The Mystery Cat

[eliaza]

This is a story I started in July. It's quite long already, and is nowhere near finished, but I wanted to paste it somewhere and post updates as there's more.

So... No graphic scenes/extreme violence/language here. I'm quite squeamish myself, so will only describe things so far.

The only warning is a bit of a silly one - this story is sentimental. VERY VERY sentimental. Essentially, it's an extreme take on Macavity as a completely misunderstood martyr. It's the culmination of every "aww, poor Mackey" thought I've ever had, mixed with things I noticed in the Broadway revival, plus bits of intrigue that happen to come up along the way. It's more or less Wicked, in which Macavity is Elphaba. I started it mainly for satisfaction of my own Macavity fetish, but have grown rather attached, so can't leave off till it's finished, even if it takes years...

So yes, that's my only disclaimer. Don't read if you hate sentimentality.

Without further ado...

Midsummer’s Night

MacVitie was not afraid until darkness began to fall. In the failing sunlight, the familiar rubbish heaps surrounding the ginger-red tom began to take on strange and frightening shapes. There was movement in the shadows—only mice, he knew, but even small rodents can seem menacing to a tiny kit alone in the dark. He growled low in his throat, trying to trick himself (and anyone who might be near, though to all appearances there was no one) into believing he was fierce and brave, fear did not exist. Repeating such thoughts to himself, he settled down to wait for his brother’s return.

That Munkustrap would return, he knew for certain. Munk was the one looking out for his siblings as long as their parents were away settling what they kept referring to as “the Dispute.” MacVitie wasn’t certain why they used that term, for he thought a “dispute” was an argument, and he knew (though they had tried to keep it from him) that there was more at paw than mere talking. Cats were angry enough that they were hurting each other—fighting the way he and his brothers often did, only in earnest, enough to perhaps kill one another. MacVitie shivered and forced himself to think of something else.
Munkustrap had left only briefly, he said, to find some food. They could all catch mice, but truthfully there was not much meat on the rodents and they grew bland and tiresome. Munk had gone looking for tastier morsels to keep up his brothers’ spirits.

MacVitie let out an exhausted sigh, wishing again that his other brother had been considerate enough to keep watch with him, instead of retiring to their den early as if it were any ordinary night. At this thought, MacVitie’s fear leaned more towards anger. The eldest of the three brothers, Tugger was the tom who should have been looking out for the others and fetching food, not Munkustrap. Tugger boasted plenty about being the firstborn, “and therefore the leader, and therefore Munk and Mack had to do whatever he said…” And so forth. But when it came to doing any actual work, Tugger was always strangely absent. He cared for preening about, flirting with queens, admiring his own precious form in the mirror he kept in the den…not much else. MacVitie wondered briefly if Tugger knew any more about where their parents had gone than Munkustrap and himself did. Tugger was just barely young enough to stay home and out of the “dispute”… If he, MacVitie, were old enough, he would be fighting beside his father, no questions asked—that much he knew beyond doubt. Indeed, if he’d thought he could get away with it, he’d have followed them…But everyone thought a kit like him was good for nothing but to stay at home and out of the way. And, he supposed they were right: a weakling like him would be no use to anyone in a fight. But that would not be the way of things for long, he vowed. He would grow quickly, eat well, build up his strength—the next time there was a need, he would be ready to do battle…

Next he knew, MacVitie was being shaken awake. Slowly, he forced his eyes open, berating himself for falling asleep. “Is’t you, Munk?” he mumbled, vision fuzzy. “I don’t think I’m hungry, let’s just watch for Dad…”

“It’s me, son,” sounded the low, rumbling voice of his father. Mack felt himself being lifted easily into the strong arms of Deuteronomy. “And high time you were in your den. Your brother let you keep watch far later than your mum and I would have, so you may thank him in the morning.”

As the darkness closed back in around him, MacVitie tried to remember what it was he had been keeping watch for. “Did you…win?” A large yawn almost cracked his head in two and the last word was barely discernible.

“Yes.” Was his father weeping? It must be his imagination… “No more questions tonight, MacVitie. Sleep.”

Late Winter

“Psst! Biscuit! Wake up!” Far earlier than he wanted, someone was nudging—well, no, shaking and slapping—him awake. MacVitie growled feebly.

“Don’t call me ‘biscuit,’” he mumbled, still half-asleep.

“Should’ve told Mum not to give you a biscuit name, then,” the other tom snorted. “MacVitie. Scottish Lord, my footpaw. Who ever heard of such a ridiculous…”

“I’ve said. You can call me ‘Mackey’ or ‘Mack.’”

“As if those were any better. Like the blackberry preserves?” That was MacKay’s, but no way this side of Heaviside would MacVitie admit to knowing as much. Tugger had too many human words and names in his vocabulary as it was.

“I’ll tell everyone to call you Sparkles.”

“Never mind, never mind,” Tugger waved a paw dismissively. To Mack’s satisfaction, he did look as though the prospect of other Jellicles finding out his human-pet name had him at least slightly bothered. “Listen, Mack, where’s my mane?”

“Your what?” Now more or less wide awake, MacVitie sat up, looking at his brother as if he’d grown a third ear in the middle of his head. That might be an improvement, come to that… “You haven’t got a mane.”

“Shut up.” Tugger clapped a paw over MacVitie’s mouth. “Don’t ever say that again. Do you want me to lose my fan-queens?”

“Your what?” Mack repeated, dazed. “Is that another human phrase you’ve picked up?”

Ever since he had got himself “adopted” into a human family (by which Tugger meant he still lived mainly in the Junkyard and only visited the humans enough to keep them from worrying as to his whereabouts), Tugger had become stranger than ever before. He could often be seen wearing a thing he called a “belt,” a shiny, golden one that stood out glaringly against his black pelt; he worked daily on dances for the next Jellicle Ball, bizarre dances he said had appeared on the “television set;” he had created what he called a “stage name” for himself, adding “Rum Tum” to the beginning; he apparently called the queens who adored him his “fan-queens”; and now this fuss about “his mane.” Where is Munkustrap to rescue me from this madness? “Do you mean to say,” he gaped, slowly comprehending, “you’ve got yourself a pretend mane to wear? Like a…Maine Coon?” He had heard of those cats: huge, they were supposed to be, with neckfur that fluffed out so widely it looked like a lion’s mane. Tugger was tall already and still growing, and relatively well-muscled, but Mack doubted he’d grow to the size of a Coon. Somecats said their father was Maine Coon, at least half; he was certainly the size for it; but Deuteronomy had no mane except a bit of fluff round the face, and could not remember his parents well enough to be certain what sort they were.

“Precisely,” Tugger grinned. “Have you seen those blokes? They’re ginormous! And that shoulder fluff! Queens really go for that these days. You should see it, Mackey, I made it all by myself, out of yak hair, and when I put it on no one would even know it wasn’t my real shoulder fur.” He frowned. “Which is why I’ve got to find it!”

“And why d’you think I’d know where it is?” Mack was growing more irritated by the minute. Even having lived with Tugger his entire life thus far, he simply could not believe anycat could be conceited enough to wake another at this ridiculous hour just to locate an accessory, another human term Tugger’d learned. Catnip, now I’m starting to naturally use human words in my head. Someone help!

“Well…Munk wasn’t here, and I had to start somewhere.” Besides, MacVitie reflected, Tugger couldn’t exactly let it be known outside the family that his mane was false. Tugger’s scowl grew deeper. “Besides, we both know you’ve been jealous of my good looks since we were newkits. No doubt you thought it would be terribly clever to hide my mane somewhere…”

He could not believe what he was hearing. “I’ve not seen your blasted mane,” MacVitie spat, the last of his patience evaporating. “I didn’t know about it until this moment. And if I had happened across it, and known it was yours, I wouldn’t have touched it with a twenty-foot fishing line! Those human animals have probably had their filthy paws all over it: I don’t know which is worse, theirs or yours.”

Tugger narrowed his eyes and glared at the younger tom for a few moments. Finally, he turned to leave, landing MacVitie a punch on the shoulder for good measure. “Fine, then. But if I find you’ve had it all this time…”

“Are you two fighting?” Mack and Tugger looked up to see a silver tabby tom entering the den just as Tugger was exiting. “Well, are you?” Munkustrap repeated, looking suspiciously from one brother to the other.

“No,” MacVitie volunteered. “Sweet Roll here has just lost something, as usual.” Tugger shot him a wrathful look, but did nothing more, as then he’d have Munkustrap to contend with.

“Yeah,” the oldest brother practically shouted, “and it’s not here, so goodbye!” Tugger fled the scene before he could change his mind and claw the satisfied smirk off his kit brother’s face.

Munkustrap shook his head wearily, before turning back to MacVitie. “You’re up early. Have you eaten?” He had long since given up lecturing either of his brothers on treating each other better. Their quarreling annoyed those around them but did little else blatantly harmful. To Munk’s thinking, it was best to let them have it out until they learned either to get on well together or to simply leave one another alone. Surely this is just a phase they will outgrow… he thought without much conviction.

