Anton and Cecil, Book 2 Read online

  “It wasn’t so great in there,” Anton agreed. “I thought I’d have a look at this wreck everyone’s so agog about.”

  Billy pulled himself up with his customary huff. “It’s a cautionary sight,” he warned. “There was not even a mouse survived on her.”

  “Don’t scare him,” Cecil said to Billy. “He’s got enough caution already.”

  As they ambled down the wharf to the storm-battered wreck, Anton considered Cecil’s remark. It irked him, as he was well capable of taking risks if there was a good reason. Hieronymus was a good enough reason, though he was sure Cecil would disagree.

  The three cats stood gazing at the broken spars, the smashed bowsprit, and the tattered bits of sail hanging from the yardarm. “Not even a mouse,” Anton repeated. Then, as the sun pushed up over the horizon and cast a golden sheen across the deck of the ruined ship, the brothers both glimpsed a slight movement and burst into laughter. A solitary little mouse came running shakily down the line from the ship. With a wild leap, he skittered past them toward the shelter of the warehouses. As he passed, Cecil put out a paw and took in a breath, but Anton chided him. “Let him go. He’s the sole survivor.”

  Cecil chuckled. “Probably the last of his clan.”

  The brothers leaned toward each other and bumped shoulders. That was how Hieronymus described himself—the last of his clan—and Anton hoped Cecil was remembering, as he himself was, how after losing his entire family the mouse had saved Anton’s life by slowly, tirelessly chewing through a water barrel on a derelict ship.

  “Shall we go find him?” Cecil asked.

  “I wish we had more to go on.”

  “We’ll be the first cats in history taking travel tips from rodents.”

  “But you’re willing?” Anton asked.

  Cecil shrugged. “I’m curious about these landships. But I didn’t think you’d want to leave again.”

  “I don’t,” Anton said. “I just feel obligated. I don’t think Hieronymus would send for us if he weren’t in real trouble. We’ll stick together this time, right?”

  “As long as I’m the leader,” Cecil agreed.

  “I’ll be the brains and you can be the brawn,” Anton replied.

  “Our mission is as good as accomplished,” Cecil declared. “Let’s go tell those silly mice we’re booking passage.” The brothers sauntered down the dock to have a look at the Sea Song and plot the best strategy for getting aboard.

  Anton wondered how their mother Sonya would take the news. He hadn’t gotten the chance to say goodbye last time, when he was impressed right off the docks in the daylight. As he and Cecil explained everything to her that morning outside the lighthouse, she was surprisingly calm.

  “I’m proud of you for going to help your friend,” said Sonya, nodding. She looked from Anton to Cecil, smiling slightly, then stepped in close and touched noses with each of them. “Be careful.”

  Three of the kittens, Clive among them, barreled out of the lighthouse, squealing and tussling. Clive spied Cecil and leaped onto his back, trying to wrestle him down, but Cecil stood sturdily and laughed. Clive slid off and sat between Cecil’s front feet.

  “Your brothers are going on a trip,” said Sonya to the kittens, who immediately fixed their big eyes on Anton and Cecil.

  “Can I come with you?” asked Clive, looking up at Cecil’s white whiskers.

  “No, it’s too dan—” Cecil paused, as Sonya sent him a warning look. “We’ll take you along when you’re older.”

  “Will you bring us back some stories?” asked another of the kittens.

  “Of course we will!” Cecil boomed. “What’s an adventure without lots of good stories?”

  Anton swallowed and looked at Sonya as the kittens cheered. She smiled, and winked at him.

  Billy appeared on the path, puffing toward them. “It’s time,” he said.

  Cecil and Anton crouched on the hard packed dirt between two fat barrels, waiting for the right moment. Sailors grunted as they lugged the last of the cargo up the gangplank and onto the Sea Song, while others shimmied up the lines to loosen the sails. The cats knew what that meant: she was about to cast off, and they needed to move. Cecil could see someone with a large and elaborate hat, probably the captain, perusing a bundle of papers at the stern. Another man, very thin and wearing a bright green scarf, stood directing the crew as they reached the top of the plank with their loads. A loose plan formulated in Cecil’s mind, and he raised a paw toward the thin man.

