"Prince Dutiful has been here," Laurel announced in a breathless whisper. "Before I retired to sleep, I asked Avoin to show me the stables and the cattery. I wanted to see how the animals were housed."
"His mistcat was there?" I guessed incredulously.
"No. Nothing that obvious. But the Prince has always insisted on tending to the cat's needs himself. Dutiful has certain odd little habits, ways of folding things or hanging tack. He is very fussy about such things. There was an empty enclosure in the cattery. On the shelf by it were brushes and such, arranged just so. It was the Prince's doing. I know it."
I recalled the Prince's chamber at Buckkeep, and suspected she was right. And yet "Do you think the Prince would have let his precious cat be housed down there? In Buckkeep, the creature sleeps in his rooms."
"There is everything for a cat's comfort there: things to claw, the herbs they fancy, fresh greens growing in a tub, toys for exercise, even live prey for their meals. The Bresin-gas keep hutch upon hutch of rabbits, so that their cats need never eat cold meat. The cats are truly pampered royalty."
It seemed to me that my next question followed logically. "Might the Prince have stayed down in the stables to be closer to his cat?" Perhaps the basket had not had too long a journey to make.
Laurel raised one brow at me. "The Prince stay in the cattery?"
"He seemed to be very fond of the animal. I thought he might do that rather than be parted from it." I had nearly betrayed my conclusion: that the Prince was Witted and would not be parted from his bond-animal. There was a — sv, small silence. Lord Golden broke it. His mellow voice car' ried no farther than the two of us. "Well, at least we have discovered that the Prince was here, even if he is not here now. And tomorrow may yield us more information. The Bresingas play cat and mouse with us. They know the Prince has left the Court with his cat. They may suspect that we have come seeking him. But we shall stay in our roles, and graciously dance after whatever they dangle for us. We must not betray what we know."
"I hate this sort of thing," Laurel declared flatly. "I hate the deceit, and the polite faces we must wear. I wish I could simply go and shake that woman awake and demand to know where Dutiful is. When I think of the anguish that she has caused our Queen… I wish I had asked to see the cattery before dinner. I would have asked different questions, I assure you. But I brought you the news as soon as I could. The Bresingas had furnished me with a maid who insisted on helping me prepare for bed, and then I did not dare slip from my room until I was sure most of the keep was asleep."
"Asking blunt questions will not serve us, nor shaking the truth out of noble ladies. The Queen wants Dutiful returned quietly. We must all keep that in mind." Lord Golden included me in his instruction.
"I will try," Laurel replied with quiet resignation.
"Good. And now we must all try to get what rest we can before tomorrow's hunt. Good night, Tom."
"Good night, Lord Golden, Huntswoman Laurel."
After a moment or two of silence, I realized something. I had been expecting Laurel to leave so that I could secure the door behind her. I had wanted to tell the Fool about the basket and the dead rabbit. But Laurel and Lord Golden were waiting for me to leave. She was studying a tapestry on a wall with an intensity it did not merit, while Lord Golden contentedly contemplated the gleaming fall of Laurel's hair.
I wondered if I should lock the outer door for them, then decided that would be an oafish act. If Lord Golden wanted it locked, he would do it. "Good night," I repeated, trying to sound sleepy and riot awkward. I took a candle and went to my own chamber, shutting the connecting door gently behind me. I undressed and got into bed, refusing to let my mind wander beyond that closed door. I felt no envy, I told myself, only the sharper bite of my loneliness in contrast to what they might be sharing. I told myself I was selfish. The Fool had endured years of loneliness and isolation. Would I begrudge him the gentle touch of a woman's hand now that he was Lord Golden?
Nighteyes? I floated the thought, light as a dry leaf on the wind.
The brush of his mind against mine was a comfort. I sensed oak trees and fresh wind blowing past his fur. I was not alone. Sleep, little brother. I hunt our prey, but think nothing new will we leam until dawn.
He was wrong.
Chapter XVII
THE HUNT
Among the Old Blood, there are teaching tales that are intended as, guides for the very young. They are simple stories that instruct a child in virtues by tetting of the animals that exemplify an admirable quality- Those not of Old Blood might be surprised to hear the Wolf praised for his dedication to his family, or the Mouse for her wisdom in providing for the cold winter months ahead. The Gander who keeps watch while the rest of the flock feeds is praised for his unselfishness and the Porcupine for his forbearance in only injuring those who attack him first. The Cat's attribute is independence. A tale is told of a woman who seeks to bond with a cat. The cat offers to try her companionship for a day or two, if the woman will seek to perform well the tasks given her. The tale relates the duties the cat tries the woman at, stroking her fur, amusing her with string, fetching her cream, and so on. The woman complies cheerfully with each request and does each one well. At the end of that time, the Wilted woman again proposes that they bond, for she felt they were obviously well suited to one another. The cat refuses, saying, "Ifl bonded with you, you would be the poorer, for you would lose that which you love best about me, for it is that I do not need you, yet I tolerate your company." It is, the Old Blood say, a cautionary fable, meant to warn a child not to seek a bond-beast who cannot take as much from the relationship as it gives.
BADGERLOCK'S "OLD BLOOD TALES"
Let me just see you.
You have. I have shown myself to you. Stop nagging me for that, and pay attention. You said you would learn this for me. You promised it to me. It is why I have brought you here, where there are no distractions. Be the cat.
It's too hard. Let me see you with my eyes. Please.
When you are ready. When you can be the cat as easily as you are yourself. Then you will be ready to know me.
She was ahead of me. I toiled up the hill behind her, every bush scratching me, every dip and every stone catching at my feet. My mouth was dry. The night was cool, but as I pushed my way through the brush, dust and pollen rose to choke me. Wait!
Prey does not wait. A cat does not cry out «wait» to the one she hunts. Be the cat.
For an instant, I almost caught a glimpse of her. Then the tall grass closed around her and she was gone. Nothing stirred, I heard no sound. I was no longer sure which way to go. The night was deep beneath the golden moon, the lights of Galeton lost behind me in the rolling hills. I took a breath, and then closed my mouth, resolving to breathe silently if it choked me. I moved forward, a single gliding step at a time. I did not push branches out of my way, but swayed around them. I eased through the grass, striving to part it with my stride rather than push through it. I eased my weight from one carefully set footstep to the next. What had she bade me? "Be the night. Not the wind that stirs the trees, not even the soundless owl a'Wing or the tiny mouse crouched motionless. Be the night that flows over all, touching without being felt. For night is a cat." Very well, then. I was night, sleek and black and soundless. I halted under the sheltering branches of an oak. Its leaves were still. I opened my eyes as wide as they would go, striving to capture every bit of light I could. Slowly I turned my head. I flared my nostrils and then took in a deep silent breath through my mouth, trying to taste her on the air. Where was she, which way had she gone?