Norton, Andre - Anthology (21 page)

 
          
 
His reason will be very important to Martin,
Trouble pointed out.

 
          
 
The woman bit her lip. So it would. No one
could be accused of so heinous a crime on gut feeling, even with a story like
Jasmine's to back it up. Despite her frustration, Dory did agree with the
Tightness of that, but now Sammy could die, would die, if Ambrose could not be
stopped. "If we could catch him in the act or at least show how he's doing
it, the motive could be beaten out of him later."

 
          
 
I hope you're not thinking of exploring that
house? the tomcat demanded severely.

 
          
 
She shook her head emphatically. "I'd only
get caught if I went physically, and I definitely can't hold a sufficient level
of concentration to spy out the whole place, not in real detail, I don't even
know what constitutes evidence. The mere presence of dangerous plants and
compounds doesn't. He makes his living, or a good part of it, out of
those."

 
          
 
As you said, we have to catch him at it, or
Jasmine and I do. Our eyes are better suited for such work, and we have an
infinity more patience than you.

 
          
 
"But how?" his human exploded.

 
          
 
Why, we just watch him, and we're not alone in
this town. The local cats don't like Ambrose. He's not kind himself, and I'll
venture Jasmine was not the first or last kitten to fall victim to his
plantings. We'll have plenty of help. We'll know everyone who comes to his
house and where his visitors go after they leave, and no one except ourselves
will be the wiser.

 
          
 
"Trouble, are you sure? I couldn't bear
it if something happened to you or Jasmine or any of the others."

 
          
 
Of course I'm sure, scatter-brained kit! Who
would be suspicious of cats doing what they always do — napping, grooming,
looking off into the distance? Our foe doesn't even realize we can think, he
concluded contemptuously.

 
          
 
"All right, but do be careful. If we're
right, he really is dangerous."

 
          
 
Kitten, the tom explained patiently, cats are
not humans. We do not court danger, and we never engage unnecessarily in
unpleasant, strenuous behavior. Just continue botanizing. We'll get you the
information you need to bring the whole matter to Martin.

 
          
 
Despite that assurance, three weeks passed
without result, although all the neighboring felines had readily joined in the
surveillance. There was simply little activity of any sort to report. Ambrose's
life was nearly painfully quiet. A few messengers or physicians' pupils or,
occasionally, a healer himself came and quickly left again with an assortment
of vials and packets. None approached Solomon the physician's house or child.

 
          
 
Trouble dozed on the window ledge that was his
nightly post, one eye half open, fixed on their enemy's domain. It was not a
bad chore, certainly not a demanding one for any cat.

 
          
 
He shifted his position a hair's breadth. That
was the problem with it. He had anticipated playing a rather more significant
role by this time than that of a perpetual window ornament.

 
          
 
He snapped alert. There had been a flicker of
movement, not in the house or courtyard but on the wall separating the property
from the alley beyond. As he watched, a shadow-figure lumped onto the top of
the barrier. It remained a moment silhouetted against the broad cat-faced moon
before scrambling down the thick growth of vines and branches into Ambrose the
scholar's garden.

 
          
 
Dory! Out of bed!

 
          
 
The woman was racing for the window before his
warning had finished sounding in her mind. "What's happening?" she
whispered.

 
          
 
An intruder. Look there among the bushes at
the foot of the wall. He has a light of some sort.

 
          
 
She squinted, trying to pick out detail, but
distance and the deep shadows negated the bright moonlight for her frail human
senses. 'I'm no cat to see in the near dark, 1 ' she grumbled.

 
          
 
Use your mirror, then, fluff head.

 
          
 
Swearing at herself for her stupidity, Dory
took the glass from its silk-lined box and set it on her lap.

 
          
 
She forced her excitement to recede. Once she
felt fully in command of herself, the apprentice sorceress concentrated on the
scene beyond and then turned to the mirror itself.

 
          
 
Gradually, an image formed and enlarged within
the glass, dark still, but not nearly so black as it had seemed at a distance.
Better, but she still could not adequately see the intruder. He, or she, was
crouched down in the midst of the berry bushes and was screened by the dense
foliage. As Trouble had said, he had brought a small light with him, probably a
tiny votive-type candle in a glass container, certainly nothing much larger.
Its glow was sufficient to reveal his progress but little more than that.

 
          
 
He was working slowly. The plants were no
longer as heavily laden as they had been in late spring and very early summer.
Berries were still to be. found, but not without a careful branch-by-branch
search, especially in the dark like this.

