Cat's Quill

by Anne Barwell

  "I never said you were me, cousin." Christian shrugged. "God forbid. I doubt this land would want a double dose of either of us."

  "You've got that right," Tomas muttered, pulling up his shirt and ripping off some of his undergarment to use to dress Cathal's wounds. It took a couple of tries to get the sturdy material to part, which hopefully meant that it would be up for the task he intended. "Christian, not you, love," he amended quickly when Cathal looked at him, a hurt expression in his eyes.

  "Love," Cathal whispered softly. "I like that." He held out his hands obediently for Tomas to wrap the fabric around them. "Be as quick as you can, Tomas. Once we're out of this cell, we have a long ride ahead of us before we'll be safe."

  Christian coughed. "Once all of us are out of these cells," he stressed. "There's also a problem of horses, and the route we need to take out of Riverskeep. As long as we are on her lands, her word is law."

  "We won't be leaving you behind, Christian," Tomas reassured him, "as much as I'm tempted." He wasn't happy at the fact that he had nothing to use to cleanse Cathal's cuts, but at least the fabric would protect them. When they got back to the inn, he'd get Dr. McKenzie to take a look and double-check that none of them needed stitching. Fastening the last of the bandages by tucking the ends under the edges of the makeshift dressing, he glanced around the room, frowning, wondering just how they were going to get out of the cell, let alone the castle grounds.

  "One step at a time, cousin." Cathal kissed Tomas gently in thanks, brushing their lips together briefly. "Give me the knife, Tomas."

  Tomas shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "You're in no state to be doing anything with those hands at the moment. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."

  "You don't know how," Cathal reminded him, "and we are running out of time. If Deryn returns before we are free of this cell, we won't get another chance." His expression softened. "I won't cut myself again, I promise. I just need to use the tip of it to loosen the lock on the door, but there is a knack to it. I've done it before, and I'm guessing you haven't."

  "No," Tomas repeated. "Show me what to do and I'll do it." If Cathal thought he'd be allowed to go for round two with the knife, he was crazy and definitely had a lot to learn. He'd been hurt enough already, and Tomas was prepared to protect him, whatever it took.

  "Oh for goodness sake, just give him the knife, Tomas." Christian sighed. "This is not the time to be stubborn or play the hero. Cat knows what he's doing." He smirked. "I've yet to find a lock he couldn't get through. Why do you think she made sure he was bound to the ring as well as restrained? She wouldn't risk him getting close enough to the door."

  "A lock he couldn't get through?" Tomas blinked, staring at both of them. But wasn't Cathal royalty or something? Surely someone of his background wouldn't need to be doing such things? This was getting just a little too close to some of the plots he'd written, but they were science fiction, and set in an unknown future. This was.... His mind trailed off, not wanting to go there, at least not now.

  "I'm curious, and I like to know what's going on." Cathal took the knife off Tomas when his fingers loosened around it, his brain trying to close the gap between this new piece of information and what he already knew, or thought he knew. Walking briskly over to the door, Cathal inserted the tip of the knife in the lock, turned it one way, then another, angled it up, and then gave the door a swift kick. "See," he told Tomas more than a little smugly. "It's all in the touch."

  "Touch," Tomas echoed, swallowing, not quite sure when he'd exactly lost control of his and Cathal's confrontation, or if he'd even had it in the first place. In hindsight he should have been suspicious when Cathal had held his hands out to be dressed when directed. It was doubtful that Cathal knew the meaning of the word "obedient." "Right, of course." Cathal's touch had felt good. Very good. Tomas blushed. Not that kind of touch. That would come later. If they got out of this alive. "Open Christian's cell, and then I'll cut his ropes," he decided, trying to sound confident and unfazed by any of this.

