The Sign of the Cat (31 page)

“You think it's a joke?” the earl hissed. “I'm the Earl of
Merrick
, boy! I have a
kingdom
to think about! And if I have to eat cats in order to—”

The earl stopped again. Then he chuckled. It was a chilling sound.

“It doesn't matter if I tell you. You're never going to be able to tell anyone. In fact, I'll
enjoy
telling you.” He leaned closer, so that his face was near the bars, and stopped the motion of the cage. “I'm learning to speak Cat,” he whispered.

Duncan stared at him.

“Well, almost. It won't be long now. The more cats I eat, the quicker I'll learn to meow.”

Duncan cleared his throat.
“Meow?”

“You think it's funny, boy? You think it's impossible?” The earl's eyes narrowed. “I can assure you it's not. When I was a lad at the Academy, I knew a boy who could speak Cat. Oh, he could find out anything! People will talk in front of a cat, you know, and never think anything of it.” The earl rubbed his hands together. “But he never really understood the advantage it gave him. He could have found out test questions in advance; he could have learned embarrassing things about people, things they wanted to keep private, and made them pay him money to keep the secret.”

“That's cheating,” said Duncan with contempt. “And blackmail, too. I thought nobles were supposed to be honorable.”

The earl lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Honor is for people who can afford it. I was poor.”

“And what's your excuse now?” said Duncan bitterly.

“Oh, there's more at stake now than just a few test questions or some pocket money. That boy, when he was grown and with the whole cat nation spying for him, could have ruled the kingdom.
I'm
going to,” the earl added with a leer.

Duncan swallowed hard. He knew how well a cat could spy. What if the ability to speak Cat was in the power of someone like the earl—and if the earl were king?

Duncan cleared his throat. “Did you ask the boy to teach you to speak Cat?”

“He refused, the fool.” The earl seemed to draw in on himself, a dark, hunched shadow. “But I was clever. I watched him, and I listened. One day I heard him asking his cook to make a kitty pot pie for dinner the next day. I had my suspicions. And in the end, right before he died, he told me. The secret to speaking Cat was to
eat cats
!”

Duncan's hands curled into fists. The earl was talking about Duke Charles, of course. Duncan remembered what the princess had told him about his father's last words to the earl—that eating cats was the secret—but that had seemed like sarcasm, like a bitter joke. The earl, though, in his obsessive quest for power, had taken it for truth.

Duncan wanted to punch the earl right through the bars, but that would be a momentary satisfaction at best. He forced himself to keep the conversation going. “That doesn't make sense. I eat chicken, and I don't know how to cluck.”

“Well, cats are different. I don't know how it works. I just know
he
could speak their language, and believe me, there was no other reason he'd ever want to eat a cat. They're too stringy and tough. Of course,
kittens
are nice, very tasty indeed.”

The earl looked up at the yardarm impatiently. “Bertram! Haven't you caught that kitten yet?”

“If you want it done faster,” came the sullen answer, “then
you
come up and catch it. I said all along, get the boy out of the way first—but no, you stand there talking and send me to chase a
kitten
—”

Duncan looked up at the yardarm where Fia was sitting, glaring at Bertram with a look of deep disdain. She was meowing insults about his climbing technique.

Duncan thought of something else to keep the earl talking. “Can you understand what the cat on the yard is saying?”

Fia's insults were worth listening to. Just now she was describing Bertram's mother (“Daughter of a Corpulent Pig”) and his father (“Son of a Toothless Rat”) and Bertram himself (“Big Weenie with a Flabby Bottom Who Climbs Rigging Like My Aunt Sophie”).

“It's not as clear as I'd like it to be,” said the earl. He darted a quick look at Duncan. “I think she's saying, ‘Help, help, get me down!'”

Duncan did his best to look impressed. “And can you speak Cat back to her?”

“Well…” The earl frowned. “I understand it better than I speak it. I don't think I've eaten enough cat yet to really solidify the language skills.” He contorted his neck and issued a stream of meows.

