Plague of Cats



  The Adventures of Sonny the Scoundrel – Plague of Cats

  A Roane Publishing Free Read

  by Sonny Zae

  www.RoanePublishing.com

  © Copyright 2014 Sonny Zae

  Cover Artist: Rebecca Hart

  Editor: Rebecca Hart

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Someone kicked my cot.

  It was Grandpap, attired in his best wizard's robe and hat.

  "What? Why do you rouse me so early, grand-sire?” I tried to scowl him away.

  "The sun has been up for hours, Sonny.” He kicked my cot again. "I need your help. There is coin to be made in Hamlerroth village."

  "A new scam, eh?” I suddenly felt more alive. "Will it require toiling?"

  "No, no toiling," Grandpap assured me. "I need you to round up some ingredients while I make the appropriate potion for this…business venture. Then, you shall accompany me and be my backup."

  "That does not sound too difficult," I conceded, though I knew it was not his real reason for wanting me along. He feared leaving me home to get into mischief while he was away. "What do I get out of it?"

  Grandpap exhaled loudly and looked away. "I suppose you will do naught without pay. I shall give you a quarter of all money obtained."

  I pulled my coverlet back over my head. "Half, or I will not even listen to you."

  "Fine, then," Grandpap growled. "Half it is."

  I sat up and stretched my arms over my head. "What is this new business?"

  He sat on the foot of my cot. "The village of Hamlerroth is having their yearly grain festival. It is always well-attended. But, this year they are suffering a flood of rats and mice. They fear the plague of vermin will ruin their grain festival and are offering a bounty for all cats brought to their village."

  "So?” I rubbed my eyes and ran my fingers through my dark, lustrous hair. "Are you taking grain there to sell?"

  "Do not be such a dullard!" Grandpap snapped. "I am taking a wagonload of cats."

  "That is it? Your plan is to catch and sell cats?"

  "There is more. I found an elixir that causes swine to breed and grow at an alarmingly rapid rate, and I will use it to grow a fresh wagon load of full-grown mousers. Dress and feed yourself. The cat-grow potion is boiling now. I want to leave for Hamlerroth the moment it is fully reduced."

  * * * *

  Grandpap had indeed plotted to make me perform hard labour, despite his assurances. While he stirred up the cat-grow potion at his ease, sitting and puffing on his pipe, he set me to catching cats. It turned out to be harder than I had imagined. There had always been plenty of cats running about in our village. But, when I set to hunting them, Sow's Teat was suddenly as bereft of cats as it was of culture and cleanliness.

  I was putting an especially cantankerous old tom cat into the cage when Grandpap came out of our house. "How many now?" he asked, stooping to inspect the howling, prowling mob of felines seething about the cage bottom.

  The cage was very large, which was a blessing, allowing me to lift the top and drop in a cat without the already-caught ones being able to easily leap free. Except the old tom would not release my arm, treating it as a pincushion. I shook wildly and banged it against the inside of the cage, but the accursed cat would not let loose, like a cuff of mangy cat fur that had shrunk too tightly on my forearm. The old tom screeched like a drunken owl, but did not loosen. Then, another cat leapt up to wrap itself on my arm above the old tom, seeing a path to freedom.

  I howled and squashed the lid down on my arm, scraping them off by pulling my arm out through the gap between the cage and lid.

  "Wanny is bringing his wagon around.” Grandpap picked up his pack. He drew out the small brass hourglass he used for humiliating punishments. "He had better get here soon, or I shall make him void his spleen."

  "Do you have a balm I can use?" I asked. "The infernal creatures have put so many scratches in me I am in danger of losing all my lifeblood."

  Grandpap rolled his eyes. "Stop being so overly dramatic. You have a few claw marks on your arms, nothing more. Do not talk as if you have been gravely wounded in battle."

  "What about cat-scratch fever? I have heard of mysterious afflictions that can be brought about by scratches from cats."