“No. Got anything tasty?” Mack asked hopefully.

“As a matter of fact,” Munk grinned, “I’ve just found this in a bin outside a diner.” He tossed his brother a generously-sized slab of meat.

“Those humans are such wasters, throwing out perfectly fine meat,” MacVitie remarked, scraping off a bit of odd-coloured stuff before proceeding to tuck in. “Mmmm! So, what were you doing in town this time of morning?”

To his surprise, Munk looked decidedly uncomfortable all of a sudden—indeed, almost nervous. “Well…” Just then, Mack espied something new around the older tom’s neck.

“You too?” he groaned. “I thought we agreed, humans are sweet, but best left alone to mind their own lives, and we ours.” That, at any rate, was the polite version of Mack’s opinion on the matter. Why should we have anything to do with them? We owe them nothing. How much we sacrificed for them, and do we get any credit? He finished off his slab of meat and began licking the remnants from between his claws, awaiting the explanation he knew must be forthcoming. Unlike adults, Munkustrap did not expect MacVitie to simply accept his actions without question.

“MacVitie…” Munk placed a paw on the younger tom’s shoulder. Mack looked up and steadily returned his gaze. The adults and Munk were the only cats who could use his real name with impunity. From anyone else, Mack deemed it a mockery—and some of them, truth be told, meant it so.

“Yes, I’m listening.” Mack tried not to sound sulky. He could not help wondering if now he would be expected to find a human family.

“Mum and Dad say,” Munkustrap continued, “that it can only help—those of us who’d like to, adopting humans. They feel rather more responsible for the humans’ welfare than before, in view of…well, of what happened.” It had been several months, and still Munkustrap had difficulty speaking of what everyone called “that night,” or “the incident,” or “the dispute.” Mack, still for the most part unaware of what had actually happened, let out a frustrated sigh.

“And I suppose,” he griped, “you’ll now say they want you to help me find some humans.” Before Munk could respond, Mack quickly went on, “Y’know, I’d appreciate the need for all this fuss a lot more if…if I just knew why.” He was going out on a limb, saying this much. He knew that, whatever else it had been, “that night” had been a nightmare for the older members of his family. Thinking and speaking of it seemed to drive them to distraction: he hated seeing the distress he caused them by mentioning it. At the same time, he was infuriated by how little he was allowed to know of the situation.

“You’re right,” Munkustrap responded, to his surprise.

“You don’t have to say,” MacVitie interrupted quickly, immediately regretting his former words. “If Mum and Dad say you shouldn’t, and you think…whatever you think is best, that’s enough for me.” It wasn’t true—he was determined as ever to get answers one way or another—but not like this. Nothing was worth his brother’s pained expression, nor his mother’s strange coldness lately, nor his father’s voice that night: “Yes, we won,” Deuteronomy had answered, but from his tone of voice one would think he had said, “The world has ended.” Suddenly MacVitie was not so sure he wanted to know something that could have such an effect on those he thought of as his strong protectors. If they were so vulnerable, what could that mean for him?

“No, I should—” Munkustrap seemed about to argue the matter, then changed his mind. “Soon, Mackey, I promise. You’re right; you are old enough to know; Dad has said it’s all right. I just…”

“I know.” He didn’t; but what else could one say? “But about the humans thing…”

“You’re not required to do anything you aren’t ready for,” Munk said firmly. “If you don’t want to now, we’ll say no more about it.”

Mack heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Munk. I’ll…well, think about it.” He said this with little real conviction—more for Munk’s benefit than anything else. “I’m going out,” he added, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Most kits his age would have said “I’m going out to play,” but the word “play” never really rolled off his tongue naturally. Perhaps having two older brothers, he had learnt to think of it as a babyish word.

“Do think about it,” Munkustrap called after him. “Humans, Mackey…they really aren’t so bad.”

“Right,” Mack called back noncommittally. “I’ll…see you later.”

---

Leaving the den, he really had no idea where he was heading. He just needed to escape that conversation before it got too sentimental. Munkustrap wouldn’t be offended by his abrupt exit: the two understood each other well enough without words. Which was more than could be said for Mackey and Tugger, who would never speak the same language no matter how many words they threw at one another.

“Vitie?”

Mack spun around, automatically poised to snarl at and run off whoever was about to make fun of his name. Honestly, is there no other entertainment available here? Once he saw who it was, however, he relaxed from his threatening pose. “Deme,” he sighed, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice, “can’t you say Mackey?”

Demeter, a gold-and-black tortoiseshell queenkit a bit younger than himself, wrinkled up her nose in concentration and was silent for several minutes. “No, sorry,” she said finally. “Vitie’s just easier to say.” MacVitie raised an eyebrow skeptically, wondering how that could possibly be the case. Generally it took kits longer to learn the “v” sound than the “m.” Deme’s ears drooped. “I’m sorry if it hurts your feelings. But it’s closer to your real name anyhow, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Mackey acknowledged, “but somecats think it’s a silly name and make fun of it. I don’t like that.”

Demeter frowned. “Well, that’s just mean. I think your name is lovely,” she announced decidedly. “You should just punch—no,” she abruptly corrected herself, “Mummy says punching is not nice… You should… Just walk away! That’s it!” She beamed at him as if she had just solved the Ultimate Question of Life, and Mackey couldn’t help but smile.

“By catnip, you’re right, Deme! I should have spoken to you sooner, and then I wouldn’t have had so much trouble.”

“That’s right, silly,” Demeter laughed. “It took you a long time to think of! From now on, you just come talk to me if someone is mean.” She sobered, re-thinking this. “Hmm…no, actually you should go talk to your mum. That’s what I do whenever I don’t know what to do about something, or if I’m feeling bad, or anything like that. Mummies are the best to talk to because they know everything. I don’t know everything, not yet,” she added modestly. “But when I’m older like Mum, then I’ll know. Don’t you ask your mum about everything?”

“Well…” MacVitie hesitated, at a loss how to answer. Demeter couldn’t possibly relate to his situation, he reflected. Her mother, Jennyanydots, was…he didn’t like to think “fussy,” but he couldn’t think of a better word. She constantly had to know “what her kits were at”—every moment of the day. Even if Deme didn’t choose to be so frank, Jenny would probably find out everything about her regardless. It was not necessarily a bad thing, only it seemed a bit overwhelming. But he supposed Deme and her older sister, Bombalurina, were used to it. It was certainly better than Jenny’s not caring at all—which brought him back to his own mum. Bella was not neglectful or uncaring, far from it. But something was…strange, in her. MacVitie couldn’t put his paw on it and was afraid to ask Munkus or Deuteronomy—no doubt they would be shocked and hurt that he could have such thoughts about his own mother. But he knew there was something—it wasn’t his imagination. Bella made sure her kits were well fed, and even sang MacVitie to sleep most nights—Tugger was “too old for lullabies,” and Munkustrap often stayed out late into the night with their father, walking the length of the Junkyard, learning to look for signs of danger and protect the territory. Yet, when MacVitie spoke with her, there was something—a distance in her eyes. She did not seem to be really there, even though she was right in front of him. Lately she had spent more time at her humans’ house—Deuteronomy said it was because of “the dispute.” When MacVitie asked her what her humans were like, she let out a dreamy sigh and looked off into the distance, as if she would rather be elsewhere. MacVitie did not know what all this meant, but it made him feel strange near his mother and did not encourage him to open his mind to her—not that he had, really, ever been inclined to open his mind to anyone but his father and brother.

“Silly me!” Demeter exclaimed suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts. “Toms don’t talk to their mummies about everything, they talk to their daddies! Right? I forgot. So you must tell Uncle D everything.” MacVitie winced slightly at the abbreviation, but Deuteronomy was difficult for kits to say. Deme’s face took on an awed look. “Your daddy is the leader of all the Jellicles,” she almost whispered. “And the oldest cat in the world. He really knows everything. So he could help you with any problems. Couldn’t he? You should ask him how to make everyone stop being so mean about your name.”

“Maybe. Maybe so. You sure know a lot, Deme,” he replied with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. Then, abruptly, to change the subject, he added, “Wanna chase a mouse?”

“Yes, oh yes!” Demeter exclaimed, clapping her paws gleefully. “Only—wait.” She stopped to think a moment. “I came here to tell you something before, and then we started talking… ohh, I know! My dad says the early train is in the station right now, and if we hurry up he’ll take us to see it, any of us kits who are awake and want to, I mean! Want to go?”

“Okay,” MacVitie nodded agreeably. He’d seen Skimbleshanks’s trains dozens of times—who hadn’t?—but there could always be something new and interesting at the station. Besides, it’d served his purpose: it had got Demeter’s mind on something besides defending his name—that had begun to turn embarrassing. He glanced around. “Is there anyone else we should ask along?”

