by Rahma Krambo
Crimmany dutifully climbed up the tree and looked in the library window.
“Well? What’s in there?” Sting whispered loudly.
“Not much.”
“What are they doing? Readin'?” Sting yelled sarcastically, not bothering anymore to keep quiet.
“Mostly sleeping.”
“Stupid cats,” Sting muttered. “Well, if they’re sleeping it oughta be easy. All we got to do is steal the book and we’re home free.”
“Home free? Whaddya mean, boss?”
Sting couldn’t explain it to these two morons, but he couldn’t exactly remember what Lazer had said either, and it didn’t make quite as much sense now. Oh well, they’d be eatin’ good. That was the most important thing.
“We steal their book and we’ll be smarter and stronger."
"You told us we already were smarter and stronger," whined Crimmany.
"Of course we are!" snapped Sting. "But if we have their book, the cats will go back to being normal—like stupid alley cats. That's obvious, isn’t it? Enough talk. It’s time for action.”
Besides being the meanest, one of the reasons Sting was the leader was his scouting abilities, and this time, too, he was able to find a tunnel that got them inside the library. The raccoons clambered over each other, trying to be the first one through. Sting won, of course. Crimmany came next, but was too slow and Tank kicked him in the backside.
Once inside, they stopped in their tracks, awestruck. They were immersed in a sea of books.
Sting was almost reverent. "This is gonna be a bigger job than I thought,” he said. For a moment, he was overcome by the atmosphere, by things he didn’t have the brain cells or language to explain.
Then he came to his senses. “Figures cats’d hang out in a place like this.”
“Disgustin’ ain’t it?” Tank said.
Crimmany piped up, “Hey, maybe we should learn to read.” He spotted a table with children’s books lying out. “I’ll bet it’s not that hard.” He climbed on the table and opened one. “Oh, cool pictures. Take a look, you guys.”
Tank started to wander over, but Sting nudged him, rolling his eyes and staring at the ceiling.
“It might be kinda fun. We should give it a try,” insisted Crimmany.
“Why would I want to read?” barked Sting. “If I want to know somethin’ I’ll ask a cat!” He wadded up a piece of newspaper and threw it at Crimmany.
“Cut it out!” yelled Crimmany, abandoning the book. He made his own paper wad and ran after Sting. In the midst of the tussle, Sting caught a movement from the second floor balcony.
He froze, even as one of Crimmany’s paper balls struck him on the head. How long had that stupid cat been spying on him? He cursed under his breath.
“Well, look who’s here!” Sting said to Marco, as if he didn’t absolutely loathe him. “I believe we’ve met before. Let’s see, you’re the Defender of Deformed Rats, aren’t you? What are you defending tonight? Must be books, ‘cause that’s all I see here.”
Chapter 35: Pandemonium
Marco glared down at Sting from between the rails of the balcony. Why did this creep keep showing up everywhere? Especially here, his refuge from the world. “What are you doing in the library? You can’t read.”
“You sayin’ we’re not welcome?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Scram.”
“Oh, you’re hurting my feelings. Hey Marco, why don’t you give us a tour? We’d like to improve our minds too. Right, boys?” Sting snickered and looked to the other raccoons.
“Sure thing, Sting.”
“See? They like it here. Come on down and join us.” Sting walked over to some books and started pawing through them. He picked one out at random. The Care and Feeding of Orphaned Kittens. He threw it on the floor.
Marco was at a loss for what to do. Up until now, his encounters with Sting were more like wrestling matches.
“You deaf or something? Maybe you think you’re too good for the likes of us,” said Sting. “Or maybe… ”
Marco could tell Sting thought he was brilliant by the way he strutted about.
“Maybe, you’re hidin' something,” accused Sting.
Marco’s tail bristled as he prepared himself for another clash with the raccoon, but this time the enemy was on his territory. Now that he had been made a Guardian Cat, he would defend not only The Book of Motion. He would defend all the books!
