King of the Vagabonds (5 page)

‘The mistress is looking at us,’ said Sammy.

Molly got to her feet reluctantly and stretched. Sammy took this as a sign that she was ready to follow him. He led her off along the lawn to the shed, and once inside, he burst straight out with his question, without any preamble. ‘What does Quartermile Field look like Molly? Tell me, please?’

Molly was taken aback. ‘How do you know about that?’ she asked sharply.

‘My mother told me. She warned me never to go there.’

‘Of course she did.’

‘So you see, I’m curious about it.’

‘Best not to be, Sammy. Curiosity killed the cat.’

‘But I don’t want to go there. I only wondered what it looks like.’

‘Oh – it’s a field of sorts,’ Molly answered vaguely. ‘Not unlike the others, until you get into it.’

‘Have
you
been into it?’ Sammy asked in a breathless voice.

Molly had been into it with her master, but she thought it wise not to admit it. ‘It’s out of bounds,’ she answered bluntly.

Sammy was disappointed. Molly was always so obscure.

Then, surprisingly, Molly continued, ‘You see, Sammy, as I’ve tried to tell you before, there is another, different world from the one we know. Where we live, and around us, all is friendly. Animals tolerate each other. Now, in that other world, things are not the same at all. There’s rivalry and hunting and killings. And Quartermile Field is like a boundary between the two. So if you stay this side
of the boundary you need never know anything about the sort of savagery that goes on there. And now I’ve told you, you must forget your curiosity. Be content. You have a happy life.’

‘Thank you, Molly,’ said Sammy. He thought he understood. And he
did
try to put it out of his mind. The trouble was, the thought kept recurring to him that his father must be part of this other dangerous world. And so, if he still meant to find him one day, he would have to face it himself.

It was quite some time later when Sammy suddenly remembered Tiptoe. Why had he not come into the shed? Had he forgotten their arrangement? Or perhaps he had not had an adventure worth telling. Sammy felt he had a lot to tell Tiptoe, anyway. And there was another thing. Perhaps the mouse, being a wild creature, could throw some light on the mystery of Quartermile Field. Sammy was so eager to see him that he started to comb the garden for him, beginning with the clump of alyssum by the cottage. Of course, Tiptoe was not there.

Sammy soon found he had set himself an impossible task. The mouse was so tiny there were a thousand secret places in which he might hide himself. He might have ventured into the mistress’s cottage. He could be anywhere. The young tabby decided he must wait until nightfall and hope that Tiptoe would this time come into the shed. But, as it turned out, he did not have to wait that long.

Sammy was snoozing contentedly under the apple tree when he felt his tail tweaked. He opened his eyes slowly, suspecting Josephine. His sister, though, was nowhere to be seen. Instead he saw Tiptoe sitting on the tip of his tail, as bold as brass. But when Sammy looked at him, the mouse seemed ready to run off.

‘Don’t go,’ said the cat quickly. ‘I want to talk to you.’

‘I saw you ranging the garden earlier on,’ squeaked the mouse. ‘You weren’t
hunting
me, were you?’

Sammy looked puzzled. ‘Hunting? Of course not. What do you mean?’

‘Oh, never mind.’ Tiptoe relaxed. He looked very relieved. ‘We mice have to be so careful, you know. And you looked very determined.’

Sammy was pleased with this description. ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ he said. ‘I was determined to
find
you, that’s all. Why didn’t you come last night?’

‘Oh, it didn’t seem – er – safe,’ Tiptoe answered diffidently.

‘Well, anyway, do you want to hear about my adventure?’ Sammy continued. ‘I’ve been quite a long way away and I saw a goat and – and a fierce dog.’ He went on to describe in detail what had happened the previous day.

Tiptoe did not seem very comfortable in the open. While Sammy was talking he was up and down on his hind legs, sniffing the air in all directions and looking round to see what was happening in the garden. He just could not keep still.

‘I don’t believe you’ve listened to a single word,’ Sammy accused him.

‘Oh yes, I have,’ said the mouse. ‘You were chased by a terrier. I know the dog you mean. About your size and as tame as anything. It makes a lot of noise and that’s all. If you’d faced up to it, it would have run away.’

‘All right,’ said Sammy crossly. ‘And what wonderful escapade have you had, then?’

‘Quickly – follow me,’ Tiptoe bade him. He could see Stella pacing slowly over the lawn. He darted away down to the end of the garden and disappeared into a tiny gap
under the shed which Sammy had never noticed. When the young cat reached the shed all he could see were Tiptoe’s whiskers protruding from the hole.

‘That’s much better,’ said the mouse. ‘Now my adventure was much closer to home – in fact in your mistress’s cottage. A number of us have nests under the floors and behind the walls. Yesterday I heard there were more scraps to be had for the taking there than ever before. It was as if your mistress had spread them around for us deliberately. I was collecting some to take to a safe corner to enjoy, when in she came. My only escape route was to run up a broom handle. I sat on the top, quivering all over. I didn’t know where to go next Then – guess what? Your mistress stretched out a hand and grasped the broom!’

‘You’re making this up,’ Sammy said disbelievingly.

‘I’m not! I’m not!’ squeaked Tiptoe. ‘If you think that, I won’t go on.’

But Sammy was fascinated despite himself. ‘Oh, please do,’ he begged. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Well, there was one thing for me to try then,’ the mouse resumed. ‘I couldn’t run down the broom again. So, as soon as the old lady took hold of it, I ran up her arm to her shoulder and then down her back, jumped to the floor and skipped out of sight. What do you think of that?’

