Calling on Dragons

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “Stupid creature was babbling something about a rabbit,” the calico cat said with a disdainful look at the black cat. “As if that was any excuse.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Trouble demanded. “I never get to have any fun.” Radiating hurt pride, he stalked to the far end of the porch and disappeared into a large clump of beebalm.

  “You know, people have been trying to perfect a universal cat-translating spell for years,” Archaniz said to Morwen in a dry tone. She glanced at the cats on the porch railing. “If you do come up with one, I’d like a copy for myself.”

  “Nosy old biddy,” said the calico cat.

  “On second thought, perhaps it would be better if I left things as they are,” Morwen said.

  “Being disagreeable, are they?” Archaniz said knowingly. “It’s only to be expected. Who ever heard of a polite cat?”

  The black cat hissed. “Grendel!” said Archaniz. “Behave yourself. It wasn’t that bad, and besides, you can use the exercise.”

  “He certainly can,” said the calico cat.

  “What’s all this racket?” rumbled a low, sleepy cat voice from under the porch. “Dash it, can’t a fellow take a nap in peace?” A moment later, a long cream-and-silver cat oozed around the steps to blink at the growing assembly above him.

  “That’s another thing, Morwen,” Archaniz said, scowling at the newcomer. “Cats and witches go together, I admit. And I know they’re a big help with your spells, but one really ought to observe some reasonable limits.”

  “I do,” said Morwen. All nine cats were useful, particularly when it came to working long, involved spells that required both concentration and power. Nine cats working together could channel a lot of magic. To explain all this would sound uncomfortably like bragging, however, so Morwen only added, “Anyway, I like cats.”

  “She is simply jealous because we’re all smarter than he is,” the white cat informed Morwen with a look at the black cat on Archaniz’s shoulder.

  “What, all of you?” Morwen said, raising an eyebrow.

  “All of us,” the white cat said firmly. “Even Fiddlesticks.”

  “I’m very smart,” Fiddlesticks agreed. “I’m lots smarter than Fatso there. Don’t you think I’m smart, Morwen?”

  Grendel hissed and bunched together as if he were preparing to launch himself from Archaniz’s shoulder. Hastily, Archaniz put up her free hand to hold him back. “Perhaps I had better leave now,” she said. “We can finish our discussion some other—”

  “There’s a big garden show coming up in Lower Sandis,” Morwen said thoughtfully. “Why doesn’t the Deadly Nightshade Garden Club enter an exhibit? If we all work together, we should be able to put together something quite impressive.”

  Archaniz considered. “Monkshood and snakeroot and so on? In a large black tent.”

  “And if everyone sends one or two really exotic things—”

  “Morwen, you’re a genius! People will talk about it for years, and that Airy McAiling Grinny person won’t have a leg to stand on.”

  “I don’t think it will be that simple,” Morwen cautioned. “But an exhibit will buy us time to find out why he’s so interested in making witches do things his way. And stop him.”

  “Of course,” the Chairwitch said happily. “Let’s see—Kanikak grows Midnight fire-flowers, and I have half a dozen Giant Weaselweeds. If I can talk Wully into letting us use her smokeblossoms . . .”

  “I’ll contribute two Black Diamond snake lilies and an invisible dusk-blooming chokevine,” Morwen said. “I won’t keep you any longer now; just let me know when you’ve got things arranged. Chaos, Miss Eliza, Scorn, wait for me inside, if you please.”

  The three cats sitting on the railing looked at each other. Then Chaos, the long-haired tabby, jumped down and sauntered past Fiddlesticks into the house. The white cat, Miss Eliza Tudor, followed, tail high, and Fiddlesticks fell in behind her, apparently without even thinking about what he was doing. Scorn sat where she was, staring stubbornly at Morwen.

  “I’m not leaving while that idiot of hers is still here,” Scorn said with a sidelong glance at Grendel and Archaniz. “There’s no telling what he might get up to.”

  As this did not seem unreasonable, for a cat, Morwen let it pass. She walked Archaniz out into the yard, where there was plenty of room for a takeoff, and bade her a polite goodbye. As soon as the Chairwitch was out of sight above the trees, Morwen turned to go back inside. Jasper Darlington Higgins IV was sitting in front of the porch steps, watching her.