Scuffling noises from a far corner of the first floor interrupted Marco’s concentration.
“Hey, Marco, there’s a whole stash of granola bars in the desk. Nuts, dried fruit, chocolate.” It was Polo “And raisins, my favorite!” Polo started towards the bottom of the stairs, holding a crumbling piece of granola bar in his paw. “Want some?” Polo offered generously. Marco had explained more than once that he didn’t eat sweets, but Polo never remembered.
Then the small ferret spotted Sting. “Uh-oh,” he said.
Sting sauntered towards Polo—casually, like they were friends. “Well, well. Look who else is here.”
Marco yelled, “Polo! Run!”
Sting grabbed the ferret. “Ha! I’m not lettin' you go this time!”
Marco had already started down the stairs.
“I see you decided to join me,” said Sting.
“Join you? That’s a laugh,” said Marco.
“Well, at least I know how to laugh. Ain’t never seen a cat laugh.”
“Cats have a sense of humor,” said Marco, moving down each step slowly but deliberately. “But it has to be funny.”
Polo squealed.
“Quiet,” Sting said, shaking Polo by his neck. “Or I’ll make it tighter.”
Marco glared at Sting. “That is not funny.”
“Oh, you’re making me cry,” said Sting, mocking him. “You want him back? I'll cut you a deal.”
“A deal? What are you talking about?”
We’ll trade.”
“Trade? Trade what?”
“The Magic Book. Hand it over and you can have your mangy friend back.”
Marco’s breath caught in his throat and he stopped dead on the stairs. The magic book? How would a disreputable character like Sting know anything about The Book of Motion? He couldn’t be talking about that.
Sting stood in the center of the vestibule under the dome, dangling Polo in the air. “Hey! Where’s the rest of your book club? Maybe they know something you don’t. Maybe…” Sting paused dramatically. “Just maybe they haven’t told you about the book.”
Marco’s head swirled with questions, but he managed to keep calm. “There’s all kinds of books here, Sting. There’s even a whole section on magic. Why don’t you get a library card and check one out?”
“Ha! I knew it. You don’t even know about the book. You don’t know nuthin'!”
Marco tasted something bitter in his mouth as he felt a fierceness rising in him. He reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Some friends. Looks to me like you’ve been deserted, little buddy.”
Marco lunged towards his adversary. At the same moment Sting shifted Polo between them, using him as a shield. Marco’s claws punctured Polo’s skin and he smelled his blood. Polo squealed louder.
“You should take better care of the one friend you got,” taunted Sting. “Looks like this little rat is all mine now.”
Marco made a second attempt to attack Sting, but everything went black. He took the blow from Tank in his soft underbelly and when he caught his breath, it was filled with the heavy odor of raccoon.
He heard Polo’s cry pierce the air again, and just as suddenly, it was squelched. He squirmed out from under Tank and caught sight of Sting shoving Polo down an open grate in the floorboards, then disappearing down the hole after him. Crimmany was lunging forward, ready to attack.
He tried to block himself from Crimmany’s next move and failed. Not because of his own moves, but because Tweezer, one of the Dead Cats, appeared out of nowhere in a flying leap, coll
iding with Crimmany and knocking him to the floor.
Tank sprang to attack and Marco met him in a mid-air collision. All four animals were sprawled on the library floor, books scattered everywhere around them. But the impact broke the momentum of the battle as everybody disentangled themselves and jockeyed to an upright position.
The raccoons ambled off, shoving each other and complaining about who was to blame.
Raccoons have no dignity, Marco thought. Then he turned to Tweezer. “Thanks for covering my back.”
Chapter 36: “A shape that means deceit…”
Marco bolted up the stairs, nearly skidding on the landing as he made the turn. He dashed straight into Cicero’s chambers without thinking, but something about the old cat stopped him cold. A large volume of Shakespeare was spread out in front of him. His eyes were half closed, but he was anything but sleeping.
“Cicero,” started Marco, but Cicero sat as still as a stone cat.