 
          
 
Her brows drew together. Who in all creation
would want to gather this particular harvest and want it desperately enough to
go to such lengths to obtain it?

 
          
 
She had her answer in the next moment. Dory's
heart seemed to freeze in mid-beat. "Dear Lord Above!" she whispered
in horror.

 
          
 
What was she to do? Martin was away at Doctor
Solomon's again.

 
          
 
This could not wait! "Trouble, call
Jasmine! We're going down there!"

 
          
 
Wait! He doesn't seem to be eating much.

 
          
 
"He's only a baby! How many of them would
it take?"

 
          
 
The woman composed herself, however. Once
more, she studied the scene below and the glass.

 
          
 
Driven by her fear and the intensity of her
need, the resulting image was startling in its clarity, terrifying in the
precision of detail it revealed. They could discern the weak glow of
candlelight on the berry the intruder dropped into the stiff-sided purse he
wore slung around his neck. At least, he seemed to be storing his finds rather
than devouring them outright. If only they knew that for a fact ...

 
          
 
She frowned. "If we try to come at him
through the courtyards, he could spot us and bolt."

 
          
 
Grab him when he goes back over the wall,
Trouble suggested. You'd have him before he even knew you were there.

 
          
 
"He might just sit down and start eating
once he thinks he has enough berries," Dory argued desperately.

 
          
 
He should hold off until he's safely away
since he's waited this long, but you're right. Young kittens will all eat just
about anything they shouldn't. I'll slip over the wall and keep an eye on him.
— Whatever you plan to do, move! That pesky kit won't stay picking berries forever.

 
          
 
The alley backing Ambrose's courtyard was
narrow and dark with three-story buildings on either side. The wall separating
it front the sejiolar's property was some fifteen feet tall, but a number of
wooden boxes and crates had been piled against it. Neighborhood children had
used them for a fort, climbing area, and meeting place throughout the spring
and summer, and, apparently, for a ladder.

 
          
 
The sorceress positioned herself beside the
stack, concealing herself in its shadow. Jasmine went to the top, ready to
assist Trouble if he should call for help.

 
          
 
The torn slipped over the edge. Kittens, he
grumbled to himself as he scrambled down, endeavoring to make the most of the
cover provided by the vegetation and the wall itself. Four feet or two, it made
no difference. Not one of them possessed half a reasoning brain, and what
cerebral power they did have functioned solely to get themselves and everyone
around them into the deepest possible difficulties.

 
          
 
They were also as unpredictable and fast as
little mice, and he did not intend to allow this particular specimen to pull
any surprises on them.

 
          
 
He had come none too soon.

 
          
 
Get set! he called to his comrades. He's on
his way!

 
          
 
The small trespasser was not long in scaling
the thick lacing of sturdy plants covering the inner portion of the wall. He
topped the barrier, delayed momentarily to position himself for the descent,
and twisted over the outer edge.

 
          
 
There was a slight space to the first box, and
that measured scarcely a foot square, but the child showed no concern as he
dropped onto his target. He landed true, in good balance, and immediately
scrambled down to the next, much broader crate.

 
          
 
Jasmine was waiting for that. She sprang.

 
          
 
Catching the strap of the purse holding the
deadly hoard of berries in her teeth, she deftly drew it over the boy's head
and leaped away again before her victim quite realized what had occurred.

 
          
 
Wonderful! Dory exulted in delight and relief.
Bring it to Martin, love.

 
          
 
The child let out a yowl of mingled fright and
dismay, but by that time, Dory had reached him and swept him into the
imprisoning safety of her arms.

 
          
 
The woman carried her struggling captive to
the mouth of the alley where the light from the streetlanterns augmented the
brighter shine of the moon, permitting her to see him clearly.

 
          
 
The boy had very blond hair and blue eyes. The
roundness and delicacy of his features put him at about seven years of age,
although his height and stocky build made him seem older.

 
          
 
"All right, young man. Start by telling
me who you are."

 
          
 
He seemed to want to refuse, but he only
swallowed hard. "I'm George, son of Charles the carpenter, Mistress."

 
          
 
"I know something of Charles," she
told him severely. "An honest man by all reports. Why is his son slipping
around in the middle of the night stealing other people's fruit?"

 
          
 
"No, I'm not!" George protested
loudly.

 
          
 
Dory's brows lifted. "Oh, and just what
was in that purse my cat rescued, pray tell?"

 
          
 
"Medicine!" he responded stoutly.
"It'd be bad for a boy like me to eat Scholar Ambrose's berries, but
physicians and healers use them to make sick folks better."