  “He’ll be an easy one,” said Cecil. “He’ll probably be pleased to see us. Everyone likes a cat or two on board, right?” He stood and stepped out from between the barrels. “Come on!”

  The brothers moved with quick feet through the bustle on the dock and paused, side by side, at the bottom of the gangplank.

  “Volunteering for duty!” Cecil meowed, and they began to climb up.

  The thin man whirled toward the two cats and froze, an expression of horror on his face. He squinted, pulled the folds of his green scarf up over his nose, and began shaking his head rapidly. He stepped onto the plank, holding one hand up in front of him like a shield.

  “He doesn’t look pleased,” said Anton, slowing a little.

  “Follow my lead,” said Cecil. “We’ll win him over.” He hurried toward the thin man’s legs and rubbed against them affectionately, but the man shrieked and leaped away. Snatching up a broom from the deck, the man dropped the scarf from his nose and sneezed three times.

  “What’s he doing?” Anton asked, ducking behind Cecil.

  “I don’t . . .” Cecil sprang backward as the thin man swung the broom at his head. “Hey!”

  The thin man sneezed again and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to blow his nose, still aiming the broom at Cecil like a sword. The men high above in the ratlines hooted down at the scene, laughing. “The poor mate,” one of them shouted. “Allergic to everything but the sea!”

  “I think he’s got a cold,” said Anton.

  “Well, that’s not our fault.” Cecil retreated a few steps and looked down. The dark seawater eddied far below the plank. If either of them fell . . . best not to think of that. “Now I see why the mice are so at home on this ship—no cats.”

  “We can’t get past him,” said Anton, crouching low on the plank. “Let’s go back.”

  “We can make it. We’ll just have to do this together.” Cecil eyed the mate. “Here’s the plan. Next time he sneezes, you slip past.”

  “Me?” Anton squeaked. “Why me?”

  “Because you’re slimmer. Once you’re up, make him turn around, and then I’ll follow. Got it?”

  “That plan is crazy. We’ll both end up drowned.”

  Cecil glanced at Anton. “Think about Hieronymus.”

  Anton looked past the thin man to the deck of the Sea Song. “It’s too far,” he said.

  “You can do it, Ant Farm.” Cecil grinned at his brother.

  The man let out an enormous sneeze, raising the broom for a moment as he did so.

  “Go!” yelled Cecil.

  Anton bolted under the broom and between the thin man’s legs. In an instant he was through. He’d made it!

  The sailor opened his eyes and dabbed at his face with the handkerchief. Cecil stood before him on the plank, swishing his tail impishly. The man blinked at Cecil and stumbled backward. Anton let out a yowl from behind. The man cried out, turning sharply. The broom fell from his hand to the water below and he lunged to the side railing for balance as Cecil dashed past. More laughter rang out from the men on the masts as the two cats scrambled across the deck, darted into the first open hatch, and disappeared.

  “It’s pretty dark down here,” whispered Anton.

  Cecil squirmed next to him and sighed. “But you can still see, right? You’re a cat.”

  “Well, yes,” Anton admitted. “Though there’s not much to see, really.”

  The hold was only half-full, mostly crates and a few barrels. A stack of wooden boards wa
s secured with ropes against one wall of the hold, next to the ladder to the hatch.

  “I’m starving,” said Cecil, his nose working. “Nothing in here smells like food, except those berries.” He nodded toward some containers wrapped in burlap sacks in one corner.

  “That’s why we stuffed ourselves with fish before we left, remember?” said Anton.

  “That was ages ago. Who knows how long this trip will take? I’m heading up.” Cecil crept carefully to one end of the stack of boards and began to climb.

  Anton raised his voice. “You’ll be caught by that sickly mate,” he called to his brother.

  “Nah,” said Cecil, peering up into the darkness from the top of the stack. “It’s probably nighttime now, when most of them sleep. I’ll just look around for a few scraps.” He tucked his front paws under his chest and settled in to wait for someone to open the hatch. When that happened, Anton knew, Cecil would dash up the ladder and blend in with the blanket of night on deck.