  Grandpap turned his head at the sound of someone approaching. "Wanny comes at last. He shall get clawed up by the point of my tongue. Now, stop whining about a few scratches. No one has ever died from cat-scratch fever. The worst thing that can be said of cat-scratch fever is that it draws pests, like flies—or witches."

  "Witches?"

  Grandpap scowled at me and the tips of his long white moustache drooped in warning. "Stop complaining! Help Wanny load the cage into the wagon, and then we shall be off. Do not fret, as spending the rest of the day sitting on the wagon seat will have you feeling normal again. If there is one thing that always restores your spirits, Sonny, it is doing nothing."

  * * * *

  But the wagon ride to Hamlerroth did not restore my spirits. The day was hot and the flies were hungry. The pain from the plethora of claw marks on my arms and shins did not abate over time, but throbbed most distressingly, and each bump in the road made them hurt worse.

  The pain was compounded by the noise from the dozen or so caged cats. They had been silent when we left, lapping at the bowls of milk mixed with cat-grow potion that Grandpap had lowered into the cage. He achieved it without trouble, to my surprise. He had a better touch with cats than I had, but mayhap it was because I loathed the creatures. Grandpap had once warned me cats were opposite creatures, drawn to those who hated them, so he knew how to clear his mind in order to handle them—or was too old and daft to be annoyed by them. But now, with every bump and jolt, the cats yowled as if being crushed—or as if being confined with other cats made them realize they, too, hated cats. Worse yet, when not yowling, they spat and fought like a pack of savage children confined in a cramped space.

  * * * *

  When we arrived at Hamlerroth, the townfolk gathered around our wagon and remarked about the vitality of one cat, or another. One chap put a finger into the cage and was bitten by the old tom. The man exclaimed in pain and remarked that Grandpap and I would be held to account if he became ill with cat-scratch fever.

  I stood up to show the man my shins and educate him on true pain, but Grandpap elbowed me roughly. "Do not start," he hissed. Then, he addressed the gathering crowd. "Greetings, good people of Hamlerroth. We come to your aid. As you see, we have brought you many cats, hearing you were direly afflicted with mice and rats."

  A man in officious robes shouldered his way to the front of the throng. "How much for the lot of them? Our village would buy them all."

  Grandpap held up a hand. "We will sell them to you, but not yet. First my grandson Sonny the Scou—Sonny—he and I must find lodging, and a hearty meal. By then, we will have more cats to sell you."

  "Why can you not sell us your cats immediately?" Fancy-Robes asked, annoyance writ clear on his face. He must be a grain merchant, to be so eager for our furry wares. "And, how will you have more cats by then?"

  "I am a wizard," Grandpap declared, gesturing grandly to his robe and hat, and putting on his best do-not-question-me expression. "If I say I shall have more cats later, then I will. Where can we find a room for the grain festival?
We are hungry and weary and must replenish ourselves at once."

  "I will show you the way," someone in the crowd volunteered.

  Grandpap gestured for me to steer the wagon after our guide.

  "Why not sell some cats now?" I asked when we were out of hearing range of Fancy Robes. "They are clearly desperate to buy."

  "Not quite desperate enough," Grandpap replied, a self-satisfied look on his face. "Never sell when they first offer money. Make them know you have what they want, then make them want it even more. We shall dine at our leisure, and wait until they demand we take their money."

  "Do we take measures to ensure our precious cargo is not stolen?"

  Grandpap's head bobbed. "Yes, we will guard our herd. I brought along a heavy cloth to throw over the cage, and I will put a spell of protection on it, along with a magical symbol to warn off even the most foolhardy of peasants."

  "Too bad we only have a dozen cats," I observed.

  The edge of a smile curled the corners of Grandpap's mouth. "You are forgetting my cat-grow potion. By the time we finish our repast, we shall see amazing results."

  * * * *

  After a satisfying meal, it was time to unload the cats from the wagon.