Marco thought Cicero should know what was going on, but when he opened his eyes all he got was a grim look.
“Sorry to disturb you Cicero, but I need to tell you... ” How was he going to explain? “We have a problem.”
“Really,” answered Cicero, his voice flat.
“Sting was here.” Marco’s mouth was dry and he suddenly felt more afraid of Cicero than he’d been of Sting. “You know, the raccoon.”
“I know who Sting is.”
Marco plowed ahead with his explanation. “He acts like he knows something about the Book, but he couldn’t possibly know. And he’s kidnapped Polo. What should we do?”
“What do you think we should do?”
“I… I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”
“I saw the whole thing.”
“Wha…? What do you mean? You saw Sting?”
“I watched from the balcony.”
Marco was confused by Cicero’s odd behavior. “Shouldn’t we do something? At least, we need to rescue Polo.”
Suddenly Cicero was up on all fours, standing on the edge of the table, hunched over and looking down on Marco. For a brief moment, Cicero reminded Marco of a vulture.
“Who did you tell?” demanded Cicero in a roar.
Marco froze. He’d never seen him so angry.
“Did you tell that ridiculous ferret?”
“No, I mean… what do you mean? Tell him what?”
“How would a filthy animal like Sting know anything about the Book?”
Marco wondered the same thing. He also wondered why Cicero was accusing him.
Someone cleared his throat at the door. It was Bait.
“May I enter?” he asked politely. “Or is this a private meeting?”
Marco was relieved to see a friendly face.
“I heard what happened, and I’m here to offer my services,” said Bait.
“What services would I need from you?” replied Cicero coldly.
“Come on, Cicero… you will need me. The raccoons are onto the Book and you will need an extra hand or two protecting it from those thieves.”
Marco thought Bait’s proposal seemed generous and didn’t understand why Cicero had his back arched. He was also surprised that other cats knew about the Book.
Bait seemed calm, considering Cicero’s threatening position. “I’ll bet Marco would help, too. Wouldn’t you, Marco?”
“Sure. Yeah,” said Marco, agreeably.
“See, Cicero. You don’t have to do this alone. You do have friends.”
Cicero backed off and sat down. He closed his eyes. Bait threw a sideways glance at Marco, as if to indicate how eccentric Cicero was.
Cicero walked the length of the table, as though he were preparing for a speech. Then he spoke in his best Shakespearean.
“Seems he a dove? His feathers are but borrowed for he’s disposed as the hateful raven. Is he a lamb? His skin is surely lent him for he’s included as is the ravenous wolf. Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit?”
Bait had climbed up on a chair, as if he needed to be on the same level as Cicero. “You foolish old cat! You think quoting Shakespeare solves anything?” Then he jumped to the floor and prepared to leave. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Or offer to help.” As he turned to leave, he said to Marco. “Come on, let’s leave this burned-out candle.”
Marco was torn. Reluctantly he left with Bait, leaving Cicero alone in his chambers.
Bait waited until they were outside to speak. “I fear his reach has exceeded his grasp. He has outlived his usefulness here. He has outlived his job.”
“What job?" asked Marco, trying to figure out just what Bait knew about the Book without giving away what he knew. Maybe he was only referring to his job as the library cat, but Marco was getting anxious that too many others knew about the Book, which was supposed to be top secret.
"You know it's all a fairy story, don't you?"
Marco hesitated. Bait made it seem like no big deal. But Marco had made a promise and he had to keep his word. Cicero was acting strangely and sometimes he scared Marco with his passion. But he'd been entrusted to something important and it felt real to him. Marco paused, unsure of what to say.
"I'll bet he made you promise not to tell, didn’t he? That's just part of his mental illness." Bait shook his head. “But don’t worry about him. You’ve got other problems, Marco.”
Chapter 37: Errors in judgment
Cicero had misjudged Marco. He was thankful for that. Whatever trouble was brewing with the raccoons, he felt sure Bait was behind it after that little counterfeit display of friendship. It made sense, considering what had happened. But what truly disturbed him was the fact that he had misjudged Bait. Again.
