Thirteen Ways to Water

by Bruce Holland Rogers

  The man stopped and looked at Duncan. Then he held up the sack. “A wee eat,” he said. “Runt of the litter, and bound to die anyway.”

  “Ah,” Duncan said, for he understood that the man mean to throw sack and all into the sea. “Will you let me have it, then?”

  The man considered a moment, then laughed. “Aye, by rights the runt should belong to Small Catch.” And that is how Duncan came to own a cat.

  II

  From then on, Duncan’s fishing was worse than ever. To any other villager, a kitten was useless until it was a cat, and as a cat it was good for nothing more than catching rats. But Duncan took great pleasure in playing with his kitten as it grew up, and just as much pleasure in watching it when it was grown, even though the cat—like most cats—spent much of its day sleeping. Duncan took to the sea just often enough to see that he and his cat did not starve, and it was a near thing at that. Some days he caught only one silverling. Other days he landed only a pin fish, which he had to prepare carefully to avoid the poison in its liver.

  A kind of loyalty passed between the boy and his cat, though it was hard to say whether it was the cat that was loyal to Duncan or the other way around. They were always together except when Duncan put out to sea. On the narrow village paths or along the rocky shore, the cat followed Duncan or Duncan followed the cat. Villagers joked that it was a good match, that each was as industrious as the other.

  On one rare sunny day, Duncan sat with his cat among the rocks. Duncan was on one side of a tide pool, and the cat was on the other side. Duncan watched the light glittering on the sea, then closed his eyes. He sighed. “Oh, my little cat,” he said. “What is to become of me? The thing that I do best is dream, but there is no fortune in dreaming.”

  A high, little voice, just like a cat’s voice, said, “There is ever so much to see.”

  Duncan opened his eyes wide and looked at his cat. The cat calmly returned his gaze. Duncan looked to the left and to the right. He looked behind. No one else was near. “Little cat, little cat!” he said. “What did you say?”

  But the cat only peered down into the tide pool, as if it knew full well that Duncan had heard and remembered the words. Duncan peered into the pool, too. At first he saw only water, rocks, and sand. Then he noticed the tiny motions of an itsy bitsy crab creeping along a crack. He saw a minnow dart from one shadow to another. The longer he watched, the more he saw. An urchin waved the little arms that grew between its spines. A starfish crossed the sandy bottom no faster than the sun crosses the sky.

  This was not the first time that Duncan had stared into a tide pool. This was not the first time that he had noticed more and more tiny creatures the longer he looked. But this was the first time that he had taken into his heart the truth that there was, indeed, ever so much to see. And not only in the pool, but on the rocks, along the shoreline, in the bird-filled air above and the in the clouds far beyond, there was ever so much to see.

  III

  Now Duncan the dreamer was Duncan the watcher as well. He was yet more idle than before, for when he would begin to mend his nets he would notice how each knot had its own shape, how captured bits of kelp were of different kinds, how the salt drifted from net to the earthen floor, dusting it white. Like his cat, he would sit for a long time with his eyes half-closed, considering the wood grain in the walls of his hut.

  One day when all of the other boats were out but Duncan sat on the rocks watching the waves with his cat, a great procession of men and horses came along the shore. Duncan and the cat watched them, and there was ever so much to see. In advance of the procession rode two helmeted soldiers wearing the king’s colors of red and gold. They scowled at Duncan as they drew near. Then came a boy no older than Duncan, dressed in silken leggings and a quilted tunic. His face was pale, his arms were thin, and he seemed barely able to hold himself erect in the saddle. A red-bearded man dressed much the same rode close beside him, as if to catch the boy if he fell. Behind these came two worried looking men dressed in black. The thin one clutched a holy book, gazed heavenward, and moved his lips in prayer. The fat one glanced warily at the surf that lapped the horses’ hooves and at the waves farther out from shore, as if he did not trust the sea to stay in its place. Behind these came solemn men in the quilted, ruffed, and silken clothes of court, followed by more soldiers. There was ever so much to see!