  To my surprise, the grow potion worked even better than Grandpap had boasted. When Grandpap had disabled his protective spell, I pulled off the heavy cloth. There were twenty more cats than when we had first arrived in Hamlerroth. They were youngish, to be sure, but fully equipped with fangs and claws. I learned this truth as I reached in and pulled out each of the new arrivals.

  "I am sure to get sick," I complained as I lifted out an exceptionally scrappy youngster. The kit sunk his front claws into my arm and kicked with his rear legs, raking my flesh and leaving it bloody.

  "Do not let the original cats escape," Grandpap warned. "They will keep breeding. When you are done, I have fresh bowls of milk and cat-grow potion to put into the cage. Then, we will take the sack of kits and sell them."

  * * * *

  The kits sold as if made of goald.

  I had never seen people so captivated by common cats—or pay so much for the irritating creatures. After we returned to our boardinghouse room and counted coins, I began to feel some fondness in my heart for the little spitting beasts.

  * * * *

  When Grandpap and I checked the cat incubator the next morn, we found thirty-eight new arrivals waiting for us. It took three large sacks to haul the kits to the grain festival. The townfolk bought every animal.

  "I wonder how many cats we shall harvest tomorrow," I whispered to Grandpap.

  "I suspect at this rate, we will have more kits to sell by tonight," Grandpap replied, a twinkle in his eye.

  "Mayhap you should administer more of your cat-grow potion."

  "Indeed. Let us return to our flock."

  * * * *

  Grandpap mumbled words to remove the spell of protection. Neverless, I waited for him to put out a hand and touch the cage before I dared do so myself.

  "Here it is.” Grandpap held out a small glass bottle.

  I stared at the pinkish liquid inside. "How long will it last?"

  "It will last for three days or more, long enough for us to reap a harvest of coins and be gone.” Grandpap pointed at the milk bowls inside the cage. "Put only a thimbleful in each. After midday, we will feed them again. They will birth and grow almost fast enough for us to see them change in size. Do not neglect this. I am feeling tired, and am going into the boardinghouse to rest my weary old bones."

  "I see. So, you come out here long enough to tell me what to do, then leave without doing any of the work yourself?"

  "Do not be impudent. A well-deserved rest is one of the few rewards of old age."

  After he left, I mixed up the milk and cat-grow potion as he had instructed. But, I did not want to come back out after lunch and feed them again, so I doubled the measure of potion in each bowl of milk. At times, I was amazed by my own practicality and foresight. One could not have too many cats, not when they were selling like armor before a battle.

  * * * *

  At mid afternoon, Grandpap insisted I check on the cats. Worse yet, he insisted I do the chore alone, as he had stopped putting the spell of protection on the cage.

  I pulled off the heavy cloth and was shocked to find the cage filled to the top with cats. Indeed, the lid of the cage bulged from the excess. The cube of fur and fang hissed and spat like a gobbet of hog fat dropped into a blazing fire. I hurriedly unhooked the hasp, fearful the cats at the bottom were being crushed. The lid flew open and cats flooded out, knocking me down, and flowing over me like an angry springtime river. I could do nothing but burble in panic as the torrent of cats streamed out, pinning me with the sheer weight of their numbers. I was only able to get to my feet, dazed and bloodied, before the last cat had vanished from sight.

  * * * *

  Grandpap was furious. "How could you be so bungling as to let them escape?"

  " I told you, they overpowered me!"

  "Overpowered by common cats?"

  "There were hundreds of them—thousands, even! They were an onslaught, a deluge of fur and fang.” I pulled up my trouser legs to look at the mass of scratches there. "I am lucky that each one did not claw me, as I would lay dying by now. The cat-scratch fever will surely grow worse, as it is."

  "Worse?" Grandpap snarled. "We have just lost our source of income. It cannot get worse than this!"

  But it did.

  Fancy-Robes and other local dignitaries came to complain about the hordes of cats now terrorizing the grain festival. The men became very angry when Grandpap tried to extract more payment, claiming we had converted their plague of mice and rats into a plague of marauding cats.

