How to Catch a Cat (21 page)

THE TRUCE

WHILE CAPTAIN AYALA
and Oscar were discussing the ship’s dire situation, a furry white creature with orange-tipped ears and tail slipped unnoticed through the half-open door.

Rupert padded silently across the captain’s stateroom—a short, fluffy shadow.

The cat kept out of the lamplight, carefully timing his movements to avoid detection. He waited until Ayala stood from his chair and began pacing the room. Then he slinked toward the captain’s empty seat.

Throughout all this subterfuge, Rupert kept his focus trained on the snoring lump of green feathers curled up by the lantern on the top of the desk. His feather-duster tail swished back and forth as he hunched on the ground below, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

Ayala stopped pacing, stared curiously at Oscar, and asked, “Is your friend an Indian?”

Rupert bounded up into the seat. A second leap took him to the desktop. He crept silently across the paper-covered surface, parking himself within inches of the dozing parrot.

Perhaps sensing the encroaching danger, Petey woke with a start. He’d been caught napping—literally. It looked to be a fatal error, a deadly checkmate. The bird froze in place, his yellow eyes widening with terror. The cat could finish him off with a single swipe of his claws.

But then a surprising and unlikely thing occurred. Instead of moving in for the kill, Rupert sidled up to the parrot and licked the feathers on the back of his neck.

Petey remained still, unsure of how to process this strange gesture from the cat he had spent the last week tormenting. Was the feline just getting in a premeal taste or was he making a peace offering?

Rupert’s next action provided an unequivocal answer. He sprawled his hefty body across the desk and cuddled up next to the bird.

•   •   •

AS OSCAR DEPARTED
down the corridor, Ayala turned back toward his desk—and gaped in alarm at the pile of feathers and fur by the lantern.

“No . . .” he whispered, his anger rising. On top of everything else, must he also lose his beloved parrot to a flea-bitten feline?

He stomped toward the desk, prepared to grab the cat by the scruff of his neck and toss him out the nearest window into the bay.

Halfway across, however, he noticed a movement.

The bird was very much alive. Rupert had wrapped a front paw around his new friend. The parrot nuzzled his head into the cat’s fluffy white chest.

“Well,” Ayala said, peering down at the snoozing pair. “Hmm.”

He crossed to a cupboard and pulled out a soft blanket. Tiptoeing back to the desk, he tucked it around the unlikely duo and quietly snuffed out the lamp.

THE PORTAL

A FEW HOURS
before dawn, Oscar rose from his bed and lit a lantern.

The
San Carlos
was on the verge of calamitous ruin. It was time for him to take action or they would never get back to their home port.

The ship wasn’t haunted. He had no doubt of that. It was, however, under siege by a deranged stowaway.

Each morning since they left San Blas, he’d detected a small amount of food missing from his pantry. At first, he’d chalked the petty thievery up to a hungry crew member sneaking into the kitchen for a late-night snack.

But after several days, a distinct pattern had emerged.

Given Captain Ayala’s diligent searches of the ship, Oscar reasoned the killer must have some sort of hidden closet or secret room, a niche where she resided during the day—that is, when she wasn’t hunting her next victim.

The middle of the night, when she might be foraging for food, was the best time to surprise her and get the upper hand.

—

QUIETLY DRESSING, OSCAR
wandered into the kitchen.

He rubbed his scruffy eyebrows, trying to jolt himself awake. He would have to accomplish this task without the help of caffeine. It would make too much noise to roust the fire to cook a pot of coffee on the stove.

As he gazed longingly at his empty percolator, a second figure entered the room.

“You coming with me?” he whispered down to Isabella.

He grunted as she rubbed her shoulder against his shin.

“That’s probably a good idea.”

His expression grew somber.

“I might need backup.”

—

OSCAR LIT A
lantern, and the pair moved cautiously into the hallway outside the kitchen.

