Trouble the Cat Read online

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  Fantasy

  An outburst of her newly awakened, uncontrolled sorcery talent made twelve-year-old Dory a fugitive. Trouble, her indomitable cat, led her into a walled garden minutes ahead of the mob pursuing her. There they encountered the owner, Martin, a powerful sorcerer. He listened to their story in growing excitement and offered to teach and conceal his guest – but the price would be high.

  TROUBLE the Cat © 2017 by P.M. Griffin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, or events, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  MuseItUp Publishing

  https://museituppublishing.com

  Cover Art © 2017 by Charlotte Volnek

  Layout and Book Production by Lea Schizas

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-77127-976-5

  First eBook Edition *November 2017

  ©1989 in anthology CATFANTASTIC, ed. Andre Norton

  ©2012 P.M. Griffin

  To my friend Pattie Kleinke,

  who also appreciates spectacular, opinionated cats.

  TROUBLE the Cat

  P.M. Griffin

  MuseItUp Publishing

  www.museituppublishing.com

  “Trouble”

  Trouble purred loudly to tell Dory that he was content and to let her know she was doing well.

  She deserved the praise. She also needed it. These humans were sad creatures. They seemed to have so little innate belief in themselves, the most of them, even those of high inner quality and real, strong talent like this kitten of their kind.

  Well, that could hardly be counted a fault in his Dory. Those around her had either actively striven to strip her of confidence and stunt her rightful development or else had lacked the courage to do anything very positive in her cause. Her strength of soul had sustained her thus far, keeping her spirit unbroken and her basic fineness intact, but even that would not suffice forever.

  The purring stopped. Trouble had realized for some time that this abuse must cease. It was fortunate all this had occurred, disruptive as it was. She had been forced to act at once, without the agonizing and indecision which would have preceded a planned move. That was another area in which humans differed from felines. They did not seem to know their own minds, and even when the correct—the only reasonable—course was plain before them, they had great difficulty in acting upon it if it involved any degree of significant change whatsoever.

  Once more, Trouble began to purr, more loudly this time as affection swelled within him. That was not fair to Dory. No kitten left his home readily, however wretched it was. Cat and human alike, all youngsters, needed the care and instruction provided by the adults of their species.

  For an instant so fleeting as almost not to have been, he growled. It was little of either that she had enjoyed in her life! Even her body was ignored, and the neglect of such a mind, such a gift, was worse than that which kept her so wan and thin.

  The wind whipped up, and the big cat allowed Dory to press him closer to her. He did not require the additional warmth she was striving to give him. It was she who was cold in her threadbare jacket; his thick coat gave no passage at all to the brisk autumn breeze. No matter. She was offering love and care, which were not to be rejected, and, in truth, it felt good to have her arms around him in the midst of all the uncertainty and confusion surrounding their lives at present.

  Shouts, the bellowing of many voices sounding together, shattered the early morning stillness.

  Trouble yawned and, wriggling free of the girl’s hold, stretched himself. Stupid human herd! Did they imagine she would come to them when they summoned and threatened in the same breath?

  The girl, however, was terrified. She leaped to her feet. “Oh, Trouble! They’re sure to find us! They’re on the street, and there’s no other way out of this alley!”

  “The fence, foolish one. That is why I brought you to sleep here in the first place.”

  She could not hear him, of course. That would not come for another few months, not until the attaining of her physical womanhood opened her inner ears and voice, but for the moment, that was just as well. Humans were trying, all of them, and he sometimes found it difficult to restrain his sarcasm when dealing with them. She did not need that right now, poor kitten.

  Dory looked about her in despair. Three-story buildings towered on either side, and a fifteen-foot brick fence walling off some comfortably fixed person’s courtyard was in front of her. Behind was the only exit, and that was blocked by the presence of Jocko and his cronies.

  She had to do something. The communal voice of the mob was getting distinctly louder, and those comprising it were indeed searching every possible hiding place for her.

  The fence had to be it. Trouble was already sitting upon it, patiently waiting for her.

  It was too high for her to reach its top unaided, but there was plenty of debris scattered about including a number of big wooden crates, empty, fortunately, but sturdy enough to support her.

  With fear driving her, she soon had the biggest crate, the one in which she had slept, dragged over to the fence and a second, smaller one placed on top of that. By standing on them and stretching herself to the full, she was able to reach over the top.

  Voices! Those hunting her would be on her in a moment. She half-scrambled, half-hauled herself up the rough-set bricks and hoisted herself over the narrow top. Without pausing even to look, she dropped down the other side.

  * * * *

  Dory sat up. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror. She had escaped one firepot, temporarily at least, but it was only to leap headfirst into a second. She had landed in a garden, in a bed of alternating yellow and white flowering shrubs, and the gardener was standing not twenty feet from her.

