The Cat Master

by Bonnie Pemberton

  Screaming in agony, his brother knocked him into the dumpster, then slammed against the pole, which fell away as the gray tom jumped to safety. From outside the enclosure Jett howled with pain and fury. “Who’s the smart one now?”

  Finally there was only silence and a suffocating heat that rolled like lava through Buddy’s nose and lungs. He didn’t know how long he thrashed in the darkness shouting for help before he collapsed. Barely conscious, he heard the lid being lifted, and a boy’s voice murmuring encouragement. The last thing he remembered were gentle hands laying him on the cool grass and stroking his fur.

  He had never been back to this place . . . never wanted to come back. Even now he remembered his feelings of helplessness and smelled the rotting filth of that burning prison. A rustling of leaves jerked him into the present, and he whirled, teeth exposed.

  “Buddy!” Zekki shouted, running toward him. The white cat’s coat hung from his body in long, damp tangles, and burrs dotted his tail. There was something ominous about his appearance, and Buddy instinctively recoiled. “Did you find Pris?”

  “Yes, she’s fine. The possum killed the snake.”

  “Then what?”

  Zekki exhaled, trying to catch his breath. “It’s Soot. He’s . . . he’s gone.”

  A warning buzzed in Buddy’s ears. “What do you mean, gone?”

  “I mean he was with me until I found Pris, and then things happened fast, and I was so happy, and then we ate, and I guess we slept for a while.” He paused, grimacing with frustration. “I didn’t realize what had happened until I woke up. It’s my fault. I’ve been up and down the creek bed all the way to the embankment. I can smell him, but I can’t find him. He’s just . . . gone.”

  “Any other scents?” But Buddy already knew the answer.

  “Yes.” The white cat’s face contorted in misery. “Jett’s. I don’t know how long he was up there, but it’s fresh.” Shutting his eyes, Buddy heard the angry words from that summer long ago.

  Who’s the smart one now?

  He felt dizzy. Zekki was talking, only his voice seemed distorted and far away.

  “Go back to the others,” Buddy mumbled. “Ask the mockingbird to fly over the golf course and look for Soot. I’ll meet you back by the creek.”

  Zekki’s concerned face swam before his eyes, but finally the white cat reluctantly nodded and trotted away.

  The sun spun toward the horizon, and a vision of Ahnya’s delicate face appeared in Buddy’s mind. He knew he wasn’t dreaming, yet he clearly saw her standing in the pecan orchard, pawing the ground. His consciousness slid toward her pushing for answers, straining to understand.

  She looked up, her green eyes wide, then stepped aside as a glow of light illuminated the shadowy pile at her feet. It was a clump of lantana, trampled stems bent backward, bright yellow flowers crushed and scattered.

  Shan Dara was gone!

  He tried to speak, but Ahn-ya shook her head as if to stop him. It’s time, her thoughts whispered.

  “Time for what?”

  You know . . . You know . . .

  Tenba’s words slid through his mind, twisting and turning in a painful swirl of confusion.

  He’s dead . . . The Cat Master . . . his successor . . . who?

  Buddy’s brain felt hot and dry as though it might explode into cinders. He wanted to blot out Ahn-ya’s face, shake himself back to the present, but the memories were like living things now, squirming and pushing their way to be heard.

  Of all my blood . . . of all my blood . . . rise from the alley. Rise . . .

  Ahn-ya’s fading form floated closer. Remember the dream, she urged. Remember it . . . NOW!

  The words burst through his mind like a volcano, crystal clear and unmistakable. Rise from the alley! they echoed. Of all my blood, you are The Chosen!

  An icy silence descended, its cool nothingness a balm for his racing heart and shaking legs. Slowly he absorbed the words and their meaning. “It’s me. I’m the one,” he whispered. “The Cat Master was speaking to me.” He closed his eyes, searching his mind for Ahn-ya, but her image had vanished and another one appeared. It was of an old blackand-white cat with pale blue eyes, eyes that had watched Buddy’s every move on a spring day so long ago. “I remember you now, Father,” he said to the already fading vision. “I understand who you were. I understand everything.”

  “I thought you might,” a familiar voice said from behind him.