Isabella’s sharp eyes scanned the darkness as Oscar held the lamp up to the walls, inspecting the woodwork. He ran his free hand over the rough surface, feeling for hidden seams in the joints. Every couple of feet, he rapped his knuckles on the paneling, hoping to discern the presence of a hollow cavity beneath, anywhere a person might hide to avoid detection.

The
San Carlos
was just over five years old. Since the boat’s initial construction, she had received regular maintenance at San Blas, but the constant tug and pull of storms, wind, waves, and rain had wrenched the ship’s rigid form. A number of small gaps could be seen in the wooden wall, but Oscar found none that weren’t easily explained by the natural contortion of the surrounding boards.

He and Isabella continued to the next level down, descending on a much narrower flight of stairs than the one that led up to the ship’s top deck. The lantern flickered a dim halo of light as they resumed their search in the hallway directly beneath the kitchen.

The ridge of hair along Isabella’s spine stood on edge. She could sense danger in the dark, damp air.

As they reached the end of the corridor and turned a sharp corner, she let out a low growl—at the faint but unmistakable scent of a lemony-sweet perfume.

•   •   •

THE CORRIDOR REMAINED
silent for several seconds after Oscar and Isabella passed, but there was a noticeable change in atmosphere. The perfume scent now carried with it a dash of expectancy.

The ceiling creaked. Then an opening appeared in the top wood paneling, no more than a half-inch slat, just large enough for a single beady eye to peek through.

The eye blinked, adjusting its focus. It stared down onto the hallway for a long moment before pulling back from the hole. After a brief shuffling, the eye returned, this time at a different angle. The watcher wanted to confirm that the area below was clear.

Finally, the boards surrounding the modified slat began to move. A square section of the ceiling slid back on a hidden hinge, creating a square portal.

A human’s feet, legs, and torso squeezed through the hole, and a curious figure dropped nimbly onto the floor.

It was an older woman dressed in a rumpled gunnysack. Her white hair was knotted and tangled; her skin was mottled and dirt-stained.

But her feet were clad in a pair of sturdy women’s shoes.

A cloth bag looped around her left shoulder held an assortment of knitting equipment and supplies, yarn, scissors, and a bundle of specialized needles, each one curved in shape, with the tip adapted to accommodate the fittings for a sharp blade.

The stowaway set off down the corridor, her bowed legs walking with an odd limp as if they’d been cramped in a tight-fitting space for several hours.

She followed after the chef and the cat with the orange-tipped ears and tail—leaving behind a scented trail of lemony-sweet perfume.

A FEARSOME BEAST

JUST BEFORE DAYBREAK,
Humphretto readied a canoe for launch. It was the last remaining transport vessel on board the
San Carlos
. The rest had been taken by fleeing crew members and left beached along the bay’s south shore where the men had continued on foot, hoping to make it south to Monterey.

It took every bit of Humphretto’s meager strength to heft the canoe over the ship’s side, but once he had the hull clear of the railing, the rest of the canoe’s descent to the water was easily controlled by a series of pulleys and ropes that ran through hooks attached to the boat’s side.

The lieutenant had been dragging the canoe around for the last twenty-four hours—ever since the first crew members began abandoning the
San Carlos
. He’d kept it secured in his cabin, which was the only reason it was still available.

When Captain Ayala alerted him to Oscar’s covert mission, Humphretto was glad he’d taken the precaution. He’d jumped at the chance to participate in the plan, eager to play a role in saving the ship.

He just wished he knew why they were headed to the bay’s north shore.

He couldn’t see how that would help return the men fleeing to the south.

—

THE SUN WAS
but a faint glow on the horizon when the canoe touched down on the water.

Humphretto jumped at a tap on his shoulder. With difficulty, he managed to stifle his instinctive yelp.

Oscar stood on the deck behind him with a large rucksack slung over his shoulder. The chef had left the ship’s breakfast preparations in the hands of his niece, to be closely supervised by Isabella.

