THE DELVING--8
Cats can be fun;
Look at them run!
Pounce on a mouse,
Found in the house;
Eat it and crunch--
Delicious to munch!
Sniff what they saw;
Tap with the paw.
Squeeze up the eyes,
Or bigger than pies.
Find what they've lost,
Whatever the cost.
Yes, they can talk,
If we just won't balk.
-- from Ballad of the Cat's Tale
Chapter 8: The Cat's Meow
Ithuriel Memnon rowed furiously, even when she forgot to crouch low enough, bumping her head on the rock roof. She didn't think that the Nequam could follow her down the narrow, shallow canal, but every fiber of her being screamed for escape from Scratch. Besides, the violent sounds of their futile efforts and the guttural protests of their disappointment still funneled to her ears as if she were trapped inside a giant speaking-tube. Since she could not see anything, collisions were frequent. At first she forgot about her hapless twin brother, but as the din subsided and the vigorous exercise began to calm her nerves, she paused long enough to reach in front of her with one hand. The furry gray body recoiled in shock, but the cat did not leap into the water.
At length Ithuriel could no longer hear any sounds behind her, so, sweating from the intense effort despite the underground chill, she stopped to rest. Cautiously she tucked the shaft of the paddle behind her in the little boat; she did not want to propel the craft with her hands, although it was indeed small enough.
With the cessation of motion, it seemed that the darkness was moving in to overwhelm her. Finding her voice, she spoke to Ithamar. "Do you still have your light-tooth?"
The cat meowed. Ithuriel realized that the darkness itself bore mute testimony to the loss of Ithamar's serpent-fang. She imagined that it, as well as any items concealed in his clothing, would have been left on the floor of the little chamber where this canal began. She fumbled at her neck for the cord to which her own tooth had been tied. The cat turned and placed his paws on her chest, nudging the little fang with his nose, and making a little prrrt sound, as if to remind her of the magical phrase which would bring light. Five minutes ago, Ithuriel could not possibly have remembered, but now she concentrated, brow furrowing. As if he were reading her mind, Ithamar pressed his nose against the amulet one more time, reminding her to hold it close to her mouth.
"All right brother--I know," she said, pressing the fang to her lips, and murmuring the charm: venga lux. At first she thought it was not going to work, but then the snake-fang began to glow, and its light in the total darkness seemed to her a brilliant orange color--much brighter than her brother's before he improvidentially turned himself into feline form. She watched him relax and crouch down comfortably, eyes half closed, a low purr beginning to rumble from his chest. For the first time in days she felt relief herself, head drooping toward her sternum. She closed her eyes and slept, as did her brother.
When she awoke an hour later, the snake-fang light still glowed brightly, but the cat was nowhere to be seen. Panic rose in her chest, and she held up the tiny tooth, trying to shine the light into every corner of the tunnel. A gentle current lapped at the boat, and it seemed that a slight breeze was stirring, but at first she could catch no sign of Ithamar. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a soft rustle sounded on her left, and she beheld enormous glowing eyes in the shadows. Before she could collect her thoughts, the cat landed back on the prow with a large mouse in his mouth.
"So you got supper for yourself, but nothing for me?"
The cat meowed softly and laid the mouse on the skin of the coracle, directly in front of her. Ithuriel resisted the urge to gag.
"No--eat it yourself--I'm not that hungry."
Ithamar apparently was that hungry, and he started in on the mouse at once, making horrid crunching sounds. Ithuriel could stand it no longer; she leaned over the side and began to retch.
The cat paused in his meal, looking apologetic, and picked up the mouse, delicately carrying it to the stern, where he resumed eating.
To clear her head, Ithuriel picked up the paddle and began to propel the boat once more--to an unknown end. But before long, an old pain, covered by the sheer terror of their flight, began to re-assert itself. The handcuffs fastened to her wrist, which once bound her to Scratch, had chafed her arm badly, and the dangling end rattled against the side of the boat with every stroke.
"When will I get rid of these things," she wailed, pausing once again.