  Buddy turned in slow motion, searching for the shadowy silhouette that watched defiantly from the top of a dumpster.

  Jett gave a brisk nod of greeting. “Welcome home, brother.” His eye narrowed. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Buddy approached the dumpster, surprised that its looming form no longer frightened him. “You knew, didn’t you? Those were your thoughts that broke the Master’s connection. That’s why you came back, why you never mentioned he was dead. You’ve known all along The Cat Master was my father—”

  “ Our father!” Jett interrupted, friendly demeanor gone. “And no, I didn’t realize who He was until later. But I always remembered the first time I saw Him . . . and how He looked at you.” Jett’s voice shook. “And turned from me. I had to break the connection. You’d already poisoned The Master against me long ago. I was the one who should have been chosen. I’ve always been the one with the strength and courage and vision. But no! To Him, it was always you!” Jett took a breath. “But that’s all going to change, brother. I’ve planned some lovely surprises for your long-awaited return.”

  “First things first,” Buddy said quietly. “Where is Shan Dara?”

  “Ask Soot. He’s the one who took her.”

  A brisk wind rattled through the air, blowing sand and dirt around them.

  “Soot would never do anything like that. Never!”

  Hunkering against the increasing gusts, Jett’s mouth stretched into a leering smile. “Of course he would. He did it for me and the future of our kind.”

  Buddy swallowed hard, a nasty premonition tugging at his brain. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean”—Jett’s eye gleamed with malevolence— “is that I’ve been looking for a proper mate, now that Ahn-ya is gone, and I think Shan Dara will be perfect. She’s extremely exotic.” The big cat smirked. “And those blue eyes will make my lineage very distinctive.”

  “What have you done to her!” Buddy screamed, lunging toward the dumpster.

  “Meet me tonight at The Gathering,” Jett said, backing into the shadows. “And I’ll show you.”

  With a yowl, Buddy sprang against the metal, his claws barely grazing Jett’s flank as he leaped into the bushes. Mocking laughter floated on the wind and flurries of leaves blew across the dumpster’s rusted lid.

  Buddy stood in the fading sunlight, his muscles twitching and tense. The Gathering! The new Cat Master would be anointed tonight. His mind raced. Jett would do anything to stop Buddy’s coronation, and if his plan succeeded, Zekki, Pris, and Shan Dara would be in great danger. The old Master’s words echoed in Buddy’s brain, and a resolute sense of duty filled his heart. He would honor his father’s wishes . . . even if it cost him his life.

  T H I R T Y - T H R E E

  Orie pushed through the weeds, then stopped, checking the area for predators. He’d never been this far from the crawl space, and though his stomach ached from hunger and thirst burned his throat, the Animal Control Officer’s words propelled him forward. Tenba was alive! Miraculously she’d survived the night, and hopefully her woman had been notified and was on the way to claim her.

  Struggling over rocks and limbs, Orie rooted beneath a grimy sock where he lay quietly, his ears focused on every sound. Alleys were deceptively empty during the day, their silent corridors of rotting wood and ancient chain-link simply a refuge for brambles, vines, and rubbish. But nighttime was different. The smallest shadows sprang to life, all gaping jaws and razor teeth, and every noise held the promise of food, no matter how meager.

  Scur
rying from his hiding place, Orie ran close to the fence, veered under a patch of nettles, and stopped to catch his breath beneath their fuzzy leaves. He had been traveling all day, and if he kept going—pushed on no matter what— he should be back on Sixth Avenue before dawn.

  The moon was full and high overhead, partially illuminating the darkness. Although the alley seemed empty, it was unlikely that it was. Predators rarely announced themselves until you were sliding down their throats, and the lizard wasn’t taking any chances. With one last look in each direction, he took two bold steps forward, then stopped in horror.

  Crouched in the door of an abandoned doghouse, a rat stretched its neck, vigorously sniffing the air.

  To Orie’s right a large dandelion splayed in the dust, and diving for cover, he watched wide-eyed as a pebble rolled lazily from beneath his foot.

  The rat snapped its head toward the movement and narrowed its eyes.

  “I was saved for great things. I’m special, I’m special,” Orie chanted silently, peering in terror from behind one claw.