  “That stomach of yours is nothing but trouble,” muttered Anton. He closed his eyes, but he waited as well, listening along with Cecil. At last a sailor, swinging a lantern before him, threw the hatch open and climbed down to retrieve a small cask. Anton opened his eyes just long enough to glimpse Cecil slipping up and out like a shadow. For a big guy, he’s fairly quick, Anton thought before curling into a dreamless sleep, rocked by the motion of the ship across the moonlit sea.

  Anton was awakened by a sound—a ripping, tearing sound nearby, followed by a slight smacking. Instantly alert, he crouched low, slinking past the crates on silent paws. Not a rat, he thought. Please not a big ugly rat trapped down here with me. He took a deep breath and peeked slowly around the crates.

  On top of the burlap sacks in the corner sat the two mice who had brought the message from Hieronymus, feasting on blueberries. Anton blew out his breath and sat down, watching them. The gray mouse reached through the hole he had clawed in the sack and pulled out a fat berry, then turned to Anton.

  “We meet again,” said the gray mouse, his pointed nose covered in blue juice.

  “So we do,” said Anton. “How long a journey is this, anyway?”

  “Not long,” said the gray mouse between bites. “We’ll arrive at the next daylight.”

  The brown mouse sat stiffly atop the bag, keeping one eye on Anton as he ate. He leaned and whispered something to his sidekick that Anton did not catch.

  “Right!” squeaked the gray mouse. “Almost forgot.” He turned to Anton. “There was another part of the message.”

  “Another part?” said Anton, frowning. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

  “Your friend, the big guy.” The gray mouse winced. “He’s got a look in his eye, that one. Too dangerous, we had to go.”

  “Never mind him. What’s the other part?”

  The gray mouse held his berry, looking mystified for a moment. He consulted with the brown mouse quietly, then sat up tall. “Got it. Ahem. Hieronymus says he’s to be found ‘between the whale and the coyote.’ ”

  Anton opened his eyes wide. “Between the whale and the coyote,” he repeated. “What’s a coyote?”

  “No idea.” The mice began cleaning their faces with their tiny forearms. A thud on the deck above made them jump and they scurried away, knocking berries to the floor as they scrabbled.

  The brown mouse paused to glance back at Anton. “Good luck,” he squeaked softly. “You’ll need it.” And the mice vanished into a crack in the wall.

  Anton stepped forward to nibble on a few of the strewn berries. Alone in the dark hold, he felt his heart stutter in a way it hadn’t for months. Oh, yes, he thought. We’ll need it.

  CHAPTER 3

  Shriek and Growl

  It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

  After all, Cecil had visited a ship’s galley before. He knew it was the place where food was prepared for the crew, often haphazardly, where chunks of meat or fish might be found wedged between barrels, and drips of stew could be lapped up from the floorboards next to the stove. Perhaps part of a hard biscuit to nibble on, but that wasn’t real food, in Cecil’s view. The galley of the Sea Song was empty of humans, as he’d hoped, though a lantern still burned on the sideboard, and he found a small wedge of hard cheese and some dried peas for his snack. As he sat and cleaned his face, he could hear the clickings and scurryings of rodents in the walls. A shame, he thought. A good ship’s cat could whip this place into shape in no time.

  There was a stomping down the steps toward the doorway. The only problem with the galley, Cecil suddenly recalled, was that there was just one way out. He caught a quick glimpse of a sailor stepping in with an armload of tin plates, and he dashed into the tiny larder, squeezing himself behind a tall sack. The sailor dumped the plates into a wooden tub, then picked up the lantern from the sideboard and walked out again, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Cecil groaned. He really should have been more careful. Now he was stuck, and Anton would worry. “Ah, well,” he said to himself as he made his way through the darkness over to the tub to lick the plates clean. “It’s a nice place to be stuck.” A little snooze on top of the flour sack, and he’d wake up refreshed, and the crew would have to eat again sometime.

  But hours passed and Cecil felt the ship slow and then stop. The thudding and banging of dockside activities began, and he paced in the galley. Were they not even going to come in to prepare that foul black liquid they drank at all hours? He positioned himself near the door and listened to the sailors tromping back and forth on the deck above. He tried to think like Anton. What would he do? Anton wouldn’t venture off the ship alone, so Cecil would have to get back to the hold to find him—as soon as somebody opened this blasted door.