Duncan would have laughed if he hadn't been so worried. The earl had stumbled on a few meows that were recognizable, but they were put together in a way that made no sense at all. As far as he could tell, the earl had said something that could be translated as “Blobber worm grunkle, feeble go funky.”

“There, you see?” The earl crossed his arms over his chest. “I told her that the big man in the rigging was going to help her get down.”

“Ah,” said Duncan.

“Of course, he isn't going to do any such thing. He's going to catch her and give her to the cook, and if I don't have Scrambled Kitty with Cinnamon Toast for breakfast, I'll be very surprised.”

Duncan's stomach twisted with sudden loathing. He looked away, past the waterfront to the island rising beyond. The town was dotted with lamplight that glowed in a hundred window squares. A line of lanterns was moving like tiny bright ants, all converging on the baron's manor house as, even now, carriages and people on foot were starting to arrive for the concert.

One set of lights was moving swiftly away from the manor house, down the bayside road. It was a carriage, with lanterns on both sides; Duncan could trace its zigzag path with each bend of the road. He held his breath. It could be coming toward the waterfront. He needed to keep the earl talking, keep his attention, until it got here and he could yell for help.

Duncan looked at the earl and spoke deliberately. “I don't think you can speak Cat,” he said. “You're just pretending.”

The smile fell from the earl's face as if it had been wiped. “And how would you know? Do
you
speak Cat?” He pushed his face close to the bars of Duncan's cage. “I heard you growl at the tiger when he was attacking. Were you trying to speak his language, by any chance?”

Duncan felt as if he were balancing on slippery rigging in a storm. “I thought it might work to growl at him. I've been experimenting with basic commands.”

The earl's eyes narrowed. “And does he obey you?”

Duncan hesitated. What could he say to keep the earl interested, yet not give too much away? “Most times. I think he's been trained.”

“Clever boy!” The earl's eyes lit up maliciously. “But not so clever as you think. You've brought the tiger to me at just the right time. Now, with the female in the king's zoo, I can breed up a whole squadron of military tigers. Tigers are very conscious of rank, did you know?” The earl's face contorted. “When they were on board ship, they obeyed the
duke
. They ignored
me
. But that will all be different now. Soon I'll be the highest-ranking person in all Arvidia.”

“What about the king?” said Duncan, through a mouth that was suddenly dry.

“Oh, the king won't last long, I assure you. I can afford to wait.”

High on the yardarm, Bertram lunged for the kitten, missed, and nearly fell. He swore several oaths Duncan had never heard before as he got his balance back again.

The earl didn't even look up. “And after I'm king, I'll go to war with the country of Fahr and rule it, too. They have all those lovely jewel mines, you know; but they think the Rift keeps them safe. Of course, it's thanks to you that I can invade, dear boy.”

This was too much. “How did you work that out?” said Duncan with scorn.

The earl smiled maliciously. “You gave Bertram your house key, remember? And even your address. He picked up the sea chest, and we found your father's chart for the Rift inside. I admit, it was my oversight that allowed the sea chest with your father's things to be sent to your mother in the first place, and when she disappeared, the chest went with her. You made it easy for us to get it back, and we are so
very
grateful.”

Duncan trembled with the effort to keep silent.

The earl tapped Duncan's cage with the long metal hook. “Cool in the face of danger, are you? Just like your father,” he added spitefully. “Oh, in case you haven't guessed yet, your father was Charles, Duke of Arvidia. He's dead now, though. I'm looking forward to courting his widow. Don't you think I'd make her an admirable husband?”

A red haze seemed to be filling Duncan's vision—he could hardly see the earl's face. He spoke through his teeth. “She'll never marry you.”

“No? What if I tell her that I've gone over the charts again, at the point where you disappeared, and that you might have been washed up on one of the many islands nearby? What if I promise to search for you and take her with me?”

Duncan could not speak. Fury washed through him in a wave. He struggled to look past the earl to the carriage on the hillside road; it would reach the waterfront soon. He thought perhaps he could hear the faint rattle of its wheels.

