Anton and Cecil, Book 2

by Lisa Martin

  Is that it? Anton wondered. He paused, taking in the scene. His first impression of the landship was that it was impenetrable and somehow cruel-looking, unlike the great sailing ships even a cat couldn’t help but admire. There was nary a sail in sight.

  Anton pressed against the wall of the last building, looking for a place to hide. Across a narrow cobbled alley and extending into the open-sided building was a wide raised platform on which humans milled about, carrying bundles and baskets. There were a few stalls and some tables set out with long benches, where families were occupied unwrapping parcels and distributing the contents to one another. They were laughing and talking and eating. EATING! When was the last time Anton had eaten? Too long. Also, a place where humans were eating might be a likely destination for his brother. Anton streaked across the alley and bounded up the steps to the platform.

  Appetizing smells greeted him, and none of the humans took much notice, so he crept along the benches, his eyes, ears, and nose on high alert. A family repacking their basket at the nearest table dropped something that smelled like the cooked meat humans liked to eat onto the dusty wooden floor. One of the children stooped to pick it up, but the father reprimanded him, and he pulled his hand away, turning to join the group as they strode toward the far end of the platform. Anton darted and pounced all in one burst, and then he ran, the discarded morsel clamped in his jaws, back down the steps and beneath them where it was safe and dark. It was a tasty bit of meat, still attached to a bird-like bone, and with a little effort he was able to pry every last greasy bit away. He spent a few pleasant moments licking his lips and cleaning his whiskers. Anton wasn’t adventuresome, but he sometimes felt pleased with the resourcefulness that adventure brought out in him. Travel made him more observant, focused, and quick-witted, unlike Cecil, who muscled his way through the world. Cecil, Anton thought. And where in this great world is he?

  Anton crept to the edge of his shelter and looked out. As he did the landship shrieked and a horrific sound of grinding metal tore through the air, a combination that caused him to flatten to the ground, squeezing his eyes shut. After a moment he raised his haunches, prepared to back into the farthest corner of the stairwell, but first he opened his eyes and searched the crowded street once more.

  And there, sidestepping wheels and hooves and perambulating humans with unusual speed and grace, was Cecil. Anton stuck his head out and yowled, “I’m here!” Somehow his brother heard his call, changed direction, ducked under a stationary cart, bounded across the set of metal strips in the ground, skirted one of the monstrous machines that had begun to crawl out of the building, and with a final triumphant leap, landed at the foot of the staircase.

  “Brother,” Cecil said, “this is the place!”

  “I know,” Anton replied smoothly. “That big monster making all the racket over there . . .” He paused and they both gazed at the steaming, chuffing machine that was now pulling out of the shelter, its great iron wheels grinding as humans and animals scattered before it.

  Then the brothers spoke as one. “That’s a landship.”

  A bright white moon rose in the night sky and settled among the stars, and Anton tracked its path, watching from his hiding place. He sometimes took comfort in the moon’s light as it passed over the land like a great cat’s eye, but he was distracted now, waiting. He wanted to do something, anything, to get this rescue mission underway. All but a few of the men had gone from the immense, high-ceilinged building, and the loud, smoke-belching contraptions were dark and still. Wedged against a cold wall just inside the building’s cavernous doorway, Anton and Cecil waited behind several large trunks for some clue as to what to do next with these mystifying landships.

  “Well, look,” said Cecil, clawing halfway up to rest his chin on his forepaws on the top of the trunk. “If it’s anything like a sea ship, then we have to get aboard before she sails.”

  “Agreed,” whispered Anton. “But how?” He raised his head just enough to see over, his green eyes glowing in the moonlight. “There’s no gangplank. And which one do we choose?” Behind the fearsome lead ship stood many others, each with its own set of wheels, all similar in size but without the stubby mast and the pointed prow of the carriage at the front.

  “I don’t know, but that lead one seems to be in charge,” said Cecil.

  “I’d prefer a quieter one.” Anton lifted his nose a bit to sniff the night air. So many strange smells, but there was something familiar on the breeze, something sharp and bitter.