  "I was getting to that," Cathal said dryly. "One thing at a time." He eyed Tomas up and down, not exactly subtle as to where his eyes lingered. "Do you have anything else hiding in your pockets that we need to be aware of?" Even as he spoke, he was already making short work of the lock on the other cell, standing back when he was done to let Tomas finish freeing Christian. The dressings on his hands still appeared to be intact, and for the moment not oozing red, but that could merely be that the material had absorbed whatever blood he was still losing. Cathal would need keeping an eye on, that was for sure. Stubbornness in this case came with a price, and it was not one Tomas was prepared to let him pay. That was, of course, presuming he'd be allowed to have a say in the matter.

  Not for the first time, he wondered what the hell he'd let himself in for, falling for someone such as Cathal. But now was not the time to linger on such thoughts. If... when they got out of here, they would have a very long talk. Amongst other things.

  Christian's smirk faded as Tomas pulled his hands tightly back in order to get a better grip on the rope before cutting it. "You two are no fun," he groused, stilling when Tomas cursed the hardiness of the horseweed under his breath. "I hope at least one of you has a detailed, brilliant plan as to how exactly we get out of her ladyship's clutches, because I'm a little lacking in one at the moment."

  "I have a few ideas," Cathal admitted, "but...." His voice trailed off, and he put his fingers to his lips. Outside the room, the sound of footsteps drew closer. Pressing himself back against the wall next to the door, Cathal scanned the room quickly. If he was looking for a weapon, he was out of luck. All they had was the knife, the rope they'd been bound with, and a whole lot of straw. Tomas kept sawing at Christian's restraints, trying to speed up his efforts, but the horseweed was as stubborn as Cathal.

  Fuck!

  The key turned in the lock on the other side of the door. Finally freed, Christian dived out of the cell, Tomas close behind him, both of them heading for the wall where the door was, neither of them prepared to reenter either of the cells.

  There was nowhere else to hide, not unless there was a way to disappear into the wall itself, which was unlikely. But as a door had appeared in a solid brick wall before, anything was possible.

  Christian snatched the knife from Tomas, gripping the handle tightly. Tomas didn't argue, just prayed that Christian knew how to use it. He'd never attacked anyone before, let alone killed someone, and wasn't sure he would be able to even if push came to shove.

  They couldn't have got this far for nothing. Tomas's heart was speeding up, as was his breathing. Everything that had happened so far was more like something out of a novel than real life, or at least his reality. But meeting Cathal seemed to have changed that. He risked a glance at Cathal, who gave him a reassuring smile, even if it didn't quite reach his eyes. Cathal was as scared as he was, he realized. Christian probably was too.

  No, Christian was far too sure of himself. This was probably something he did most days, or had done before he'd been turned into a cat.

  Now would not be a good time to focus on just how crazy that last statement sounded.

  The door handle turned. The door itself was pushed open slowly, cautiously. Christian and Tomas pressed themselves against the wall on the other side of the door. Tomas hoped, prayed, it was enough of a hiding place but knew it wasn't. The room was too damn small. All it might do was buy them a few moments, nothing more.

  A figure entered. It appeared to be a man of slim build, but it was difficult to tell with the grey cloak wrapped around him, disguising his features.

  Christian slid behind him quickly, holding the knife to the man's throat. "Drop any weapons you have," he ordered, "or I will not hesitate to kill you."

  Something hit the floor with a thud, falling limply from the right hand of their would-be foe. Tomas dived forward and grabbed the long knife quickly, determined to make sure that he at least appeared to know how to use
it. Gripping the handle, he met the man's eyes and stopped, surprised.

  "Lower the knife, Christian," he hissed.

  This was a mistake. It had to be.

  "I'll decide when I lower the damn knife, not you." Christian glared at him, pressing it more firmly against his captive's skin. The man's eyes widened. Whether it was in response to pain or fear it was difficult to tell, but he did not dare move.

  Cathal walked silently out of his hiding place, peering through the now-open door. His stance relaxed minutely once he had surveyed the outside room; he seemed satisfied to leave the fate of the intruder in the hands of his cousin.

  Still frozen in place, Christian's expression did not change. The knife in his hand scraped slowly against his captive's throat, the edge nipping at the surface to leave an angry mark and a tiny dribble of blood. The man's breath hissed, but he did not speak. One move, one flick of the knife, and his life could be over.