  Duncan scrambled over the rocks, cat following behind him, to keep up and to see what more there might be to see. So he was near enough to see the pale boy’s head loll with sleepiness. He was near enough to see the red-bearded man shake the boy as if to wake him and keep him in the saddle. And Duncan was near enough to see something golden fall from the boy’s hand and into a crack in the rocks, just before the boy himself toppled and landed in a heap on the sand.

  The fat man in black urged his horse forward, dismounted, and unstopped phial that he held beneath the boy’s nose. The thin man in black prayed all the harder. The rest of the procession waited. At last the physician had roused the boy, who was helped back into his saddle. The boy’s hands trembled as he tried to hold the reins, but he smiled bravely as he spoke to those around him. Duncan felt sorry for him and also admired his determination.

  The riders continued. Duncan raised his hand to wave “Ahoy!” to a soldier, but the soldier touched the hilt of his sword and glowered so darkly that Duncan dared not tell him that the boy had dropped something. Duncan waited. When the procession was gone from sight, he sought the fallen treasure.

  “A box,” he said, showing it to the cat. The outside was beaten gold, decorated with the shapes of birds and flowers. But when Duncan opened it, and saw the pages, he realized that it wasn’t a box at all. It was a little book. Priests and learned men could read these words. “I wonder what it says?”

  IV

  The king’s messengers brought word to all the villages on the coast that the prince, who had recently taken the sea air, had lost a treasured possession—a little golden book. Whoever presented himself at court with the book would receive a reward befitting the prince’s gratitude. The whole village, from children to fathers to grandmothers were soon searching the shoreline for the prince’s book. Duncan sat next to his overturned boat and watched them, feeling uneasy. His cat lay on top of the boat, eyes closed. Nearby, two young men of the village leaned against their own boats to watch the searchers.

  “Oh, my little cat,” Duncan said, “shall I tell them that they search in vain?”

  A high little voice, just like a cat’s voice, answered him: “There is ever so much to hear.”

  Duncan turned to look at his cat, but the cat’s eyes were closed. “Little cat, little cat, what did you say?”

  The cat opened its eyes, then stretched and yawned a yawn from the end of its tail to the tip of its tongue. It sat, closed its eyes again, and twitched its ears. It listened. Duncan closed his eyes, too. He heard the rush of the surf, the crying of gulls, the voices of children as they searched and called to their searching parents. Wind rolled in Duncan’s ears. The more he listened, the more he heard. And though the two young men were some distance from him, he heard a boat creak as one of them leaned against it, and he heard the man say to his companion, “And why aren’t you looking for it?”

  “Because I’ve seen gulls snatching fish from other birds. It takes one kind to catch a fish, and another kind to eat it,” the other man said. Then they both laughed. Whether this man was in earnest or not Duncan knew that what he said of gulls was true. Some gulls and some men found it easier to steal from others than to seek their own fortune. As soon as word got out that the prince’s book had been found, no road between the village and the palace would be safe.

  Duncan went inside his hut, wrapped some dried fish in a cloth, hid the golden book beneath his hat, and set out for the palace. His cat followed along. Every so often, they stopped by the side of the road to listen. When they drew near to the palace, Duncan heard a horse nicker softly in the woods where he thought no hors
e should be. He and the cat waited for nightfall, and then for midnight, and then for the moon to go down. Then they heard the conversations of a band of robbers who built a fire and cooked their dinner only now, when it was too dark for anyone to travel. Only then, when the robbers’ thoughts were on the stewpot and their eyes were on the fire, did Duncan and his cat creep by in the dark.

  V

  Morning found them outside the palace. Duncan presented himself at the gate to claim his reward, and the cat darted in ahead of him, as cats will sometimes do at an open door. Where the cat had gone, Duncan did not know. Meanwhile, soldiers ushered Duncan into the throne room where the aged king sat on his throne and the ailing prince lay upon a litter. Beside the prince stood the priest, the physician, and the man with the red beard, who seemed not at all pleased to see so low a commoner in court. The prince, however, seemed not to notice the ragged state of Duncan’s clothes. He was delighted to have his book returned to him. It was a book of poems, and he read one aloud before clutching the little book to his breast.

