Anton and Cecil (8 page)

CHAPTER 8

A Fingerling Mist

A
passing seagull, in the early morning hours, might have mistaken the once grand clipper where Cecil now found himself for a floating white three-ring circus tent missing its tallest center pole, sagging sadly in the middle. But there were no birds in sight, nor any other creatures interested enough to observe the poor ship, which had been dismasted in the storm the night before. With a terrifying crack the gale had snapped off the mainsail mast halfway down. The mast had landed on the starboard railing with a crash that had shaken Cecil awake and left him trembling.
We're sinking!
he thought miserably, and he resigned himself to the end, waiting grimly for the rising water to take the ship down in the night's complete darkness.

But the gray dawn revealed that they were not sinking after all, and now the crew and captain stood on the deck with their hands on their hips and their faces pinched into frowns, surveying the damage. Cecil crept out from his hiding place under the tarp and tried to take in what had happened.

The mainmast had clipped a spar of the aft mast on its way down and now lay with its topmost tip wedged in the rubble of the railing bars, the broken-off end still tangled in the rigging high above. Sails hung in drooping lengths like ragged laundry from the crossbars. Piles of rope and tarp lay in heaps on the deck, mixed with hunks of shredded wood and bits of seaweed.

The men looked up and down the fallen mast, inspecting it from every angle, shaking their heads. After a while a few of the younger crewmen retrieved boxes containing long curved needles and rolls of thick white thread, and set to work repairing the torn sails. Others slowly began setting things right on deck and clearing the debris. The captain, after much grumbling and cursing, finally pointed to the mast and shouted orders, whereupon the remaining ragtag collection of crewmen started cutting lines of rope off the mast and coiling it on the deck.

Over the next few days, Cecil sensed he was out of favor, distrusted and even reviled, and he stayed far away from the men and out of sight as much as he could. No one fed him, but luckily the storm's huge waves had tossed a fair quantity of fish onto the deck. Lodged in crevices between bales or behind posts, these were now largely ignored by the men. The sun smothered those on board from a cloudless sky, and there seemed to be no wind at all. Day and night passed, and passed again, as the repaired sails hung limply from their crossbars and the splintered mast lay on the deck. Scuffles broke out among the sailors, and their quick tempers made Cecil even more skittish. The men passed the time working on repairs, or swimming in the warm, flat water around the ship, and endlessly scanning the sky and horizon for some event, though both remained relentlessly empty.

On the fourth day, gray clouds hung low, touching the ocean at the horizon, and a light rain fell steadily. The crew had retreated belowdecks, but Cecil remained above in the drizzle, tucked under a tent of ripped sailcloth.
Some fresh water, at least,
he thought as he watched the puddles slowly form. Ignoring his rumbling belly, he closed his eyes to nap, but his ears began to pick up another sound over the soft plinking of the rain on the deck, an irregular flapping coming from somewhere above. He peeked out and squinted upward. Wheeling toward the ship was a large dark gray bird, veering from side to side, its wings beating only intermittently. Cecil ducked back under the sail as the bird extended long red legs with black webbed feet to attempt a landing, but instead crashed into the mainsail mast and fell in a heap on the ratlines.

The sole crewman on deck lifted the brim of his hat, glared at the bird, then lowered the hat and went back to sleep. Cecil ventured another look around the edge of the sail. The bird had extracted itself from the ropes and flapped over to perch on the railing, where it fully extended its wings to either side and held them open, sitting very still and looking around. Cecil took careful note of the bird's long, hooked beak and sharp claws. Caution was in order. Birds were unintelligent and unreliable, in Cecil's view, but it had been days since he'd talked to any other creature, and he was desperate for company. He slowly advanced until the bird took notice of him.

“Say there, cat,” said the bird, amiably enough. “How do?” Its face was bright orange, wrinkled and featherless except for two short tufts of white feathers that stood straight up above its eyes like fluttering white eyebrows, swaying lightly as it talked.

“I'm fine,” said Cecil, though this was far from true. “I'm Cecil. You okay?”

“You can call me Shag,” said the bird. “I'm all right. Trying to dry my wings here, heavy as rocks, and this rain isn't helping much.” The little white feathers rippled as he shook his head in disgust.

Cecil kept his back legs tensed, ready to spring away if necessary. He'd never seen a bird this big before.

“Where are you headed?” Cecil asked, trying to sound casual.

Shag made a clucking sound in his throat. “The darnedest luck. Looking for some supper, saw a big bunch of bluefish moving fast, followed them for a while and lost my bearings in the clouds.” He glared up at the sky. “Strength almost gave out, had to land on a crusty old whale, if you can believe that.”

Cecil said nothing.
I can,
he thought.

“My island's still a ways off.” Shag flicked his beak in the direction of the starboard bow. “But I spied this ship just sitting here . . .” He stopped and seemed to notice the way Cecil was keeping his distance. “Say, I'm a cormorant, you know. We don't eat things with legs, if that's what's worrying you.” He cocked his head. “You're a cat who doesn't know his avian classification?”

“As far as I'm concerned,” said Cecil, “there are two types of birds: the ones I can eat and the ones who can eat me. Does a seagoing bird like you know much about cats? Have you seen a small gray cat lately?”

