head.
‘Hey now.’ Geoff winked at her. ‘An off-day, was it?’
‘Dunno.’
‘I think so,’ said Geoff. ‘You’re better than this. When did you learn to use the Oshtian Compass?’
‘The what?’
Geoff looked perplexed. ‘Ah. Felicity may have called it something different. The Lodestone of Pasht?’
His words meant nothing to her.
‘Interesting,’ Geoff purred. ‘You’ve no idea what it is. Yet you used it anyway. Like a great jazz pianist I knew. Never had a lesson, couldn’t even read music. But
a wizard on the keys.’
He orbited them on tiptoe and they craned their necks to follow him.
‘You know what cats are famous for, Tiffany? I mean apart from the falling thing and the indestructible thing and the mice thing. . . all those things. Look, what should you do with a cat
if you move house? Shut them indoors for a week. Or they go looking for their old home.’ He paused. ‘
And they will find it.
Cats have this homing instinct, as strong as a
pigeon’s. Ten miles, a hundred miles, it doesn’t matter. If the cat loved his old territory, he’s likely to find his way back.’ Geoff made a sudden bound, springing over
their heads to land crouched before them. ‘It’s another skill we’ve copied from them. The Oshtian Compass. And it was helping us to get around long before they thought of
Sat-Nav.’
Olly chuckled. Daniel elbowed him into silence.
‘But Tiffany, you look puzzled. As you should. For what I’ve told you is only part of it. The easiest part.’ Geoff held all of their gazes with his own. ‘More remarkable
yet is when a cat’s owner goes away. Leaving it behind.’
Her heart kicked. She’d read about this.
‘As bizarre as it sounds,’ said Geoff, ‘some cats can actually follow them. I met a Nottingham lad when I was in the army. He was three weeks into basic training when his cat
Garibaldi showed up at the barracks, in Surrey. A hundred and fifty miles away. And he knew it wasn’t a lookalike because Gari was missing two vertebrae in his tail. These stories
aren’t rare. I heard of one cat crossing the width of the USA, coast to coast, two thousand miles, just to find the sick lady who’d had to give him away when she moved.’
Geoff looked up at the lead-crossed window. Speaking in a murmur, he seemed to be addressing the night outside.
‘That the cat has such a power is astonishing, I suppose. I’ll tell you what’s more incredible. The wish. The
will
. What kind of force could drive a creature from warmth
and safety, make it trek day and night across hostile wilderness, through illness and starvation, in search of one special person? That is what gives me chills.’
He closed his eyes.
‘That night,’ said Tiffany, beginning to grasp it. ‘Something
was
guiding me.’
‘The Oshtian Compass,’ said Geoff. ‘Drawing you to Ben.’
‘And someone. . .’ she groped for the memory, ‘was following me.’
‘Yeah, that was me.’
Geoff made a guilty face. He’d been watching them both, he confessed. He’d moved to this area after noticing signs that there were pashki students about. It was nothing much –
distinctive footprint patterns in the park, a spent Christmas cracker on the church roof – but it got him searching. He set a simple test in the yard behind his pub, which soon netted a
catch. After that he kept a watchful eye on Ben, and a good thing too. When Ben didn’t come home one Friday night, Geoff feared the worst (‘More than my dad did,’ said Ben,
wryly). Geoff started shadowing Tiffany in case she too was in danger. He couldn’t believe his luck when she helped him by setting out across the rooftops.
‘Why didn’t you come and tell me?’ asked Tiffany.
‘Too risky,’ said Geoff. ‘You were following the merest thread. You meet me, you’re distracted, it snaps. My best bet was to track you unseen. Turns out you did see me.
What can I say. You’re good.’
A smile caught Tiffany unawares.
‘And it
‘Hey now.’ Geoff winked at her. ‘An off-day, was it?’
‘Dunno.’
‘I think so,’ said Geoff. ‘You’re better than this. When did you learn to use the Oshtian Compass?’
‘The what?’
Geoff looked perplexed. ‘Ah. Felicity may have called it something different. The Lodestone of Pasht?’
His words meant nothing to her.
‘Interesting,’ Geoff purred. ‘You’ve no idea what it is. Yet you used it anyway. Like a great jazz pianist I knew. Never had a lesson, couldn’t even read music. But
a wizard on the keys.’
He orbited them on tiptoe and they craned their necks to follow him.
‘You know what cats are famous for, Tiffany? I mean apart from the falling thing and the indestructible thing and the mice thing. . . all those things. Look, what should you do with a cat
if you move house? Shut them indoors for a week. Or they go looking for their old home.’ He paused. ‘
And they will find it.
Cats have this homing instinct, as strong as a
pigeon’s. Ten miles, a hundred miles, it doesn’t matter. If the cat loved his old territory, he’s likely to find his way back.’ Geoff made a sudden bound, springing over
their heads to land crouched before them. ‘It’s another skill we’ve copied from them. The Oshtian Compass. And it was helping us to get around long before they thought of
Sat-Nav.’
Olly chuckled. Daniel elbowed him into silence.
‘But Tiffany, you look puzzled. As you should. For what I’ve told you is only part of it. The easiest part.’ Geoff held all of their gazes with his own. ‘More remarkable
yet is when a cat’s owner goes away. Leaving it behind.’
Her heart kicked. She’d read about this.
‘As bizarre as it sounds,’ said Geoff, ‘some cats can actually follow them. I met a Nottingham lad when I was in the army. He was three weeks into basic training when his cat
Garibaldi showed up at the barracks, in Surrey. A hundred and fifty miles away. And he knew it wasn’t a lookalike because Gari was missing two vertebrae in his tail. These stories
aren’t rare. I heard of one cat crossing the width of the USA, coast to coast, two thousand miles, just to find the sick lady who’d had to give him away when she moved.’
Geoff looked up at the lead-crossed window. Speaking in a murmur, he seemed to be addressing the night outside.
‘That the cat has such a power is astonishing, I suppose. I’ll tell you what’s more incredible. The wish. The
will
. What kind of force could drive a creature from warmth
and safety, make it trek day and night across hostile wilderness, through illness and starvation, in search of one special person? That is what gives me chills.’
He closed his eyes.
‘That night,’ said Tiffany, beginning to grasp it. ‘Something
was
guiding me.’
‘The Oshtian Compass,’ said Geoff. ‘Drawing you to Ben.’
‘And someone. . .’ she groped for the memory, ‘was following me.’
‘Yeah, that was me.’
Geoff made a guilty face. He’d been watching them both, he confessed. He’d moved to this area after noticing signs that there were pashki students about. It was nothing much –
distinctive footprint patterns in the park, a spent Christmas cracker on the church roof – but it got him searching. He set a simple test in the yard behind his pub, which soon netted a
catch. After that he kept a watchful eye on Ben, and a good thing too. When Ben didn’t come home one Friday night, Geoff feared the worst (‘More than my dad did,’ said Ben,
wryly). Geoff started shadowing Tiffany in case she too was in danger. He couldn’t believe his luck when she helped him by setting out across the rooftops.
‘Why didn’t you come and tell me?’ asked Tiffany.
‘Too risky,’ said Geoff. ‘You were following the merest thread. You meet me, you’re distracted, it snaps. My best bet was to track you unseen. Turns out you did see me.
What can I say. You’re good.’
A smile caught Tiffany unawares.
‘And it
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