  “Was that a good idea?” he said. “Invisible dusk-blooming chokevines aren’t exactly easy to find, you know. Much less to grow. And you haven’t got any, unless you’ve added them to the garden since early this morning.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” Morwen said. “But I’ve been wanting some for a long time, to put along the fence by the back gate. Now I’ve got a good excuse to hunt them up.”

  “As long as you know what you’re getting into,” Jasper said. “Can I go back to sleep now, or is there going to be more noisy excitement?”

  “Go to sleep,” said Morwen. As she climbed the porch steps, she gave Scorn a pointed glare. Dignity dripping from every whisker, Scorn jumped down from the railing and walked into the house. Morwen shook her head, picked up her broomstick and her paint can, and followed.

  2

  In Which Morwen Encounters a Rabbit

  MISS ELIZA, SCORN, AND CHAOS were sitting in the kitchen, trying to look as if they were waiting for something interesting to happen and not as if they were doing as Morwen had told them. The only one who managed it was Scorn, who had jumped up onto the bench below the side window and begun washing her face. When Morwen entered, she looked up briefly and then returned to washing. In contrast, Chaos jumped guiltily and Miss Eliza Tudor looked away. There was no sign of Fiddlesticks.

  “Archaniz has left, and Grendel has gone with her,” Morwen said, setting the paint on the table. “Now, which of you three would like to begin?”

  “Begin what?” Chaos asked warily.

  Scorn stopped washing and snorted. “Don’t be dense. She wants to know about our chasing Grendel.”

  “We have already explained that,” Miss Eliza said.

  “Not to my satisfaction,” Morwen said. “You know better than to pick a fight with another witch’s cat. At least, I thought you did.”

  “It’s our job to keep things out of the garden,” Chaos said, looking up with his green eyes wide. “That’s all we were doing.”

  Morwen sighed. “Well, at least I don’t have to ask who started it. What happened, exactly?”

  The cats exchanged looks. “We were out by the back fence, the three of us and Aunt Ophelia and Murgatroyd,” Miss Eliza said. “Chaos was in the apple tree—”

  “As usual,” Scorn put in. “You’d think it belonged to him.”

  “—and he saw that witch swoop down over the hill behind the house. He said he saw her cat jump off the broomstick—”

  “Probably looking for that blue catnip that grows on the far side,” Scorn said. “Grendel’s a little too fond of his nibbles, if you ask me.”

  “Nobody did,” said Chaos.

  Miss Eliza glared at the other two and lashed her tail. “If I may continue . . . ?”

  “Nobody’s stopping you,” Scorn said, and to show her complete indifference she bent sideways and began washing her side.

  “We were concerned,” Miss Eliza went on. “It seemed unusual. A minute or two later, while we were discussing whether to do anything about it, that black cat came tearing over the hill and down toward the garden, shouting about some rabbit.”

  “Stupid excuse for a cat,” Chaos muttered. “Running away from a rabbit! I ask you!”

  Scorn merely snorted expressively.

  Miss Eliza looked at them. “While I do not like all these interruptions, I must confess that I agree with you. It is not the kind of behavior one hopes for in a cat.”

  “So you
couldn’t resist tearing off after him.” Morwen shook her head.

  “He was heading for the garden,” Chaos said, avoiding her eyes. “We were just doing our job.”

  “Murgatroyd and Aunt Ophelia stayed in back, in case the rabbit showed up,” Miss Eliza Tudor offered.

  “At least that much was well done,” Morwen said. “I think—”

  “Morwen? Morwen? Open the door and let me in. Morwen?” The new cat voice floated in through the back window.

  With a faint frown, Morwen crossed to the far door and opened it. Immediately, Aunt Ophelia, a spiky tortoiseshell cat, shot through the opening and bounded onto a chair. “Thank goodness! I was afraid you weren’t going to hear me.”

  “I thought you and Murgatroyd were watching for rabbits,” Morwen said.

  “We found one,” said the tortoiseshell. “And I think you had better go look at it.”

  “I suppose it’s got fangs,” Scorn said, looking down her nose. “Or webbed feet.”

  “You needn’t sneer at Ophelia,” Miss Eliza said. “The last one I chased out of the sweet peas had both.”