  “Name your reward,” said the prince, “and as it is in my power to grant, you shall have it.”

  And the king, who was pleased to see his ailing son so happy, added, “And as it is in my power, you shall have it.”

  Duncan looked at the high ceiling, the tapestries on the walls, the courtiers in their fine clothes. “I have often dreamed of being inside a palace,” he said. “I ask for my reward only that I be permitted to stay a while at court.”

  “So shall it be,” said the old king. To the red-bearded man, he said, “Brother, see to it that he is made suitable.”

  “My king,” the man said, “I do not wish to leave my prince’s side.”

  “I thank you for your devotion,” the king said, “but you serve your nephew best by making this boy fit to be among us for a while.”

  The red-bearded man bowed, then he bade two guards and Duncan to follow him. As soon as they were out of the throne room, the king’s brother said a word and the guards seized Duncan by the elbows and hurried him so brusquely through the halls that he thought surely they meant him harm. Even at a time such as this, Duncan remembered that there was ever so much to hear. The guards’ boots clomped and echoed in the long hallways. Pots rattled and knives chopped, so that Duncan knew they were taking him to the kitchen even before the door was opened to the warmth and cooking smells. The king’s brother dismissed the guards and summoned the cook. “Wash this,” he said, waving his hand at Duncan. “It is to be made presentable at court.”

  “Him?” said the cook. “Him at court? Better to have one of my pots-and-pan boys before the king!”

  “Indeed. But His Royal Highness commands it. Clothes will be sent. Burn the rags he’s wearing.” Then as he turned to go the king’s brother muttered softly to himself, “No such follies when I am king.”

  There was ever so much for Duncan to hear.

  “Right, then,” said the cook. She called to her kitchen boys to bring a cauldron and water both hot and cold. “Clean him up,” she commanded, “and don’t spare the scouring brush out of kindness!” The boys made a bath of the cauldron, and they peeled and scrubbed Duncan as if he were a turnip. They kneaded him dry with rough towels and dressed him in the clothes that were brought.

  Duncan’s skin was sore, and the clothes itched against his skin, but when he was led up to the dining hall and saw the feast, he was glad that he had asked for this reward. There was ever so much to see: the honeyed meats, the fruits, the breads, the pastries. There was ever so much to hear: the worried conversations of the court, the tunes of the royal musicians. Duncan watched and listened and kept his peace. He learned how the courtiers feared for the prince’s life. No effort had been spared for him. His priest was the holiest of men. The physician who attended him was most learned, the court physician from an allied kingdom in the mountains, but even he could not cure the mysterious illness that had come upon the prince of a sudden. All through the feast, the prince lay upon his litter, eating no bite of food and tasting no wine. Duncan saw how the prince tried to smile and be of good cheer, and again Duncan admired his courage. All through the dinner, the king’s brother sat at his nephew’s side and encouraged him to eat.

  When the last bones had been thrown to the dogs, the king summoned Duncan. “Now you have been at court one day. What have you learned?”

  Duncan said, “I have learned that the king’s brother expects to sit upon the throne.”

  At that, the court grew still and silent. The king’s brother glared at Duncan. The king’s face reddened. “It is treason to speak such words of the royal family!”

  The prince struggled to sit up and said, “Please, father…”

  But the king did not wait to hear what the prince had to say. “This boy shall yet be our guest at court,” the king said, “but I have different quarters in mind for him now.” And Duncan was thrown into the dungeon.

  VI

  Duncan sat in the driest corner of the cell, which was not very dry at all. He shivered and wished he had his former clothes, for though tattered, they had been warm.

  As Duncan despaired, his cat stepped through the iron bars of the door. In its jaws, the cat carried a mouse so fat that it could only have come from the royal kitchen. The cat lifted each paw in turn to shake off the damp, then set to eating dinner.

  Duncan rested his forehead on his knees and said, “Oh, my little cat, what am I to do? I dreamed of seeing the palace, but not this part of it!”