He had chosen Bait to be his successor years ago, but had to let him go. Now he was beginning to realize how much he’d underestimated Bait’s resentment for that.
At the time, Cicero had no choice. The incident with Caffeina was disturbing especially because Bait thought no one was listening. A Guardian always treated a lady with respect and Bait had accused Caffeina of being a tramp. It was important that a Guardian have the same good character when alone, as well as when others were around.
Bait had seemed surprised about the reprimand, contrite even. It wasn’t serious enough to terminate his training, but Cicero’s eyes were opened and he kept a close watch.
Things came to a head, though, when Bait questioned him about using the power of the Book. He’d started off politely, appearing to be casual about it. Cicero explained to Bait about abusing the responsibility. A Guardian is rarely called upon to use the power. His only job is to protect it.
Bait claimed that he would only use its power for good. After his arguments didn’t work on Cicero, his tone changed, and for the briefest flash, Cicero saw Bait’s polished exterior crack. In that moment, Cicero saw the darkness underneath.
What a dreadful feeling that had been. He’d felt like a fool not seeing it before, but Bait’s deception had been flawless. Or had it? Did he miss crucial signs? Bait had seemed to be the most qualified cat to come along in years. He presented a noble character and was not afraid of danger. Now Cicero realized his dignified appearance was more a characteristic of his breed, rather than a personal quality.
Cicero had been shocked then. Now he was mortified. How could it have happened again? He cringed at the thought of how close Bait had come to being in the position of a Guardian Cat.
Cicero had given Bait a stern warning and told him his training was finished. Maybe he’d been too harsh. Maybe he should have been more diplomatic, but he’d reacted with passion, and there was no going back.
Bait hung around, came to meetings and nothing changed much on the outside. Cicero did not discourage him from coming. In fact, he thought it was better to keep him close. No one else knew what had happened, but then no one else knew about the Book.
Now Bait was befriending Marco. Nothing good could come of it, he was sure. It also seemed that he was trying to get the raccoons to do his dirty
work. What in the world was Bait up to?
Chapter 38: Spying on cats
Lazer, the renegade raccoon who had befriended Sting, stood outside the raccoons’ camper and toyed with the leash around the sleeping ferret’s neck. He was pleased to see Sting had captured him. Pleased to know just how far the raccoon would go.
He banged on Sting’s door. Crimmany opened it and stuck his head out. “What do you want?”
“Sting here?” asked Lazer.
“Yeah. So?”
“So! Let me talk to him," barked Lazer.
“Sting!” yelled Crimmany, back inside the camper.
“What!”
“Somebody’s here to see you.”
Sting appeared as a silhouette, filling the frame of the door. "Hey, Lazer!"
"Hey. How's it going, Sting?"
"Not so good. Come on in."
Lazer climbed into the camper shell and made himself comfortable on shreds of what had been a mattress. “What happened?”
"You never told me the library was full of books! Then that mangy orange cat who keeps buttin’ his head in my business showed up. And that useless critter I got tied up outside. What am I? A pet sitter? Dang animal sure is a pack of trouble. Only thing he might be good for is some kind of bribe.”
“I like the way you think, Sting.”
Sting shook his head. “Well, I sure never got that book you was talking about. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”
"Hmmm. Well, you did one good thing. The cats are all riled up.”
"Yeah, that’s always a good thing," said Sting. “By the way, where you been?"
"I work undercover, like I told you. Spying on cats."
"Yeah? Seems like a boring job. What for?"
"I have my reasons," said Lazer. "One thing I do know… the cats are worried that you'll steal their big-deal book. They are trying to figure out what to do with it. That means they're likely to move it somewhere." It was a lie, but Lazer had no problem with lying.
"Yeah. So."
"If we can catch them in the act, it'll be a piece of cake."
"We? What's with this 'we' business? Why should I bother?" asked Sting.