“Hmm…Cassie’s at her humans’ house, Cori and Tanto probably already know ’cause they’re magicky and can read minds, Bomba’s already waiting with Daddy, Alonzo’s somewhere… What about your big brothers?”

“Tugger’s in the middle of something really important.” MacVitie smirked to himself at the reminder of his brother’s frantic search. “But Munkus might want to go.”

“Munkus might want to go where?” asked a voice behind them, making both kits jump and turn around.

“Don’t do that, Cori,” MacVitie complained, glaring at the black-and-white twins whom Demeter had just referred to as “magicky.” Coricopat and Tantomile had an eerie way of “just knowing things.” They were either magical, as most of the kittens believed, or extraordinarily perceptive, as the adults thought more likely.

“Besides,” Demeter added, addressing Tantomile, “you already know, right?” She watched the other queen eagerly, as if expecting her to “read their minds” right then and there. Tantomile shook her head.

“Please tell me,” she responded pleasantly. Demeter’s ears drooped in disappointment, but she relayed her father’s invitation. The twins glanced at each other before answering together,

“We’d better come along.” Without further ado, they began to lead the way out of the Junkyard.

“But—” MacVitie began to protest.

“Munkustrap can’t come,” Coricopat threw over his shoulder. “He’s keeping an eye on things for the Leader.” It irked MacVitie that the twins could never seem to bring themselves to call Deuteronomy by his name—had to make him sound like some distant entity when, in truth, he was like a loving parent to all of the Jellicles. As for Munkustrap, well, Mack didn’t doubt Cori’s word on that: young as he still was, Munkus always felt the need to protect or take care of something or other, never mind whether it was actually necessary or that the silver tabby scarcely got a moment to breathe or do anything youngkits should do.

“We’ll be all right, though,” Tantomile added. “We’ll have Skimble to care for us, and Alonzo. It’s perfectly safe.” MacVitie thought he detected a slight giggle from Tanto after she mentioned Alonzo.

“Let’s go, then,” he mumbled to Demeter. The queenkit made no move to go, still staring after the twins in frustration.

“They just pick and choose when to tell us stuff and when to just talk in riddles,” she complained.

“Never mind, come on,” MacVitie urged, taking her by the paw and following after Coricopat and Tantomile. “Magicky cats never act like anyone expects, right? They’re not just being mean to us. They can’t help it.” He wasn’t sure that was true; in fact, he got the distinct feeling that the twins often enjoyed holding their knowledge over the heads of ordinary cats. But there was no need to say so to Demeter, who would likely repeat it to her mother, who would likely scold MacVitie for repeating rude things to the younger kits. Mack had more or less learnt the secret to staying out of trouble with each particular adult, and slipped up only seldom—for example, when he deemed the fun great enough to be worth enduring the scolding that would follow.

“You’re right,” said Demeter, her expression clearing up just as quickly as it had clouded. “At least they can tell us if there’s anything scary nearby. Maybe that’s why they said ‘we’d better come along,’ like that. It was kind of funny, wasn’t it? But you’re right, it’s because of their magickyness…”

MacVitie grinned and simply let the younger kitten chatter on, feeling in a much happier mood than when he’d first awakened this morning.

---

“This is called the Engine,” Skimbleshanks was explaining to the kits.

Only Demeter was hanging onto the orange tabby Railway Cat’s every word, eyes widened in fascination. MacVitie and the twins were rather bored, but listened and nodded politely. Alonzo, a black-and-white patched kit around Munkustrap’s age, all but hero-worshiped the silver tabby and considered himself another up-and-coming “tribe protector.” As such, he was paying no attention to Skimble’s lecture, but stood by the excuse that he had to “stand guard” and keep an eye on the surroundings at all times. As for Bombalurina, Demeter’s scarlet-furred older sister, she made no pretense of listening and did not attempt to hide her boredom. She had come along “to help with the babies,” but her ulterior motive was to watch for any cute toms who might be hanging around the railroad tracks. One never knew…

“The Engine,” Skimbleshanks repeated, loudly, noticing his older daughter’s lack of attention. “It’s what pulls the train, Bombalurina.”

“Isn’t that so exciting, Bomba?” Demeter asked eagerly, tugging on her sister’s paw. Bomba flattened her ears, embarrassed to have been singled out so directly in front of the others.

“We all know that, Dad,” the red queen sighed. “Can’t you show us something we’ve never seen before? Like the inside of the train, maybe?”

“Well…” Skimbleshanks paused a moment, as if he might actually consider it. Then, “No,” he said decidedly, with a slight frown. “That would be far too dangerous. You ought to know that, Bomba: it’s difficult enough steering clear of the humans out here. Inside would be a nightmare. Boarding begins in exactly…” He pulled out the fob watch he always carried, and checked the time—or pretended to. Even his own family didn’t entirely believe he could accurately interpret human timepieces; all the same, he did somehow manage to remain nearly always on schedule. “…Ten minutes. It will be a madhouse, and someone might get trapped in some berth and accidentally carried away on the train!” MacVitie and Demeter gasped and exchanged glances, more excited than scared by the prospect of being “accidentally carried away.” It sounded rather fun, and it wasn’t as if they’d never be able to get back again. Noticing their expressions, Skimble brought his face closer to theirs. “That is not a good thing,” he emphasized. “Especially as neither of you has got a human family yet. That means you’ve got no collar and license, and unlicensed animals are taken straight to the animal prison those humans have the gall to call a ‘shelter.’ Furthermore, if not rescued from said ‘shelter’ within a certain amount of time…”

Before Skimble could warm up to his topic and start in on yet another lecture altogether, Coricopat and Tantomile turned abruptly and faced the opposite direction. “Someone’s there,” Coricopat hissed.

Alonzo, jumping at the chance to do some protecting, threw himself in front of the others, lip curled in a snarl, claws at the ready. “What is it?” he demanded.

“Nothing hostile, Alonzo, but thank you all the same,” Tantomile informed the harlequin, again sounding as though she found it a strain not to laugh at him.

“Give us a hint, then,” Alonzo muttered, looking down to hide his embarrassment. “Those of us as aren’t psycho, I mean,” he added, forgetting the exact word for “one-who-can-read-minds.”

“You mean magic, Alonzo,” Demeter whispered, feeling sorry for him.

“So where is the whoever-or-whatever-it-is?” Alonzo prompted the twins, ignoring the gold queenkit.

“There,” Coricopat responded, nodding towards a clump of bushes a little ways from the train tracks. “Care to do the honors, Protector?” He and Tantomile were avoiding one another’s gazes, their struggle not to laugh quite obvious now. Skimble kept an eye on them but did nothing as yet, more or less certain this was no more than a kittens’ game. They are clearly too young to appreciate the importance of my job and will do anything to distract themselves from listening…Should’ve waited until the afternoon train so they’d be more awake and willing to mind me…How does Jenny manage…?

Alonzo was none too eager to approach the Unknown Whatsit in the bushes, but he could not very well back down now. With a slight gulp, he closed the short distance between himself and the plants and pushed back the branches. “Who’s—” His voice cracked terribly; he cleared his throat and tried again. No doubt this is a trick…I’ll kill those moon twins… “Who’s there?” he demanded in what he hoped was a tone of authority. For a moment, no answer came. Alonzo turned round to glare at the twins. “Now, look here…” All at once, he was accosted by two tiny bundles of fur: one jumped up onto his back, the other attached itself to his leg, and once there, both clung as tight as leeches. “Argh!” he yelped, nearly toppling over. “Get ’em off!” He began hopping about, trying to release himself from the unknown fur-creatures.

He cut such a ridiculous figure that, for a moment, the others could only stare. Finally, Bombalurina had the sense to snap, “Stop moving, Lonzi! You’re making them cry!”

“What?” Alonzo froze. The creatures (who had, amazingly enough, managed to keep hold) were nothing more than a couple of kittens. They appeared to be the size of newborns, but clearly this was malnourishment, as their eyes were opened and they were able to leap about the way they just had. Alonzo gaped. “What…? Help…me…?”

“Awww, they’re so cute,” Demeter crooned, able to see the kittens clearly now that Alonzo stood still. “Look, Vitie! They’re tiny! They’ve got the prettiest orangeish-red headfur…No, maybe reddish-orange…Looks a bit like yours, Vitie…”

“Bomba, Alonzo,” Skimble cut in abruptly, “take the others back to the Junkyard. Train’s about to pull out. And thanks to your shenanigans, humans are beginning to stare!”

“But what about them?” Alonzo exclaimed—or, more accurately, wailed.

“So much for Great Protector,” MacVitie snickered. “Scared of a couple babies…”

“Take them to Jenny and Jelly,” Skimble snapped. “You’re big enough to do that much by yourselves, I think!” The train’s whistle let out a shrill blast. “Now clear out before you’re caught!” Without further ado, he rushed off to tend his Railway duties.

“Come along,” Tantomile called cheerily, beginning to lead the way home.

“Dad put me in charge,” Bomba cut in saucily, moving to the front of the group. This morning was not turning out as she’d hoped. Tantomile shrugged and turned to Alonzo.