  A voice answered, “There is ever so much to smell.”

  Duncan raised his head. Who else but the cat could have spoken? Duncan said, “Little cat, little cat, what did you say?” But the cat did not look up. It crunched mouse bones as if it knew very well that Duncan had heard. When the cat had eaten the very last morsel, it sniffed the moist floor where the meal had been, then sniffed the air.

  “What is there to smell but the damp and rot?” Duncan asked. But he breathed in through his nose. He smelled the wet stones of his cell, and also the rusty smell of the iron door and its lock. He smelled mold and mildew and the stench of royal sewers. When his cat drew near, he smelled a trace of mouse flesh on its breath. None of these smells pleased Duncan, but it was true even here in the dungeon: There was ever so much to smell.

  VII

  After Duncan had been three days in the dungeon, the king sent for him to see what he had to say for himself now. Duncan bowed before the throne, bowed again to the prince on his litter, and bowed even to the king’s brother. “I meant no treason,” he said. “Your Highness asked me a question, and I spoke only the truth.”

  The king frowned, but the prince said, “Is it not as I said? This boy is a simple fisherman, and when he speaks it is with the simple truth. There is no treason in his words if my uncle does in truth expect to be king, and who at court does not expect that? If I am not made well, father, it seems that I shall die before you.”

  At these words, the king grew pale. The uncle assured the prince that he would surely recover and one day take the throne. But the prince’s gaze never left Duncan. “Come forward,” he said. When Duncan drew near, he could smell the powders that perfumed the prince’s clothes, as well as the mustiness of the prince’s sickbed. “We have treated you ill,” said the prince, “for you have given us only kindness and honesty. If my father will grant permission, I restore your presence at court.”

  The king’s jaw was set, but he nodded.

  Duncan bowed again, and as he did so, he smelled the faintest hint of something both fishy and bitter on the prince’s breath.

  “My Prince,” Duncan said, “you are being poisoned.”

  The king’s brother laughed, perhaps a bit nervously. “The prince is served by a learned physician who knows more than a fisherman knows of poisons.”

  “Your Highness,” said Duncan. “I do not doubt that the physician is a learned man, but is he not a man of the mountains? The poison given to the prince is a poison of the sea.”<
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  Now the king’s brother grew pale. The king gave Duncan leave to make a search, and two guards to go with him, and they went straightaway to the royal kitchens. Duncan wasted no time as lifted lids from jars and sniffed at shelves as a cat might do. The cook protested this intrusion, but her protest changed to weeping when Duncan’s nose led him to a scrap of burlap inside a flour bin. Wrapped in the burlap was a black bit of dried fish liver, roughened on all sides as it had been nicked and shaved away a little at a time.

  When she was brought before the king, the cook confessed and accused the king’s brother, who had of a sudden made himself scarce. The palace was searched, and then the forest around the palace, and then the entire kingdom. But the king’s red-bearded brother was nowhere to be found, and it was supposed that he had chosen exile before justice. It is sad to say that the cook alone was given the reward that she and the king’s brother had earned together. If you know anything of kings you can well imagine how she suffered, and if you know nothing of kings then it is a mercy not to tell you.

  VIII

  The prince, once he was no longer given poison, recovered his usual vigor. Duncan, for his service to the court, was made a courtier for life and given a little room—much drier and pleasanter than his first one. His cat shared the room and also had the freedom of the palace.

  In time, the king died and the prince became the new king. Duncan was the man whose eyes and ears and even nose the new king trusted most, and he trusted Duncan to tell the truth when asked for it.

  With the passing of years, the cat grew old and fat, but it never spoke again…unless it was the cat who Duncan heard one night long after a royal feast. Duncan had fallen asleep at the table. No one woke him when the king and courtiers all left the great hall. The dishes and table scraps were left for morning, and the lights were put out. Duncan woke in darkness. He heard what might have been the sound of cat feet alighting on the table. He heard a familiar little voice that might have been a cat’s voice. It said: “There is ever so much to taste!”