Apprentice Cat: Toby's Tale Book 1 (Master Cat Series)

by Virginia Ripple

  Toby asked why his mother hated him and was relieved when his father had explained that Adele didn’t hate him. She was just angry that things weren’t going the way she wanted. After that, the two tussled until Toby began to yawn and stumble from fatigue. He fell asleep listening to his father’s rumbling purr. It hadn’t been long after that that he had caught his first mouse, which pleased his mother immensely. Now he wished all it would take was catching a mouse to make her happy.

  The sound of a coach arriving at the front gate brought Toby out of his reverie. He glanced at the sundial across the garden. The shadow had inched its way nearly a quarter down the sundial’s face, making Toby flinch as he realized how long he’d been in the oak. His mother would be even less pleased with his behavior now. He could just hear her accusing him of sulking.

  The orange tom heaved himself up and turned around to climb back down the tree. Waiting any longer would do no good. He was in for it whether he went back into the house now or later. Dropping the last few feet, Toby turned toward the gate and slowly paced back down the footpath. The sound of the front door closing made him prick his ears forward. He wondered if Master O’dorn was home for the evening or if it was another patron hoping the Master had a cure for some minor ailment. He was about to jump to the open workroom window when he heard voices. Toby sat behind the hedges to wait.

  “He’s head-strong, worse than his father,” complained Toby’s mother.

  “Toby is a good cat and you know it, Adele,” Master O’dorn said. At the mention of his name, the orange tom’s ears pricked up. He stared intently up at the open window, imagining his mother pacing the workroom table as Master O’dorn sat in his rumpled old chair.

  “Oh, I know he’s a good cat. I just wish he’d apply himself to his lessons. What if he doesn’t get chosen, Clarence, what then?”

  “If Toby isn’t accepted into the academy it won’t be because he can’t do magic. It will be because there just isn’t a suitable human to partner him with.”

  “But how do you know that? How can you be sure? I’ve never seen him do more than the simplest spell. The only thing I know he’s good at is reading and remembering his history lessons. That’s not going to be enough. I remember how hard it was going through the academy, how some of the teachers made it so much more difficult just because I didn’t have the advantage of a private tutor. If I can’t help Toby shine, then I’ve failed him.”

  The pain in her voice was new to Toby. She didn’t talk about what her time at the academy was like except to remind him time and again of how there were always more cats than humans hoping to get in and to admonish him to study hard because it wouldn’t get any easier. He tried to imagine his regal mother as a young apprentice who was mistreated by teachers and students. The image wouldn’t stay. His mother had always been a self-assured, commanding presence in his life.

  “Adele, my dear friend, that was a long time ago. Your son is a wonderful masterpiece. I know you haven’t seen him do much magic, but I have. Trust me when I tell you that he is quite capable.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “Could what? Trust me or believe in your son?” the mage asked, a smile in his voice.

  “You know, I’m not sure which. It’s difficult to believe in something you never see, even when your most valued friend assures you it’s real.”

  “And yet you are a master cat, able to see the end results of a spell before it is more than a few jumbled words and assorted herbs. How is it that you fail to see what your son can do?”

  “That is a very good question. I feel like a miserable failure. I’m his mother and I know I should be able to believe in my son simply because he’s my son, but I just can’t do it. Why is that?”

  “Do you really want to know what I think?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  Toby could imagine the reproachful look she was bestowing on the master mage, eyes slitted, whiskers clamped together.

  “Well, my dear,” Clarence began, obviously ignoring Adele’s reproving attitude, something the orange tom thought must come with having been friends for so long. “I believe what you are seeing is your past fears reflected in Toby’s seeming inability to do magic. You fear that your son will have to endure the same pain you endured and so you push him much harder than any but the most ruthless teacher at the academy. Toby is terrified of disappointing you, which translates into failure after failure during your lessons. Fear feeds upon fear.”

