Cats Aloft Read online

  Also by Lisa Martin and Valerie Martin

  Anton and Cecil: Cats at Sea

  Anton and Cecil: Cats on Track

  Anton and Cecil

  Cats Aloft

  By Lisa Martin and Valerie Martin

  Illustrated by kelly Murphy

  Algonquin Young Readers 2016

  For Pamela,

  who brought us together

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Out of the West

  Chapter 2

  Ruby

  Chapter 3

  A World of Wonders

  Chapter 4

  The Ice Railway

  Chapter 5

  The Menagerie

  Chapter 6

  A Bird’s-Eye View

  Chapter 7

  Balloon Race

  Chapter 8

  Cecil Aloft

  Chapter 9

  Cat Trackers

  Chapter 10

  Under the Big Top

  Chapter 11

  The Rat Pack

  Chapter 12

  On with the Show

  Chapter 13

  The Great Escape

  Chapter 14

  Release the Hounds

  Chapter 15

  Moon over Lunenburg

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  About Algonquin Young Readers

  The two kittens flopped down on the warm brick apron outside the lighthouse at Lunenburg and batted their paws at the slim orange cat sitting nearby.

  “Tell us a story, Kitty!” shouted Mo, the smaller of the kittens.

  “What kind of story would you like?” asked Kitty, smoothing her whiskers with one paw.

  “One of Anton and Cecil’s adventure stories,” said Sophie, settling next to Mo. “A scary one, where they go far away!”

  Kitty nodded. “The best kind. Your big brother Cecil always told me, ‘There are three ways to travel a long distance, and I’ve managed all three.’ ” She swished her tail jauntily just as Cecil would have done.

  Mo lifted a paw. “Oh, I know this! Across the sea by ship, over land by train, and . . . what’s the third one?”

  “Through the air, by balloon,” said Kitty, gesturing toward the sky.

  “A balloon!” cried Mo. “That’s what I need.”

  “Tell us the balloon story,” said Sophie. “Please.”

  Kitty cleared her throat and curled her tail over her front paws. The kittens scooted a bit closer while the cool fall breeze shook the leaves and pitched the ships in the harbor.

  “The story begins,” said Kitty theatrically, “with an ending.”

  Chapter 1

  Out of the West

  Where could he be?” wondered Hieronymus, rubbing his pink mouse ears. “I know my cousin is here somewhere. The mouse network said so!”

  Cat brothers Anton and Cecil exchanged a small smile. Anton knew that the mouse network could be unreliable, but he didn’t want to upset his good friend Hieronymus. Finding a tiny mouse in a giant city was as knotty a problem as finding a particular fish in the whole wide ocean. Anton and Cecil had found lost creatures before, of course, including Hieronymus himself, once imprisoned in a dusty railroad town, but this was no small town. This place was huge, sprawling over steep hills, tentacled like an octopus. Packs of hungry dogs and territorial rats threatened at every turn, and the local mice gave hazy directions. The cats and mouse pressed on, chasing down leads, scouring the port city from the sewers to the rooftops. After three sleepless days and nights, they finally found cousin Eponymus living underneath a food and drink establishment near the wharf.

  “Oh, upon my last whisker, I thought we’d never find you!” cried Hieronymus, squeezing Eponymus with joy.

  “And I thought we’d never eat again,” growled Cecil, turning his attention to the scrap pile behind the saloon.

  Upon their joyous reunion, the two mice swapped stories of their travels and trials, recalled their many now-deceased relatives, and discovered that they shared a fondness for fine salted nuts, stargazing, and lengthy conversation.

  “Let’s set up shop, shall we?” said Hieronymus to his cousin one bright morning as they sat on a weathered dock near the seaport. “We could meet the ships as they arrive and offer our advice as guides to all of the weary and bedraggled mice who disembark. What do you think?”

  Anton, dozing in the warm sun nearby, awoke with a start. “You mean you’re thinking of staying here?” he asked Hieronymus. “Permanently?”

