“Whiskerdoom, it’s not—”
“Of course I know what the others say about us familiars. Fat! Pampered! Idle, but for a few simple chores. Oh, we know nothing of life on the streets. Oh, we’re all just soft and weak.”
“Brother, I don’t—” And here again the fumbling speech, with all my best words escaping like agile birds just beyond my paws.
“That’s what you think,” Whiskerdoom went on. “You don’t have to say it. Always wanting to cut me out. Always believing you’re better.”
“Stop it.”
“Well you’re not,” he said. “You’re a joke of a cat. Afraid of your own shadow. Never brave enough to get what you want. Blaming me for being smarter.”
“Stop. It.”
The old hurt filled my mind like nightfall. I felt it tug at me, ready to pull me into a ball, a blot of darkness.
“You got more milk than anyone from our dam,” Whiskerdoom said. “She spent more time training you to hunt. Everyone loves you, even the humans. Your tricks work on them. But I see through it all, to the stupid selfish little beast within.”
I pounced.
We scuffled, scratched, bit. When we were youths Whiskerdoom had grown swiftly, and deep in my brain I still expected my brother to overwhelm me, leave me humiliated and bleeding as in the old days. So I was surprised to find that striking in anger I could overpower him. His knowledge of magic and monsters didn’t equal a life on the streets. I grappled, raked, bit at his neck in the spot that would have shattered his spine had he been a mouse.
“Enough,” he said.
I let go. He rolled away and just stopped there, belly up, looking at the clouds.
“You cannot help,” he gasped, “being what you are. A cat. A normal, healthy cat. It is I who am peculiar, Shadowdrop, I who reach for strange heights of imagination, of knowledge. You are typical. I declare you ordinary, sister. Relish it.”
This, I realized, was as close to an apology as I would ever get from Whiskerdoom. I could either accept that, or carry old anger in my mouth like a rotting mouse carcass.
I’d rather drop the carrion, I decided. Sometimes with individuals, as with waterfalls, you must simply learn to appreciate their good qualities from a safe remove. Or drown.
“I accept your... whatever, brother. Are you able to go on?”
“Yes, of course. Apology accepted. I consent to your plan. Let’s go show my mistress what it means to cross a black cat.”
We reached the streets. The hellsnouts were waiting.
We evaded them by slipping into the maze of ships that underlay Scatterwind Market. In the hold of the Silver Hind we peered out at the shining mansions of Relicwood, gleaming between tall trees. Beyond these estates rose the great buildings surrounding the Infinite Forum, the Zodiac Coliseum, the Vault of Heaven, the Tower of the Underseers, the Temple of Clockwork Justice, Castle Astrolabe.
The hellsnouts had anticipated us here too. Between the Forum and us paced my old friend Hork.
“Castle Astrolabe,” I said. “The Overgazers can speak with us. They might be friendly. They need to know the Nominus Umbra is a target.”
“Huh. Heavily-guarded place, filled with magical wards. I’ll do it. You need to lead that hellsnout away from me, get all the free black cats rounded up, and get them to the Forum, so together we can counteract Ruingift’s distraction and possibly Wurm’s theft of that page from the Nominus Umbra.”
“All right,” I said, agreeing to what had originally been my idea. “I will distract Hork. And I will summon the others. I know the city.”
“Agreed,” he said. “It’s not much of a plan, but it’s ours. Let’s get going before I decide to live permanently in this creaky, rotting mousetrap.”
We exited the ship and crept up to the Esplanade, which was crowded with sailors and wayfarers and vendors and performers and gawkers. My eyes tracked cutlasses and daggers and juggling balls and pirouetting feet. Most distinctive of all were the carriages of the rich, horse-drawn fantasies of grand wood embellished with brass or ivory or clockwork gargoyles. And a few of these went beyond fantasy into inanity. There was a carriage pressed with gold leaf, shaped to evoke a cloud of autumn leaves. There was a carriage made to resemble a giant pumpkin. There was a carriage that looked like a miniature version of the city, with silver towers for the heights, a tumble of tiny ships for Scatterwind Market, and crystal veining standing in for the Dragondraught River.