  Toby held his breath, waiting for the feline eruption he was sure would come. The only sound being made was by the lark in the garden, its melody contrasting sharply with the nervous tension in the tom’s body. Minutes passed. Finally, Toby heard his mother’s gentle sigh.

  “I suppose you’re right… as usual.”

  “Ah, well, that’s one of the perks of being a master mage,” joked Master O’dorn. “But seriously, Adele, I believe you really must have a good chat with your son. Perhaps if he understood where you are coming from he might begin to excel in his lessons with you.”

  There was a long pause. Toby began to wonder if he had somehow missed the sound of the workroom door opening and closing when his mother spoke again.

  “I love my son, Clarence,” she said in a low, impassioned voice.

  “I know, Adele —”

  “That’s why I can’t tell him.”

  There was another long pause. A squeak of springs made the young cat imagine Master O’dorn leaning closer to Toby’s mother.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m all he has. I have to be strong… for him.”

  A moment more passed and then Toby heard the click of the workroom door opening, followed by the soft thunk as it closed. He sat and stared at a digger beetle working its way between the packed earth behind the hedges and the gray stone walls of Master O’dorn’s house, his mind trying to work through the conversation he had overheard. Was his mother right? If he couldn’t do what she demanded of him, how could he expect to do what his teachers asked him to do? They wouldn’t all be as easy to work with as Master O’dorn. He shivered as he considered the possibilities.

  Chapter 2

  Toby turned his attention to watching for the coach, trying to ignore the stony presence of his mother. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably. He stared across the street at the neighbor’s gray rock fence, watching as the sunflowers danced in the light fall breeze, their bright yellow heads bobbing a good cat stretch above the weathered stone.

  Colorful maple leaves scooted along the brown cobbled street. The orange tom flicked an ear as a lazy fly buzzed around his head searching for a place to land. The quiet was stifling. If he could have conjured the coach at that moment, he would have. Adele shifted beside him.

  “I wonder what is taking that coach so long?”

  Toby glanced at her to find that she seemed as fidgety as he was. He had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, it was nice to know he wasn’t the only one wishing to get on with things. On the other hand, he was a little disturbed to think that his mother was so eager to see him gone.

  “Oh don’t look so taken aback. You know I hate good byes.”

  He watched a beetle crawl over a clump of dried grass protruding in the cobblestones at the edge of their path, he wondered what had caused his mother to dislike saying goodbye so much. Rummaging through his memories, he noted that there was a marked decline in her liking of good byes from the day his father disappeared. It made Toby wonder if she somehow blamed herself for his father’s disappearance.

  “Toby, did you hear me? Your coach is coming.”

  The sharp tone of his mother’s voice startled the orange tom out of his memories. He shifted his gaze down the street where the coach was steadily approaching. It looked the same as the one his father had taken the day he disappeared
, from the two black horses to the square box-like structure perched on the large round wheels. Toby couldn’t be sure, but even the driver looked like the same man, an overlarge round-brimmed hat sunk low on his head. His faded overcoat rippled in the light breeze. A long whip stood erect by his side. The coachman deftly pulled the coach to the curb as he slowed the horses to a stop.

  “Toby, look at me,” his mother commanded. Gathering his wayward emotions together, he steeled himself to look into her eyes.

  “Your father would be the first to tell you that you earned this right. Mourning him on the eve of your impending selection is wasted energy better used in reviewing past lessons.”

  “I know you’re right, mother, but—”

  “No ‘buts’. You are your father’s son... and you are mine, as well. You were born to this. It is time you took your place among the Cats.”

  “Cum along, cat,” hollered the coachman, his voice as brittle as the fall breeze. “I don’ git paid extree t’wait fer no maudlin’ goo’ byes.”

  The scowl Toby’s mother gave the coachman would have cowed any ordinary person, but the man was unfazed. Looking back at her son, her eyes softened for a moment. She stretched forward to give his right ear a quick lick.