“Would you like some help carrying them?” she offered. But Alonzo was still miffed by the others’ laughing at him—and by his own absurd behavior afterward.

“No,” he said firmly, and marched—or, rather, limped—after Bombalurina, the kittens still in their places: the one perched on his back, the other attached to his leg. As yet, they had made no noise apart from mewling, which quieted down as soon as Alonzo stopped trying to throw them off.

Coricopat nodded at Demeter and MacVitie. “You two go next. We’ll bring up the rear.”

Demeter gasped. “Rear is not a nice word! Mummy says it’s not as rude as bottom, but…” From the corner of his eye, MacVitie could indeed see humans approaching as Skimble had warned them.

“Come on, don’t you want to go help your mum with the new kittens?” he urged. Without waiting for a response, he hurried after the others, dragging Deme along by the paw.

The twins took one last, swift glance around before following.

MacVitie was baffled. Whatever else this day might be, it certainly had not proved itself boring thus far.

---

“Oh, the poor little dears,” Jennyanydots murmured, cradling one of the tiny kits in her arms. Jellylorum, a cream tabby queen, held the other. Per Skimble’s instructions, the kits had been brought to Jennyanydots in the extra denspace she kept for anycat who happened to need it—for example, abandoned kits or lone strays who joined the Jellicles for safety. Having been fed with the baby bottles Jelly had “borrowed” from her humans’ house and kept in storage for just such an emergency, the kits had gone to sleep, satisfied for the moment. As it turned out, both were toms, twin brothers to all appearances. Both were white-furred with a mixture of ginger and black patches, their headfur completely ginger or “reddish-orange” as Demeter had described it. Thankfully, each of their patched pelts wore slightly different patterns, or they would have been nigh impossible to tell apart.

“And they were simply abandoned by the train tracks?” Jellylorum asked, turning to Demeter and MacVitie, the only two kits who remained looking on. The moment they were no longer needed, Bombalurina and Alonzo had made their escape, while Coricopat and Tantomile did their usual trick of disappearing without a trace until such time as they wished to be seen again.

“It looks that way,” MacVitie nodded.

“I don’t understand,” Demeter pouted. “Why do they just cry and sleep and don’t talk?”

“They’re too young, dear,” Jelly explained patiently.

“What happened to their mummy? They’re too little to be alone, right?” Demeter stroked the headfur of the kit Jelly was holding. “Poor little dears,” she sighed, mimicking her mother.

“That they are,” Jelly sighed, shaking her head. Then, realizing how gloomy she was becoming in front of the kits, “But it’s all right. They’ll be all right now,” she resumed in a brisk tone. “We’ll take care of them, won’t we?”

“Yes!” Demeter agreed, clapping her paws.

“Shh,” MacVitie warned.

“Oh!” Demeter giggled, quickly pressing a paw to her own mouth to muffle it. “I forgot!”

Carefully, Jenny and Jelly lowered the sleeping kits into a basket. “It’s been some time since we’ve had newkits in the ’yard,” Jenny whispered, her voice quivering with emotion. She pulled Demeter close and held her tightly—rather too tightly for even Deme’s liking.

“Mum,” the gold kit protested. “You’re squeezing me!”

“You lot are growing too fast, to my way of thinking,” Jenny sniffed, releasing her daughter but keeping her near. “Why, I remember when you were just this size…”

Jellylorum put a sympathetic paw on Jenny’s shoulder. “Now, dear, kits must grow. It’s the way of things,” she said sensibly, but with a small sigh. She adored newkits, but she and her mate Peter had none of their own as yet.

“And just think, Mummy,” Demeter added, “now we’ve got two little ones to play with!”

“Of course, you’re right,” Jenny acknowledged, sniffing dramatically. “How silly I’m being.” To change the subject, she asked in a more cheery tone, “What shall we call them?”

MacVitie had been hanging back, cringing at how emotional and… “gushy” this situation was becoming. He was just contemplating an escape, seeing as this had very much become the queens’ area of expertise, where he was at a loss. However, at the mention of “what to call them,” he turned back to stay a few moments longer. “Plato and Admetus,” he piped up.

The three queens gave a slight jump and turned round to look at him. They hadn’t exactly forgotten he was there, but he’d been so silent the last few moments…

Jenny looked surprised, then thoughtful. “Where did you hear such fancy names, dear?”

“Mum has used them in my bedtime stories,” MacVitie shrugged, rather embarrassed now that the attention was on him. “She says they’re her most favourite names but she didn’t think of them until after we were already named. Besides, they would have to be names given to twins, she said, because the names sounded so well together. She used a word… De-stink-ish, I think she called it.”

“I believe she meant distinguished,” Jelly put in with an amused smile. “And they certainly are distinguished names at that,” she added. “I’ve heard my humans mention them, always in relation to some high and mighty philosophical book or other. Jenny?”

“Anycat would be honored to hold such intelligent-sounding names,” Jennyanydots agreed, though her face had taken on a slightly worried look. MacVitie couldn’t think why that would be. Was there something wrong with the names? They had just said…

“You didn’t ask what I think,” Demeter cut in indignantly, tapping on MacVitie’s arm to get his attention. Distracted from Jenny, MacVitie turned to the golden queenkit.

“I’m sorry, Deme,” he said quite humbly. “What do you think?”

“Pla-to and Ad-me-tus,” Deme pronounced carefully, to be sure she got them correct. “Yes,” she declared as if that settled it, “it’s agreed.” She looked down at the newly-named Plato and Admetus, eyes shining with pride just as though she had thought of the names herself.

“Only,” Jellylorum added, “which one for which one? I suppose we’ll have to decide by way of their fur patterns…”

“Miss Jellylorum, don’t you dare disturb those kits now we’ve got them to sleep,” Jenny interrupted, shaking her paw in Jelly’s face and pretending to be severe. “Later!” But she could not conceal her delight over the new kits.

Clearly whatever strange look he thought he’d seen, MacVitie had imagined.

Spring

Three words were first and foremost on nearly everycat’s mind and on the tip of everycat’s tongue: The Jellicle Ball.

The Ball was a tradition dating back no-one-knew quite how long. Deuteronomy recalled attending a Jellicle Ball yearly, at least as far back as his young-adulthood. There used to be many groups of cats, he said, each keeping their several celebrations in various areas of the city—and, he didn’t doubt, the entire country, onwards, scattered throughout the rest of the world. It was an opportunity, whatever else happened the rest of the year, for anycat—whether he lived alone or with a family—to spend one night doing nothing else but enjoy himself dancing and singing the night away with fellow cats of every sort imaginable. Everycat simply found the Ball taking place nearest him and joined in the festivities. Once the Invitations were sung, the celebrations were open to all, the only law being that anywhere a Ball took place was for that night neutral territory—no violence of any kind was permitted. And at the end, of course, the Jellicle Choice was made. The Jellicle Choice. The words held such importance—and mystery.

Tugger, Munkustrap, and MacVitie all sat with their father atop a rubbish heap, looking out over their corner of the city, listening to their father explain all this. He wanted them to fully understand both how wonderful and how wild (and hence dangerous) the Ball could be, so they could know how best to help him keep everyone safe. Deuteronomy was interrupted at frequent intervals, as nearly every sentence raised important questions.

“How would you do that?” MacVitie wanted to know. “Keep anyone from turning violent, supposing the fancy took them?” Keeping the Ball open to anyone meant possibly trusting utter strangers, and MacVitie was not sure he fancied that.

“That is a difficult one,” Deuteronomy acknowledged. “The situation rarely arose that I can recall, and when it did, generally it was a petty quarrel or simple misunderstanding and quickly resolved. The chief thing is to have an emergency plan should it be needed: a few strong cats always ready to separate any brawlers, and remove them from the premises if the case is extreme. For our Ball this year, Skimble and Peter will be in charge. I’m depending on you three to help them—take it in turns to sit out of the dancing a few moments, for example, and survey the area to be sure all is well. It need not monopolize anyone’s entire evening—I want you all to enjoy yourselves, and—but you catch my drift, I’m sure.”

MacVitie nodded, sitting up a bit straighter. He couldn’t help feeling pleased and proud that his father at last considered him old enough to take on such responsibility. And truthfully, he wouldn’t mind a bit—keeping watch all night. The idea of dancing, possibly with a queen, terrified him more than the idea of having to ward off an attacker.

“You are welcome to recruit any others you think would fit the bill,” Deuteronomy added, with a pointed wink directed towards Munkustrap. “I believe you have a patched comrade who would jump at the chance.”