  “Where is this interesting rabbit?” Morwen asked.

  “Heading for the back fence,” Aunt Ophelia said with poorly concealed relief. “Murgatroyd is in Chaos’s apple tree, keeping an eye on it.”

  Morwen nodded and went out onto the back step. The garden seemed neat and peaceful, the square beds of vegetables on the left, the more exotic plants and herbs on the right. A shoulder-high row of new apple trees marched along the rear of the vegetable beds, just inside the picket fence. The first was just beginning to leaf out, the second was speckled with white blossoms, the third held a half-dozen marble-sized green fruit, and the fourth was beginning to drop its dark, rust-colored leaves as if in preparation for winter. At the far end of the garden stood a much older tree, heavily laden with apples that were just turning red. Below it, the back gate led out onto a grassy hill. An enormous lilac bush, nearly as tall as the apple tree, leaned over the fence on the right side of the gate.

  There was no sign of Murgatroyd or of the interesting rabbit, so Morwen started toward the gate. Halfway there, she heard a thump and the top of the lilac thrashed violently.

  “Murgatroyd?”

  A loud hiss from the apple tree was followed by more thrashing in the lilac. “Get back, you, you—you rabbit!” snarled Murgatroyd’s voice. “I warn you! Watch out, Morwen, it’s in the lilac!”

  “I suspected as much,” Morwen said. “Exactly where—”

  “Here,” said a deep, mournful voice. “I’m stuck.”

  “If you break any of those branches, Morwen’ll turn you into a lizard,” Murgatroyd yelled from the apple.

  “Lizards?” said Fiddlesticks from behind Morwen. “But I thought she was doing mice now.”

  “Quiet,” Morwen said without looking back. “You in the lilac, hold still. Murgatroyd, stop making him nervous.” She opened the gate and went slowly around the end of the lilac. “Now, then—good heavens.”

  Standing on the far side of the lilac was an enormous white rabbit. He was at least six feet tall, not counting the ears that drooped miserably down his back. Apart from his size, he did not seem unusual to Morwen: he had bright black eyes, a pink nose, and long whiskers. His front paw was caught in the branches of the lilac bush.

  “I don’t suppose you can do anything about this,” the rabbit said gloomily. He tugged at his paw and the top of the lilac waved wildly to and fro.

  From the apple tree, Murgatroyd hissed again. The rabbit cringed. “Stop that, both of you,” Morwen commanded. “I think I can help if you’ll hold still. What is your name, by the way?”

  “Killer,” said the rabbit in the same melancholy tone.

  Morwen blinked, then shook her head. Rabbits had the oddest ideas about appropriate names. Perhaps it was because they had to come up with so many of them. She peered into the tangled heart of the lilac, then reached through the outer branches and tapped one of the fat trunks at the center. With a reluctant creak, the trunk bent slowly outward, freeing Killer’s paw.

  “My goodness,” said the rabbit. He looked at his paw as if he were not quite sure it was properly attached, then shook it, then wiggled its toes. “My goodness gracious. Thank you very much, ma’am.”

  “Morwen. And I would still like that explanation.”

  A low, warning growl of agreement came out of the apple tree, and a moment later Murgatroyd scrambled down through the apple’s branches to the fence rail.

  Killer gave the cat a nervous look and began backing away. “It isn’t a very interesting story. I’m sure you all have better things to do.”

  “All?” Morwen glanced back over her shoulder. Fiddlesticks, Miss Eliza, Aunt Ophelia, Jasmine, Trouble, Chaos, and Scorn were lined up in a long row at the bottom of the garden, staring at the rabbit. They made an intimidating picture. When Morwen looked at Killer again, he had retreated another couple of feet. Morwen glared.

  “I, ah, was just going,” said the rabbit. “You see, I’m late.”

  “For what?” Morwen demanded.

  “Something important, I’m sure. Not that it matters. I’m always late, you see. It runs in the family; my brother even got himself a big gold pocket watch, and he still can’t get anywhere on time.”

  “In that case, it won’t matter if you’re a little later. How did you happen to get caught in my lilac bush?”

