Anton and Cecil, Book 2 (6 page)

“I once traveled with a very superior dog who was going all the way. He told me there was a city and a lot of water at the end. Which is why it's the end. After that you have to take a ship. I don't think I'd like that.”

“No, you wouldn't,” said Anton.

“Yes, you would,” said Cecil.

“Don't tell me you cats have been on a ship?” Willy exclaimed.

“We have,” Anton said.

“Well, we've got all day and all night,” Willy said. He trotted to the back of the carriage and curled up on some of the hay. “I love a good story. Tell me all about it.”

And so they did, while the small towns and forests and fields drifted by. Willy listened, snuffling now and then, or asking a question, and the brothers described their separate adventures and eventual reunion. “That is one great story,” Willy said, as shadows crept across the floor and the sun began to set. They agreed to finish their meals and then dog and cats settled down for a long sleep. In the morning, after much whistling and shouting and screeching of brakes, the train pulled into a building with a long platform and a great many passengers began to disembark. Willy made a dash for the crate and got inside.

Soon the man with the duck-bill cap appeared and leaped up into the carriage, intent on Willy's crate. When he saw the door standing open he gave a soft humph of surprise.

“How did this get opened?” he said. He turned, resting his hands on his hips, and addressed Anton and Cecil. “I don't suppose you two know anything about this.” Cecil was very busy washing his face and Anton pretended great interest in the wooden ceiling of the carriage. The man looked back at Willy, who was sitting quietly before his empty bowls, his tongue hanging out, panting woefully. “Well, no harm done,” the man said, closing the grate and dropping the latch. “Your lady is waiting.”

When he bent to pick up the crate, Willy rushed to the front, barking in the high-pitched voice Anton and Cecil now knew to be the height of theatrics. “NO, NO, NO,” he barked. “Get back. Get away from this box. NO, NO. This is an outrage.”

As man and dog disappeared out the door, Cecil stopped pawing over his face and turned to Anton. “Dogs are so weird,” he said.

The train clattered over the wide, serene plains with a great arc of steam trailing behind. As it rumbled solemnly along its route, Anton noticed that creatures of all sizes turned to take a look. The animals seemed wary of it. Thin, springy deer and colorful chickens scattered ahead of the train as it barreled across the land. Humans often stopped their work and watched its progress from one horizon to the other, sometimes raising a hand in greeting. Anton wondered if they made an odd picture: two cats, one black and one gray, sitting side by side in a boxcar doorway, gazing out at the world as the train rolled steadfastly by.

It was cooler in the breeze at the doorway, though not much. Between naps, Anton sat with his tail curled around his front paws and pondered the brown and green fields, mile after mile. It had only been three days of traveling, and though the carriage could be sweltering at times, the duck-billed hat man brought them water and food whenever the train stopped, so at least they weren't starving. Even so, Anton felt uneasy. He was beginning to doubt the reliability of the mouse network.

“You know what we will never see out here?”

Cecil shook his head. “A nice crab dinner?”

“A whale,” said Anton. “There will never be a whale out here, because as far as I can see,” he gestured with a paw, “there is no ocean.”

“That's okay. You can't really eat a whale, anyway.”

Anton sighed. “But we need one if we're going to figure out ‘between the whale and the coyote' to find Hieronymus.”

“Oh. Right. Don't worry about that, we'll find him.” Cecil stuck his head all the way out so his fur rippled in the breeze.

“You're going to fall,” Anton warned, carefully leaning away from the open door. “You'll hit your head on something out there.”

“It feels good!” called Cecil, his voice warbling in the draft. He turned to face forward, his eyes squeezed almost shut. “Hey, I see something.”

“What is it? Wait, let me guess. You see an endless field of waving grass.”

“No. Well, yes, there's that. But also there's—” Cecil's voice was carried off by the wind.

“What?” yelled Anton.

Cecil pulled his head back inside the carriage. “There's a town up ahead, looks like a fairly big one. I bet we stop there.”