I stared several seconds before noting a more salient aspect of these opulent vehicles. The fanciest of the carriages were all going the wrong way.
In the midst of the year’s biggest event, the city’s wealthiest humans were leaving town.
The rich, you see... the old man at the fountain had said, confuse a lack of scruples with being strong. What did these fine people know that the average reveler didn’t?
Enough. Hork, still pacing at the edge of the Scatterwind’s mass of hulks, keeping to the shadows and out of sight of the revelers, was sniffing the air, as if he’d caught our scent. I touched noses with my brother and dove between the fantasia of leaves and the grand pumpkin carriage, leaving startled horses and shouting people in my wake. Bad luck. But perhaps a few of them deserved it.
Hork chased me through the ivy-threaded, rose-festooned compounds of Relicwood, his spittle igniting topiary.
I found the mansion of one Fain Raithson, dapper weapons merchant, with a sprawling hedge maze I knew as well as the kinks of my own tail. I led the hellsnout into the leafy twistings, and when I’d gotten him thoroughly enmeshed in the green puzzle, I ducked out through a narrow passage in the roots, leaving outraged snarls behind.
On a rocking swing near the garden I found our sibling Sootpaw. He was pretending to sleep through the commotion.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said, eyelids rising to reveal black pupils aswim in green. “You do cause trouble, Shadowdrop.”
“You have no idea. There’s a plot to destroy the city. It involves us.”
“Oh? Do we want to destroy the city?”
“No! Meet us at the Forum.”
I raced on before hearing his reply. I didn’t worry that Hork would chase Sootpaw, for I heard the baying and knew that only I mattered. As it should be. It was almost flattering.
I found another sibling, Moonset, in a dry birdbath at the manse of the slave trader Slith Sainsdaughter, who was very careful to keep all her slaving offshore. My sister was pawing idly at dust-colored moths. I’d never gotten along with Moonset, who also fancied Scatterwind Market and disliked sharing. Yet we weren’t enemies. I knew what an enemy looked like. “You say,” she said, “our whole city is endangered. Do you mean for humans, or for us?”
“For all.”
Green-and-gold eyes scrutinized me. “You have a most un-catlike partiality for humans. I had to ask.”
“It is not un-catlike. All breeds but ours show an affinity for their kind. Our world-lines have been woven together since before the sun began rising in the east.”
“You speak of meekbreeds. Our kind are different.”
“We are not so different, Moonset. If only we could control the luckbane...”
“Enough, Shadowdrop. Clearly you will mew and twitch until I respond in the affirmative. I shall do so. Behold: yes. To the Forum, you say?”
“Yes.” By now the enormity of my task had resonated through my aching legs and lungs, and I added, “But tell two cats before you proceed there, and bid them do likewise.”
“Two black cats.”
“Yes, Moonset, two black cats. I believe Smokefang and Gloomrunner dwell near here. I go now to the haunt of Lighthunter.”
“Go then. For I smell a hellsnout close by.”
That took care of my siblings, so it was on to the others. At the Timberchar Bridge I found Lighthunter amid the two-foot-wide alleys between the businesses and tenements of that improbably old span. He wordlessly agreed to my plea, flexed the claws upon his bulky paws, and leapt on his way.
&n
bsp; I crossed and located the young kitten Flickerdark scrounging garbage behind a slaughterhouse in Ashenspan. She was eager to accompany me but reluctantly agreed to run messages. By the time I reached the Abbey of Lost Gods and peered about for the twins Cryptleaper and Tombscramble, I realized I’d run out of time.
“You,” said Cryptleaper.
“The crazy one,” said Tombscramble.
They stared down from the roof of the Abbey. I explained everything to their impassive faces. Luckily, big ears ran in their family. They conferred in a flurry of mutterings and twitches.
“We’ll go,” said Cryptleaper.
“But you haven’t much time,” said Tombscramble. “Up here we can see far. The parade is starting.”
“If this Ruingift wants to unleash our captive brethren,” said Cryptleaper, “It will happen soon.”
“Thank you. On your way.”