The earl tapped Duncan's cage with the long metal hook. “Now that the king has given her back her lands and castle, he has said that the man who marries the duchess will be duke. I'd quite like to be a duke,” he said, chuckling. “And I'm looking forward to comforting your grieving mother. She'll play her violin for me every night, don't you think? If I ask nicely? I really am most terribly fond of the violin.”

Suddenly Duncan became aware that Fia, high up on the yardarm, was meowing to him. She was telling him to be alert—that she would dash past Bertram, leap onto the cage, and pick the lock just as soon as the earl left the ship to attend the concert.

“Of course, if she doesn't marry me,” said the earl, “no matter. Once I'm king, I can take away her castle and lands on some excuse. She'll be poorer than ever, once I'm finished with her—and you'll be just as dead as your father.” The earl stepped closer, his voice bright with malice. “I was always coming in second to your precious father. He was the duke—I was just the earl. He got the academic medal, he made the winning goal, he even married the girl I wanted. But I got even at last.” The earl stroked the bandage on his head with his long, thin fingers. “It's truly a pleasure to experience this moment—I only wish it could last longer—when I am taking everything away from his son.”

Duncan held his breath. Close to the waterfront, a carriage was rattling, coming quickly down the hill. There was the sound of feet marching, and then flutes began to tootle and a brass horn blew. Suddenly a closely packed column of people came round the corner of a building and down the boardwalk, and they were all playing instruments. Duncan recognized the tune; he had listened to his mother's music students murder it on the piano for years. They were playing “Hero's March.”

Would they see him in the cage? It was dark. If only they'd stop the music, he could yell and have a hope of being heard!

On the yardarm, the white kitten yawned as Bertram edged closer. The big man lunged for her with a sudden movement, lost his balance, and clung to the jackstay, cursing, as Fia stepped delicately just out of reach.

“Bertram!” The earl's voice cracked like a bullwhip. “Get down here! Forget the cat and get to the crane controls! People are coming!”

Bertram fumbled his slow way back across the yardarm. The earl stamped the deck in his impatience. “I'll do it myself,” he muttered, striding down the gangplank to the harbor crane.

The gears made their metallic noise, and the pulleys squeaked overhead. Something white and fluffy leaped from the yardarm to the top of the cage as it swayed past, and Fia tumbled through the bars and into Duncan's arms.

“Bertram climbs like an ox,” she said cheerfully, “and he smells like one, too. What now?”

Duncan whispered in her ear. “As soon as that marching band gets close enough, I'm going to yell.”

“I'll meow for my mother!” said Fia. “She'll be glad to hear that I could pass my kitten examinations ten times over now!”

Duncan's cage moved sideways in a series of jerks—away from the side of the ship, past the dark gap of water under the gangplank, over the dock. “Get ready, Fia,” whispered Duncan. “He's going to set us down on the pier. The minute he looks away, pick the lock.”

But the earl, working at the controls with hurried motions, turned the crane even farther. The crane arm stopped abruptly, and Duncan's cage swung in elliptical circles over the sucking water on the far side of the wooden pilings.

Duncan bit his lip. The ship was between him and the people on the boardwalk, and the band was still playing.

“I'm going to yell anyway,” he said to Fia.

“I'll caterwaul,” Fia said. “It's a very loud noise that cats make, and I've been wanting to practice.”

“On three,” said Duncan. “One—two—”

Clank! Clank clank clank whiiiirrrr!
With a suddenness that snatched the breath from both Duncan and Fia, the pulleys spun and the cage dropped. It hit the water with a smack and a splash. The sea poured in the spaces between the bars, and the iron hook and chain fell on top and weighed it down. Duncan had one second to fill his lungs with air before his head went under and everything was cold and wet and dark.

Duncan felt the cage hit bottom. He was completely submerged. But he wasn't in the deepest channel. Surely the waves would sweep out again, giving him a chance to breathe.…

He could feel Fia writhing in his hands. He pushed the cat up through a gap in the bars and held her as high as he could. With the other hand, he pulled himself to the top of the cage until he could feel the bars touching his face. He couldn't hold his breath much longer. He could feel the air on his wrist—so close, just inches away—