Ithamar, snack finished, came back to the front and gazed up at her, his eyes large and round. Then he looked down at the bulge of his pack jutting out from inside the hull at a crazy angle. Ithuriel suddenly realized another discomfort--the pack had been stuffed in hastily--there wasn't really room for its contents without some rearranging. Her legs ached from their cramped position. Hanging her head, she began to cry. The cat stood up and began to rub his head against her arms, purring softly. But before long he stopped, and with a quiet meow began to paw at the pack, which had been his.
Ithuriel's tears stopped. "You're right," she said. "We need to do something. After all, I'm an apprentice of magic, too." The cat meowed approvingly.
Ithuriel opened the pack and began to rummage in its contents. She kept trying to think of an enchantment that would unlock handcuffs, but her mind was blank. The cat, however, dug deep, despite the cramped position of the pack, and came up with a ring of keys in his mouth. He turned and looked intently at his sister.
"Of course," she said. "I've been silly. One needs a key, not magic, to unlock handcuffs." The cat said nothing, but dropped the keys into her palm.
Eagerly the escaped bride began trying keys in the cuff on her wrist. The third one fit perfectly, and after a rusty screech, the manacle yielded. The cat meowed excitedly.
"Yes, brother, I know," said Ithuriel. "Third time's a charm!" She held up her wrist and rubbed it for a moment. But then she picked up the handcuffs and threw them into the water behind them with all her might. They rattled off the rocky roof and then made a distant splash; she sang, "I'm free!"
Ithamar looked at her hard, and her face fell. "Yes, I know. We're deep underground, lost in total darkness, except for this serpent's tooth, and probably out of food... is there anything in your pack?" The cat meowed and nosed into the canvas bag again. This time he came up with a little flat packet of beef jerky.
"Should we drink this water?" Ithamar looked doubtful. Ithuriel decided that she was doubtful, too, so she divided the jerky into two parts, and began to eat hers. It made her thirsty, and it wasn't nearly enough, but it was better than nothing. After a few bites, Ithamar stopped eating his, and let out a sound that sounded like "Meowse." Ithuriel laughed a bit--a very small laugh--and commented: "Yes, you're right--you already ate!" The cat gave her an approving look and settled down to watch her finish the jerky.
After a hurried rearrangement of the pack, their journey down the canal continued. Before much longer, they found themselves in an open expanse of water. Keeping to the left, Ithuriel felt her paddle strike sand. By the light of the snake-fang, they could see a small beach. Every muscle of her body aching, Ithuriel clambered out and drew the boat ashore. Ithamar scampered over to where he heard a trickle of water emerging from the rocks. The water was sweet, and they drank their fill. Ithuriel covered the snake-fang with a fold of her cloak and stretched out on the sand to sleep the sleep of exhaustion. Ithamar curled up against her, purring deep in his chest.
Hours later, Ithuriel awoke to feel something rough and warm rubbing against her face. It was Ithamar's tongue, gently wiping away the remains of her tears. The cat purred softly in her ear, and Ithuriel sat up. "I suppose it's tomorrow now," she said. "Which way should we go?" Ithamar gave a puzzled meow.
"You're right," replied his sister. "We can't see anything." She uncovered her light-tooth, but it had gone dark in the night. She heard Ithamar pawing at his pack, which was still in the coracle, so she crawled over and retrieved it. When she had opened it, her cat-brother began digging in its contents. In a few minutes he brought to her a bundle of little torches. She didn't recognize them at first, but then the fragrant aroma of pine came to her nostrils, and she understood.
"But how are we to light them?" Ithamar returned to the pack, and came out this time with his tinder-box, which he dropped from his mouth into Ithuriel's outstretched palm.
"I've never been good at this," she said. "I wish you could light one." Ithamar replied with a reproachful growl.
"Oh, all right--I know." Her tone was flat and a bit discouraged. But she placed a bit of tinder on the dry sand and began to strike the flints. It took a lot longer than she wanted, and she cut her hand a bit, but in the end there was a cheery tongue of flame. Immediately she seized a torch and lit it, sticking it into the sand. It was a small stick of pine, but it gave off much more light than the serpent's tooth.
Ithamar returned to the pack and meowed urgently.
"What do you want, brother?"
He grasped the side of the pack in his mouth and pulled at it violently. Ithuriel was puzzled at first, but then she realized that she didn't know what was in the rumpled canvas, and that it was now up to her to take charge of it. Turning it sideways, she began to spread the contents out on the sand. As she placed a flat oilskin packet next to a small leather pouch, the cat pounced on it and pawed urgently.