The brothers stepped over to the heap of straw in the far corner and burrowed behind it. A stop usually meant men coming on board to load and unload cargo. Sometimes the men were friendly and sometimes they were not, so it was better to hide. The train slowed and finally pulled to a halt with a last great sigh of steam. From outside the carriage came the sounds of a lively town—shouts, barks, bells, rolling cart wheels, even a thread of music, perhaps from a nearby saloon. Mixed in with the scents of metal and smoke from the train were the strong smells of horses, dirt-packed roads, and food cooking.

Cecil squirmed in the straw. “I hope the man brings us one of those things with the meats and cheeses smashed inside the bread,” he murmured. “I like those.”

“Shh,” whispered Anton. “Someone's coming.”

The duck-billed man climbed through the doorway and spoke.

“Fellas?” he called softly. “This is as far as we go.”

Anton and Cecil poked their heads out of the straw and looked at the man expectantly. He gestured with his thumb, holding it sideways in the air and waving it.

“What's he saying?” asked Cecil.

“Don't know,” said Anton. “Something about his paw.”

The man took a few steps toward them, and the cats saw with disappointment that he'd brought them no food this time.

“Come on, now,” said the man gently. “End of the line.” He raised and lowered both arms in a sweeping motion toward the open door. The cats' eyes followed the flapping arms.

“Maybe he's telling us about something outside,” Cecil suggested.

“Like a bird?”

“Like one of those owls.”

“He's warning us!” said Anton. “Oh, that's very good of him.” They both nestled back down into the straw.

There was a shout from outside and the man shrugged. “All right then. Suit yourself.” He turned and jumped down from the carriage. A few minutes of quiet were followed by a jolting clunk that shook the cats to their bones. They heard a high-pitched whistle and a loud hiss of steam, which usually meant they were on their way again, but this time the carriage didn't move. They heard the chuffing pulse start up, deep and booming at first but then beginning to fade.

“What's going on?” said Anton. “That doesn't sound right.”

Cecil leaped from the straw and shook out his fur. “Let's take a look.” He trotted to the doorway and peered around the edge, his white-tipped tail flicking from side to side. “Oh, cat's whiskers!” he gasped.

“What is it?” asked Anton, clambering out of the straw. “Is it an owl?”

Cecil crouched and stuck his head farther out. “No, it's the engine. It left us behind!”

“Left us?” cried Anton, pushing in beside Cecil to see if this news could possibly be true.

“Can you believe that?” said Cecil. “It just . . . unhooked from the rest and moved onto another path, straight through that gate there.” He sat back and looked at Anton uncertainly. “So what's going to pull us now?”

Anton shook his head slowly. The ways of trains were still a mystery. He peeked out again and saw that nightfall was coming, the sun hovering low on the horizon, directly over the rails that ran as far as he could see in the distance.
At least we're still headed in the right direction,
he thought,
toward Hieronymus, into the land of the setting sun. Though we've got to
move
to get there.

A mechanical whine arose inside the gate where the engine had gone, and the brothers craned their necks to see what was happening. Loud squeaks from rubbing metal plates and rusted wheels rang out as the section of rail beneath the engine moved by itself in a smooth circle. Then the familiar rumble of the engine began again, and Cecil and Anton saw its pointed prow emerge from the gate, now facing out.

“They turned it around!” marveled Cecil. “How did they do that? Actually,
why
did they do that?”

Anton only shook his head again. He felt as if the noise would break his ears into pieces before this was over. The engine chugged through the gate but traveled on a track alongside the other carriages, moving slowly and, from Anton's point of view, the wrong way.

“Now what?” he asked, shrinking back as the engine lumbered past their hiding place, so close they could have jumped onto it.

“No idea,” said Cecil, leaning out of the doorway to watch the man in the window of the engine. “That must be the Captain, there.”

