The third and largest of Mhari’s visitors switched his plumed tail in annoyance. He was rather grand, as his kind went, with long black fur that made him look plump and complacent. The white on his face and throat and belly made him resemble the Man who gave Mhari’s Woman sparkling gifts and sometimes took her away for the evening. For that reason alone, Mhari was inclined to dislike him.
“Please forgive Frank’s abrupt manner of speaking,” the tuxedo-clad tom said in a surprisingly cordial tone. “It is his way; he means no offense. I am called Smithwicks, and this is Minx.”
“Frank and I tend to take our names seriously,” observed the gray queen archly, lifting her hindquarters in a suggestive manner.
Mhari had seen minks before and could perceive no reason for the smallcat’s boast. She turned to the dapper tom. “To what do I owe this visit? It must be a matter of some importance to bring three of you to this part of the city.”
“Maybe I live around here,” Minx said defensively. “Since you’re not a male, maybe you just didn’t notice me. And, hey-like the saying goes, all cats are gray in the dark.”
The Serval did not point out the obvious fallacy in this saying, nor did she observe that the smallcats in this neighborhood, with its fine old trees and walled gardens, were elegant creatures who wore jeweled collars and were seldom seen in the company of common tomcats.
Smithwicks gave the gray female a quelling stare. “It is… complicated. A matter of some delicacy, one requiring expertise we hope you might possess-”
“We need you to go to the zoo and talk to a tiger,” Frank broke in.
A frisson of alarm rippled done Mhari’s spine. She knew that word, zoo. One of the freeborn Serval on the Arizona ranch, her birthplace, had been kept in a zoo for a time following his capture. He claimed the cats were kept in cages of metal and glass, larger perhaps than the elegant habitat Mhari’s Woman provided for her but without the privacy Mhari enjoyed. Humans passed by endlessly, noisy crowds of them, chattering and staring-but never a human a Serval could call her own.
Mhari had no use for humans in general, but she and her Woman shared a bond. There were pleasant evenings at home together, a jeweled leash and harness so that they might take lovely strolls, warm afternoons spent swimming and diving in Mhari’s stone-lined pool, car rides, weekend trips to a woodland cottage or a seaside house. The Woman talked to her in English and Italian, and Mhari responded in Domestic and Serval. The Woman was highly intelligent; at times, she almost seemed to grasp Mhari’s responses. What Mhari had was not freedom, not exactly, but it was not an unpleasant life.
In the zoo, there was only captivity.
“The greatcats can’t talk to you?” she said hesitantly.
“Can’t or won’t,” said Frank. “It’s much the same thing.”
Smithwick narrowed his eyes at the striped tom. “In brief, here is the problem: we cats have been tracking a human, a killer.”
This puzzled Mhari. Humans were predators and could not be faulted for following their nature. Still, there were ways and ways. She often sprawled on the white settee beside the Woman, listening to the talking box. The Woman was fond of something called
Law and Order. It was a wonder to Mhari that humans survived at all, so endlessly and inventively did they kill one another.
“The humans police their own, do they not?”
“Not if they’re just killing cats,” Minx said spitefully, “unless, of course, the cat has
Papers. Or unless we cats make them care.” She met Mhari’s eyes with a challenging stare. “But you wouldn’t know about that, would you? I mean, your daddy being ‘freeborn’ and all…”
“That will do, Minx,” Smithwicks snapped. “We followed this human as far as the zoo and saw him throw a gun into the moat by the tiger habitat. Perhaps the tiger will have noticed something about the man that may help us find him. If not, Frank’s human is a police detective; he can discover what human handled the gun. Again, your expertise is required-we need you to retrieve it from the moat.”
“I see,” she mused. Thanks to the talking box, she knew this to be true. “Because you are tame cats-”
“Domesticated, not tame,” broke in Frank. “No cat is ever tame.”
Mhari twitched her whiskers agreeably. “As domesticated cats, you endeavor to help Frank’s policeman?”
The smallcats exchanged glances. Mhari scented a subtle change in their mood-a note that was both primal and familiar.
“You wish to find this human yourselves,” she said, surprised and impressed. “I did not know smallcats hunted as a pride. It is not the Serval’s usual way, but my sire told me that from time to time the freeborn would band together to bring down larger prey.”
“We would be honored if you would join us in that, as well,” said Smithwicks. “This human must be stopped, and soon.”
The notion of hunting humans made Mhari profoundly uneasy, but the smallcats were right: A rogue had to be stopped, whether he walked on two legs or four. “I would help you if I could, but how would I get to this zoo?”
Three furred heads turned toward the house. Three smallcats sent out a silent, summoning yowl. The light in the Woman’s bedroom flicked on, and in moments she stood on the patio, looking about in puzzlement.
Minx continued to talk to the Woman, but her voice was somehow different-quieter, more compelling. The Woman’s night robe swirled around her legs as she hurried to the gate of Mhari’s habitat. She unlocked it, added kibble to the already-full dish, and left. For the first time since Mhari had come to live in the city, the Woman neglected to lock the gate.
Moments passed as the Serval sat in stunned silence, not entirely sure she could credit her eyes and ears. Suddenly the gray queen’s snide comments made a little sense: apparently the smallcats really could “make” humans do their bidding.
A wave of envy arose from some dark place and emerged as a soft snarl. How was it that a flea-bitten stray would command Mhari’s Woman, when she, a Serval cat born to a line that had kept company with Italian nobility, could speak unheard?
She would have demanded answers, but the smallcats had already quit the tree. Mhari climbed down from her perch and skirted her pool. She waited by the gate until the Woman’s lights winked out, then nosed it open and edged gingerly into the garden. The Woman’s personal garden was small-most of the property had been enclosed for Mhari’s use-but beyond it lay the city.
The smallcats were already padding down the cobble-stoned drive, obviously expecting Mhari to follow. After a moment’s hesitation, she did. In a few loping strides, she pulled up beside Smithwicks and adjusted her pace to his.
“What if we’re seen?” she ventured, gazing out into the well-lit street. “I am not inconspicuous.”
Minx’s snort was loud enough to dislodge a hairball. “No worries. With those long skinny legs and that tiny head, you’ll just be taken for a stray greyhound. There’s a few of them around-the dog track turns out losers to fend for themselves.”
“Shut up, Minx,” hissed Smithwicks. “If we need to scatter, Mhari, just climb a tree. We’ll find you.”
“Not if I find her first.”
Mhari whirled toward the speaker. Sitting on the high stone fence was the largest smallcat she had ever seen. His long, tawny coat made his weight difficult to judge, but Mhari would put him at over twenty-five pounds-only five or ten pounds lighter than she. A handsome creature, too, with a long white ruff that was almost leonine and a pleasantly deep rumble to his voice. There was nothing pleasant about his manner, however, from the turned-back ears to the lashing tail fluffed to impossible size.
The three smallcats hissed and backed off, positioning themselves behind Mhari. She stood her ground as the big tom leaped to the ground and stalked toward her. He circled Mhari as if he desired to examine her from every angle. She thought it prudent to turn to face him. The smallcats, also prudent, retreated to the shadows of a flowering hedge.