“Oh, I’m sure Alonzo will be raring to go,” Munkustrap nodded, with a slight sigh. He didn’t dislike the harlequin tom, far from it. Alonzo was a loyal friend and a good fighter—stronger and better-built than himself, Munkustrap was forced to acknowledge. It had been fun (and, Munkustrap again admitted, good for his ego) when they were youngkits and the harlequin would follow the silver tabby around, asking questions, observing the borders, playfighting, hanging onto Munk’s every word as if convinced the silver tabby held all the world’s knowledge of being a Tribe Protector. As they grew older, however, the harlequin grew rather more interested in flirting with queens than protecting perimeters. Of late he treated fighting and protecting more like personal hobbies and opportunities to show off, rather than necessities to be prepared for at all times should a crisis arise. Munkustrap believed—or hoped—that, in an emergency situation, Alonzo would stay on task, but had never yet been able to test this theory. Alonzo was an obvious choice, if only he would keep focused.

“Of course,” Deuteronomy resumed, “no one quite knows how the Ball will go this year. We have only held one other here in the Junkyard, you remember. Each year, the city grows more crowded and fewer groups keep the celebration. That is partly why I decided to more or less settle down here: this particular rubbish dump appears to no longer be taken notice of by the humans, and as long as that is the case, we may continue here indefinitely. And so I thought it would make a good gathering place, and that many cats who had not been to a Ball in years might appear in answer to our Invitation. Very few turned up last time, however. I fear the Ball is becoming a thing of the past, cats becoming more wild and solitary in their efforts to survive—or simply content to laze about their humans’ homes at all times. Some no longer even believe in the Heaviside Layer, or that a cat can really be chosen to go there and receive a New Life. And then, of course, last year…” He paused. But his sons knew to what he referred: last year, which ought to have been theirs and the other kits’ first Ball, there had been no Ball here at all, because of The Dispute. “But,” he proceeded, with an effort to lighten his tone, “happily, now our Jellicle family has grown by several, and with so many young cats such as yourselves about the place, this year’s Ball ought to be magnificent—the best ever held here, in fact.”

“Oh—it will be, Father,” Tugger spoke up for the first time. MacVitie shot the older tom a sidelong glance. Obnoxiously as he might behave towards nearly everyone else, Tugger still knew to respect Deuteronomy. Only, lately he took this to the extreme and insisted on being ridiculously formal towards his father—would never just call him “dad,” for example. Sometimes he even bowed to him, as if imitating a human in a fancy waistcoat. Deuteronomy did not seem bothered by this one bit, but MacVitie found it simply bizarre and artificial-like. Like that mane, which Tugger wore at all times now, except to sleep or in the rain. “I will personally see to it that this will be the greatest party in the history of parties,” Tugger vowed. Party. There he went, making it sound like a load of humans gathering in a tiny room with music blaring and becoming positively insane. That did not seem to be what Old Deuteronomy would have in mind for a celebration as important as the Jellicle Ball. But the old tom merely nodded encouragingly.

“That’s the spirit, Tugger. Any more questions, any of you?” Deuteronomy added, nodding at each of his sons in turn. Tugger and Munkustrap shook their heads no, then glanced at MacVitie.

The ginger tom hesitated, afraid to ask the question that was truly nagging him: What would we do if we should come under an actual attack—not simply a couple of cats having too much fun or an argument getting out of paw, but suppose there are actually cats out there simply waiting for an opportunity… He could not help feeling that Deuteronomy’s motive for putting together a line of “defense-cats” had to do with a more serious threat than what he was telling them. This was not completely speculation…MacVitie had seen something… Deuteronomy did not want to worry them, but if asked directly, he would have to say more. He would not lie, would he…?

MacVitie’s irresolution lost him the opportunity to ask. All at once, their conversation was cut short by three other cats clambering up onto the pile to join them. “Here you all are!” Demeter exclaimed. She glanced over her shoulder at two patched tomkits. “See? I told you we’d find—” She stopped short and looked at Deuteronomy, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Did we interrupt?”

“Not at all, we’ve just finished talking,” Deuteronomy assured the gold queen, smiling indulgently.

“We wanna show you our new trick!” Plato exclaimed, seizing the leader by his paw.

“Very well,” Deuteronomy laughed, slowly getting up to follow. “Let’s all go along.”

“Yeah, Tuggy, you have to come!” Admetus cried. “If our trick is good enough, will you let us perform it for your—?”

“Shut it!” Tugger jumped up, giving the tomkit a sharp warning glance.

“It’s a surprise, Adme,” Plato snapped, “don’t forget!”

Admetus’ ears drooped. “I’m trying to remember…”

“Don’t worry,” Demeter soothed, taking his paw. “You haven’t given anything away! Let’s show the others this trick of yours.” She turned to MacVitie and Munkustrap, beaming. “Are you two coming?”

“Of course,” Munkustrap began.

“We’ll be there in a minute, Deme,” MacVitie cut in, shooting Munkustrap a meaningful look. “Maybe you can get them to wait for us?”

Demeter looked confused, but nodded. “Of course. Come on, Adme.”

As soon as the others had gone, Munkustrap turned back to face his younger brother. “What are you on about, MacVitie?” he asked, though he was near certain he already knew.

“Munk…I’ve got to… Look, you and I both know we’re not just responsible for protecting everyone from petty quarrels. There’s something more to this. It’s to do with The Dispute. I’ve got to know what happened that night, and why there’s still danger.”

Munkustrap sat back down on the rubbish pile. He took a few deep, shaky breaths, then nodded. “All right. Of course, I can only tell you what Dad’s told me… But first, do you have a reason for thinking there’s still danger?”

“I…I think I saw… Growltiger.”

---

“There you are! It’s about time!” Plato cried impatiently, when at last Munkustrap and MacVitie joined the others.

“You took so long,” Admetus pouted, “now everyone’s got busy doing something else and aren’t even watching anymore!”

Munkustrap grinned at the two. “Sorry about that, Adme,” he said, ruffling the patched tomkit’s ears. “We’re here now, and we’ll watch.”

“And not to worry,” MacVitie added, mirroring Munkustrap’s grin and trying to behave as naturally as possible. Not an easy task, in light of what the two brothers had just discussed and decided. But if Munk could manage, he could manage. “We’ll soon have everyone’s attention again…” He glanced around to track down the others. None had gone far. Demeter and Old Deuteronomy sat talking together a little ways off. Tugger reclined atop an old auto, Bombalurina and Cassandra on either side of him, Tantomile close next to Cass. He was apparently saying something amusing, since every few moments the three queens would giggle. MacVitie shook his head wearily. Even Tantomile was susceptible to Tugger’s “charm?” Enough so that she was actually going about without her shadow, Coricopat, for once! You’d think, being psychic, she’d see what a featherbrain he is and be disgusted. Unless he’s this Genius and is just amazing at hiding it… Alonzo sat a few feet from Tugger and the queens, pretending to keep watch but probably sulking—since hardly any of the city was visible from where he was sitting. No doubt he had been conversing nicely with the queens until The Tugger came along. Might as well rescue him from that awkward situation as well… “Attention, everyone!” MacVitie announced, “the Great Admetus and the Great Plato are about to perform their amazingly daring feat!” He knew the two brothers would enjoy the attention—and that Admetus would be happy having his name announced first, for once, when usually the names tended to roll off one’s tongue the other way round.

In answer to MacVitie’s announcement, most of the others stopped their conversations and gathered around cooperatively. MacVitie looked pointedly up at Tugger, who was moving, but was taking his sweet time about it. “Excuse me, ladies,” Tugger sighed dramatically to Tantomile and Bombalurina and Cassandra, who were still on either side of him. “I’d better humour the little’uns.” He began climbing down the old car, the three queens close behind.

“Come off it,” Bomba snickered, batting at his ear. “You know you adore kits, you great pushover.”

“Nasty little vermin,” he mumbled, though with little conviction.

Once things had settled, everycat quieted down and looked expectantly towards Plato and Admetus. Unfortunately, now that all eyes were on them, the two kits had grown rather nervous.

“Ah…thanks, everyone, for, er, ah, that is…we are now going to…” Admetus attempted some sort of introduction, but blundered about and finally looked, as usual, to his brother to take the lead.

“Never mind, never mind all that,” Plato said, waving a paw dismissively. He was terrified, but was trying with all his might to feign indifference. “MacVitie has told you all what we’re doing, so…C’mon, Adme, let’s show ’em!”

The patched kits made their way over to the old car. After whispering together for a moment, Admetus climbed into the car’s boot, and Plato shut him in—or as nearly shut him in as was possible, since the door was broken and would not close all the way. (Old Deuteronomy had seen to this following an incident in which Jennyanydots somehow became locked inside and had nearly suffocated.) After shutting his brother into the boot, Plato faced away from the car, in a slightly crouching position, front paws up in the air, and waited.

MacVitie glanced at Demeter, eyebrow raised inquiringly. What could these kits have in mind? But Deme shook her head. “I promised not to tell,” she whispered. MacVitie shrugged and turned back round. It couldn’t be dangerous, or she’d be showing more concern.

All at once, the door to the boot burst open, Admetus came leaping out, and the next moment he lay in a heap on the floor, Plato pinned underneath him. Demeter gasped and would have run to the two toms, but MacVitie seized her arm and held her back. “That wasn’t what they planned,” she hissed. “They might be hurt.”