  “Be strong, my son,” she whispered. She backed away, then, and sat down again. Her stern demeanor returned. Toby’s tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth. Shouldn’t he say something? Maybe something profound? Even a thank you might have been appropriate, but the words stuck in his throat.

  When he hesitated for a moment longer, his mother gave him a small magical nudge toward the coach with a twitch of her tail. Toby got to his feet and trotted to the coach’s open door. Pausing again, he looked back at the regal black queen sitting motionless on the pathway, the only hint that she was more than a statue in the movement of her fur in the crisp fall breeze.

  He glanced up at the coachman, noting that the man was about to say something rude if he delayed any longer, then leaped into the dark opening. The orange tom barely had enough time to pull his tail in behind him before the coach door slammed shut. It was as dark as Master O’dorn’s root cellar, but thicker. Toby wondered if he could reach out and slice through it with his claws.

  Before he had more than a moment to wonder about the inky darkness he was knocked from his feet as the coachman urged his horses into a quick trot. So much for a leisurely ride to the academy, thought Toby.

  Picking himself up, he glanced around the coach’s interior. There was a small window in front of him near the ceiling, the curtains pulled nearly closed. A sliver of warm sunlight tried vainly to illuminate the inside of the coach, but only managed to cast a weak glow over the area where Toby stood. As he stood on the floor waiting for his eyes to become more accustomed to the unusual darkness, he sniffed the air to help get his bearings. A strong smell of rusty iron and marigolds hit his nose, making him sneeze in surprise.

  “Blessings, little cat.” Toby jumped, his hair standing on end, feet splayed and claws extended to aid in a quick flight. The voice chuckled. Embarrassed, Toby quickly pulled himself into a dignified sitting position and gave his ruff a quick lick.

  “My apologies for startling you, little cat,” said the deep voice. “I had forgotten how dark this coach is when one first enters.”

  “No apology necessary, sir,” answered Toby. He turned to face where the voice was coming from. Squinting, he attempted to see who the voice belonged to, but the darkness was impenetrable. Not wanting to be considered rude by staring, the tom turned around to find the seat he assumed must be across from the voice’s owner. He found the same darkness on the other side as well.

  “Let me give you some light to find your way by,” said the voice. “No need to stumble around this tiny coach trying to find a proper seat.”

  From the darkness slid a dragon’s head cane, glinting in the narrow shaft of light from the window. The cane’s owner caught the edge of the curtain in the mouth of the snarling silver dragon and quickly pulled it aside, the curtain rings rasping in protest. Bright sunshine beamed into the coach. Toby squeezed his eyes tight against the sudden brightness. He squinted just enough to find the seat the voice had indicated was nearby. It was thankfully in shade, which would give him time to adjust to the lightened interior without looking like a mewling kit.

  “Thank you,” Toby said, leaping to the proffered seat. He took a moment to knead the padding into a slightly softer place, turned around once and lowered himself into a comfortable position, tucking his front paws beneath his chest and wrapping his tail around himself.

  “You are very much welcome, little cat,” said the owner of the voice. Although the other side of the coach was still shadowed, the light from the window made it much easier for Toby to see the man sitting across from him. He was well-groomed, his dark hair swept back and his anchor goatee precisely trimmed. Toby had seen other noble men and women at a distance, usually by peeking into Master O’dorn’s receiving room, but this was closer than he had ever considered he would get. He found it rather unnerving. He was in the middle of wishing he knew a spell to make himself transparent when the man spoke again.

  “I’m sorry, My Lord, but I didn’t quite catch what you said,” Toby replied in embarrassment. He was beginning to feel like that was all he did, embarrass himself.

  “I asked your name. It seems rather rude of me to continue to address you as ‘little cat’ in such close quarters.”

  “My apologies for not introducing myself, My Lord. My name is Toby.”

  “Think nothing of it, Toby. And since you were kind enough to give us your name, allow me to introduce myself. I am Fedelis Arturo, Gravin of Hielberg County and this is my companion Chivato.”

