silence them. âI have decided it will be whichever one of you brings me the finest horse, for I wish to prance around the countryside in my old age."
This was great sport! Simon and Oliver thought of themselves as quick-witted young rakes with taste and connections, sly dabblers among the social elite. They would raise and spend oceans of gold between them trying to outdo each other bidding on steeds.
Neither of them gave a thought to Nick. He was too quiet to be clever. Tall for his seventeen years, with fine features and eyes like violet moons, he never exhibited any signs of wit and had no connections at all. He spent most of his wages on ink and drawing paper, upon which he sketched endless cats: grinning greymalkins before their hearths, leopards rippling vivid along branches, lions on the hot veldt.
But when Simon and Oliver mounted an expedition with a train of coaches and servants, Nick packed his rucksack and accompanied them; better that than stay and be fired by the miller. Oliver drugged his wine the first night, and Nick awoke to find that the camp had packed and gone on without him. Also, he had an appalling hangover.
Nick wandered until he found himself at the edge of a city. He followed a road that looked promising, but soon narrowed to lure him down a series of small twisting alleys to a stinking dead end. He turned to retrace his stepsâand beheld a splendid black cat sitting in the path.
It showed no sign of fear at his presence, so he bent to stroke its head. The thick fur glittered like a puddle of oil, so black it seemed to absorb light. âHello, handsome,â said Nick, for it was clearly a male. âWhat's a fine one like you doing in this nasty place?"
âHello, Nick,â said the cat. âI came to meet you, for I knew you would lose your way. Stroke my back.â He offered his sleek, muscular spine to Nick's hand.
Nick had never heard a cat speak before, but perhaps in other towns it was common. The thought excited him as the creatures themselves had always done. He stroked the cat, who threaded his tail around Nick's wrist and purred.
âI know what you're after,â said the cat. âYou want a horse, don't you? I can help you get a horse."
âHow's that?â Nick asked, reaching up to scratch the velvety tufted ears, more interested in cat than horse.
âOh, that's lovely,â said the cat, arching his neck against Nick's knuckles. âYou see, I am King of the Cats. All you have to do is come and be my faithful servant for seven years. At the end of that time I will give you your pick of my fine stable."
âThat's it, is it?â Nick was amused: surely every feline on earth believed itself King or Queen of the Cats. But he had nothing better to do than follow this exquisite creature, and so he did.
He followed the cat through labyrinthine passageways and dripping, twisting corridors. At times it seemed they had left the city and now walked through a forest, though Nick could never quite make out the trees; at times he smelled city scents, the perfume of spices or the reek of a slaughterhouse. At last they came into an open area something like a plaza or a clearing, and Nick gasped at the sight before him.
A great onyx castle with a golden door, and waiting at the door a pair of slender Siamese, their cream-colored fur tinged at the legs, tail, face, and ears with a deep silver-blue. Their eyes were the clear blue of sapphires, slightly crossed but alight with fervid intelligence.
At once the pair began to talk, their loud, hoarse voices interrupting one another.
âO King, O King!"
âHow we missed youâwhat have you brought us?"
âWho's that boy?"
âWhat's his name?"
âWhat's his breed?"
âTell us, naaaaow!"
âIn time you shall know all,â murmured the king, rubbing past them, briefly entwining his bushy black tail with their long whiplike ones. Nick followed, and the pair parted to let him
This was great sport! Simon and Oliver thought of themselves as quick-witted young rakes with taste and connections, sly dabblers among the social elite. They would raise and spend oceans of gold between them trying to outdo each other bidding on steeds.
Neither of them gave a thought to Nick. He was too quiet to be clever. Tall for his seventeen years, with fine features and eyes like violet moons, he never exhibited any signs of wit and had no connections at all. He spent most of his wages on ink and drawing paper, upon which he sketched endless cats: grinning greymalkins before their hearths, leopards rippling vivid along branches, lions on the hot veldt.
But when Simon and Oliver mounted an expedition with a train of coaches and servants, Nick packed his rucksack and accompanied them; better that than stay and be fired by the miller. Oliver drugged his wine the first night, and Nick awoke to find that the camp had packed and gone on without him. Also, he had an appalling hangover.
Nick wandered until he found himself at the edge of a city. He followed a road that looked promising, but soon narrowed to lure him down a series of small twisting alleys to a stinking dead end. He turned to retrace his stepsâand beheld a splendid black cat sitting in the path.
It showed no sign of fear at his presence, so he bent to stroke its head. The thick fur glittered like a puddle of oil, so black it seemed to absorb light. âHello, handsome,â said Nick, for it was clearly a male. âWhat's a fine one like you doing in this nasty place?"
âHello, Nick,â said the cat. âI came to meet you, for I knew you would lose your way. Stroke my back.â He offered his sleek, muscular spine to Nick's hand.
Nick had never heard a cat speak before, but perhaps in other towns it was common. The thought excited him as the creatures themselves had always done. He stroked the cat, who threaded his tail around Nick's wrist and purred.
âI know what you're after,â said the cat. âYou want a horse, don't you? I can help you get a horse."
âHow's that?â Nick asked, reaching up to scratch the velvety tufted ears, more interested in cat than horse.
âOh, that's lovely,â said the cat, arching his neck against Nick's knuckles. âYou see, I am King of the Cats. All you have to do is come and be my faithful servant for seven years. At the end of that time I will give you your pick of my fine stable."
âThat's it, is it?â Nick was amused: surely every feline on earth believed itself King or Queen of the Cats. But he had nothing better to do than follow this exquisite creature, and so he did.
He followed the cat through labyrinthine passageways and dripping, twisting corridors. At times it seemed they had left the city and now walked through a forest, though Nick could never quite make out the trees; at times he smelled city scents, the perfume of spices or the reek of a slaughterhouse. At last they came into an open area something like a plaza or a clearing, and Nick gasped at the sight before him.
A great onyx castle with a golden door, and waiting at the door a pair of slender Siamese, their cream-colored fur tinged at the legs, tail, face, and ears with a deep silver-blue. Their eyes were the clear blue of sapphires, slightly crossed but alight with fervid intelligence.
At once the pair began to talk, their loud, hoarse voices interrupting one another.
âO King, O King!"
âHow we missed youâwhat have you brought us?"
âWho's that boy?"
âWhat's his name?"
âWhat's his breed?"
âTell us, naaaaow!"
âIn time you shall know all,â murmured the king, rubbing past them, briefly entwining his bushy black tail with their long whiplike ones. Nick followed, and the pair parted to let him
Similar Books