‘It’s a remarkable story,’ Sammy said wryly, ‘and I think you invented it.’

‘There you go again. I
didn’t
invent it,’ shrilled Tiptoe angrily.

‘The last part you did,
I
know.’

‘Oh, very well. Perhaps I elaborated on it a bit. But the essence of it is perfectly true.’

Sammy had lost interest. ‘I don’t know what to believe
now,’ he said grumpily. ‘What’s the point of telling fibs?’

Tiptoe did not have an answer to that.

‘Look,’ said Sammy. ‘I want to ask you something. Do you know anything about Quartermile Field?’

There was a stony silence.

‘Tiptoe? Are you still there?’

‘Of course I’m still here. And what do you want to mention that place for? Do you intend going there?’ His voice sounded quite different. Gone was the usual chirpy tone. Now there was a new note of sullenness; almost unfriendliness.

‘No, I don’t want to go there. I just—’

‘Good,’ interrupted Tiptoe, more brightly. ‘Because if you did, we couldn’t be friends any more. And for now, I think I’d better leave you.’

Sammy was left to ponder afresh on the strange influence the fateful name seemed to exert over his friends. Why did none of them wish to talk about it? If only someone would explain to him fully, he could put it to the back of his mind. But, so long as the air of mystery prevailed, he could not rest.

To whom could he turn now? There was no one. Ah, if only his father were around. He was the creature who could tell all.

6

Searching

Time passed. Sammy wandered into the neighbouring gardens and met other pets. None of them wished to discuss the forbidden topic. Sammy even tried to ask the yappy terrier, but it did not want to talk at all once it realized the young cat had seen through its pretence of fierceness. Sammy had grown into a fine male tabby. Now that he was almost full grown, his face looked more crossed out than ever – the colouring had deepened, making the stripe appear bolder.

Josephine went further afield these days and Sammy took her with him into Belinda’s paddock – Stella had seemed uninterested in the invitation. While the young cats were running through the long grass, almost under the nose of the goat, a strange noise arrested them. It was a harsh sort of howl which the two cats had never heard before. The noise was repeated. It was evidently a kind of call, but neither Sammy nor his sister could make out the meaning of it.

They sat bolt upright, their silky ears turned sharply towards the sound. Belinda looked up briefly and then resumed her grazing. She had heard the noise before and was not alarmed. It seemed to be coming from beneath the thorn hedge on the perimeter of the field. Sammy and Josephine stared and stared but could distinguish nothing. Then, through the thickly clustered leaves
along the bottom of the hedgerow, they detected some movement. A dark shape was pushing its way through the greenery, yet never quite came into view.

Sammy wanted to investigate but his fear held him rigid. Josephine had arched her back and was actually starting to recoil. Then they saw an extraordinary thing. From a different quarter of the meadow Stella emerged and began, calmly and steadily, to walk towards the hedge. Meanwhile the howls continued.

Sammy longed to ask Belinda what it all meant, but he could not find his voice. The significance of the scene was lost upon him, yet he knew it was of importance. Stella reached the field’s perimeter and scrambled into the hedgerow. The howling stopped. No harm seemed to come to her.

‘Why did she go?’ Josephine whispered to her brother.

‘I – I don’t know,’ he muttered ‘I think she must have been called.’

‘I don’t like it here,’ said Josephine, thinking of the easy familiarity of their garden. ‘Let’s go back.’

‘You go,’ Sammy replied. ‘I want to see what happens.’

But nothing did happen. Josephine departed and Sammy sat on, staring at the spot in the hedge through which his mother had disappeared. At last he plucked up the courage to go and investigate. When he got there, there was nothing to be seen, but a gap in the hedge bottom which Stella must have crawled through. Sammy could detect his mother’s scent. And there was another sharper, more acrid scent which was new to him. Should he follow? He was not at all sure what he ought to do. Would Stella be angry if he tried to trail her? He thought there could be no reason for that. He decided to have a look at whatever lay on the other side. With a distinct caution, he
edged his way slowly through the thorny growth. He sat down and looked all about him. There was not a trace of Stella, nor any other creature.

On Sammy’s left was the road and, across it, the waste ground. But here he was on the edge of another field. It was exactly like the meadow where he had been with Josephine, only larger. As far as he could tell, there was nothing in it – anywhere. Then, suddenly, an enormous black animal reared up in the middle of it. It had long legs, an arched neck and a huge head. It gave a high-pitched whinny, flicked its thick plume of a tail several times and then began to run across the field. Sammy turned and raced back to Belinda’s meadow, his heart thumping frantically. Had he strayed into Quartermile Field? Was that terrifying beast the cause of his mother’s warning? In his distress, he almost collided with Belinda.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked him kindly. ‘You look panic-stricken.’

‘I – I’ve seen a monster!’ cried Sammy. ‘He drove me off.’ His imagination had got the better of him.

‘A monster? Nonsense!’ the goat retorted. ‘There are no monsters around here.’

‘Yes, yes,’ the cat insisted, ‘in the next field!’

‘Oh – oh,’ Belinda chortled. ‘I see what’s happened. You’ve made the acquaintance of my neighbour. Don’t worry about Saul. He’s quite harmless. Have you never seen a horse before?’

‘A – horse? I . . . no,’ Sammy stuttered. Of course, he had heard about such animals. Now he felt foolish and Belinda could see it.

‘It’s all right, Sammy. You weren’t to know, were you? He belongs to the farmer. Now don’t fret yourself any more. Saul wouldn’t dream of hurting you.’

‘So that’s not Quartermile Field?’