  Eponymus clapped his paws. “This is a brilliant plan! We could explain the ins and outs of steamboats and trains for those who yearn to travel inland.”

  “And we could connect them with the mouse network for help as they go,” added Hieronymus.

  “We could suggest places to eat and sleep.”

  “And places to avoid, don’t forget that part . . .”

  “It does sound like a valuable service,” Anton agreed.

  Hieronymus stepped over and grasped a pawful of Anton’s fur. “I quite like this place, Anton,” he said. “And with my cousin here, I could make it my new home.” He paused and looked up at the storm-gray cat. “You could stay, too, you know.”

  Just then Cecil bounded up from the docks, the odor of fish surrounding him like a cloud. He flopped down in the grass with a huff and began to clean his white-tipped black tail.

  “I don’t know what it is,” he grumbled, “but the crabs out here can’t compare to the ones back home.” He shook his head. “Puny, stringy, tasteless things these are. And the fish are different, too. No herring at all, and I can’t find a decent catfish to save my lives.” He looked out over the port, then turned to Anton, his golden eyes flashing. “And it’s awfully warm here most of the time. Have you noticed that?”

  Anton stifled a smile at his brother’s tirade. “I have noticed that, now that you mention it.”

  Cecil leaped up to all fours. “Are you as tired of this place as I am? I say we head back home for a bit. Check in on Sonya and the kits, tuck into some real port grub, eh? What do you think?”

  The mice turned to Anton, their whiskers twitching, waiting along with Cecil for him to say something. Anton hesitated. Hieronymus was a true friend. He had once saved Anton’s life aboard a derelict ship, and Anton and Cecil had undertaken a long and perilous journey to rescue him from a little girl’s cage. But Anton was homesick, too, and his brother had a talent for getting into trouble. The new mouse plan would make it easier for Anton to leave; Hieronymus was happy to stay. He knew Cecil wanted to be on the move soon, going anywhere—that was Cecil’s nature—but finding home again would be tough, maybe impossible. He didn’t want Cecil to go alone.

  Anton gave Cecil a firm nod. “I say blow that whistle, brother. When do we leave?”

  Cecil whooped and danced a little jig on the dock. Anton sent Hieronymus a rueful smile. The mouse clasped his tiny paws together, and Anton knew he understood.

  The strange, sail-less wheel boat sat at the dock like a waterfowl on the calm harbor, waiting to shove off. In its shadow, Cecil lifted his chin in salute to Hieronymus while Anton bent to touch noses and bump heads with the small gray mouse.

  “Farewell, my good friends,” sniffed Hieronymus, wiping his eyes with his tail. “Happy travels, safe travels.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” said Anton. “And don’t forget to keep in touch on the network.”

  “All right, goodbye now,” called Cecil, shouldering Anton down the dock. “Good luck, you two. Come on, Anton, let’s catch our boat.”

  The last of the passengers had boarded and the cats lingered as a dockworker closed off the gangplank entrance with a rope slung across two posts. As soon as he turned his back, Anton and Cecil ducked under the rope, dashed
up the plank, made a sharp turn under a line of deck chairs by the starboard bow, and disappeared into the shadows. The engine groaned as the giant bladed wheels on either side of the boat began to turn, slowly paddling the water like great oars and sending up a fine spray.

  “Can you see them?” asked Cecil, crouched next to a large trunk and squinting at the noise.

  Anton peered through slats in the railing and caught a glimpse of two tiny figures scampering away from the dock, headed toward Eponymus’s alehouse home. “Yep,” he said. “I see them.” He watched the dock a little longer, frowning.

  Cecil glanced up at him. “He’ll be fine, you know.”

  “Oh, I know he will,” said Anton, settling behind a chair and curling his paws under his chest. “It’s us I’m worried about.”

  When they’d first traveled over land by train, the brothers had followed the tracks “into the land of the setting sun,” as Hieronymus had advised. Now, Anton thought, it would be easy to reverse direction by heading toward the rising sun. The first part of the journey was obvious enough, anyway. A short distance up the road from the harbor where the wheel boat docked was a large train station, and since it was the “end of the line,” as they’d heard it called, there was only one way to go: back the way they’d come.

