Master Dess’s heavy basket turned out to contain kittens. He’d reach in for one at a time, stroke it from head to tail, and speak softly to it. Early in the afternoon of the second day, when even the gentle breeze died away, the cog master let Master Dess release them all.
The seven kittens, each striped black and white, burst out to chase one another between legs, around the mast, up and down the deck. A kitten played with the end of a coil of rope, batting it to and fro. The tiniest one climbed the rigging to the top of the mast and perched there for half an hour, lord of the sea. My heart rose into my throat to see it, so tiny and so high.
On its way down, it lost its balance and hung upside down. Frantically I looked around for something to help it with—a pole, anything. No one else was watching, except Master Dess and the goodwife, whose hands were pressed to her chest.
An oar might reach the kitten. I rushed toward the rowers just as the kitten scrambled upright and minced down the mast with a satisfied air. I returned to my cloak. Soon after, Master Dess collected that kitten and its mates.
When they were all in their basket, the goodwife came to me, bearing a small package wrapped in rough hemp. I jumped up.
“May I sit with you?”
I made room for her and she sat, tucking her legs under her. She placed the package in her lap.
What a pleasure to have her company!
“May I know your name, dear?”
I could think of no harm in telling her. “Lodie. I mean, Elodie.”
“And I am Goodwife Celeste. My goodman is Twah.”
“Pleased to meet you.” I rummaged in my satchel. One must show hospitality to a visitor, even a visitor to a cloak on the deck of a cog.
She was saying, “You and I both feared for that brave kitten.” She paused, then added, “Have you heard of the cats of Two Castles?”
I shook my head, while drawing bread and cheese and a pear out of my satchel. With the little knife from my purse, I cut her chunks of the bread and cheese and half the pear.
“Thank you.” She tasted. “Excellent goat cheese.” She unwrapped her own package.
“Cats in Two Castles?” I said to remind her.
“The townspeople believe cats protect them from the ogre. There are many.”
“Many cats or ogres?” How could a cat save anyone from an ogre?
She laughed. “Cats.” Her package held bread and cheese, too, and a handful of radishes.
We traded slices and chunks, observing custom, according to the saying, Share well, fare well. Share ill, fare ill.
Goodwife Celeste’s cheese wasn’t as tasty as mine, but the bread was softer, baker’s bread. I wondered where my future meals would come from, once my food and my single copper ran out.
Goodwife Celeste returned to telling me about cats. “You know that ogres shift shape sometimes?”
“Yes.”
“Cats know they do, too. The cats sense that an ogre can become a fox or a wolf, but they’re not afraid.”
Our cat at home, Belliss, who weighed less than a pail of milk, feared nothing.
“They’re aware that an ogre can also turn into a mouse.” She finished eating. “More?” She held out her food.
“No, thank you.” I offered her more of mine, too, and she said no.
As I wrapped my food and she wrapped hers, her sleeve slid back. A bracelet of twine circled her left wrist. Were twine bracelets the fashion in Two Castles? She probably wouldn’t have minded if I’d asked, but I didn’t want to reveal my ignorance.
“Can an ogre shift into any kind of animal?” I said. “A spider or an elephant?”
“I believe so.”
“Can an ogre shift into a human?”
Her eyebrows went up. “I doubt it.” She returned to the subject of cats. “A cat will stare at an ogre and wish him—will him—to become a mouse. They say one cat isn’t enough, but several yearning at him, and the ogre can’t resist.”
I pitied the ogre. “Is that true?”
“Many believe it. What’s more, people train their cats. They don’t train them to try to make an ogre become a mouse. It is in the cats’ nature to do that, and the ogre must cooperate by giving in. But folks train cats to perform tricks and to stalk anything, including an ogre. Some make a living at cat teaching. With the flick of a wrist . . .”
She showed me, and I imitated her—nothing to it.
“With this gesture, anyone can set a cat to stalking.”
“If there were no cats, what would the ogre do?”
“Nothing, perhaps. Or dine on townsfolk.”
My stomach fluttered. “Does he live alone, or are there more ogres in his castle?”
“Alone with his servants. Count Jonty Um is the only ogre in Lepai. Likely there are others in other lands.”
“He’s a count?” You couldn’t be a count unless a king made you one or made one of your ancestors one.
“A count.”
“What happened to the rest of the ogres in Lepai?”
She turned her hand palm up. “I don’t know. They may have become mice and been eaten. And ogres sicken and die, just as people do.”