Norton, Andre - Anthology (43 page)

 
          
 
They had been there hours, and he had to go
outside to relieve himself, though as he was now, nobody would have dared shoo
him away.

 
          
 
Mu Mao was out there. "Well, Kittycat.
What now?" the little cat asked.

 
          
 
"What do you mean?"

 
          
 
"You were right about her. She's not a
junk yard dog or a mouse or a bird. She's still human, though just barely. But
you're the one who's changed. You're a wild animal now. She might be afraid of
you."

 
          
 
That had never occurred to him. The others
weren't afraid of him, but he'd hardly fit on her lap anymore, come to think of
it. He favored Mu Mao with a glare and peered back into the room, through the
door which had been left ajar. She was sitting up eating!

 
          
 
She looked up, cringing as he could only guess
had been her habit for all the long days and nights she'd been under the rule
of the men with guns. He waited, not to startle her, and she stared at him, the
folds of her sagging flesh making her eyes seem somewhat smaller, but not
dimming their brightness.

 
          
 
Those eyes he knew so well looked straight
into his, and the mouth which must not have smiled in a very long time curved
up, and she said, "Peaches! You did come back!" And he ran to her and
fitted as much of himself as he could into her lap after all while she stroked
his nose and behind his ears and under his chin and kissed his fur and told him
how she'd missed him, just as he'd known she would.

 
          
 
The snow lions called to him to come and mate,
to come and play, and sometimes he did briefly, but mostly he stayed on the
padded pallet she made for him near her fire, where she sat and wrote of all
that had happened to her while he had been between lives. And the puma called
Peaches purred a purr that shook the compound with the vibrations of his
contentment.

            
Mary H. Schaub's initial
college studies were in mathematics, but she succumbed to a lifelong interest in
reading and branched into science-fiction writing in 1972. She has since expanded
her lateral range from short stories in seven anthologies to novella and then
book-length works. Her second novel, The Magestone, will appear in April in Andre
Norton's new series Secrets of the Witch World. Currently, she is juggling elements
for another anthology and novel. It is likely that this volume will complete the
saga of Drop from cat to boy to cat.

            
After jumping up onto
the sundial in Master Gilmont's side garden, Drop pondered the peculiar preoccupation
humans had for measuring time. Due to his accidental ingestion of a magical lozenge,
Drop had experienced life as a human boy for several months before his original
cat's body had been permanently restored to him by a reversal spell. As a boy, he
had willingly endeavored to adjust to the erratic daily schedule urged upon him
by Flax, the absentminded wizard who had rescued Drop during a violent storm
the previous Spring. Despite persistent efforts, Drop had failed to understand
the necessity for dividing each day into repetitious intervals for meals, study,
and sleep. As a cat, Drop was accustomed to hunting when he was hungry, or
otherwise occupying himself with whatever action that most appealed to his
momentary fancy. He might toy with a loose thread, survey his surroundings,
or—as now—contemplate human foibles while stretched out on the sun-warmed stone
to enjoy a late afternoon nap.

 
          
 
His attention was suddenly diverted by the
rank scent of crow and a flash of black feathers. Ordinarily, Drop would not
have been perturbed by the arrival of a crow, not even one of such impressive
size with unexpectedly red- brown eyes. From the instant that this crow swooped
down to perch on the broad windowsill outside Master Gilmont's study, however,
Drop was jarred from his leisurely rest into a state of active unease. No
matter which body he inhabited, cat or boy, Drop had discovered that whenever
magic was activated in his presence, he invariably exhibited two physical
reactions: his fur (or human hair) tended to rise, and his skin tingled. Drop's
fur lifted and his skin prickled ominously as the crow sidled to and fro along
the windowsill with the stealthy purposefulness of a would-be thief. Drop held
quite still, rightly judging that his own white-tipped gray fur so closely
matched the sundial's weathered stone that he should not be easily
distinguishable. Lest their azure color betray him, Drop deliberately hooded
his eyes to the merest slits.

 
          
 
Unaware of the cat's keen observation, the
crow completed its thorough exterior inspection of Gilmont's study, then flew
to a succession of nearby branches from which it could peer in turn through
every other window on the south facade of the remote country house. It was
unlikely that the sole human occupant within would be visible at this hour,
since Master Gilmont habitually indulged in his own afternoon nap in an
interior bedroom. The only other regular member of Gilmont's household, his
cook, was absent on a fortnight's journey to the city of Zachor to supervise
his daughter's wedding feast.

