he whirled about, claws out, his jaws wide to issue a warning hiss of his own. He was facing two wet, black nostrils the size of his head. Before he could figure out what he was seeing, the nostrils flew up before him and he realized it was a horse, now stretching his big head skyward, his glassy eyeballs rolling down at Anton and his hairy lips quivering.

“Whoa, whoa there,” said the horse. “Don't put those claws in my nose, for neighing out loud.”

Anton sheathed his claws and ran a paw over his mouth to smooth his whiskers. He'd seen horses on the docks at home, but he'd always tried to steer clear of them, as they were clearly dangerous. This was the biggest horse he'd ever seen, and the hairiest. Even his hooves were draped in a deep fringe of fur. Anton had never spoken to a horse before, but this one looked so upset he thought he'd best be polite.

“Excuse me,” he said. “You took me by surprise.”

“Well, that's no reason to threaten somebody with claws in the nose.”

“I'm afraid that's not entirely in my control,” Anton explained.

The horse worked his lips, as if thinking over this reply, gradually lowering his head. “You mean the claws just come out automatically?”

“Sometimes,” Anton replied. “I can make them come out when I want to, but if I'm frightened, it's not something I think about. I just know I may need them, I guess.”

“When I'm frightened, I run as fast as I can,” the horse said. “And I guess I don't really think about it.”

“I'll bet nobody gets in your way,” Anton observed.

The horse seemed to find this amusing. “No,” he said. “I'm a big guy. No human's going to catch me, running on those flimsy feet they have.”

Anton took in the leather strips and wooden poles that strapped the horse to a wagon loaded with heavy-looking bags. “My name is Anton,” he said.

“I'm Solitaire,” the horse said. “Or that's what my mother called me. My master calls me Nutmeg. We work here, most days. Do you live around here?”

“No,” Anton said. “I just got off that ship.” He lifted his chin to indicate the gangplank of the
Sea Song,
from which a steady stream of men and crates now issued. “I was with my brother, but we got separated and I can't see anything in this crowd.”

“What's he look like?” Solitaire asked.

“He's bigger than me, black, white whiskers, long fur.”

The horse looked out over the crowd, moving his head slowly from side to side. Anton noticed something he surely knew but had never thought about before, which was that a horse couldn't look at what was in front of him because his eyes were on either side of his head. “I don't see him,” Solitaire said, bringing his head down close to Anton.

Anton tried looking between pairs of legs, around long skirts, and through the wheels of Solitaire's wagon. “I don't know how I'm going to find him.”

“You want to get up on my back?” the horse suggested.

Anton was surprised. He looked up at Solitaire's wide back. The view from there would undoubtedly be worth having, but even at a run, he wasn't sure he could make the leap. “I don't think I can jump that high,” he said.

“Well if you can sheathe those claws, I'll put my head down and you can walk up my neck. You can hold on to my mane if you need to—that won't hurt me.”

Anton studied the horse. It was definitely doable. “That would be very kind of you,” he said.

Solitaire lifted his upper lip and forced out a startling blast of warm moist air from his nostrils. “You're a polite little creature,” he said. “I like that.” Then he lowered his head until his mouth nearly touched the ground. “Jump on,” he said.

Anton, conscious of his claws with every step, dashed up Solitaire's neck, past his shoulders to his wide, flat back. There Anton sat, curling his tail around him. It was amazing, comfortable and roomy—there was space to stretch out and take a nap up there. The horse's fur was smooth and had a pleasant scent, something Anton never would have expected. And he could see clear across the wharf. “Wow,” he said. “This is great. I can see everything.”

Solitaire swerved his neck around so that he could see his new passenger. “It must be hard to be so small,” he said. “You never get a view.”

Anton looked this way and that, trying to spot a black cat with a white paintbrush tail, but there was too much activity to focus on one spot for long. Nearby was a line of booths where people crowded, many carrying baskets laden with food. Anton thought that might be a likely spot to look for his brother.

Solitaire followed his gaze. “That's a good place; humans go there and get all kinds of stuff to eat. My master goes there most days and sometimes he gets me an apple. I really like those.”

As Anton watched the milling crowd, he spotted a child standing next to a basket and behind a woman who was talking with one of the vendors in the stalls. The child was pointing at him and calling out something he couldn't hear, but the mother did, and turned to see what was wrong. She glanced up at Anton—a cat on a horse, yes, that was amusing—and then resumed her conversation as the child continued to point and crow joyfully. Then . . .
But no. It couldn't be!