“All right,” he shot back, “but wait a minute. Most likely only their pride is hurt, so don’t mollycoddle them or you’ll make it worse. Clap your paws.” It was a human trick Munkustrap had taught him—was supposed to indicate joy or approval, or some such notion. It felt odd, but he supposed it was more dignified than, say, pounding the floor and grunting like apes… He and Demeter began an enthusiastic round of applause, and the others followed politely, though some of them were hard-pressed to contain their laughter.

After a moment, the two brothers managed to get back up on their feet. True to MacVitie’s prediction, they appeared physically unscathed. But Plato was beet-red with anger and embarrassment, while Admetus looked utterly baffled and disoriented. It seemed he had no idea what had gone wrong. Still, both managed a bow, after which Deuteronomy got everycat to “scatter” and give the kits time to recover their dignity.

Demeter now would have made a beeline for the two, but once again MacVitie stopped her. The gold queen turned to face him, now quite put-out. “Look here,” she growled, “just because they pretend to be all tough and big-tom-like, doesn’t mean someone shouldn’t make sure they’re all right! They’re still practically babies, in case you’d—”

“I hadn’t forgotten,” MacVitie interrupted, “but if you can just manage to keep your distance for a bit longer. I’ll go check up on…”

“Oh, it’s all right for you to check on them, but not me? Because they follow you everywhere, you’re suddenly the kitten-expert? What’ll you tell them— ‘just toughen up and walk it off’?”

“You’re completely off the point,” MacVitie practically snarled. When did she get to be so impossible? “They need someone to make sure they’re all right, but not someone to fuss over them. You know that’s what you’d do, just like…” He stopped himself just short of going too far with that sentence, but she caught the drift anyway.

“Just like my mum? That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? Well, let me tell you…”

“What’s the matter?” interrupted Munkustrap, coming between the two.

“Nothing,” the gold queen and ginger tom both responded at once.

“I’m going to see about the kits,” MacVitie said coolly, stalking off. He glanced once over his shoulder, and it appeared that Munkustrap was attempting to talk Demeter down from her frustration—at least with reasonable success, from the looks of things. MacVitie turned back round, shaking his head. How had he got stuck with a queen for his chief friend? They were nothing but trouble, and only grew worse as they grew older. He didn’t see how Tugger could stand to spend so much time with them, nor how Munkustrap could be so patient with them. Unreasonable creatures they were, and got angry for no reason at all. At least if he fought with a tom, he’d know what they were fighting over.

“Not quite as planned then?” he inquired, coming upon Plato and Admetus. They had been arguing heatedly, but paused to glare at him.

“It was all his fault,” Plato declared, pointing at his brother. “He jumped out of the boot far too soon—”

“I didn’t,” Admetus wailed, “it just opened on its own and I fell out!”

“Couldn’t have done,” Plato snarled, ready to tear his headfur out in frustration. MacVitie stepped between the two before Plato could change his mind and tear Admetus’s headfur out instead.

Admetus had a wild imagination and often exaggerated, but this situation really took the cake. The boot opened on its own? “Adme,” MacVitie said, crouching down to look the younger tom in the eye, “think carefully. Was that really what happened?”

“Yes!” Admetus insisted, ready to cry.

“Baby,” Plato muttered.

“I didn’t open it!” Admetus repeated. Before MacVitie could question the kit further, he heard some sort of loud to-do back in the direction of the Tire. Perhaps a distraction, rather than further argument, was in order here…

“What d’you suppose that is?” MacVitie exclaimed, turning round to face the noise.

Plato’s expression had relaxed a bit. “Someone’s here!” he said, “Someone different I’ve never seen before!”

“R-really?” Admetus sniffled loudly and wiped a paw across his nose. “Who?”

“Let’s find out,” suggested MacVitie.

When they reached the others, Bella, Jellylorum, Peter, Skimble, and Jennyanydots had appeared, along with a large, black tuxedo tom—the largest, in fact, any of the kits had ever seen. He was tall, yes, but more noticeable was his humongous girth. MacVitie dimly recalled seeing him about the Junkyard once or twice before, but it had been quite some time, and he couldn’t remember the tom’s name. Next to the large tom stood a tiny tomkit with a nearly-identical fur color and pattern. Well, not tiny, MacVitie had to concede. The kit was around the same size as Plato and Admetus, perhaps slightly smaller. He was merely dwarfed by the sheer enormity of the adult tom—his father, perhaps?—beside him. Old Deuteronomy stood conversing with the large tom and the other adults, while the younger cats looked on—with the exception, MacVitie noted with a roll of his eyes, of Tugger and Bomba, who had returned to their perch on the car. Tugger probably remembered the “new” tom better than the others, and was not as curious—or pretended not to be. Munkustrap, Demeter, and Cassandra stood a polite distance off, waiting for an opportunity to join the conversation. Demeter pointedly avoided looking in MacVitie’s direction. Coricopat had joined Tantomile, and the twins stood facing the tuxedo tomkit in what appeared to be a staring contest. MacVitie briefly wondered if they were holding some sort of telepathic conversation. Whatever it was, it was broken by the arrival of himself and Plato and Admetus.

“Hi,” Plato greeted the new tomkit boldly. The kit looked at him but gave no response, until Admetus joined them.

“Sorry about the boot, Admetus,” the tuxedo kit murmured, so quietly that the others had to strain to hear him.

“Huh?” Admetus asked, startled. “How do you know my name? And, er, what are you talking about?” He glanced uneasily at his brother, dreading lest Plato become irritated again with the return of the subject.

“Cori and Tanto told me,” the new tom went on. “I didn’t know someone was in there. I was just curious, so I opened the door and looked in. So don’t be mad at him,” he added, looking at Plato. Plato stared at the strange kit, for once too shocked to say anything.

“Want to tell me what the kit’s on about?” MacVitie frowned, turning to Coricopat and Tantomile.

“I think he’s explaining himself well enough, don’t you?” said Coricopat.

“No,” MacVitie said firmly, “I could use some embellishment.” Before we’re all thoroughly spooked.

“Well, it would seem he’s gifted,” Tantomile said, shrugging as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

“So—what, he’s like you two?”

“No,” Tantomile frowned, as if even she didn’t quite understand it.

“Somewhat different,” Coricopat said. “Well, you heard him—he opened the boot without being anywhere near it. We can’t do that sort of thing.”

“So,” Plato said to the new tomkit, “you’re—what’s your name, anyway?”

“Quaxo,” the tomkit responded. After a moment, he added, “Though sometimes it’s…”

“Don’t make it confusing,” Plato waved a paw impatiently. “So, Quaxo, you’re another weird cat like those creepy twins?”

MacVitie winced, listening to him. No one had tried to give Plato and Admetus a negative outlook on Tantomile and Coricopat’s mystical abilities, but he supposed their own feelings couldn’t help showing. And it was true, though no one necessarily disliked the twins, no one felt quite perfectly comfortable around them, either.

“So you don’t…you know, play, and normal things like that?” Admetus asked, disappointed.

“Of course I can play,” said Quaxo, now on the defensive. He paused. “At least. I think so. I never had anyone to play with before. Except Uncle Bustopher,” indicating the adult tom he’d come with, “but he can’t move about very much, playing-wise…if you know what I mean…”

Uncle, eh? Yes, the name Bustopher most certainly rang a bell now. MacVitie turned his attention on the adults’ conversation while the kits continued talking.

“Er, ahem,” Bustopher was saying, “so, for meself, I won’t be able to attend the Ball except perhaps a few moments, an hour at most. And I can’t make a long stay of it either before or after. Lots t’do, lots t’do, you know, you understand. But the thought struck me, young Quaxo here, he’s of an age to want to be among other youngsters, not with the likes of me day and night. If you are willing, and the little chap likes it here of course, I’d be greatly obliged if he could stay on here for some time. That is, these few days until the Ball, and then longer afterwards if he’s a mind to and hasn’t gone homesick yet. He’ll not be any trouble, Sir Deuteronomy, I can guarantee. He is young, but he’s a smart little feller, and I’ve taught him manners and discipline as best I can—and me own knowledge in such things, as you know, is by no means lacking. He ought to be a model citizen here, other than the ordinary scrapes into which young’uns will sometimes get themselves…But no harm done, no harm done. What say you to that, eh?”

“I say it’s a splendid idea, old friend,” Deuteronomy declared, gripping Bustopher warmly by the paw. He looked round at the other adults, who nodded in agreement.

“And,” Jenny added, glancing smilingly towards Quaxo and the others, “it appears your little lad is putting his best footpaw forward already. Have you introduced yourselves, dear?” she added, addressing MacVitie as he appeared to be attending to both conversations.