 
          
 
Fully alert, Drop tried to suppress a sense of
foreboding. From his months of living in a wizard's cottage, Drop had reached
the firm conclusion that magic always resulted in trouble for all creatures
concerned. This unsettling crow—which might well not be an authentic crow—projected
an aura of almost palpable menace. Its crow scent seemed real enough, but Drop
clearly recalled two other equally distinctive scents he associated with past
magical assaults: the odors of mouse and moldy cheese.

 
          
 
Soon after Drop had settled in at Flax's
cottage, a Druzanian sorcerer named Skarn had attempted to steal a dangerous
potion from Flax's desk. During the violent duel that ensued between the two
mages, Drop had managed to toss one of Otwill's Keep-Shape Spell lozenges into
Skarn's open mouth. When Drop himself had previously swallowed a lozenge from
that same bottle, his cat's body had been changed into that of a gray-haired,
azure-eyed boy. Skarn's subsequent transformation had been far more startling:
he had been converted into a mouse-scented demon, which Flax had summarily
vaporized.

 
          
 
Drop had encountered the moldy cheese odor in
his more recent conflict with Trund, the local minion of Walgur, an even more
notorious Druzanian sorcerer than Skarn. Only a few weeks past, Flax had been
secretly summoned to try to free his colleague Otwill from magical immurement
in the sorcerer's hired castle in Zachor. Posing as buyers of castle furniture,
Flax and Drop had interviewed Trund, from whose extravagant robes emanated a
stench that reminded Drop of the sort of cheese acceptable only to a starving,
rat. When they slipped into the castle to rescue Otwill, all three were trapped
by an insidious binding spell which relaxed after they were carried into an
ensorcelled, windowless cell. Had Drop not joyfully agreed to allow Otwill to
restore his cat form, their subsequent escape would have been impossible. As a
cat, Drop was able to squeeze through a ventilating slit too narrow for human
passage. He fetched Koron, Otwill's anxious apprentice, who had been waiting
outside the castle with the horses. Under the wizards' tutelage, Koron applied
a counterspell from the vulnerable exterior side of the cell's door.

 
          
 
Aware that even then, Walgur was hastening to
Za-chor from his Druzanian lair, the freed prisoners and Koron had risked their
lives to locate the rare, transitory magical portal which Otwill had discovered
was due to open in a bespelled tower room of Walgur's castle. Trund, determined
to prevent them from finding his master's as yet unexamined portal, had rushed
upstairs and attacked Koron, the only visible human in the tower room.
Struggling together, Trund and Koron had fallen through the dilated portal,
joining Flax and Otwill, who had already ventured into the strange other-space
beyond the opening. Seeing that the portal was rapidly contracting while Drop
remained behind, Otwill had called back to exhort Drop to seek Gilmont. In
order to prevent Walgur from ever being able to use the portal, Flax and Otwill
had spell-sealed the aperture from the far side, thus voluntarily—and Drop most
fervently hoped, only temporarily—exiling themselves in the other-space along
with Koron and Trund.

 
          
 
Unfortunately for Drop, Otwill had not had
sufficient time to convey directions to Gilmont's house. Wizards, Drop had
frequently noticed, often neglected to impart practical details that any cat
would have mentioned from the start. Drop did remember, however, that Koron had
lately apprenticed himself to Otwill, a far more active wizard than Koron's
original master, Gilmont, whose interest in magic tended more toward scholarly
research than vigorous spell-working. Further recalling Flax's extensive
library, Drop reasoned that Gilmont would likely be an even more "ancient
accumulator of scrolls and books. After his timely exit from Walgur's deserted
castle, Drop therefore loitered in the narrow alleyways of Zachor's
booksellers' quarter until he overheard talk of a shipment being readied for
dispatch to Master Gilmont. Gratified that his assessment of Gilmont's habits
had been correct, Drop had secured a comfortable perch atop the book-laden
wagon which delivered him directly to Gilmont's house.

 
          
 
Quite soon after his arrival, Drop had
impressed Gilmont’s cook by catching and displaying three mice in a tidy row on
the kitchen doorstep. Acting on the cook's enthusiastic endorsement, Gilmont
had urged Drop to investigate his study, where he had recently noticed with
alarm telltale toothmarks on various scrolls and leather book bindings.