  Cecil pulled himself to the top of the trunk and pricked up his ears. “I hear something—a snack maybe. Be right back.” And the white tip of his fluffy black tail disappeared over the other side.

  “Cecil,” Anton hissed. “You shouldn’t . . .” He paused and sniffed. There it was again. A pungent, acrid scent, wafting in from somewhere very near. He raised his head a little more and peered down the length of the open building, but he couldn’t see anything moving besides his brother, slinking low across the gray streaks in the road, heading for the hulking, silent landships.

  Anton held his body perfectly still and swiveled his ears, trying to focus on the smell, unpleasant yet vaguely known to him, like the memory of a bad dream. He heard a soft rush, a slight rustle that could have been the wind through the trees or the swish of a lady’s dress. Anton cocked his head and, with a sudden chill in his bones, recognized the hush of feathered wings, bearing steeply down in flight, straight toward his brother.

  Anton sprang up. “Cecil!” he shrieked. “Behind you! Duck!”

  Cecil flinched and whipped around to see the enormous talons of a great dark bird closing in on him like a storm from the sky. He leaped forward, his claws skidding on the dusty pavement as he scrambled to gain traction. The bird arched its wide wings and reached its talons for Cecil’s tail, not slowing a bit. Cecil veered sharply toward the only cover he could reach in time—the blackness of the space underneath the landship. The bird’s claws closed and missed, and Cecil disappeared.

  The bird swiftly angled its wings and pulled up, gliding past and circling back, then alighted on a rail on top of the landship just above Cecil’s hiding place. With eyes like round yellow moons, it glared hard in Anton’s direction. Anton flattened himself against the ground between the wall and the trunk, his chest thumping. The bird was an owl, he knew, though a bigger one than he’d ever seen and probably almost as good as a cat at seeing in the dark. When he ventured a look over the trunk again, he saw his brother’s white whiskers glowing in the moonlight, the owl directly above.

  “Heads up!” he shouted to Cecil.

  Cecil looked up quickly and retreated under the ship. He was probably safe there, Anton thought, if he just stayed put. Even a big bird wouldn’t want to fight a cat in a tight space with no room to fly.

  The owl folded its wings and looked around in a slow arc as if settling in for a siege. Many minutes passed with the three of them pinned in place, until finally Anton couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. He had to get closer to Cecil. He scouted a few points of shelter in the yard, took a deep breath, and eased out from behind the trunk. Slinking flat to the ground, he crept silently toward Cecil’s hiding spot and pressed himself under a large water tank.

  The owl swung its stout head smoothly around to gaze at Anton. In the moonlight Anton could see tufts of feathers sticking up on top, like pointed ears or horns. Its long hooked beak protruded in a dark slash just under its eyes. Brown and black feathers circled the yellow eyes in such a way that they seemed to take up half of its head.

  “Ah, the cowardly savior emerges,” the owl said, its voice deep and hollow like wind through tall pines. “If not for you, I’d be enjoying a tasty meal right now.”

  “Oh, you think so, do you?” called Cecil from the shadows below. “Well come and get me, then.”

  “Perhaps you don’t realize to whom you are issuing this reckless challenge,” the owl said. “I am a great horned owl, one of the finest predators in the avian kin
gdom.”

  “You’ll be one step closer to extinction if you stick your beak under this carriage,” Cecil retorted.

  Anton thought fast. Cecil was making things worse. This bird was no seagull—this bird was intelligent and vain.

  “Don’t you know the old song?” Anton said calmly to the owl.

  The bird swiveled its head to Anton. “What song?”

  Anton raised his voice so his brother could hear.

  “A cat one night while on the prowl

  was dinner for a great horned owl.

  Before the night had turned to day,

  the great horned owl had passed away.”

  The owl tightened its talons on the railing. “Are you implying that cats are poisonous to owls?”

  “Yes,” called Cecil from under the carriage. “Fatal. Everyone knows that.”