MacVitie thought, Why, no, as a matter of fact introducing ourselves seems completely unnecessary as he either already knows our names or has been told them telepathically by the Mystic Twins. Aloud, he answered Jenny, “Yes, introductions have been made.” Technically Quaxo hadn’t shown that he knew Plato or MacVitie’s names yet, but no doubt he would soon in any case, either by keeping in touch with the twins or by hearing it spoken like any ordinary cat. (What a novel idea!) With Jenny, it was simpler to stick to the bare minimum of facts, not cloud the issue with speculation.

“Good for you,” Jenny beamed, patting him lightly on the shoulder. Somecats may find the Gumbie Cat difficult to please, MacVitie reflected, but really it was just a matter of making sure the “niceties” (in other words, the dull-but-necessary politenesses) were observed in any given situation. Once those were attended to, Jenny was happy, and everyone could relax and do as they pleased. It’s the simple things… “As you may have heard,” she continued, drawing him further into the adults’ conversation, “little Quaxo will be staying with us until the Ball, and perhaps longer afterward.”

“Bustopher,” Old Deuteronomy added, “you surely remember mine and Bella’s son MacVitie.” MacVitie was not exactly thrilled to be brought into the middle of everything, but he did stand up just a bit straighter at his father’s words. Not “my youngest,” not “my little MacVitie,” not even “my third son.”

“But of course. Though perhaps you may not remember me, m’boy,” Bustopher chortled. “Quite the little tyke then, weren’t you, smaller I think than even me boy Quaxo is now.” Jenny winced slightly, but she needn’t have. Even Bustopher’s rather clumsy words couldn’t faze MacVitie at the moment. “But no matter, no matter. Pleased to see you once more. I do hope you’ll encourage the others to make a playmate of him.”

“Of course…” MacVitie began.

“Oh yes,” Jelly interrupted, “don’t allow him to feel left out or become homesick, and be sure to come to us with any concerns.”

“And take care he doesn’t get lost,” Jenny added. Who am I supposed to be, Munkustrap?

“Now, then,” Old Deuteronomy cut in smoothly, rescuing his kit from a series of lectures, “I believe we can safely trust MacVitie and the others to know what they’re about when it comes to caring for our new young friend. Suppose we allow them some space to breathe in the meanwhile rather than overwhelming them with our well-intentioned-but-superfluous advice? MacVitie, would you please see to it everyone knows the situation and to take time in the course of the evening to introduce themselves to Quaxo?”

“Of course, Father,” MacVitie nodded, and gratefully made his escape. He was aware that he’d just addressed Deuteronomy in the formal manner for which he’d mocked Tugger earlier; but somehow it didn’t seem quite fitting to address the ancient tom with his usual kit-to-dad casual familiarity after Deuteronomy had just taken the trouble to demonstrate he considered his youngest son grown-up and responsible.

With a sudden recollection, MacVitie glanced at the sky. It was nearing dark, and he and Munkustrap had a task to attend—one he’d almost forgotten in all the commotion.

He hurried to pass along his father’s message.

---

“Are you sure he’ll be here?”

“No.”

Munkustrap peered out from behind the pile of old tubs where the two toms were hiding, then pulled his head back round, unable to suppress a frustrated sigh. “So essentially we’re having what my humans would call a ‘stake-out.’”

“If you say so.” MacVitie shrugged. “Look, all I know is I’ve seen him here at least twice.”

“And after hearing what he’s—what he’s capable of—you still think the best idea is investigating it for ourselves?”

“If you think Dad should know, then go on and tell him,” MacVitie snapped. “Only I wish you’d not waited until now to have second thoughts.”

“No…if we can save Dad having to worry about this…you’re right, that should be avoided if at all possible. It’s just, if he decides to try anything…Growltiger, I mean…Neither of us is a match for him. Not even the two of us together, most likely.”

MacVitie raised an eyebrow. Don’t be so sure, Muscles. “Maybe. But I don’t think that’s his intention—at least not now. He met my eye this last time—he saw me watching him—but did nothing. Call me mad, but it seems to me he wants to talk. Is that completely unbelievable? Is he nothing but a giant brute what can’t be reasoned with?”

“I…” Munkustrap shook his head. “I don’t know. He was here such a short time, we didn’t have much chance to get to know him…”

“For myself,” MacVitie interrupted, “the little I remember of him is as a great jokester. Always laughing, never serious. A ‘gentle giant.’ He even seemed fun to us kits. I can still hardly imagine his being capable of—” He glanced searchingly into his brother’s face. “Does…Cassandra know?” Despite the Tonkinese queen’s having been in the Junkyard as long as he could remember, MacVitie doubted he’d exchanged more than twenty sentences with her in all the time of their acquaintance. Not, he must admit, that he’d ever really gone out of his way to speak with her. She was not the most open, approachable feline. Indeed, he got the sense that on the rare occasions when she deigned to look at him, it was down her nose. Still, now he of necessity began to see Cassandra in a somewhat different light: as someone alone who needed protecting. And perhaps he had now learnt the reason for her being so withdrawn.

“I’m not certain…but I don’t think she does.” The silver tabby held up a paw, seeing MacVitie about to interject. “I know. I know. But think how young she was—how young we all were—when this happened. Truthfully, I’ve not known everything that happened much longer than you. And—I’m fairly sure there’s still bits I don’t know.”

“Bits Dad is still keeping back, you mean,” MacVitie grumbled. “So—what? She just thinks her parents disappeared one night and hasn’t the foggiest if they’re alive or dead?”

“To be perfectly honest…”

“That’d be nice.”

Munkustrap frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, Mackey.” His voice had just the slightest edge to it now, the only indication that he was beginning to be bothered by MacVitie’s attitude. “I was about to say, she may not remember her parents. I agree she still deserves to be told what happened to them, but doubtless Dad was waiting until the right time to tell her…and with things like this…when is there ever a right time?”

Perhaps, MacVitie reflected, he was being too brash, not understanding enough. But he couldn’t very well back down now, though it unnerved him that he and Munkustrap were coming dangerously close to a real fight, something that rarely happened between them. “All I mean,” MacVitie proceeded, with an effort to moderate his tone, “is that the more you tell me, the more it seems…that is…I feel…we’ve been lied to. And it isn’t just a family matter, either: it affects the whole tribe. What about Alonzo? Is he aware that he’s no orphan but in fact his parents are part of an evil crew of murdering masterminds…”

“Is that what he calls us?” guffawed a voice close behind them—one familiar to the two brothers, but one neither had heard since the event that had finally begun to seem like a distant nightmare.

“Blast,” MacVitie muttered, realizing he and Munk had been jabbering on like apes instead of keeping watch. Both toms turned about to face the newcomer: a ginger, red, and black tiger-striped tom at least twice the size of either brother. He had only one ear, and wore a black eyepatch—Pirate, Munkustrap couldn’t help thinking, remembering one of his humans’ storybooks.

“Too true,” Growltiger went on gravely. “You lads are fortunate no one of ill intent came along. You’d’ve been snatched up easily as sitting ducks, an’ no mistake.”

MacVitie’s lip curled in a snarl, and he would have spoken up but for the warning glance Munkustrap shot him which clearly read, Leave the speaking to me. It irked MacVitie that he was expected to keep silent when this was all his idea, but he held his peace for now. Munkus was more the diplomat than he, after all, if the way he handled queens’ ‘moods’ were any indication. He waited to hear how the silver tabby would ‘handle’ this situation.

“No one of ill-intent?” Munkustrap repeated, regarding Growltiger with a cold, hard gaze. MacVitie hadn’t thought his brother capable of looking that way at anyone. “And what do you call yourself? As I understand, you have been banished from the Jellicle Tribe forever. If you’ll leave now and never return, we’ll not alert the Leader, and no more need be said about it.”

“Is that meant to frighten me off?” Growltiger laughed again. “Little Stripes standin’ here tryin’ to run off his old uncle! That is what we used to call ye, innit? Come now, nevvy, let’s not keep things so bloody formal. I know it’s been quite some time, but we’re family—well, as good as. No amount o’ banishing can change that. Me ole messmate Deuteronomy, whom ye so grandly refer to as ‘the Leader,’ understands as much.”

“You gave up any form of friendship or kinship,” Munkustrap continued firmly, though his voice took on the slightest quiver, “with Father and us, when you took it upon yourself to murder members of your own tribe.”

“Murder?” the tiger tom repeated, in an offended tone. “Is that wot they’re calling self-defense? What is one meant to do when one is suddenly set upon by a half-dozen cats?” He turned to MacVitie. “Little Ginger-Snap, innit? Do you believe this rubbish? Ye can see for yerself, I lost most of me ear and an eye in this unprovoked attack!”

“Unprovoked? I highly doubt that,” MacVitie growled, unable to avoid speaking up as he’d been directly addressed.

“Leave him alone,” Munkustrap snarled, coming between them.

“Is this how the Jellicles behave nowadays?” Growltiger exclaimed, holding up his paws defensively. “I’ve done nothing, yet yer ready to tear me to bits. Mind, this in’t the first time I’ve experienced such treatment…” MacVitie couldn’t help feeling that Munkus was being a bit harsh when Growltiger had, it was true, behaved peacefully thus far.

