King of the Vagabonds (19 page)

Sammy guessed too. He expected Brute to come back and he knew that, when he did, there could be only one outcome. What he did not know was his special relationship with Brute. And it was that that was keeping the King Cat away.

Brute’s attempt to drive Sammy out had failed. Now there was only one course left open to him. But because Sammy was his son, he delayed the inevitable confrontation. He had always known in his bones that one day he and Sammy would have to fight. They were natural rivals – rivals for supremacy, rivals for Pinkie, rivals for the right to be King of Quartermile Field. He did not want to fight Sammy, but his pride prevented him from passively giving ground.

And so one evening Sammy emerged from the hut to find Brute waiting. They looked at each other without a word, each silently calculating the other’s strength. Behind Sammy stood Pinkie. She was quaking with anticipation.

At last Brute spoke. ‘I think you know why I’ve come.’

‘Yes,’ said Sammy. ‘I expected you.’

Their tails waved slowly from side to side. They were both very tense. Each waited for the other to make a move. Brute’s hesitation was natural. Sammy did not understand the reason for it and suddenly sprang at his father. Brute avoided his lunge and backed away, hissing loudly. Sammy tried again. His claws ripped across Brute’s back. Brute returned the blow and now they scratched and bit at close quarters, each trying to pin the other down. Their howls were tremendous. The other vagabonds came running. Sunny’s eyes gleamed. He
waited for Brute’s strength to tell. But Sammy had all the advantages. He was younger, more confident and was unhampered by the knowledge that held Brute back from using his full force. He crushed Brute underneath him, holding him in a vice-like grip. His teeth and claws buried themselves deep in the older cat’s flesh. Brute could have thrown him off, but his heart was not in this contest.

‘All right, Sammy,’ he said. ‘I yield.’

For a while Sammy maintained the pressure. He thought Brute might be using a trick. Then he relaxed and the two cats stood looking at each other once more.

‘You won’t see me again,’ Brute said.

Sammy made no answer. The vagabonds looked from father to son as if wondering how their own lives were going to be affected.

Pinkie said, ‘Farewell, Beau.’

He looked at her. ‘Farewell,’ he said.

The name was of no immediate significance to the other cats. But Sammy caught the word and held on to it Beau! He looked at his rival with new eyes. He saw another tabby: the coat different from his – darker – but tabby nevertheless. His father! Oh, how on earth had he not guessed it! The build, the voice, just as Stella had described them. It had been the name. Brute. Beau. Well, naturally, his father’s female admirers would not see him as a brute at all. How much more suitable ‘Beau’ was for them. And, of course, Brute had known all along whom he was fighting. Now Sammy understood why he had yielded.

‘I didn’t intend this,’ Sammy’s father said to him.

‘Neither did I,’ Sammy whispered. He knew what Brute was thinking. The older cat looked a moment longer,
then turned and, with his accustomed dignity, walked away. Sammy had found his father – and lost him again.

The other cats milled about irresolutely. Sunny followed in Brute’s wake. There was no place for him any longer in Quartermile Field. The rest could not decide whether to leave or to stay.

Sammy’s feelings were complicated. He had been proud of his victory; of becoming the new King Cat with all its advantages. But now it was a hollow pride. How could he be proud of ousting his own father? Should he be the one to leave? To leave the field clear? He stared after his father in the gathering darkness.

For the first time in a long while Sammy thought of Stella. Could she advise him? He had not been good at listening to his mother’s advice, but now. . . .

No sooner was the thought there than he decided to go back once more – to Stella and Josephine, to Molly, to his mistress and his birthplace. He left the cluster of cats and set off. It was almost night. He would look for his mother in the old familiar place where he and Josephine had first opened their eyes.

Sammy passed the chicken-run where the cockerel still lorded it over his hens like a tyrant. But the gaudy bird jeered at him no longer. He did not recognize the cat who could climb. Over the last fence and there was the black shape of Mrs Lambert’s shed. Sammy peered in and smelt the familiar smell. How often he had slept there. Certainly none of the vagabonds had ever had such a snug shelter, not even Brute. What a pity you could not hang on to the best of both worlds.

There were some frantic squeaks and a scrabbling sound. Sammy’s thoughts were miles away. He saw a mouse scurry over the floor. Automatically the big cat froze, his hunter’s instinct taking command. The mouse
had seen him. Yet it was coming closer. Sammy tensed, ready to pounce.

‘Is it Sammy? It can’t be. It can’t be,’ the mouse’s shrill voice sounded through the hollow shed. Then something in the cat’s pose arrested the little creature and he stopped. He trembled. The next instant he fled as Sammy leapt at him. Squeaks of alarm and protest pulled Sammy up short. Tiptoe! And he could have killed him!

Stella and Josephine were stirring. But Sammy waited no longer. He turned tail before they woke and saw him. How could he come back? He was no longer a pet. He was changed: altered for ever. It had taken a mouse to make him realize it.

Now he ran as swiftly as only he could, leaping at the succeeding fences with impatience. He could think of only one thing. He, Sammy, was now the King Cat The vagabonds could go where they wished; do what they chose. He wanted only Pinkie and together they would found a new colony of cats in Quartermile Field. One day he would bring them to show Molly. He raced on, across the last garden and into Belinda’s meadow. His head was full of thoughts of his future life. The last human dwelling-place was behind him and he sprinted for the road.

From the darkness of the waste ground a small white cat emerged to sit by the roadside. She carefully washed her pink ears and nose as she waited for Sammy, the King of the Vagabonds, to join her.

About the Author

Colin Dann won the Arts Council National Award for Children’s Literature for his first novel,
The Animals of Farthing Wood
.

KING OF THE VAGABONDS
AN RHCB DIGITAL EBOOK 978 1 446 48079 3

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This ebook edition published 2011

Copyright © Colin Dann, 2011

First Published in Great Britain by Red Fox

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