  Trouble was sitting regally at the edge of the flower bed, watching her in that silent amusement which only a cat can display. Before she could either ruin everything by screaming or trying to flee, he got up and casually walked over to the man, rubbed against his leg, and raised his head, demanding to have it scratched.

  The human complied, but his amazement at having a scrawny girl-child and a superb black-and-white tomcat suddenly and quite literally drop into his sanctuary did not lessen.

  The man, with very nearly the first glance, noticed the child was terrified and, submerging his astonishment, gave her a friendly, natural smile.

  “Are you all right?” he asked with unmistakably real concern.

  “I-I think so,” she stammered.

  “Stay where you are, then, and I’ll lift you out. You’ve created enough havoc with your surroundings.”

  “I am sorry about that, sir,” Dory told him earnestly.

  “Doubtless. You don’t look particularly malicious. Actually, you were quite considerate in your choice of a landing place. Mums are hardy enough to take some abuse. My roses over there would be in a lot sorrier state had you come down on them even though they’re done flowering.” He smiled again. “So would you. I seem to prefer varieties blessed with strong and plentiful thorns to match the quantity and color of their blooms.”

  He took one long, carefully placed step into the bed. It brought him close enough to reach his unexpected visitor whom he picked up without apparent effort and carried out onto the walk where he set her on her feet once more.

  “There, that’s better. Now, I believe an explanation is rather in order.”

  “Over a meal, donkey tail. She is hungry. So am I.”<
br />
  That was a demand. Trouble knew from Jasmine that this man’s inner ears and voice were both fully open. That fact, and the tabby’s other reports, had induced him to bring Dory here in her need. He should have done it sooner, but, of course, he was a very young cat himself…

  “In good time. Kindness coming too fast can frighten as much as brutality,” the human answered in kind, giving no outward indication that anything had passed between them.

  He held out his hand to the girl. “I’m Martin.”

  She took it gingerly. “Dory.” Bending, she brushed her friend’s head with her fingers. “This is Trouble.”

  Martin’s gray eyes sparkled as they rested on the cat. “That, I can well believe.”

  Trouble did not reply. It was beneath his dignity to do so. Besides, it was a merited revenge after his donkey tail remark of a few moments before.

  “And is he?” the man asked smoothly.

  “Oh, no! No cat could be more wonderful! It’s just that he was in a lot of it when we first met.”

  All the while, Martin had been studying Dory. Her age was hard to judge. She was painfully thin, and she had a very young-looking little face, now remarkably smudged, but he imagined she would be about twelve. She was pale complexioned, too pale at the moment, with stringy light auburn hair which should have been attractive had it been styled at all. Her eyes were truly lovely, blue-green in color, large, and fringed with long, thick lashes the same color as her hair.

  Her clothes were unremarkable, well-faded blue trousers, check shirt, also faded, and a jacket that was nearing the end of its useful life. The nearly universal brógs of the region covered what appeared to be quite small feet.

  She looked to be what he expected she was, a badly used little apprentice or servant. The like were common enough, too common, even in this none-too-affluent neighborhood. He normally paid small heed to any of them, but this one he did know, if only by sight.

  “I’ve seen you before,” he remarked. “You’re always talking to Jasmine when she’s out in the foregarden.” As he spoke, he pointed to a delicately boned tabby that had glided into the yard and was sniffing curiously and without fear at Trouble, who was not slow to return her attentions.

  “Whenever I see her. She’s such a friendly little thing. I think she’s prettier than any flower there!”

  The girl stopped herself, embarrassed.

  Martin sighed. She had probably learned early in her life not to reveal too much enthusiasm for anything.

  “It’s good to meet another full-blown cat lover,” he said casually, then inclined his head toward the big house forming the opposite boundary of the well-planted courtyard. “Why don’t we go inside? It’s just about time for breakfast. You can tell me about yourselves while we’re attending to that.” There was no mistaking her look of interest. Trouble was right. The child was hungry. “Good. I’ll make a quick run in to arrange everything and then come back to show you the way.”

  He would arrange things, all right, Trouble thought. A lot of people would be astonished at the means by which the promised meal was produced, but he did not object. Cats are practical beings, not narrow-minded fools. The food would be good to taste, wholesome, and quite real. What more could one ask? “Excellent thought. Do not take too long.”

  “I won’t, Sir Trouble. As my little lady has probably already told you, I don’t mistreat my guests.”

  * * * *

  As promised, Martin returned quickly, and soon all four of them, humans and felines alike, were sitting comfortably in a small, sunlit eating room.

  There was no talk during the meal. Dory’s attention was fully centered on her plate. Her host watched in good-natured amazement at the speed with which she put its contents away. She might not have eaten for a month the way she was going at it.

  “A day! That is long enough.”

  “Too long. Someone should have a bit of a talk with her master.”

  “More than that. You will hear.”

  The girl handled her cutlery well for all her eagerness, and when she at last finished eating, she set the ware aside in the correct manner and politely thanked him.