  Apparently the rat agreed, because it licked its chops and moved in Orie’s direction.

  • • •

  The mockingbird should have been back by now. Buddy stood by the creek, scanning the star-spattered sky, his tail twitching with agitation. Jett was insane. Their conversation by the dumpsters confirmed it, and the knowledge left him weary, depressed, and afraid. Not for himself—he was prepared to accept his own fate—but the lives of Shan Dara and the others were another matter.

  The possum was gone, foraging for food, and Pris and Zekki sat in the shelter of the mesquite. They hadn’t approached Buddy since his return from the golf course, but he could sense their unasked questions. “Don’t worry,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual. “The bird’s just going to fly around . . . see what’s going on. Everything’s fine. When she gets back we’ll—”

  “Is it true what Zekki said?” Pris interrupted. “I don’t know.” Buddy laughed without humor. “He says a lot of things.”

  “Is Jett really your brother?”

  Cicadas yammered from a nearby thicket, and a frog plopped into the creek.

  “Yes,” Buddy said, watching the moon-splashed water. “He is.”

  They sat in strained silence.

  “What’s happened to Soot and Shan Dara?” Pris asked softly.

  Buddy looked into her frightened face and felt a pang of grief. She was an Indoor, unprepared for what had happened. She should be curled in The Boy’s lap, not cowering in the darkness, covered in mud. “Don’t worry about Soot,” Buddy said. “He’s a Feral and understands the Outs.” A sudden vision of Shan Dara flashed in his mind, and he turned away, too distraught to continue.

  “I found something!” The mockingbird sailed across the ravine and over the creek. With a fluttering of wings, she landed in the mesquite, her breast heaving with exertion.

  Buddy leaped onto the tree trunk, claws gripping the battered bark, eyes gleaming. “What?”

  “Cats.” Nervously, the bird moved to a higher branch. “On the golf course.”

  “I expected that. How many?”

  “A lot.”

  “Jett?”

  “He’s there, too, and he’s talking to them.” The bird paused. “He’s saying some pretty nasty things about you. And they’re listening.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Did you see Soot?”

  “No.”

  He tried to keep his voice steady. “Shan Dara?”

  “No.” She ruffled her feathers with discomfort. “Sorry.”

  Buddy twisted to the ground, his face dark with worry. Had Soot really betrayed them? If not, then where was he? “It’s not your fault,” he said to the bird. “Thanks for the information.” For a few moments, he paced in the clearing, trying to quiet his mind. Things were rapidly coming to a head. Once The Gathering was under way, it would be hard to stop whatever plans Jett had put into motion, and as much as he wanted to find Shan Dara, it was more important they leave for the meeting, now. He trotted back to the mesquite. “We need to get going,” he said to the young cats, then reluctantly looked at the bird. “This is probably where we part company.”

  In a neighboring oak the possum stretched on a sturdy branch, crunching the last remains of the snake. “You’re leaving?” he called.

  Buddy felt a stab of sadness. “Yes. Where we’re going won’t be safe for you.”

  Jaws still working, the possum chewed thoughtfully.

  “There’s one thing, though,” Buddy said. “I know you’re both ready to get home, but would you mind waiting for us in the pecan grove? If we don’t show up by dawn”—he let out a slow, even breath—“you and the bird should go. But if we do return, there’s one last thing I’d like to ask of you.”

  “Sure,” the possum said, clamoring to the ground and joining them. “Just name it.”

  “Would you make sure that Zekki and Pris get back to Sixth Avenue? It’s not too far from here.” Buddy stopped, suddenly choked with emotion. “And—and I’d appreciate knowing that they’re back with The Boy and okay.”

  The bird and possum looked at one another, then nodded solemnly.

  Buddy felt a wave of relief. “Thanks. Thanks for everything you’ve done. Both of you.”

  The possum’s friendly face wrinkled in a smile. “You’ll be fine. Like my mother always said: ‘No matter how much you wish they wouldn’t, cats always come back.’” He belched happily. “No offense.”

  The mockingbird flapped to the ground, eyes riveted on Buddy. “I’d like to come, but if you don’t think I should . . . then I won’t.” She puffed her feathers. “We’ll be waiting by the fence where we all crossed the highway. Good luck.”