  “How shall we choose which train?” asked Anton as the two cats watched humans climb into a particularly long set of carriages. Two engines linked together, one before the other, chuffed at the front like powerful draft horses.

  Cecil shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, does it? They all have to go the same way out of here.”

  Anton stood up and paced. “Maybe we should be strategic about it. We could pick a shorter one that might zip along like a baby snake.” He sat down again. “Or perhaps the longer ones go farther down the line before turning around.”

  “You’re overthinking it,” said Cecil, yawning.

  “Maybe we should avoid the passenger trains altogether.” Anton rubbed his chin with a paw. “Those humans never seem to like loose animals riding with them.”

  “I believe this one is a fine choice,” said a small, tinny voice from behind a tuft of grass.

  Cecil tensed, ready to spring. “Who’s there?”

  “I’m Felix, sir, from the mouse network, here to advise you about your train selection,” the voice continued, though its owner did not reveal himself.

  “Huh. And why should we listen to you?” Cecil asked, pointing a paw.

  Anton shushed Cecil and spoke toward the grass tuft. “So you think this one’s okay, do you?”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” came the thin voice. “Your needs will be well met on this train. Our advice is to board the second-to-last carriage. Just ignore the cage of pigeons you’ll find already stowed there.”

  “Ignore it?” said Cecil, smacking his lips. “Sounds like lunch to me.”

  “Ho, very funny, sir,” said Felix. “I’ll be off now. Best of luck with your travels.” A shiver in the grass, and he was gone.

  “Well, what do you think?” asked Anton, still scrutinizing the train.

  “We’ve got our orders, don’t we?” said Cecil, his eyes twinkling.

  Anton smirked. “Since when do you take orders from a mouse?”

  “I don’t. But I thought you might. Let’s go!” Cecil bounded to the second-to-last carriage and, hardly pausing to make sure Anton was following, slipped inside. They were underway once again, at last.

  Anton and Cecil hid among the boxes in the carriage, keeping well out of sight like the stowaways they were, until the train pulled away from the station and began picking up speed. Then they crept out and sat by the partially opened door, gazing at the passing scene. Anton found himself almost enjoying the return journey. The cragged mountains and steep, shadowed valleys were familiar even in their strangeness. He recognized a few of the small towns where the train stopped to take on and leave passengers, and the cooler air made the trip in the stuffy carriage bearable.

  The cage of pigeons turned out to be high entertainment for Cecil. They were carrier pigeons, being transported to a place in the wilderness where humans were gathered. Cecil couldn’t get at the birds through the bars, but he spent many hours quarreling pointlessly with them all the same.

  “Our job is to ferry messages from the field back home again,” explained one chubby bird, strutting importantly. “With all of the distances we’ve traveled, I’d say we are the world’s greatest explorers.”

  “Oh, please,” Cecil scoffed as he lounged against one wall of the carriage, his tail flicking lightly on the floor. “Being a carrier pigeon doesn’t make you a great explorer. You fly from point A to point B with a scrap of paper clamped to your leg. That’s not traveling.”

  The biggest of the pigeons hopped indignantly in the cage, well out of Cecil’s reach. “Of course it’s traveling!” she howled, red eyes bulging. “We see the world. We fly tirelessly for miles on end. We rely only on our wings, and the stars, not on any man-made contraptions.”

  “What’s this you’re on, then?” Cecil countered. “And what’s that you’re locked in? It’s shackles from start to finish, my friend.”

  The pigeon stamped her clawed foot. “The train only takes us where we are needed. On the return, we fly freely in the sky. We could leave at any time we choose.”

  “Could you?” asked Cecil, sitting up and gazing at the pigeon curiously. “Could you go against your instincts and veer off the path? Hmmm?” The bird huffed and the cage burbled with anxious cooing.