Anton recognized the toddler: it was the baby from that ship, the one on which he'd met Hieronymus, and on which they had both nearly starved. The child's mother was the kind woman who had made a bed for Anton. One strange morning, he and Hieronymus had awakened to find that mother and child—and all the other passengers on their ship—had disappeared, leaving Anton and Hieronymus alone and adrift until their miraculous rescue. But here they were, mother and child, safe and sound in a busy town, and the baby recognized him. This comforted Anton, but it reminded him of his own mission to get to Hieronymus.

Anton shifted his paws and looked out in the other direction. In the distance he could see a long roofline and before it clouds of white smoke, but a small building in between blocked his view. Then he heard it again, that loud chugging sound, and after that—so unexpected and loud that he stood up on all fours, ready to leap to the ground—a shrill whistle tore the air.

“What's that?” Anton exclaimed.

“Calm down,” the horse advised him. “It's the horseless carts. That whistle means they're about to start moving.”

“Where do they go?”

“I'm hobbled if I know. But the bigger question is
how
do they go. They just make a lot of noise and of course they have wheels—you've got to have wheels—but nothing pulls them as far as I can see. And they're dangerous.”

“Are they ships?”

Solitaire raised a hoof and pulled his head forward so that the straps grew tight on his neck, making a snuffling sound with his nose. “Ships,” he said. “No, they're not ships. Ships go on water. These go on land.”

“Landships,” Anton concluded.

“That's good. You could call them that.”

“It's what the mice call them,” Anton said.

“Mice!” Solitaire raised his head and cast a wild eye at Anton. “One thing I don't like is mice. They scare the hooves off of me.”

Anton smiled at the idea of an animal Solitaire's size being afraid of a mouse, but he didn't say anything, because he felt certain the horse had just set him on the track to find his brother.

“Try talking to the mice,” Anton said. “Sometimes they understand.”

He took another long look around, back toward the ship—he could see the sailors pulling in the plank—then across the wharf to the food stalls—the baby and mother had moved on, no cats were in sight—and then along the buildings that stood between the wharf and that thick column of white smoke. “Cecil will go to the landships. He may be there already.”

“I take it you're coming down,” said Solitaire.

“I am,” he said. “I can't thank you enough.”

The horse lowered his head and Anton descended in two bounds. “I hope you find your brother,” the horse said.

Anton nodded. “I'll be a sad cat if I don't.”

The horse brought his big head down close and touched Anton's back with his warm nose. “Good luck to you.”

“Goodbye,” Anton said, and he dashed across the dirt road to the shelter of another wagon parked alongside a shed. When he looked back he saw the horse standing, one hoof cocked and his long neck relaxed, his eyes closed, waiting patiently for his master to come back. Anton wondered about Solitaire's life.
He seems content enough,
though he can't go anywhere without his cart
.
I hope his master
buys him an apple.
And then he heard another shriek from the landship and took off in the direction of the sound.

CHAPTER 4

The Owl and the Pussycats

T
hough his brother probably would not willingly go see anything referred to as “rolling death,” Cecil was terribly curious. He told himself that he'd just take a peek, then he'd hightail it back to the wharf to find Anton and get on with the business of rescuing the mouse. Avoiding boots and cart wheels, he dashed from one safe spot to the next down a long block and around two corners. He followed the sounds of rib-rattling chugs and clanging bells that carried over the mixed-up din of human chatter. At last, at the end of a dusty street lined with buildings that stretched as high as the tallest ship's mast he'd ever seen, Cecil stepped into a large town square and gazed at the commotion.

Horses clopped across the square dragging open carriages, the drivers flicking long whips over their flanks as passengers talked and laughed inside. It seemed that everywhere Cecil looked, one or another man in a long coat and high hat hurried past, often accompanied by a lady wearing a flowered or feathered hat, trying to hold the hand of a mischievous child or two. Other men lugged boxes on their shoulders to and from carts, or leaned against lampposts holding newspapers in front of their faces. From a protected spot by the glass front of a shop, Cecil tried to see through the mass of legs and carriage wheels, but all he could make out of interest were several rows of straight, thick strips of metal embedded in the pavement of the square, extending out of sight in both directions. People crossed over them without looking down, as if they were of no consequence.

“Kitty!” cried a little girl wearing a bright yellow dress, white gloves, and shiny black shoes. She held her hand out to Cecil, who sniffed obligingly. The girl smiled at him but was quickly pulled away by her mother and hustled down the street.