 
          
 
Throughout the passing days, Drop patiently
awaited Flax's return. From Otwill's hasty—and fragmentary— farewell
admonition, Drop assumed that whenever Flax, Otwill, and Koron succeeded in
establishing a reentry portal from the other-space, they would expect to find
him at Gilmont's house.

 
          
 
It had been intensely frustrating to Drop to
be unable to explain his situation to Gilmont. Speech was undeniably one useful
faculty peculiar to humans, although Drop was privately convinced that they
prattled on at far more length than was strictly necessary. Flax had once
described Drop as a cat/boy of few, but cogent words. In Drop's opinion, the
cats of his acquaintance simply joined him in practicing a laudable economy in
their communications. Flax had taught the cat-turned-into-boy how to read as
part of Drop's apprentice training, but due to a storm-related injury to his
paw/hand, Drop had not mastered the finer intricacies of writing. Next to
speech, humans relied upon writing to convey information. Drop had considered
attempting to use his paw to daub a note to Gilmont, but so far, he had not
been afforded a suitable opportunity.

 
          
 
When the last rays of the late autumn sun
slanted across the garden, the overly inquisitive crow made one final circuit
of Gilmont's house, then flew away, its black outline quickly obscured against
the dark bulk of the surrounding forest.

 
          
 
Drop immediately jumped down from the sundial
and hurried through the special entrance contrived for him by Gilmont's cook—a
flap of heavy leather tacked across a niche beside the kitchen door. Somehow he
would have to warn Master Gilmont about the magically-charged crow's survey of
the scholar's house.

 
          
 
No sooner had Drop entered the house, however,
than he felt an irresistible urge to turn aside and climb the successive
flights of winding stairs all the way to Gilmont's storage room in the attic.
The higher he advanced, the more Drop's skin prickled and his sleek gray fur
rippled. There could be no mistake; active magic was being invoked nearby, and
Drop was being drawn toward the source of the activity. With mingled feelings
of wariness and expectancy—perhaps at last Flax and Otwill might be endeavoring
to return!—Drop carefully weaved his way around and between the storeroom's
rejected furniture and heaps of seldom-used scrolls. When his sensitive
whiskers brushed against an ornately framed glass-fronted panel, Drop tingled
all over as if raked by an icy wind.

 
          
 
He whirled around to examine the dusty panel
more closely. It was a large mirror, braced against the side of a rain-warped
cupboard. Grateful for his superb cat's vision in dim light, Drop gazed into
the mirror's shadowy depths. He was not surprised to see more than the surface
reflections from the surrounding objects in the crowded attic. Faint, swirling shapes
seemed to drift deep within the glass. Suddenly Drop was aware of a tenuous
communication. He recognized Flax's familiar voice, but the sound of it did not
come to Drop's ears. Instead, a ghostly whisper stirred in his mind, scarcely
perceptible at first. When Drop concentrated upon it, the substance of the
message became desperately clear.

 
          
 
"Drop! Fetch Gilmont! Need help
NOW!"

 
          
 
Drop raced to the door, bounded down the
stairs, and dashed into Gilmont's study, where he startled the old scholar by leaping
directly onto the desktop. Fortunately, Gilmont favored a wide-mouthed ink pot,
and he had just laid out a freslr sheet of parchment. Drop perceived only one
sure way to convey Flax's plea.

 
          
 
When Gilmont saw the cat poke its front paw
into his ink pot, he was initially amused, then jolted into paying closer
attention. Instead of the random smears the human expected from a cat dabbling
in ink, Drop's crude strokes produced readable—if blurry—letters. In an amazed,
then increasingly concerned voice, Gilmont read aloud, "HELP OTWILL MAGIC
MIRROR." He paused to consider, then declared, 'This is most extraordinary.
Either you are not a true cat, or you are a be-spelled cat. I must assume that
you have been instructed by Master Otwill, who requires my assistance. I assure
you that I would willingly aid Master Otwill if I knew his circumstances, but I
have no idea what you mean by 'magic mirror.' "

 
          
 
Voluble humans, Drop reflected grimly, would
risk their very heads by talking even while their roof descended around their
ears. Flax's entreaty was entirely too urgent to be delayed by further
conversation. Drop seized Gilmont's voluminous sleeve with his teeth and
tugged.