The Catswold Portal

Two soldiers crawled in after her. When she lashed out at them they hit her. One grabbed her front legs, guarding his face, another jerked her up by the tail. They dragged her out, hurting her, and thrust a leather coat over her. She fought the coat. They held it closed like a bag, lifting her. For an instant something of Melissa surfaced, wild with terror, fighting so fiercely that the queen repeated the spell. Then she was simply cat again, raking at the leather. A blow made her sprawl, panting. The noise of loud voices pained her too. She was carried. Her captors’ footsteps echoed down the corridors. A door banged open. She smelled fresh air. She heard leaves rustle under the marching feet.

Soon she smelled chicken coops. A latch clicked. The coat was tossed onto a hard surface and jerked open, and she was prodded out with sticks. She streaked out, ramming into the iron bars of a chicken cage.

Her back to the bars, she crouched facing the five soldiers. They slammed the door and locked it, and began poking her with sticks, shouting and laughing. She fought their thrusting jabs for a long time, until she was so weak she began to shiver and salivate.

“It’s going to have a fit.”

“Let’s get out of here. The queen said leave it alive.”

They left, smirking.

The cat lay panting and shivering.

The cage was strong enough to keep small dragons and bears from the chickens. The floor was mucky with chicken droppings. Around her in other cages chickens flapped and squawked with fear of her. When she had revived somewhat, she watched the chickens with rising interest, her tail twitching. But soon she began to lick herself; she hurt in so many places that she worked frantically back and forth from one painful, tender area to another.

She was kept in the cage for five days. Darkness followed light. She had little to eat, and only a small bowl of dirty water that she avoided until she could bear her thirst no longer. On the fourth morning an apple-faced old woman came to look in at her, reaching her fingers through the close-set bars. The calico cat came to her mewling, rubbing her orange-and-black cheek against the old woman’s hand.

Mag stood for a long time beside the cage, trying every spell she knew to open it. She was sick with despair for Melissa, wiping back tears. No spell she tried would work—Siddonie’s powers were too strong. She could not slip the cat out between the bars; they were only inches apart. She could barely reach through to stroke the scrawny cat.

She found an iron stake in a pile of rubbish and tried to pry the bars apart, but the stake flew away, deflected by the queen’s protective magic. And the cage was too small to turn the cat into Melissa, even if she could have breached the queen’s power. Anyway, what would the girl do cramped in a chicken cage?

She thought that Siddonie wouldn’t kill the little cat. She thought that not even the queen would go against the Primal Law.

She rubbed the little cat’s ears. Then, whispering, glancing around to be sure she was still alone, she repeated the most powerful strengthening spell she knew. If nothing else, she might give the child a measure of added endurance. The little cat pressed against the bars, staring up at her forlornly, but when the long, complicated spell was completed, something came into the calico cat’s eyes that cheered Mag. She read it as heightened courage. She had barely finished when three guards came around the corner, saw her, and shouted and grabbed her.

She fought them; with hurting spells she made one back off, another double up with pain; but the three together were too strong. They forced her into the palace and through the scullery and storeroom, and down two flights. There, in the dungeons, they locked her in the cell vacated by the Toad.

For a long time after Mag disappeared the little cat watched for her, warmed by her caring. But Mag did not return. On the morning of the sixth day the calico was hauled out by a gloved hand and shoved into a leather bag. The man who held the bag smelled of sour sweat. She knew his smell; she hissed and spit through the leather at him, and clawed the bag until he hit her.

Panting, hurt again, she was hoisted and carried. She smelled horse. The pinprick of green light she could see through the tie hole of the bag changed as they moved, and the horse’s movement jarred her. The light changed. The movement changed as the man got off the horse and began to walk.

Soon the green light disappeared, the hole in the bag went black. Then the tiny hole was pierced by a yellow light moving as the man moved. She could smell oil burning, and some part of her below the conscious level knew it was the smell of an oil lamp.

She could smell damp earth and stone, too, and could hear water rushing. She could feel the man climbing. The smell of water soon had her wild with thirst. But some sense told her it would be a long time before she drank.