And I ran on mine. But my destination had changed. For the citizens were lining the sidewalks of Timearrow Way, the paraders massing by the Eternal Esplanade, and soon Ruingift would spring whatever evil she planned. I needed to accelerate my plans.
Once more I needed the Orb.
To the Forum I ran, and hellsnouts followed. They’d arrayed themselves to spot me if I approached the city’s heart.
All right then, I thought. It is cat versus dog. As it was meant to be.
People were everywhere. Hork caught up with his cohort and together they herded me toward the thoroughfare. They knew me. They knew I’d avoid harming innocents with my passage.
Somehow I had to get through to the Forum, and the Underseers’ tower, and the Orb—and quickly.
Tru’s dead brother, and Ruingift herself, would always haunt me. But the living needed me now. Me, Shadowdrop. Greatest of black cats. No, let’s just say greatest of cats. Or, to keep it simple—greatest.
As always the trick is knowing what cards to play and when.
Forgive me, I thought. Into the Via Antiqua I ran.
And then the truth dawned upon me like warm sunlight upon fur: I would cross no-one’s path.
I wasn’t using fatesight, but even without it I should have felt the frayed world-lines as my luckbane burned through them. Yet I felt nothing, saw only the endless startled faces, all unharmed.
Of course, I thought. They’re all waiting for the parade! They’re not going anywhere for thirteen seconds, or even thirteen minutes! For this little while they have no path to cross.
I had a chance. I ran on.
And a peculiar thing happened. Amid the shouts there came a cheer. And then another, and another. At last there was a roar of approval from the humans as I and my pursuit enacted a mighty entertainment before them. This day even a hellsnout, even a black cat, was accepted as part of the bread and circuses. For the first time, I felt like a citizen of Archaeopolis. For the first time the old man’s words your city made complete sense.
At last I reached the Stairway of Ages, rising amid the foliage of the Gravegarden. As the parade would not ascend the Stairway, here I faced the problem of spectators milling about on the lowest steps.
I yowled in a deranged manner I hadn’t essayed since the day Tru almost drowned. The startled crowd shifted ahead of me, just a little. My luck held, for even now, I crossed no-one’s path.
Up, up, up... Along the stairs of different metals marking different Ages I went... I thought of human eras and how my kind were but a soft footfall along history’s path. Volcanoes, plagues, famines, earthquakes, floods... why, with all these catastrophes facing them, would humans ever deliberately harm their own?
But as the Tower appeared before me I thought as a human might, as someone who builds. I thought of all those fantastic carriages moving away from the city toward countryside retreats. And I understood, then, that the richest of Archaeopolis were poised to swoop in and rebuild after this disaster, to become more powerful than ever. Never mind they’d sacrifice the real assets of this city (my city), its people and their creativity. Never mind that overall, everyone would be poorer. All hierarchy was relative. Rather than settle for merely being rich in a thriving metropolis, they preferred to be tyrants of a ruin.
I would stop them somehow. I, bringer of bad luck.
I ascended the tower’s cat path, leaping away from the spittle of hellsnouts and through the cat door in triumph.
Pain washed over me, and darkness overtook me. They’d changed the locks.
Oblivion came, looked me over in the dark, and decided I tasted bad.
I woke to claws upon my face.
“Shadowdrop. Wake up. We need you. Then you can die, if that’s what you want.”
It was the voice of Nightwise. The voice was attached to his face, and to the claws. The claws were almost welcome, for they distracted me from the ache suffusing my whole body.
“What...” I managed to reply.
“Whiskerdoom’s banished. The warding’s set to kill him.”
“Kill...?”
“You set the tower on fire. They think it was him, though. Luckily you’re only his sister.”
“I don’t feel all that lucky...”
“We need you. The others are in trouble.”
I could rise, I decided. I even went ahead and did it. We were on the landing beyond the cat door. I noted Postgrad back in his usual spot, none the worse for wear. I decided not to address him, in case he preferred to be ignored. We were otherwise alone.
“Hauntclaw?” I said. “Quickfang?”
“Mistress Wurm made Masters Hake and Slint loan their familiars to her. Their own familiars! Maybe they’re infatuated. Maybe she’s worked a charm. My own Mistress has taken a holiday, she’s so sick of Wurm. Whiskerdoom’s nowhere.”