The engine puffed past the end of the line of carriages and switched over to the set of rails it had rolled in on. It slowly backed up toward the standing train until the two smashed together with a jarring crunch. A man on the ground reached up and adjusted the metal connectors behind the engine, then stood back and yelled to the Captain, waving a flag on a small stick over his head. The Captain appeared at the window and nodded, pulling a cord attached to a bell to make it ring and ring.

Cecil swayed at the doorway to keep his balance, then turned to Anton, his golden eyes glinting in the sunset. “Hey, you want to know what I think?”

“I'm going to regret saying yes, aren't I?” said Anton.

“I think it's time to get off this particular landship.”

Anton was startled. “Get off? Why?”

Cecil looked down the side of the train again. “No time to explain.” The shrill whistle blew and Cecil bounded out of the carriage, landing in the dirt next to the rails. “Come on,” he called to Anton.

Anton looked at him in a panic. “Cecil! Get back up here! What are you doing?”

“I'm trying to keep our mission going. Come with me!”

“No! We have to stay on. It's the only way we have to travel!” The great chuffing sounds began and the train started to move.

Anton's stomach did a somersault.

The train was moving in the wrong direction.

“But, how . . .” Anton began.

“Don't worry about how,” Cecil said quickly, trotting on the ground below. “Just get off the train.”

The man with the flag spotted Cecil on the ground and stepped toward him, swatting at him with the flag to drive him away from the grinding wheels. Cecil ducked around the man and began to lope next to the train, calling up to Anton. “You have to jump out! Come on, you can do it!”

Anton was paralyzed. He realized that Cecil was right, that the train was going back to where it had come from. If he stayed on it he'd never find Hieronymus, and maybe he would lose Cecil as well. But the train was picking up speed, and looking down was making him dizzy. The ground seemed very far away.

“Anton!” yelled Cecil, falling behind the pace of the train. “Jump now!”

Anton gathered all four paws together at the very edge of the doorway and leaned out. The huge, undulating wheels were so close—if he fell into one of them he'd be ground to bits. The carriage bumped and swayed on the rails. Dust flew up into his nose and eyes. He hunched his shoulders and looked back at Cecil desperately, but Cecil couldn't help him. Every passing second stretched the distance between them, and still he hesitated. Hieronymus's pointed little face rose up in his mind.
What kind of rescuer am I if I can't even rescue myself ?

He tensed every muscle in his body, gathered his courage, squeezed his eyes shut, and with a yowl from deep in his chest, he hurled himself from the train.

CHAPTER 6

Cat Overboard

S
ometime during the night it began to rain in drenching bucketfuls, washing streams of mud across the rails, pounding on the roofs of the train carriages, puddling in the dirt tracks where horses and humans traversed. Anton and Cecil had taken refuge in a large space underneath a house near the train yard, but low, rolling thunder boomed over the plains and shook the two cats awake from their fitful napping again and again. A stack of pallets kept them off the wet ground, and the brothers wrapped themselves into tight balls next to each other, trying to sleep, waiting out the storm.

At first light, Cecil opened one eye at the sound of two men stomping up the wooden steps and into the house above his head. Soon he saw the feet of more people traipsing up while others came down, and there was a steady tromping back and forth inside the house. The rain still fell at a drizzle but nothing like the night before. Anton stirred and sat up, gazing around groggily. He began cleaning his filthy fur, starting with his ears.

Cecil regarded his brother and suppressed a chuckle. “Old Billy has a saying, you know. He says, ‘Cats always land paws down.' ” He smiled. “You sure proved that one wrong, didn't you?”

Anton glared at Cecil and continued with his bath. “Let's see what part
you
land on next time
you
jump out of a moving train. I'm lucky to be alive.”

Cecil flicked his tail with the memory. “I didn't think you'd ever stop rolling. And that
screech
when you jumped! It was as loud as our old buddy Athena. Impressive.” He attempted a grave expression. “Seriously, how do you feel?”

Anton arched his back and stretched his hind legs one at a time. “Battered, but I'll be fine. Hungry, though.” He looked toward the steps. “What's all the commotion?”