  Trouble, too, did full justice to his meal. After clearing his well-filled dish, he carefully washed himself and rubbed against Martin’s leg, purring loudly. Manners were not demeaning, and good service such as this deserved a reward.

  “Well, Dory,” the man said as he settled back in his chair, “tell me about yourself.”

  “What would you like to know, sir?”

  “Everything. Where you live would be a good start, I suppose.”

  “I don’t live anywhere now,” she responded frankly. “I used to stay at Jocko the Farrier’s three squares north of here. Imelde, his wife, is my mother’s cousin. That makes her mine, too, I suppose.”

  “Your parents?”

  “They died when I was three. Quick plague. It missed me somehow.”

  “And that was the last kindness you knew,” he muttered.

  “I don’t know,” she replied seriously. “Imelde made a fuss over Trouble and claimed she loved him even though she really didn’t, just so I could keep him. That was a kindness, wasn’t it?”

  “It was,” he agreed slowly.

  “Also,” Dory added, trying to be fair—and not wanting to entirely blacken her kin before this stranger, “I may not be fat, but I get enough to eat that I’m never sick. And I’ve always had a good dress for church even though I do have to work like this.”

  Work hard, he thought, to judge by the state of her hands. That was not right for a child.

  Trouble sighed. These humans! They seemed to have no instinct whatsoever for digging out a story properly. Now Martin was going to ask why she left, and by the time she answered and went back to explain how the situation had come about in the first place, they would have spent triple the time needed to tell a simple tale.

  “Ask how she met me,” he instructed patiently. “That is the beginning of it.”

  “Very well, Sir Trouble. Thank you for the hint.” Martin looked encouragingly at the girl. “At least, you were able to bring Trouble away with you when you did go,” he remarked. “When did you two get together?”

  “About a year ago.” She smiled again and began to caress the cat. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  Her expression clouded. “There’s a well in back of Jocko’s house. He won’t cover it even though there are some big families in our square. Says it’s up to the parents to watch their brats, and he doesn’t want any of them on his place anyway. He doesn’t worry about garbage falling in since it’s my job to fish it out. It was my job, that is. He’ll have to do it himself now.”

  “A considerate neighbor as well as kindly kin, I see,” he muttered dryly. “Your mother’s cousin showed poor taste in her choice of a husband, girl, or her father chose badly for her. But please continue. Trouble managed to get into the well?”

  She nodded. “I don’t know where he came from, since he was too tiny to have been away from his mother for long, but there are a lot of dogs around. One of them must’ve scared him into bolting down there.

  “Anyway, I was going for water when I heard him crying. I couldn’t see anything at first when I looked in, but then I spotted the white stripe on his nose. He was clinging to this ledge that goes most of the way around the well down almost as far as the water. It used to snag the bucket on me if I wasn’t careful.

  “I couldn’t think of any other way to get him up, so I took the bucket off and tied the rope around myself.”

  Martin frowned. “You lowered yourself down that hole?”

  “She hardly flew!—Do you doubt that my kitten has spirit?”

  “Your kitten should have had help,” he said sharply. “That was an adult’s job.”

  Dory’s eyes darkened. She took his seeming silence for disapproval, and her chin lifted. “What else could I have done? I couldn’t very well have left him down there.”

&n
bsp; “No, not and remained human yourself. I was just wishing someone like me had been there to give you a bit of a hand, that’s all.”

  “Oh, I mostly have to do everything myself. I’m used to that.”

  Martin sighed. “I know. You’re to be admired, but I can’t say I like the idea all the same.”

  Dory saw the speculative look her host was bending on her, and her eyes fell. She had done it again, she thought miserably, but she really could not help that she sometimes sounded more forty than twelve as Imelde put it, and like a schooled forty at that. She certainly could not help her thoughts. She had learned to read before that accursed plague had taken her parents, and she had continued to read, everything she could lay her hands on that was worth the effort, thereby rendering her life at least bearable. Unfortunately, she had somehow modeled her speech more after those formal writings than after the example of those around her. Jocko hated that—how he hated it!—and his friends hated it, and she had learned to say very little around any of them, but her tale was long, and already, even before it had rightly begun, she had given herself away.

  The hard, sick knot of fear and unhappiness loosened in her stomach when she raised her eyes again. Martin was a different man entirely. She saw no resentment, no rejection, in him, only mild surprise, guarded interest, and, she thought, excitement.

  The man’s pulse had quickened, though reason insisted that he check his hope for the moment. A highly intelligent, sensitive child like this could be expected to lose her loneliness in books, assuming she possessed the basic skill to read them, and it certainly was not unknown for some in that situation to develop an astonishingly mature manner of thought and the vocabulary to express it. Dory could be no more than an example of that.

  It was also just possible that she was many times more. Verbal and mental precocity almost inevitably accompanied strong talent, and he thrilled with anticipation at the thought of watching and helping such a gift develop again. It had been so long since he had last been privileged to share in that blossoming.