“But where are Hauntclaw and Quickfang?”
“Wurm made Quickfang sneak into Castle Astrolabe. I don’t know why. Hauntclaw’s hiding outside the Castle, waiting. I don’t know why that either.”
I knew. Quickfang must be accomplishing the theft of Page 99 of the Nominus Umbra. Hauntclaw must be her accomplice somehow. Wurm could thus make the cats endure all the risk.
“Where’s the Orb?” I asked.
“Again with the Orb? It’s out of reach. In Wurm’s own chambers. She’s there now. Meanwhile Hake and Slint are in the workshop. You’ll never make it up the stairs.”
“Tell me the way.”
He stared at me as if a rabbit had suddenly frothed at the mouth, grown fangs, and cackled death-death-death. Then he told me, adding, “I think this is the last I’ll see of you. I’m sad. Because I like you. Even if you’re trouble. If things were different I’d ask you out for midnight caterwauling. Alas.”
“Listen, Nightwise. Wurm has never truly met me. I mean to surprise her. And... I may have another trick, if you will help.”
“This will get me into even bigger trouble. Won’t it?”
“Not necessarily. Wait here while I get something.”
I raced to Whiskerdoom’s nook and retrieved, like a mom-cat, the iron collar. I rejoined Nightwise and the silent Postgrad. I said, “I gather the connection between collar and wizard is like a leash that can be tugged? I wonder if a wearer’s feelings are strong enough they might shake the wizard on the other end of the leash... not enough to control, but enough to distract.”
“I don’t think,” Nightwise said, “I can challenge Wurm.”
“Ah, but I do not ask this of you.” Claws retracted I patted the scratching post, some of whose limbs would easily fit the collar. “I ask it of him.”
I now noticed that Postgrad hadn’t escaped from our adventure unscathed. He was charred a bit around the edges.
“I should say no,” said the scratching post. “But I’m getting a taste for defiance.”
“Defiant furniture?” Nightwise scoffed.
“Haven’t you ever been ambushed by a table corner? Well, maybe that’s a human thing. Shadowdrop, when you dropped the Orb on me before—”
“Sorry,” I said.
�
��I’ve had worse. Anyway, somehow you left within the Orb the image of an old man playing cards.”
“I’d briefly thought about the game Treatment...” I recalled.
“Well, I couldn’t see him clearly, but I did contact him for an instant. I think he was inside Castle Astrolabe. All I was able to convey was the message Danger! For all I know, I got merely the head chef and he double-checked the larder.”
“It’s more than I hoped. Thank you.”
“I’m eager to help any other way a scratching post can. Hey, ow!”
Nightwise objected, “But you said...”
“Give me that collar,” growled Postgrad.
I padded into the workshop, counting to one hundred. Back on the landing Postgrad and Nightwise did likewise.
Nine, ten, eleven...
Masters Hake and Slint were bent over dusty city maps, cross-referencing monster sightings. It sounded like they were on the right track, but they would never draw the correct conclusions in time. Nor would they ever believe me. I crept past table legs.
... seventeen, eighteen, nineteen...
No one but a black cat schooled in stealth could have managed it. The wizards noticed me not.
... thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five...
The wizards’ servants were a different matter.
Two candlequicks pattered somewhere within the chamber even as I threaded the stairway’s shadows. Worse, I saw candles in alcoves above, twitching in an alarming way.
... forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one...
I slipped up past these benighted illuminators and into the hallway inhabited by apprentices, such as I gathered Postgrad had been. There were few in those days (word about Postgrad had perhaps gotten around) and the hall was quiet. But I heard skittering on the stairs behind. I padded up another stairway. This one was draped with a red carpet; beyond lay the wizards’ chambers.
... sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four...
Halfway up the stairway I realized that the carpet, covered with intricate yellow patterns and mysterious green calligraphy, had begun to ripple beneath me. Its ends quivered and rose, and I envisioned it wrapping a human-sized intruder like a pastry.
Chris Willrich - [BCS261 S01] - Shadowdrop (html) Page 6