  Heavy boots tramped across the deck above Anton’s head, and he could hear muffled voices shouting and answering as the steady rolling of the ship quieted. Anton guessed they were coming in to dock, but Cecil hadn’t returned. The hatch hadn’t been reopened, so he was still up there, somewhere. Should I get off the ship by myself ? Anton wondered. What if Cecil’s gotten himself trapped, or captured?

  The hatch creaked open, spilling in sunlight. Anton pressed himself against a barrel as several crewmen climbed down the ladder and began hoisting crates onto their shoulders to carry up again. He slipped behind the men and crossed the hold. As quietly as he could, Anton scaled the stack of boards as Cecil had done and crouched to wait for his chance to escape.

  “Aw, something got into the berries,” said a sailor in the corner, holding up the torn bag with one hand. The others stopped and scanned the grimy walls for a moment as if they might spot the culprit. Anton put his face between his paws and tried to flatten himself along the boards. The sailors shrugged and bent to heave more cargo, and Anton saw his opportunity. With a running leap he sprang to the ladder and scrambled through the opening without a sound.

  Out on the deck, Anton blinked in the sunlight and gasped.

  Before him was a wharf, and beyond it was a city bigger and busier than Anton had ever seen or dreamed of. Horse-drawn carriages and loaded wagons crowded the street. Dogs, cats, and chickens wove among the legs of people thronging everywhere. Children laughed and ran past adults selling knives, bottles of liquid, candles, pots and pans, all manner of clothes, and food in roadside stands. Behind all of them rose tall buildings along blocks that seemed to stretch outward forever. The noise hit Anton like a wave over the bow—the shouting and neighing and rumbling, all unceasing. The chaotic scene made the unpredictable ocean seem calm and inviting by comparison.

  As Anton stood, mouth ajar, taking everything in, he heard a loud sneeze from behind him. He flinched and looked back, straight into the watery eyes of the first mate who’d blocked their way. The mate pulled the green scarf covering his nose down long enough to bellow, “Off my ship this instant!” Wielding the broom, he charged at Anton.

  For a second Anton froze. Should he stay and try to find Cecil, or disembark and wait for hi
m on land? No time to decide before the mate was upon Anton, shooing him frantically toward the gangplank. Anton dodged to one side, glancing toward the bow and then the stern for any sign of a big black ball of fur, but the mate hustled Anton down the plank at broom-point.

  In the middle of the muddy roadbed, Anton sidestepped cart wheels and the boots of strangers. He swiveled his ears, listening for Cecil’s voice in the crowd. He dove into the shadows behind one of the stalls and surveyed the hectic activity on the street, a knot of fear twisting in the pit of his stomach. He’d lost Cecil already and had not the first idea where to go from here.

  The Sea Song still rested against the dock, her gangplank empty now, her sails wrapped tightly around the crossbars. Anton gazed at the ship in a panic. It was the last connection he had to anything familiar, and he felt its pull. Then Hieronymus’s voice floated through his mind, and Anton remembered being trapped in a cage at an animal market on a distant island with his friend. The mouse could have escaped easily to save himself, but he refused. I’ve pledged my troth! he’d declared, holding up a paw. I will not leave a friend in danger. Anton shook his head sheepishly. Hieronymus would not give up so easily.

  The noise of the bustling town settled around Anton, and he began to hear distinct sounds in the din. Crying children, screeching shorebirds, shouts of men’s laughter, and the creak of wagon wheels. One sound he could not place. It hung heavy as a storm cloud above and below and among the others. Anton could feel its vibrations in his rib cage, but it was not the pleasing music of the saloons. This was a dense, chuffing sound, like bursts of wind against the sails, or an enormous creature taking slow, panting breaths. Anton didn’t know what it was, and it terrified him.

  At long last the cook and the cabin boy burst into the galley, not even noticing as Cecil scampered behind their legs and up the steps to the main deck, awash in sunlight. He hustled to the hatch, which lay wide open, and peered down into the hold. His stomach lurched. The space was empty; all of the crates and barrels and even the stacks of boards had been carried out. “Anton!” Cecil’s voice echoed in the hold. But he knew his brother was gone—there was nothing left to hide behind.