  Anton watched the big owl yawn and shake out its wings, considering the possibilities.

  “Excuse me, great horned owl,” Anton began, but the owl interrupted.

  “Athena is my name.” The owl shifted position, her talons pinging lightly on the rail.

  Anton cleared his throat and spoke up. “Athena, then. Do you know how these landships work?”

  Athena blinked at him. “Landships,” she repeated. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Anton sighed. “The thing you’re sitting on,” he said, enunciating. “Isn’t that a landship?”

  Athena blinked again, her expression still stern. “It is not. Some birds call it a screecher, as it produces an admirable screech before it moves, louder than even our most piercing cries.” She demonstrated by lifting her head and producing an earsplitting scream, which made Anton shudder. “But the humans made it, and they call it a train,” she added. “They shout the word all day long.”

  “Train,” Anton repeated. This owl was a know-it-all; perhaps Anton could keep her talking until she’d forgotten about her planned meal. “Do the trains travel into the setting sun?”

  The owl turned her head impossibly far around and looked down the path of thick gray metal strips embedded in the pavement. “Often they do,” she said, “though just as often they come from that direction instead.”

  Cecil’s voice floated up from his place in the shadows. “How do you know which one to get on?”

  Athena returned her gaze to Anton. “I’ve been told that cats are more intelligent than dogs. Myself, I doubt it. What creature in its right mind would want to get on a train? Animals don’t travel with humans unless they’re in a cage.”

  “We have a mission,” Anton replied. He didn’t think the owl would sympathize with a mission to rescue a mouse, so he left it at that.

  But Cecil had to have the last word with the owl. “I bet we’ve traveled farther than you have. We’ve crossed the ocean on ships, and not in a cage, either. We may not have wings, but we know how to get where we’re going.”

  Athena paused and clacked her beak, deliberating. The sound set Anton’s teeth on edge and he waited in silence. Finally she raised one long wing with a flourish. Anton tensed, but she was merely pointing. “It’s quite straightforward,” she said. “All of these carriages lined up here are connected to, and pulled by, the train in the first position there. That’s called the engine.”

  “Engine,” Anton repeated. “Right.”

  “The engine follows the track in the ground. It travels only on the track, never away from it.”

  Anton nodded, and Athena swept the other wing into the air pointing the opposite way. “You can choose any of the carriages to get on, but I’d avoid those with lots of humans if I were you.” She eyed Anton. “Which I am very glad that I am not.”

  “Which are the ones with fewer humans?” asked Anton.

  Athena fluffed her wings impatiently. “At the far end the carriages are hollow, like boxes, with doors that slide open and closed.” She paused again, rotating her head as she inspected the length of the train, then continued in a softer tone. “You know, you really shouldn’t wait until the sun rises, because all of the humans will come back and they’ll chase you away.” She raised her voice a little, leaning over the side so Cecil could clearly hear. “I advise you to go now, to be safe.”

  A long silence stretched across the yard as the cats considered this advice.

  “Anton?” called Cecil from underneath. His moonlit whiskers protruded from the dark space next to the wheel, and the owl seemed to swell a bit, watching from above.

  “Right here,” Anton replied.

  “Does she look hungry to you?”

  Anton heard the warning in Cecil’s voice. “Oh yes, brother. She looks hungry to me.”

  “Brothers?” said Athena with delight. “How sweet.” She was poised to dive now.

  “Cats are sweet,” said Cecil. “But not to eat.”

  “We shall see about that,” said Athena. She perched, motionless as any good hunter, holding both cats in her sights and waiting for their slightest mistake.

  The minutes crept past. Anton tried to think. If he moved from under the tank, he’d be exposed. Cecil could stay under his train, but Anton saw that large snarls of metal parts hung down where each carriage connected to the next, so moving quickly underneath them in either direction would be difficult. And the owl was right—if they stayed where they were until morning, the humans might not let them board. He didn’t know if trains had rodent problems.

  Anton suspected Athena could wait all night. He wondered if Cecil had any bright ideas.