  He motioned to a large dark mass on the seat beside him. Toby tried to imagine what it could be. The ruler of a county was usually a magician of some power, so it made sense that Gravin Arturo would have a master cat companion, but the dark mass didn’t resemble anything more than a pile of clothes. The man scowled at the creature when several moments had gone by without movement.

  “Chivato, my friend, would you not care to welcome our guest?” asked Gravin Arturo, a slight growl to his voice. A pair of slitted yellow eyes slowly opened halfway and gazed for a long moment at the orange tom across the coach. The large tom yawned wide, exposing sharp fangs.

  “Welcome.”

  He stretched out a sleek gray paw, closed his eyes and returned to ignoring everyone. Gravin Arturo gave a long-suffering sigh and shook his head.

  “My apologies. I’m afraid Chivato is in a less than civil mood today.”

  He turned back to the orange tom. Silence stretched between them as the gravin studied Toby, something Toby wanted to do himself, but felt would be rude. The man’s gaze bored into young Toby’s orange pelt until the cat began to wish once again for a vanishing spell.

  “Forgive my rudeness, but that is a very unusual color for a cat. Might I ask if it’s natural?”

  “Yes, sir. I was born this color,” Toby replied, hesitant to go into detail.

  “Your color clearly didn’t come from your mother, assuming the queen who saw you off was she, and I thought I knew every unique tom in the city. Tell me, who was your father?”

  Toby gulped. What should he say? His mother had made it clear that wanting to enter the academy and not being noble was unacceptable to many. After all, had he been noble he would be the same color as his parents. He wouldn’t deny who his father was, but to name him would be to spotlight his middle class status. Or would it? Did the gravin know Victor? His mind raced for an answer.

  “Oh for the love of Faust, Arturo,” growled the large gray cat, rolling onto his back to stretch. “Your passion with genealogy borders on obsession. Who cares who fathered young Toby. He obviously has the qualifications to enter the academy or he wouldn’t b
e in this coach.”

  Toby glanced from Chivato to the gravin, who looked as if he had swallowed something sour. A cold silence fell on the coach with only the creak of the wheels to be heard. The big gray tom curled back into a ball and closed his eyes. The gravin stared at the passing scenery through the small window, lightly tapping his cane with an index finger in time to the gentle swaying of the coach.

  Toby closed his eyes to mere slits and decided to take advantage of the uneasy silence to study his surroundings. The coach’s interior was cleaner than he had first thought, though well-worn. The cloth beneath his paws was nearly worn through, the straw used as padding just beginning to show. Tiny dust moats drifted in through the window to float and sparkle in the sunlight. A faint scent of lilac hung in the air. Toby opened his mouth to taste it. He instantly regretted taking such a deep breath as the lilac scent was overpowered by the smell of wet metal. A coppery tang sparked across Toby’s tongue, reminding him of hunting mice with his father. The pungent aroma of marigolds assaulted the young tom’s nose, mixing with the metallic smell in Toby’s mind.

  No sooner had Toby inhaled, than he began sneezing. As sneeze after sneeze crashed over his small body, he began to wonder if the smell would ever leave his nose so he could breath again. He stood and began backing up step by slow step, instinct making him try to get away from whatever was making him sneeze. As his rump collided with the wall he was wracked by three rapid-fire sneezes. Suddenly the smell disappeared, taking the sneezing fit with it. Toby blinked watery eyes at his companions. Gravin Arturo and the big gray tom stared back, eyes wide. Afraid the sneezing fit would return, Toby took a small, hesitant breath. When nothing happened, he took a deeper breath and let it out in a grateful sigh.

  “My apologies, good sirs,” Toby began, sitting back down on the padded seat. “I’m not sure what happened. One moment I was enjoying the scent of lilacs and the next I’m trying to sneeze away the overpowering smell of marigolds and wet metal. Perhaps we passed a large garden of the flowers as they were being irrigated. I must be allergic to that particular flower.”