  “But we’re all going home together, right?” Pris asked.

  Buddy rubbed his head against her shoulder. “We’ll talk about that later.”

  “I don’t understand,” Zekki said. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ve always wanted to see The Cat Master. Well, tonight is the night.”

  Zekki frowned. “But you said no one could find Him.”

  “You can’t.” Buddy smiled and stared at the moon. “But once in a while . . . He finds you.”

  The rat had definitely seen him. It rose on scrawny haunches, nose twitching, long brown tail snaking in the dust. There was nowhere to run, and Orie had a fleeting thought of Tenba and the incredible bravery she had shown. If this was the end, so be it. At least he would go in a way she could be proud of. Taking a deep breath, he moved from the weeds and stepped boldly into the open.

  The rat pulled its lips over pointed teeth and shrank back.

  “Come over here, you laboratory reject!” Orie shouted. “You want some action?” He turned his back, wiggling his tail stump in an obscene bump and grind. “Action this!”

  The moon drifted behind a cloud, and the alley dropped into darkness.

  Lowering itself onto all fours, the rat squinted for a better look, then licked its lips and smirked. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

  “That’s funny,” a voice sounded from behind a clump of weeds. “I was just thinking the same thing.” A small brown body bolted from the darkness, snapped the rodent’s neck with one neat jerk, and tossed it on the ground. It twitched and kicked, mouth still cracked in an evil grin.

  “Frank!” Orie cried, running into the alley and leaping with joy at the Dachshund’s sturdy feet. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, cruising around.” Furrowing his brow, the dog looked surprised. “You mean you haven’t seen the posters?”

  Orie blinked in bewilderment

  “The lost-dog posters. They’re all over the place.” He lowered his head, silky ears touching the ground. “Seriously, you haven’t seen them? Full-color photo, lots of pleading. There’s a reward and everything.” His eyes became hooded and sly. “So, where’s my big ol’ Fräulein?” Prancing along the chain-link, he snuffled in the shadows. “Come out, come out, Uncle Frank’s got
something for you.” He stopped and trotted back to the lizard. “Where is she?”

  “She isn’t here. She’s—she got hurt.”

  The little dog stepped back, lips raised in a snarl. “Who hurt her? I’ll rip ’em to shreds!”

  “You don’t have to.” Orie puffed with pride. “She already did. She killed the chow. I thought she had died, too, but Animal Control came the next morning and said she was alive.” His voice quivered. “Then they took her away.”

  “Whoa, killed the chow.” Frank whistled in awe. “What a babe!”

  “The thing is,” Orie said, “I’ve been trying to get home since this morning to see her.” He gave a nod in the dead rat’s direction. “But things have gotten a little unpredictable here, if you know what I mean, and I’m not making very good time.”

  “No problem.” The Dachshund gave an amiable shake. “I’ll give you a ride.” He shrugged, lifting his hind leg over the dandelion. “I was going home tomorrow anyway.”

  Orie clambered onto his back, and after one last sniff at the rat, they turned and headed up the alley.

  “She’ll be okay, lizard,” Frank boomed, bounding through a backyard and galloping down a driveway. “Those German girls are built to last!”

  Buddy led the way up the embankment, zigzagging over rocks and weeds and waiting patiently as Zekki and Pris scrambled behind. “Follow me until I tell you to stop. When I do, don’t go any farther. Do you understand?”

  The young cats nodded dumbly, then fell into line, ears nervously flicking back and forth.

  It didn’t take long to backtrack across the golf course, only this time, instead of veering off the path, which would have led to the pecan grove, they continued walking. From somewhere in the distance, faint rumblings drifted in the air.

  Zekki and Pris stopped and crouched to the ground.

  “What is that?” the calico whispered. Zekki cocked his ears. “I don’t know, but it seems sort of familiar.”

  They trotted across freshly cut grass, the summer night fragrant with the smells of water and jasmine. Abruptly the greens gave way to sand, and the three animals stopped at the base of a sloping hill they had seen from the orchard. Instead of climbing to the top, Buddy walked around it, coming to a halt on the other side.