The rain had stopped and the clouds thinned out to the west. “Nope, not lately,” said Shag, rebalancing himself on the railing and turning to face the weak sun. “But I've seen plenty of cats. When you come across cats on ships, you've got three categories. The first is pets and they're pretty happy with their lot. Second, you've got your captives and they're all miserable. And third are the questers, looking for some sort of adventure, or else they're on a mission.” He surveyed Cecil with round eyes of brilliant blue, like the harbor at Lunenburg on a sunny day. “So which kind are you?”

Cecil swallowed and looked away. “Questing, I'd say.”

Shag nodded, then lowered his wings and glanced around the deck, which was strewn with pieces of mast and rigging.

“You got a big problem here,” he observed.

“They're just about done fixing the mast,” Cecil said. “We'll be on our way in no time.” He nodded sagely. Saying it made him feel more confident.

Shag examined one of his talons. “Not in my experience, you won't.”

“Oh really?” Cecil asked dryly.

Shag gestured with his wing at the broken mast. “From what I've seen, a busted mast like that doesn't get fixed.” They both regarded the beheaded mast. “And ships with no sails don't get anywhere.” He pointed to the sleeping sailor. “No food, no water. Your sailors will be skeletons soon. I've seen that happen.”

Cecil's ears twitched.
Skeletons?
He sat up straight and studied Shag, who continued.

“You want my advice, you best get off this ship and I mean pronto,” Shag said, lowering his beak and looking fixedly back at Cecil.

Get off the ship?
A spark of panic lit inside Cecil for the first time. He had been assuming they'd get going eventually, but what if they stayed stuck? He was a cat, surrounded by miles and miles of ocean. If the ship didn't move, he'd be a skeleton soon, too.

Shag extended his wings again and beat them a few times to test them out. “Good to go.” He turned on the railing to face the sea. “Well, best of luck to you, Cecil.”

“Hang on!” cried Cecil. “Can you . . . take me with you? Carry me, I mean?” It sounded crazy, even to Cecil, but he felt desperate.

Shag turned back and looked at Cecil's generous frame. “Don't think we'd get far, would we?” His eyebrows fluttered in the breeze as he gazed out to the horizon. “Somebody'll come along for you, I'm betting. Somebody smarter than a little old bird.” He looked sidelong at Cecil again, then sighed. “Here, I can leave you something to eat, at least.” He leaned his head forward and made a coughing sound in his throat, and out of his beak and onto the deck flopped two good-size fish.

Cecil was astounded—this strange bird had been talking all this time with a couple of fish in his craw. “Thanks,” he said weakly.

“So long,” said Shag. In one powerful motion he launched himself from the rail.

Cecil watched him go, trying not to think about what the bird had said. The ocean looked endless and he felt lonelier than ever. With the ship drifting like a cork in a water barrel, he could see no means of escape, so he had to put the idea out of his mind for now.

Besides, the fish, it turned out, were still quite fresh.

Two days later, on a blazing hot morning, Cecil went belowdecks in search of a cooler resting spot, always mindful of staying quiet and out of sight. Food and water were running low, and even the mice had disappeared—he had spotted one actually jumping overboard yesterday, shrieking incoherently, an unsettling sight. The repairs on the mainmast were not yet complete, so the ship was still drifting aimlessly.

At the sound of men clomping toward him from just beyond a corner, Cecil pushed past a slightly open door to his left into a small candlelit room. The room contained only a bed, a small desk, and a large, decrepit-looking sea chest on the floor. In the hallway the boots stomped nearer, along with the sound of arguing voices. Cecil slipped under the bed, the only place to hide, just as a man entered the room alone. The man shut the door, stepped to the chest, and, groaning with effort, lowered himself to his knees in front of it. Cecil piled all of his bulk into the farthest dark corner, trying to stay absolutely silent. He could see large rings on the man's fingers and lace sleeves on his coat and knew it must be the captain.

An uncomfortable quiet settled in the little room as Cecil held his breath, concentrating on not being discovered. He could only hear the raspy breathing of the captain and the small clicks of his rings as he placed his hands on the top of the chest. Finally Cecil breathed out slowly and crept forward to get a closer look. The chest was dented and scuffed on its painted surface. On the front face hung a large metal contraption with a loop on top threaded through a bolt, but the captain ignored that entirely and focused on the raised and decorated top. Cecil saw him trace the outline of a painted yellow fish with his finger, then turn his thumb down onto the fish and push. There was a sharp click inside the chest, and the hinged lid popped up and creaked softly as the captain lifted it.

Cecil's head thumped on the underside of the bed as he stretched his neck to see better, but the captain didn't notice as he stuck his hand down into what looked like layers of silky cloth packed into the chest. Gently he pulled out a little red cloth bag and loosened the strings holding it closed. He poured a small object out of the bag into his hand and held it in front of his eyes. It was the size of an acorn but round like a ball, and even in the dim room Cecil could see it clearly because it glowed with a pale light. The captain stared at it with his mouth slightly open, a tiny white full moon between his fingers, and Cecil was transfixed as well.

In the next moment, voices rose to shouting in the corridor and the captain dropped the stone into the bag and down into the chest, shutting the lid with a thud. Cecil skittered backward to avoid being seen. The captain struggled to his feet and whipped the door open, bellowing at the crew in the hall and waving his arms in agitation. Cecil shot out from under the bed and scrambled to the doorway, where the captain's tall black boots blocked most of the way out. Cecil leaped from side to side as the captain stepped back and forth and shouted orders. Finally Cecil backed up, timed his jump, and lunged between the captain's legs. He raced down the hall and up to the deck without looking back, the startled captain cursing him as he ran, which, he thought grimly, probably made a bad situation even worse.