A filthy brown dog brushed past at a trot. “Out of my way, feline.”

“Hey!” called Cecil after him. “Which way to the . . . rolling death?”

The dog's floppy ears lifted and he stopped to look back at Cecil doubtfully. “The what?”

“The . . . thing that's making all that noise.” Cecil lifted his chin to the thunderous sound filling the air. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, echoing off the buildings and windows, accompanied by sharp smells that he couldn't place.

The dog let out a chuckling woof and rolled his eyes. “The
growler
, you mean. It's right over there, you can't miss it.” He jerked his head toward the far end of the square and trotted away. Cecil could hear him muttering as he went. “Cats. Always their heads in the clouds.”

Cecil hurried down the street, sticking close to the shop walls and ducking past doorways until he reached the end of the sidewalk. He crouched under a bench and looked out. There on the edge of the square was an enormous structure, as wide as four or five buildings set side by side and enclosed by a giant curved roof. Both ends of the structure were open so it resembled a broad tunnel, and arches composed of crisscrossed rods stretched along the ceiling like immense spiderwebs.

But the thing that captured Cecil's attention was the contraption that protruded halfway out of the near end of the structure. It stood, gleaming and muscular, chuffing like an impatient draft horse. It was long and rounded, as if the lighthouse at Lunenburg had been turned on its side and set upon huge cart wheels. Cecil was astonished that a thing that size—not nearly as big as a ship—could make that much noise. The shrill whistle made him squeeze his eyes shut, and he could feel the deep rumbling down to the pads of his paws. Thick gray clouds rose from the top of the “growler,” as the dog had called it, while men climbed up into the back and called down to others from open windows. The area farthest forward near the ground was pointed, like an upside-down prow of a ship.

Oh, cat's whiskers,
Cecil thought, and sighed.
I hate to leave, but I'd really better find Anton.
He stood to make his way back to the docks. But just then, the growler began to move.

Anton left the wharf behind, hardly noticing the bustle around him. He passed close to buildings that grew taller and taller, as if they had been stacked one on top of the other. He rounded one corner and then another, guessing now, because he couldn't hear anything over the noise of the traffic in the street. He reached the end of a big stone building and found himself before a wide, dusty road. There a muddle of carriages and carts loaded with humans and all manner of boxes moved briskly toward an enormous open building with two entrances the size of barns. A huge, black, smoke-belching monster of a machine hissed and steamed halfway out of one of these, while men hurried back and forth across the raised metal strips that stretched out in different directions, glittering in the dirt.

Is that it?
Anton wondered. He paused, taking in the scene. His first impression of the landship was that it was impenetrable and somehow cruel-looking, unlike the great sailing ships even a cat couldn't help but admire. There was nary a sail in sight.

Anton pressed against the wall of the last building, looking for a place to hide. Across a narrow cobbled alley and extending into the open-sided building was a wide raised platform on which humans milled about, carrying bundles and baskets. There were a few stalls and some tables set out with long benches, where families were occupied unwrapping parcels and distributing the contents to one another. They were laughing and talking and eating.
EATING!
When was the last time Anton had eaten? Too long. Also, a place where humans were eating might be a likely destination for his brother. Anton streaked across the alley and bounded up the steps to the platform.

Appetizing smells greeted him, and none of the humans took much notice, so he crept along the benches, his eyes, ears, and nose on high alert. A family repacking their basket at the nearest table dropped something that smelled like the cooked meat humans liked to eat onto the dusty wooden floor. One of the children stooped to pick it up, but the father reprimanded him, and he pulled his hand away, turning to join the group as they strode toward the far end of the platform. Anton darted and pounced all in one burst, and then he ran, the discarded morsel clamped in his jaws, back down the steps and beneath them where it was safe and dark. It was a tasty bit of meat, still attached to a bird-like bone, and with a little effort he was able to pry every last greasy bit away. He spent a few pleasant moments licking his lips and cleaning his whiskers. Anton wasn't adventuresome, but he sometimes felt pleased with the resourcefulness that adventure brought out in him. Travel made him more observant, focused, and quick-witted, unlike Cecil, who muscled his way through the world.
Cecil,
Anton thought.
And where in this great world is he?

Anton crept to the edge of his shelter and looked out. As he did the landship shrieked and a horrific sound of grinding metal tore through the air, a combination that caused him to flatten to the ground, squeezing his eyes shut. After a moment he raised his haunches, prepared to back into the farthest corner of the stairwell, but first he opened his eyes and searched the crowded street once more.