“Everything ready to go?” Oscar asked quietly.

Humphretto nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, sir.”

Oscar smiled at the salutation. Humphretto clearly outranked him. The “sir” was merely out of respect for his advanced age. “Let’s get to it, mate.”

The lieutenant led the way, shimmying down a rope ladder attached to the ship’s side. Oscar followed at a much slower pace and not near as nimbly.

Wobbling precariously, Oscar managed to transfer first his pack and then his body into the canoe’s front end.

Humphretto had taken up the rear steering seat. There was only one paddle, so the lieutenant insisted on providing the manpower.

Moments later, they slipped into the morning’s half-light, undetected by the remaining crew.

Oscar glanced over his shoulder at the panting lieutenant. Humphretto had paused his paddling to remove his horsehair jacket, which was too warm for the morning’s strenuous exercise.

“That’s a truly stunning coat. I’ve been admiring it the whole trip.”

“Well, thank you, Oscar. I was going to leave it behind today, since the weather’s been so pleasant, but the captain said you wanted me to bring it along.”

“Yes,” Oscar replied, returning to a face-forward position. “You never know when such a piece of apparel might come in handy.”

Humphretto shrugged. Right now, the bulky coat was more of a burden than a blessing. He paddled a few more strokes and then called out to the front of the canoe.

“Why did you ask me to bring my sewing kit?”

—

WITH HUMPHRETTO HUFFING
and puffing at the stern, the canoe slowly picked up speed, gliding away from the
San Carlos
.

The rising sun glistened on the water, shining across the faint ripples generated by the tiny boat.

The bay’s north shore was calmer and noticeably warmer than the south, where Humphretto had explored the day before. As the canoe slid onto the beach, the lieutenant gazed up at the gentle green hills and sighed.

In the presence of such natural beauty, he could almost forget the urgency of their visit.

The tranquil scene was broken by a husky voice that called out from the woods.

“Oscar!” The bushes along the hillside rustled. The movement in the leaves indicated a large disturbance. “I thought that was you!”

Despite the warning signs, Humphretto was unprepared for the sight—and size—of the creature who emerged from the greenery.

As Oscar hobbled across the wet sand, the lieutenant stood by the canoe, awestruck.

“Oh my.”

Humphretto had heard tales of Neanderthals living in the great forests of the north. A few of his fellow Spaniards had speculated that the species represented offshoots from mankind’s early predecessors. Others swore the beasts were artifacts of the devil, pure evil spewed up from the depths of hell. He’d been cautioned to guard himself when traveling in the woods, lest a wooly demon drag him off to its lair.

Humphretto had always eschewed these stories as creative fiction told around a campfire, but right now, he was having second thoughts.

The specimen running onto the beach—whatever it was—was downright terrifying.

The creature was covered in hair, much of it orangish-red, some of it human, some of it animal. Humphretto thought he recognized a cured hide or two in the mix. A raccoon tail swung wildly from the back of a roughly hewn cap. It was a brutish assembly of lumbering limbs and muscle.

And it had just tackled Oscar with a frightening bear hug.

His hands shaking, Humphretto reached for the musket attached to his shoulder belt. He had never actually fired the weapon. He didn’t even know how to aim it. But he couldn’t stand by and let the ship’s chef get mauled by this . . . this . . .
thing
.

“Come on, Humphretto.” Oscar broke free of the friendly embrace and waved for the lieutenant to join them. “Let me introduce you to my friend Sam.”

Humphretto stared in awe as Oscar walked up the shoreline, laughing chummily with the hairiest man the lieutenant had ever seen.

After a few steps the chef turned and called back to the canoe.

“And don’t forget to bring the coat.”

Still perplexed, Humphretto reached for the horsehair jacket. Coat in hand, he started to follow Oscar and his strange companion.

But the lieutenant abruptly stopped as he noticed two small green figures riding on the burly man’s shoulders.

His brow furrowed.

“Are those frogs?”