  "Christian," Tomas pleaded, his voice rising in volume. "For God's sake, he's a friend. Let him go."

  "Friend?" Cathal turned his head to give Tomas a sharp look.

  "I trust him as one," Tomas confirmed, realizing that indeed he did. It was not like him to give that trust this quickly to someone he had only recently met. Cathal was different, the exception to his rules on such matters, or maybe he'd made the difference. Tomas's grip tightened on the knife in his hand, his knuckles white. Surely he had not been wrong?

  Cathal's hand stilled on the bricks that made up the outer wall of the room he was now in. Crossing the floor quickly, he reentered the smaller inner room to take a closer look at their captive. His expression softened immediately, guilt and embarrassment chasing each other across his features. "Will? What the hell are you doing here? Don't you know the risk you're taking?"

  Christian lowered his knife and took a step back. Will rubbed at his neck and sighed, giving Tomas and Cathal a quick glance of gratitude. "Yes, that was made just a little too clear in a matter of moments." He turned to Christian, slowly looking him up and down. "So the rumors are true," he said softly. "You've returned."

  "Rumors?" Tomas spluttered, his relief quickly giving way to indignation. "You told me that he'd be taking care of Cathal. I would have never gone along with Deryn on any of that crap if I'd thought he was alone."

  "I can look after myself, Tomas." Cathal smiled. He gave Will a quick hug, not quite hiding a wince when Will responded in kind. Dr. McKenzie would be taking a look at more than just Cathal's hands upon their return.

  "I said that Master Christian would do what he could," Will corrected Tomas. "That of course depended on whether he was here or not."

  What was it with this world and its inhabitants missing out on important bits of truth? Tomas snorted. "You played me," he accused Will.

  "Yes, I did," Will admitted, annoyingly open about the fact. "Lord Emerys would have had me strung up by something I'd rather not think about if I'd been directly responsible for something happening to you."

  "Not Lord Emerys," Cathal prompted gently. "Cathal. And you can drop the honorific for Christian too. We're alone now." He didn't confirm or deny Will's fears for the safety of whatever he might have been strung up by. However, it did not take much of the imagination to figure out to what he was referring. Tomas blushed in spite of himself. Cathal grinned.

  Will shrugged. "Old habits die hard, and if I'm used to the formality, I won't accidentally forget to use it when I should."

  "You wouldn't." Christian shook his head, the corners of his mouth turning up into a smirk. "You're far too careful for that, and very good at what you do." His expression changed, and he grew rueful. "I'm sorry about the knife. My instincts have slipped more than a little since I've been gone."

  "Apology accepted." Will gave Christian a slight bow. "Just don't make a habit of it, or I might not be so forgiving next time."

  Christian laughed. There was affection in his voice. "You haven't changed a bit, old friend."

  "Enough of the old." Will rolled his eyes. "I am a good five years younger than you, and I'd prefer that was not forgotten."

  "Young enough to respect your elders, then?" Christian had a twinkle in his eyes, the conversation carrying on as though they had each just met up with a long-lost friend and were about to have afternoon tea, instead of trying to escape with their lives from the depths of a cold, sturdily built castle.

  "In your dreams." Will paused a little before adding, "Master Christian."

  "We need to get out of here," Tomas reminded them, more than a little testily. They could chat all they wanted afterward. Now was neither the time nor the place. Deryn would be back to gloat sooner rather than later, and although he was more than tempted to kill her for what she'd done, unfortunately he wasn't sure he'd win in any kind of fight against her. Reality, at this point, was more of a bitch than she was.

  "I'm working on that," Cathal replied. He'd left Christian and Will to reminisce and was scanning the outer room again for anything that might be helpful, going as far as lifting piles of straw and searching the floor underneath.

  Tomas joined him, copying what he was doing before resorting to thumping each brick of the wall in turn. He presumed they were looking for the same door by which they'd originally entered the room. If it was still there but hidden, that part of the wall should sound hollow. That was how it usually worked in the detective novels he'd read, and surely at least one thing in this world had to follow the rules of his own. Behind him, Cathal kept searching the floor, presumably hunting for trapdoors, or any clue to another way out of their prison.