  And then they all heard it—a scuffling sound near a tall stack of papers bound with string on the ground near the engine. Anton saw the owl’s eyes lift, her head flick toward the noise. Cecil’s whiskers rose and turned in the shadows as well. A fat rat crept out from behind the stack and sat up, nibbling intently on a seed, oblivious to the three pairs of eyes upon it.

  With barely a ruffle, Athena dropped from her perch and swooped down toward the rat. Cecil’s head poked out as he watched the owl’s silent descent, and Anton realized that this was their chance.

  “Cecil! Run!” Anton bounded from under the tank and scampered across the yard, swerving away from the engine when he reached Cecil’s spot. “Come on!” he shouted, but Cecil had already shot from the dark hiding place and into step with him. They sprinted down the length of the building in a narrow corridor between two sets of linked train carriages, dodging boxes and bags, the strong smells of metal and machinery in their noses. As they raced, Anton tried to make out the shapes of the carriages in the dim light. Many were closed, and they’d almost reached the back of the train, which stuck out from the far end of the open building like a tail in the moonlight.

  “Look for an open one!” shouted Cecil. But what if Athena had sent them to the box carriages as a trap? Still, it was their only hope. Anton knew they wouldn’t hear the owl behind them until it was too late, so he made himself glance back. There she was, a stealthy shadow skimming over the trains, her beak aimed like the tip of an arrow speeding toward them.

  “She’s coming!” yelled Anton.

  “Here!” shouted Cecil. He turned sharply and leaped up to and through a narrow space in the side of one of the carriages.

  Anton tried to slow and turn but found himself skidding in a slippery puddle on the pavement, his legs cycling frantically in place. He looked up and yowled as the owl locked her yellow eyes on him and dropped into a dive. Out of breath and scrambling toward the train, Anton braced for the owl’s attack.

  At that moment a loud hiss sounded above his head. He leaped for the opening in the carriage just as Cecil bounded out again, teeth bared and claws swiping the air, soaring over Anton’s head and straight toward the owl. Athena screeched and banked awkwardly to avoid Cecil, grazing one wing against a post and tumbling in the air. The cats heard a thud and a fluttering shuffle in the distance.

  “Come on, quick!” called Anton as Cecil landed and turned. Cecil scrambled back into the carriage, and the brothers pressed into the farthest corner o
f the box and waited, watching the open doorway, their hearts hammering in the silence.

  Anton finally caught his breath. “Thanks,” he whispered. “That was close.”

  “You don’t have to whisper,” said Cecil. “She knows we’re in here.”

  “Maybe she’s given up,” Anton whispered. He couldn’t help it.

  Cecil sniffed and rolled his shoulders back. “She won’t try again. She knows we’re too tough.”

  “And poisonous, don’t forget.” Anton shivered and peered around the dusty, dark carriage. “Oh, brother. What have we gotten ourselves into?”

  CHAPTER 5

  A Dog’s Tale

  The owl must have found some other poor creature to terrorize or lecture, and the night passed peacefully as the cat brothers settled down in the empty carriage. There wasn’t anything to eat, but it was warm enough and there were a few bales of hay in one corner that made a comfortable resting place. They talked for a while, recounting the day’s escapade of getting from the sailing ship to the landship, and then they drifted off to sleep. Cecil awoke when the morning sun shot a wedge of light into the narrow opening of the carriage door. It was still and silent as the light stole across the floor. First from a distance, but gradually closer, the sound of human activity drifted in. Cecil heard men talking and shouting, clanging metal, wheels turning, laughter, and something heavy being dragged this way and that.

  Anton woke up and climbed off the hay bale to look out the door. “The owl was right,” he said. “There are a lot of folks out there.”

  Cecil followed and peeked out in the opposite direction. A rolling cart piled with boxes was lumbering toward their car at a fast clip. As the cats ducked back inside, there was a shout, then an answering shout, and the cart came to a halt right in front of the sliding door to their carriage. Immediately a dog began barking in a high-pitched voice, “Back off, back off, stay away, back off this instant!”