  “Cecil, stop torturing them,” said Anton from the doorway of the carriage, where he was following their progress across dizzying mountain bridges and through narrow passes. Cecil stood and stretched, then joined him at the door. Anton lowered his voice. “You’re asking for deep thoughts. They’re just birds, after all.”

  “I guess you’re right,” said Cecil, “but I am envious, in a way.” He glanced back at the cage. “I’d love to fly.”

  Anton chuckled. “With your girth, brother, you’d better keep all of your paws on the ground.”

  The landscape sloped into gentle foothills as the train rambled on toward the rising sun. The cats were able to quiet their snarling bellies by sniffing out scraps or pilfering snacks from unattended baskets at stops along the way. But the train didn’t stop at every station, and Anton could tell by the way Cecil eyed the pigeon cage that he was hungry.

  On the morning of the third day, the train pulled into a busy town set on the flat plains and surrounded by fields of tall prairie grass. The cats peered out at the bustling scene.

  “We’ve been here before,” said Anton.

  “Yep, and there’s the place where the engine turns around,” Cecil observed, nodding toward a roundhouse off to one side behind a gate.

  “That means we have to get off and wait for a train going the right way,” Anton said.

  “Plenty of time for a snack, then.” Cecil jumped down from the carriage and darted toward the town buildings with Anton on his heels.

  They waited all that day for another train to arrive, and dozed through the night. By the following morning the cats had found plenty to eat but were growing restless. They circled the town warily, alternately watching the humans, other animals in the streets, and the tracks. When Anton finally heard the shrill whistle of an engine, he ran to the station. A short train stood ready to leave, headed in the direction they wanted to go, but Cecil was nowhere to be found.

  “Cecil!” Anton howled. “The train!” No answer.

  Anton sprinted through the station and into the main town road, dodging cart wheels and horse hooves. “Cecil!” he cried again, then rotated his ears, listening. Where could Cecil be that he wouldn’t have heard the train?

  A burst of laughter spilled from an open doorway on the next block. Anton lifted his head and heard players and singers banging out a thumping music from within. He hurried to the door, took a deep breath, and plunged inside. His eyes adjusted to a riot of swinging dresses and stomp
ing boots, and he crept low against a wall, scanning the floorboards for his brother.

  Anton spotted Cecil’s white-tipped tail sticking out from behind the bar and dashed to the spot. Cecil’s head popped up, his face smeared with red-brown sauce, a small pile of meaty bones under his paws.

  “Hey!” Anton called over the music. “The train is here.”

  “Good timing!” Cecil said with a smile. “I was just finished.”

  The two cats bounded through the saloon and into the street. Another whistle pierced the air, followed by the slow, plodding chug of a train beginning to move. Thick white smoke billowed from the engine as Anton and Cecil rounded the corner of the station at a run. Anton pulled up short with a cry. The doors to the carriages were all shut—there was no place for the cats to stow themselves.

  “The back end!” shouted Cecil, galloping ahead. “We’ll have to jump on!”

  A short set of iron steps led up to a narrow platform at the rear of the very last carriage. The engine was gathering speed, chugging faster, and humans at the station shouted and pointed as the cats sped down the tracks, chasing the train. Cecil reached the steps first and vaulted aboard. He crouched on the platform as Anton tried to catch up.

  “Come on, come on!” Cecil called. “Grab ahold!”

  Anton flung himself onto the first step, his paws slipping on the dusty metal, his tail dragging along the rails and swinging dangerously close to the grinding wheels. And then he was up and pitching side to side as the train shimmied on the tracks.

  “You made it!” Cecil grinned at Anton, who was still wide-eyed with fear. They crouched and leaned against each other to steady themselves, and together they watched the station fade into a haze of dust behind them. The little platform was coated with a film of smoky grease and dirt, and the wheel racket was deafening. The carriage rattled and clacked, shaking ceaselessly for mile upon mile.

  “This is worse than traveling in the hold of a ship,” grumbled Anton.

  “Nonsense!” cried Cecil, wincing at the squeaks coming from under the train. “We’re out in the fresh air.” He sucked in a dusty breath. “And it’s a better view than we usually have.”