  The rabbit sighed. “I wanted something to eat, and this thing—you say it’s a lilac?—looked large enough for a meal. It takes a lot to fill me up, now that I’m so big. Only I couldn’t reach the bit I wanted, and when I tried, the branches twisted around and I got stuck, and then he snarled at me—” Killer broke off, cringing, as Murgatroyd demonstrated the snarl for Morwen’s benefit.

  Morwen frowned at the rabbit. “How long have you been six feet tall?”

  “Seven feet, eleven inches,” corrected Killer, “counting the ears. Since this morning. And it’s no fun, believe me. I’m hungry all the time, and I don’t fit in my hole, and I can’t hide under bushes the way I used to.”

  “And how did you happen to grow so large so quickly?”

  “I don’t know.” Killer sighed again and his ears lifted and dropped expressively. “I was just nibbling at my clover patch when all of a sudden everything started shrinking. The next thing I knew, I was nearly eight feet tall—counting the ears—and there wasn’t enough clover for a snack, much less breakfast. It didn’t even taste right,” he finished sadly.

  “Before or after you started growing?”

  The rabbit’s ears stiffened as he frowned in concentration. “The taste? Before. Definitely before. The leaves were a little sour and the stems didn’t crunch right.”

  It sounded as if some enchanted seeds had gotten mixed in with the clover, and Killer had eaten the sprouts. If Morwen was lucky, he wouldn’t have eaten all of them. A plant that increased one’s size would be a valuable addition to the garden, even if it only worked on rabbits. “I’d like to see this clover patch.”

  “Well . . .” Killer hesitated. “Do you have to bring them? I don’t like cats.”

  “I don’t think I’ll need everyone,” Morwen said. “Aunt Ophelia, Trouble, and Miss Eliza will be quite enough.”

  “Why can’t I come?” Fiddlesticks trotted up to the gate and inspected the rabbit through the slits. “I didn’t get to chase Fatso, and I didn’t get to chase the rabbit. My, he’s big. And I didn’t get any fish.”

  “You talk too much, that’s why,” Trouble told him.

  “Perhaps you should go tell Jasper what’s happened,” Miss Eliza put in.

  “Right,” said Fiddlesticks. “Maybe he’s caught a mouse while we’ve been out here talking to rabbits. Maybe he’ll share!” And he bounded off.

  “Optimist,” said Scorn, looking after him.

  “If we are going to look at vegetables,” said Aunt Ophelia in tones that conveyed her poor opinion of the entire undertaking
, “perhaps we should get it over with.”

  “Are you done for now, Morwen?” Jasmine asked. “Because if you are, I’m going back to the window before someone else grabs it.”

  “Go ahead,” Morwen told her. Immediately, Jasmine and Scorn took off at a dead run for the house. Morwen turned to the rabbit. “Now, about this clover patch . . .”

  Killer dropped to all fours, which brought his head nearly level with Morwen’s. He sniffed the air twice and cocked an ear to the right. “That way.” He started off, and Morwen and the three chosen cats followed.

  After ten minutes, Morwen was wishing she had brought her broomstick. Killer set an extremely uneven pace, taking two or three long hops that would nearly carry him out of sight and then pausing to sniff the air and twitch his whiskers nervously. It would have been much easier to follow him by air, Morwen thought, but she did not say anything because it would only encourage the cats to complain. Trouble, in particular, was extremely put out at having to let a rabbit lead. To make up for it, he pretended to stalk Killer, slinking around trees like a gray shadow and muttering under his breath. Aunt Ophelia and Miss Eliza contented themselves with making malicious remarks. Fortunately, Killer was usually too far ahead to hear any of them.

  When they finally reached the clover patch, Morwen was nearly as cross as her cats. Killer did not seem to notice. He sat back on his haunches, waved proudly, and said, “Here we are!”

  “This is it?” Trouble said, staring at an irregular mat of small green plants. It was no more than four feet across, and a third of the plants had been nipped neatly off, leaving only short, bare stems. “That’s all?”

  “It’s much larger when I’m my normal size,” Killer said in an apologetic tone. “And it’s got much better flavor than the one by the little pond or the one by the currant bush. At least, it used to.”

  Morwen suppressed a sigh of irritation. As long as she’d come this far, she’d better have a look at the thing, even if it didn’t seem particularly promising. Pushing her glasses firmly into their proper position—they had slid down her nose a little on the walk—she knelt beside the clover patch.