Ithuriel picked up the packet and unwrapped its contents. "The maps!" she exclaimed. Ithamar sniffed at the one on top, and she supposed it was the one he had looked at most recently--perhaps it would show them where they were. As she unfolded it, he peered at it intently. There was a red "X" near the lower left corner, and she could see the words "Firefly Landing" near it. Although the map was scribed with strange symbols, she gradually puzzled out the location of the stair where they had begun their flight, and saw that Ithamar had indeed taken the correct forks. The body of water they had found seemed to be Low Lake. There was no indication on the map that it had to be reached by canal instead of by walking through a tunnel. Perhaps the delvers had encountered difficulty when they got as far as the little cavern with the pool, and the canal was the only solution. The map showed a vast section of the Delving, with mazes of passageways, but near the middle of the lake shore, to the north, there was a curious, flat-looking symbol with the word "Felia" inscribed next to it. No other connections to the lake were shown until the other end.
"I suppose we should see what's there," she said, pointing to Felia on the map. Ithamar purred loudly and looked back and forth from her finger to her face, licking her hand. "Is there something good there?"
The cat placed his paws on her chest and rubbed his face against hers, first on one side and then on the other.
Ithuriel laughed. "I understand!" She began to pack smaller items back into the canvas bag, leaving the bigger ones to be stowed behind her, inside the boat's hull. Before she could pick up the small leather pouch, though, Ithamar gently took it in his mouth and held it, gently pressing on her hand with his paw when she tried to take it.
"What is it? Am I supposed to do something with this?"
Ithamar gave her a meaningful look. She opened the drawstring and found that the pouch was filled with a fragrant yellowish powder--it must be more pine resin. Ithamar touched the snake-fang around her neck with his nose.
"All right. It's not convenient to use a torch all the time." As she spoke these words, the torch she had stuck in the sand began to flicker, and grew very dim. Before it could go out, she took another from the pack and lit it, placing it a little farther up the beach. Then she turned back to the resin powder. She looked closely at the serpent's tooth, and saw that the powder inside it was nearly gone--what was left had turned black. She reached inside her cloak and withdrew her handkerchief, twisting one corner into a tight little tuft. Inserting it into the tooth, she cleaned out what was left of the powder and then packed in a fresh supply. Holding the tooth close to her mouth, she murmured the incantation: venga lux. The tooth began to glow almost at once, and although it seemed dim compared to the torch, she could see that it was working well. Ithamar squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them halfway; a hint of a purr rattled in his throat.
At last the coracle was ready to go, and Ithuriel extinguished the second torch; although it was half burned, she dipped it in the water of the lake and placed it in the bottom of the hull for future reference--underground travelers could surely not have too many torches on hand.
By the orange illumination of the serpent's fang, the voyagers launched their boat and continued along the northern shore of Low Lake. Ithamar peered into the darkness from his perch on the bow, and Ithuriel paddled carefully, trying not to make any noise. it had been hard at the beginning, but now she was learning to stroke so that drops of water collected on the shaft instead of dripping noisily into the lake. One time they lost sight of the shore, and Ithuriel pointed the boat more to the left, paddling with thumping heart until it came in sight again; she did not want to die making endless circles on the lightless depths.
After what seemed like hours, lights appeared ahead. Slowing their pace, Ithuriel approached carefully. "This must be Felia," she whispered. Ithamar purred loudly, staring ahead with fixed intensity. As they came closer, the outline of a neat bungalow appeared, with cozy, steady light streaming from the windows. Beyond the house, extending parallel to the surface of the lake, there was a long, low structure with a row of tiny, illuminated windows. Ithamar became more excited, standing up on the fabric of the hull and gently lashing the tip of his tail.
A small, squat dock appeared, sticking out into the lake directly in front of the house's door. Ithuriel drew up and tied the rope to a small iron ring. Stepping out carefully, she savored the sensation of placing her feet on an unmoving surface again. But Ithamar was ahead of her, bounding toward the door in happy abandon as it opened, revealing a short, black-cloaked figure standing in the lamplight.
MILEPOSTERS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
MILEPOSTERS
c 4-9-25
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