And there, sidestepping wheels and hooves and perambulating humans with unusual speed and grace, was Cecil. Anton stuck his head out and yowled, “I'm here!” Somehow his brother heard his call, changed direction, ducked under a stationary cart, bounded across the set of metal strips in the ground, skirted one of the monstrous machines that had begun to crawl out of the building, and with a final triumphant leap, landed at the foot of the staircase.

“Brother,” Cecil said, “this is the place!”

“I know,” Anton replied smoothly. “That big monster making all the racket over there . . .” He paused and they both gazed at the steaming, chuffing machine that was now pulling out of the shelter, its great iron wheels grinding as humans and animals scattered before it.

Then the brothers spoke as one. “
That's
a landship.”

A bright white moon rose in the night sky and settled among the stars, and Anton tracked its path, watching from his hiding place. He sometimes took comfort in the moon's light as it passed over the land like a great cat's eye, but he was distracted now, waiting. He wanted to do something, anything, to get this rescue mission underway. All but a few of the men had gone from the immense, high-ceilinged building, and the loud, smoke-belching contraptions were dark and still. Wedged against a cold wall just inside the building's cavernous doorway, Anton and Cecil waited behind several large trunks for some clue as to what to do next with these mystifying landships.

“Well, look,” said Cecil, clawing halfway up to rest his chin on his forepaws on the top of the trunk. “If it's anything like a
sea
ship, then we have to get aboard before she sails.”

“Agreed,” whispered Anton. “But how?” He raised his head just enough to see over, his green eyes glowing in the moonlight. “There's no gangplank. And which one do we choose?” Behind the fearsome lead ship stood many others, each with its own set of wheels, all similar in size but without the stubby mast and the pointed prow of the carriage at the front.

“I don't know, but that lead one seems to be in charge,” said Cecil.

“I'd prefer a quieter one.” Anton lifted his nose a bit to sniff the night air. So many strange smells, but there was something familiar on the breeze, something sharp and bitter.

Cecil pulled himself to the top of the trunk and pricked up his ears. “I hear something—a snack maybe. Be right back.” And the white tip of his fluffy black tail disappeared over the other side.

“Cecil,” Anton hissed. “You shouldn't . . .” He paused and sniffed. There it was again. A pungent, acrid scent, wafting in from somewhere very near. He raised his head a little more and peered down the length of the open building, but he couldn't see anything moving besides his brother, slinking low across the gray streaks in the road, heading for the hulking, silent landships.

Anton held his body perfectly still and swiveled his ears, trying to focus on the smell, unpleasant yet vaguely known to him, like the memory of a bad dream. He heard a soft rush, a slight rustle that could have been the wind through the trees or the swish of a lady's dress. Anton cocked his head and, with a sudden chill in his bones, recognized the hush of feathered wings, bearing steeply down in flight, straight toward his brother.

Anton sprang up. “Cecil!” he shrieked. “Behind you! Duck!”

Cecil flinched and whipped around to see the enormous talons of a great dark bird closing in on him like a storm from the sky. He leaped forward, his claws skidding on the dusty pavement as he scrambled to gain traction. The bird arched its wide wings and reached its talons for Cecil's tail, not slowing a bit. Cecil veered sharply toward the only cover he could reach in time—the blackness of the space underneath the landship. The bird's claws closed and missed, and Cecil disappeared.

The bird swiftly angled its wings and pulled up, gliding past and circling back, then alighted on a rail on top of the landship just above Cecil's hiding place. With eyes like round yellow moons, it glared hard in Anton's direction. Anton flattened himself against the ground between the wall and the trunk, his chest thumping. The bird was an owl, he knew, though a bigger one than he'd ever seen and probably almost as good as a cat at seeing in the dark. When he ventured a look over the trunk again, he saw his brother's white whiskers glowing in the moonlight, the owl directly above.

“Heads up!” he shouted to Cecil.

Cecil looked up quickly and retreated under the ship. He was probably safe there, Anton thought, if he just stayed put. Even a big bird wouldn't want to fight a cat in a tight space with no room to fly.

The owl folded its wings and looked around in a slow arc as if settling in for a siege. Many minutes passed with the three of them pinned in place, until finally Anton couldn't stand the suspense any longer. He had to get closer to Cecil. He scouted a few points of shelter in the yard, took a deep breath, and eased out from behind the trunk. Slinking flat to the ground, he crept silently toward Cecil's hiding spot and pressed himself under a large water tank.