“I was wondering the same thing. It seems to be a popular place.”

They jumped off the pallets and peered up through the slatted steps. The people coming out of the door were laden with baskets and packages, and the cats caught the distinct scents of cheese and bread. A few men stood talking on the porch above, gesturing with their hands and eating something that smelled delicious.

Cecil trotted back and forth with his neck craned, his tail curling in anticipation. “If we're lucky . . .”

Plop
. A chunk of meat and cheese fell through the slats in the steps to the ground in front of them.

“Excellent.” Cecil beamed, bounding over to the snack.

“Great cats.” Anton looked up again as a crust of bread glanced off his shoulder. “Humans are so messy.”

The cats waited until the crowd had thinned before slipping away from the house and back to the train yard. They ducked under the platform to avoid the ruckus above as well as the relentless drizzle, and watched for activity on the rails. Hours passed and only a single train came rumbling in, this one with just a few carriages. Cecil watched as the engine somehow got itself turned around and connected to the back end, chugging off the way it had come, just like the train they'd traveled on.

“Do they never keep going?” Anton complained, gazing in the opposite direction. “There are rails going that way. Why don't the trains continue on?”

Cecil shifted in the damp air, his eyes half-closed. “I don't know. What if we've reached the end?”

“The end of what?” asked Anton stubbornly.

“The end of this journey,” said Cecil. “Maybe Hieronymus is here in this town, or maybe we've already passed him.” He turned to Anton. “Have you thought of that?”

Anton's mouth opened and closed again. “No, we're not at the end, for goodness' sake. We haven't seen a whale, haven't met a coyote, haven't found any sign of Hieronymus, obviously.” He looked away, shaking his head.

Cecil's ear cocked sideways and his body tensed at the sound of a mouse-like scurrying off to his left. He turned his head swiftly and caught a glimpse of three fluffs of brown-gray fur, one bigger than the other two, hurrying along the far side of the platform. Cecil's mouth watered, but he shook his head.
You're on a mouse-free diet for now, remember?
he told himself. Still, mice could be useful.

“Hey!” he shouted at the mice. They jumped and scurried faster.

Anton looked over Cecil's head. “You're scaring them.” He raised his voice a little. “Excuse me!” he called. The bigger mouse quickly pushed the two little ones ahead of it through a crack in the beam. Anton persisted. “Are you in the mouse network?”

The mouse's tail vanished into the crack. Several seconds passed in silence, then a high, quavering voice spoke from the direction of the beam.

“And what in the world do you think you know about the mouse network?” said the voice.

Anton stood but moved no closer. “We received a message at our home very far away,” he said. “Via mouse. Mice, actually.”

A tiny nose protruded from the crack, followed by two black, shining eyes. “Cats? You're trying to tell me a pair of
cats
got a network message?”

“Yes.” Anton nodded. “And now we're trying to travel west into the land of the setting sun, but the trains all seem to stop here, and we can't find our friend. Can you help us?”

The pink nose swung from side to side, and the voice squeaked louder. “I don't know who you are, but you're not fooling me one bit. Mice working with cats? Please. You all are nothing but a menace to me and my family, and the sooner you're gone, or dead, the better off we'll all be.”

At that, Cecil sat up. “Rude,” he said to Anton, “but it's a fair point.”

Anton ignored his brother. “But, sir . . .”

“It's ma'am,” said the mouse.

“. . . of course,” stammered Anton. “Ma'am, if you'd just tell us about the trains we'd be out of your way.”

But there came only silence from the beam.

Cecil gave an elaborate sigh. “This is what I'm talking about, Anton. Is Hieronymus the only polite mouse left in the world?”

A scuffle came from the crack. “Hieronymus?” cried the mouse. “Now hold on a second, you know Hieronymus?”

“We do,” said Anton. “He's our friend, and he called for us to come and help him.”

“Well, why didn't you say so?” she asked.

“Would it have made a difference?” asked Cecil dryly.