  When the villagers accosted us a short time later, they were no longer concerned about the cats. It seemed that just as an abundance of grain drew mice and rats, witches were unaccountably drawn by an abundance of yowling cats. We heard the cackling even as Fancy Robes and others stood outside the boardinghouse and berated us about this newest pestilence.

  "I should have known this would happen," Grandpap muttered to himself.

  "Well?" Fancy-Robes demanded, planting his hands on his hips. "You are a wizard. What will you do about it?"

  "How many witches are there?" Grandpap's head turned this way and that as the sound of rushing winds and cackling laughs came to us from every direction. An occasional dark form zoomed overhead.

  "At last count, there were thirty. But, more arrive all the time."

  Grandpap shook his head. "I could not confront so many at once. The magical powers of a single wizard cannot overcome more than five witches."

  "Then, you had best think of some other way to rid our village of them!" Fancy-Robes snapped. "Elsewise, you may have both witches and angry villagers to deal with!" With that, the mob departed, crouching low as they hurried off, looking this way and that above them.

  I watched them go. "What now? Do we wait until dark and slip away, never to visit Hamlerroth again?"

  "No.” Grandpap's brow furrowed in thought. "There must be a way to drive them out. If we can do that, the villagers would have to pay us for ridding Hamlerroth of witches, too."

  "No, let us return home now," I pleaded. "My scratches become increasingly sore, and I fear what the witches may do to me."

  "Eh? What are you talking about?"

  "If I go out and about in daylight, they will see my face. You know how irresistible I am to the ladies. Surely, witches will find my fair looks enchanting, too."

  "Ah, I see.” A dangerous look crossed Grandpap's face. "You fear they will be drawn to you, just as the cats drew them?"

  "Could I make it any clearer?" I threw up my hands. "Why are the old so daft, so slow to comprehend?"

  Then I noticed the look he was giving me. "Why are you staring at me in that way?"

  Grandpap smiled diabolically. "I knew there was a reason for bringing you here, besides catching and handling the c
ats. We will dress you up in the finest clothes in Hamlerroth. You will parade around the grain festival as a handsome dandy until the witches flock to you, then flee and lead the witches far away."

  "You would use me as witch bait?" I spluttered. "Sacrifice me to their cold and grasping clutches? Me, your only kin? And, if I refuse?"

  "You yourself said you were irresistible to the fairer sex.” Grandpap pulled out his little brass hourglass, the one he used to inflict humiliating punishments, such as wetting my breeches. If the sand ran out without my complying, the spell would take effect and the result was usually unpleasant, sometimes even painful.

  "Fine, fine!" I snarled. "But, how do I shake them off when I get a fair distance from Hamlerroth, grand-sire?"

  "Oh, I am sure you will think of something."

  * * * *

  I was reclining in the shade of an elm tree several hours later when Grandpap happened by on the road home. "Hallo!" I cried, sitting up.

  "Gaaa!" Grandpap flinched, staring at me as if I were a spirit ferreting about during daytime. "Sonny, you are unhurt? How did you escape their clutches?"

  "Yes, I am more or less unharmed," I said, getting to my feet. My new finery was dirty and torn, so it was no wonder he was concerned for my health.

  "So, you idle underneath a tree, indolent and waiting for me to happen past?” He leaned on his walking stick and scowled. "Why did you not come back and aid me, if you shook off the witches so easily?"

  "What makes you say it was easy?" I demanded, drawing myself up. "Why, I had to risk life and limb! I had to commit unspeakable acts—"

  "The villagers remained angry," Grandpap interrupted. "Even after you drew the flock of witches away, they were most cross."

  "Did they pay you for ridding them of the witches?"

  "No, curse them!" Anger glinted in Grandpap's eyes. "They refused, said we caused the witches to flock, so they would not pay us to resolve a crisis we had created.” He spat forcefully on the ground.

  "Did you get any more money for all the cats we provided?"