  He'd been pushed through the bloody thing by Deryn's guards. It had to be still there. "You could come and help," Tomas muttered in Christian and Will's direction. Didn't they realize how desperate their situation was? They needed to split their resources, and no one was going anywhere if they didn't find a way out.

  "Words, I need the right words." Cathal ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "It's here, but it's hidden. I just need the key." He kicked straw out of his way, mumbling something under his breath. "Maybe if we move the table? Tomas, do you want to help...." His eyes widened, and he froze. "Oh," he whispered, his voice dropping suddenly to a whisper.

  "Cat?" Tomas turned instantly, walking briskly toward Cathal, who had picked up the tiny carving still sitting in the middle of the table and was turning it over in his hand. "Cat? What is it?" Could he have found the key? Surely it couldn't be that simple? Even with a key, they still needed a door.

  Cathal looked up at him, smiling. He placed the object in the palm of Tomas's hand, closing his fingers over it, the urgency of their situation forgotten in the wake of finding whatever this was.

  Opening his hand again, unable to resist returning Cathal's smile, Tomas found a carving about the size and shape of a sparrow's egg cupped in his palm. It was smooth to the touch, minute indentations etched into the wood to bring it to life. He turned it over, noticing immediately that the carved design was similar to that on the flute that had brought him through the portal. But this cat had a quill on its back, its paws loosely around what appeared to be a single rose. At the top of the carving was a small round hole, although Tomas couldn't figure out what it might be for.

  "It's yours," Cathal said softly. "I was going to give it to you, before the Falcons came."

  "Mine?" Tomas stared at him blankly. Surely Cathal must be mistaken. This would have taken hours to carve, and they hadn't known each other that long. "But, Cat, it's beautiful."

  Cathal blushed. "Thank you," he whispered. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a leather cord and threaded it through the hole in the carving, tying the ends together in a firm knot. "In my world, when you love someone, you give them a token of that love." He motioned for Tomas to bend his head and slipped the carving around his neck. "The cat and rose is my family's coat of arms. The quill is yours, as you are a writer." He smiled shyly. "I think they look good together."

  "I
think they do too." Tomas returned the smile, threaded his fingers through Cathal's hair, and pulled him close to brush their lips together in a kiss. "I love you, Cat," he whispered. "Thank you."

  Leaning into the kiss, Cathal deepened it for a moment. "We do need to find a way out of here," he said, breaking it and pulling away, "but I wanted to make sure you had this first. Keep it safe, love, and don't let anyone take it from you."

  "This would also be one of the reasons why Deryn knew you had fallen for someone else," Christian reminded him dryly, leaning back against the doorframe, his arms folded. Will stood behind him, watching, his eyes darting toward the section of wall that had once been a door and the carving around Tomas's neck. "The quill is most definitely nothing to do with her family; it rather gives you away, cousin. I'm surprised you took the risk."

  "I'm tired of hiding." Cathal shrugged. "I've led the resistance for not only the months you were banished, Christian, but for the six years it took for them to make up their mind on your punishment as well. We keep waiting and biding our time, and in the meantime our people remain oppressed, having to live according to out-of-date notions, too scared to fight for their rights, and with the power belonging to a few."

  "The quill is not of my family either," Tomas pointed out. "I don't think I have a coat of arms as such." He did like the idea of the quill, though, and it looked right with the cat and rose. His fingers closed around it, stroking the wood without thinking, the carved indents pressing against his skin. No one would take this from him. Not while he still drew breath. He frowned, a thought crossing his mind. Was this the equivalent of a ring in this world? In accepting it, had he and Cathal become engaged, or even married? His cheeks grew warm, but he did not remove the pendant. Let people think what they liked. He did not want to hide any more than Cathal did. They'd worry about the details of whatever they'd just done later. For now he was going to cling to the moment and the memory of the kiss they had just shared.