“Of course it would have,” replied the mouse, edging a bit farther out of the beam. “He saved the lives of two of my children in a real gutsy standoff with a hawk. It was a sight to see. He just
talked
that hawk into sparing those pups, sure as shootin'.” She paused, passing her tail across her eyes and sniffing. “I'll never be able to repay him.”

“Well, how about you repay
us,
with information,” suggested Cecil, “and then we'll repay
him
for you by rescuing him.”

The mouse nodded and raised her sliver of a paw to point down the empty track. “You're on the right path. He went that way last time I saw him. Said he was going to find a second cousin, I believe.”

“Yes,” said Anton, “but no trains go that way. How did he
go
?”

“We call 'em ‘cloud riders,' ” the mouse said. “They come in from that direction and leave again. That's how he went.”

“Great!” exclaimed Cecil. “When?”

“Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, you never can say. Have patience.” The mouse retreated, then poked her head out once more. “A little advice, though. Stay out of sight. The humans don't care for the likes of any of us on the cloud riders. They even put dogs in cages.”

Anton nodded. “Got it.”

“Best of luck to you. And be careful. I hear tales from the mice who come from that land, stories of dark and fearsome creatures who live in the mountains.” The mouse's whiskers twitched. “Creatures big enough to eat a cat, so they say.”

“Hmmm,” said Cecil, rubbing one ear with a paw. “Do they
want
to eat a cat?”

But the mouse had disappeared. The two cats curled their front paws underneath their chests and arranged their tails alongside their bodies for warmth. As the sun began to set, Cecil gave a tremendous yawn. He forced himself to stay awake a little longer so he and Anton could watch the rails, waiting for a train to ride in on a cloud.

As the afternoon wore on, Anton napped despite his intention to remain alert. He dreamed that he was curled comfortably on his old quilt in the lighthouse back home, when his mother Sonya rushed in, her eyes wide and frightened. She told him there was a creature outside on the path, a great beast the color of smoke with red eyes and rows of sharp teeth.
This is the one that eats cats,
Anton informed his mother in the dream, a terror creeping over him. He and Sonya listened to the creature breathing—a deep, rolling rumble moving steadily closer. They trembled in a corner as the beast screamed, high and shrill, until Anton thought his ears would split. He felt Sonya nudge him repeatedly, until finally he woke up and realized that it was Cecil prodding him, and the scream was the whistle of a long train pulling in to the yard, arriving imperiously in a cloud of steam.

“This is it,” called Cecil over the noise. And he was right—the train had come from the direction of the setting sun.

“But wait,” said Anton, getting to his feet stiffly. “We have to see if it turns around.”

“Hmmm,” said Cecil, frowning. “If you say so.”

As they watched, a crowd of humans gathered near the tracks. Most of the carriages on this train were different from those they'd noticed before. These were long with many square windows lining the sides, and the tops resembled the roofs of houses, peaked instead of flat. People waved hands and handkerchiefs out of the windows to others on the ground as the train hissed to a stop.

“Let's get out from under here so we can see better,” said Anton.

Cecil led the way and the two cats dashed from the safety of the platform to the side wall of the gated roundhouse. The drizzle had turned back to driving rain so they crouched under the eaves as best they could and gazed at the chaotic scene. The platform was packed with humans, most wearing hats and standing next to large trunks. They held bags, baskets, and children in their arms and watched the men in the yard opening the doors. Other people stepped out of the train and pushed their way through the crowd. Sure enough, a heavy clanking issued from behind the engine, and slowly, slowly, it separated from the rest, chugged over to a side track, and began to back up toward the roundhouse gate.

“Yep, it'll turn around in there and then pull on out,” said Cecil confidently. “This is our ride, sure as shootin'.”

“How will we ever get on?” said Anton. Humans swarmed everywhere, and there were only a few of the familiar box-like carriages attached down at the far end. Yard workers busily hauled boxes and crates in and out of the open doors.

“Things will calm down a bit,” replied Cecil. “I hope.”