“You are doing wrong merely by being here,” Munkustrap responded. “If you’ve something decent to say, something you wish to pass along to Deuteronomy, I’ll tell him and find what he has to say. But we’ll not stand here and listen to your lies. If you’ve a message, say it and be on your way.”

“Lies,” Growltiger repeated, as if he couldn’t understand the word. “You hear him?” he asked, speaking to MacVitie over Munkustrap’s shoulder. “Lies, he says, yet you’ve no way of really knowing, have ye? Seein’s yer Da won’t trust or respect you enough to give the whole story.” MacVitie couldn’t help wondering: if he could speak with Growltiger, just for a few moments, question him, might he possibly uncover more about that night? He so desperately wanted to know…

“You heard Munkustrap,” Mack growled, shaking his head to clear it of such dangerous thoughts. “Give your message and clear off. Or just clear off.”

“Ah, but y’see,” Growltiger sighed, shaking his head wearily, “me message isn’t for Old D. It’s for you lads. Particularly you, Vitie. But you’ll neither of you hear it: all’s you feel like doing is runnin’ me off. I see that. So I’ll go…” Actions suiting his words, he turned and began making his way out of the Junkyard. “But consider,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ve information interesting to the both of you. If ever ye decide to hear it…I’ll not be far away.”

“Come round here again and you’ll regret it,” Munkustrap shot back.

“He’s not going to stay away,” MacVitie said the moment the tom’s tiger-striped pelt was out of sight.

“I know.” Munkustrap sank to the floor and leaned back against the pile of tubs, letting out a frustrated growl.

“Without…speaking to him further,” Mack went on haltingly, sitting down beside his brother, “we’ve no way of knowing his intentions.”

“And if we do speak to him,” Munk countered, “we’ve no way of knowing if anything he tells us is true.”

“Agreed.”

“Who was that?” whispered a voice above them, unmistakably that of a kitten. Both toms jumped to their footpaws, startled, and squinted into the near-darkness to look for who’d spoken.

“Quaxo!” MacVitie exclaimed, “what are you doing here?” He spoke in a more irritable tone than he’d intended—was just shy of all-out shouting at the tuxedo tomkit. Whatever else he and Munkustrap decided to do about Growltiger, one obvious point was that no one vulnerable should become mixed up in the situation—most especially the kits. Yet now little Quaxo, their guest here no less, entrusted to their protection by Bustopher, was already falling headlong into it! How much had he heard? How had he managed to get up there unnoticed? “Come down from there and explain yourself,” MacVitie commanded. He reached out to Quaxo, intending to help him down, but the tomkit shrank back, clearly unnerved by the ginger tom’s sternness.

“It’s all right, Quaxo,” Munkustrap attempted in a much kinder tone, placing a paw on MacVitie’s shoulder to calm him. “We just don’t want you to get hurt. Won’t you please come down now? You know we promised Bustopher we’d keep you safe.” He offered the little tom his paw, but Quaxo leapt nimbly and silently down to the floor without any assistance.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said softly, looking from MacVitie to Munkustrap and back again. His gaze lingered on MacVitie, looking more like the gaze of a concerned parent than that of a scolded kit. Somewhat timidly, he patted MacVitie on the knee.

“I’m sorry I shouted, Quaxo,” Mack sighed. “I wasn’t really upset with you…”

“You only spoke loudly,” Quaxo observed; “you weren’t quite shouting. And you were upset by that big grown-up tom…”

“Quaxo,” Munkustrap interrupted, as if to distract him, “why are you out here all alone? Isn’t it time you were asleep?”

“I was almost asleep,” the tomkit explained. “Demeter and Bombalurina were meant to show me where I should stay. They asked would I rather stay with Plato and Admetus or have my own den. Plato and Admetus wanted me to stay with them because it would be such fun, they said, but I have trouble going off to sleep with too many cats around, and besides those two would just talk all night instead of sleeping, so I asked for my own den, I hope it didn’t hurt their feelings, I think they forgot quickly, but if they aren’t speaking to me tomorrow you’ll know why. So Demeter showed me this nice old piece of drain pipe I could sleep in, and it was quite comfy, and I was almost asleep, like I said, when I heard your voices. I tried not to listen, but couldn’t help it and couldn’t sleep, and you sounded upset, so I came to see who you were speaking to and why it upset you. And that’s why I’m here.” As Quaxo finally stopped to catch his breath, his ears flattened slightly. “I know the grown-ups don’t want me to wander alone, but I had to come and see. Who was that tom?” he repeated.

A substantial amount of silence followed, as the two older toms gaped at one another in complete and utter flabbergastation. For the moment, their worries about Growltiger all but dissolved in the face of their confusion over exactly who or what this kit was. Smart little fellow, Bustopher had called him. That description seemed just slightly short of the mark.

“Quaxo,” Munkustrap began cautiously, “are you sure you heard us? The pipe is quite a ways from here, and we were being very quiet…”

“You sounded about normal volume,” Quaxo corrected, “and perhaps I’ve got excellent ears. I hear a lot of things.”

“Quaxo,” MacVitie spoke up, realizing he’d not yet had the chance to tell Munkustrap of certain things he’d already learnt about the tomkit. “Earlier, when you, well…opened up the boot of the car and accidentally sabotaged Plato and Admetus’s show…”

Apart from a rather sharp intake of breath, Munkustrap managed for Quaxo’s benefit to hide his shock at this (to him) new revelation—though he shot MacVitie a glance that clearly stated, You will explain all this to me the moment we’re alone.

“They aren’t still upset about that, are they?” Quaxo gasped, his eyes widening. He seemed to concentrate for a moment. “No, I don’t think they are,” he answered his own question. “But it’s hard to tell with them snoring so loudly…”

“No, no, that’s not why I’m mentioning it,” MacVitie interrupted hastily. “But after that, Tantomile said you were ‘gifted.’ Do you know what she meant by that?”

“Hmm…no, but it was very nice of her,” Quaxo shrugged. “Gifted. Every cat is gifted, right? Some can run fast, some can catch mice, some can sing, some can dance…speaking of singing and dancing, I can’t wait to see what this whole Ball thing is all about—oi, why do you keep distracting me?” he burst out suddenly. “You don’t want me to know anything about that giant tom, do you?” he added, his tone turning rather sulky. “Not giant,” he conceded; “Uncle Bustopher’s giant. But this one is rather large. Still. Something’s the matter with him, right? He’s only got one ear, and his entire look is just generally ill-favoured. So why are you standing around asking me all these questions instead of doing something about it?” As if to emphasize his point, Quaxo pounded the floor with his right paw—which would have been comical if at the same moment Munkustrap and MacVitie hadn’t seen small bolts of light shoot out from underneath that tiny paw. The bolts did not reach far before disappearing, but neither brother could resist taking a jump back as if to avoid electrocution. “Oh, it does that sometimes,” Quaxo said carelessly. “Uncle Bustopher says it’s some science-y thing the humans call static…”

“There you are!”

The three toms turned around to face yet another newcomer. “Catnip,” MacVitie muttered. “Let’s just wake the entire ’yard, shall we?”

“I’m sorry, Demeter,” Quaxo said meekly, approaching the gold queen in an effort to defuse the situation before she could begin scolding. “I know you said to stay in the pipe until morning, but MacVitie and Munkustrap…” He glanced back at the toms. “No,” he continued decidedly, “they don’t want me to tell you. Which is good, because I’ve no idea what they were, in fact, doing, since they kept me distracted with questions.”

“And I’m sure I don’t want to know,” Demeter sighed wearily. “Let’s get you back to your den now. Would you like me to carry you?”

“No, I’ll be fi—” Demeter suddenly found herself having to catch the tuxedo tomkit to save him from falling into a snoring heap on the floor.

“I’m sure you’ve a good reason for being out here at this hour,” Demeter told Munkustrap, lifting the sleeping kitten easily in her arms. “Just try to keep the little ones out of it from now on, please?” She glanced pointedly towards MacVitie before turning to leave.

“I don’t suppose,” Munkustrap inquired when she had gone, “you’d like to talk about what’s going on between—”

“No,” MacVitie cut in firmly. “There’s been enough strangeness here tonight without bringing queens into it. Please, Munkus. I’d prefer to deal with…that particular situation…later.” Much, much later. Better yet, never… “Let’s just return to the matter at paw: what to do about our unwanted-visitor-who-could-be-dangerous-but-nothing-is-certain-because-he-didn’t-actually-tell-us-anything.”

“Fair enough,” Munk groaned, rubbing a paw across his forehead. “But first,” he added, “Quaxo.”

“Oh, that I can explain in less than a minute—because what I know is next to nothing. The kit knows things he’s no business knowing, and can do things he’s no business being able to do.”

“But is clearly unaware that there’s anything strange or abnormal about his abilities, yes? I’d possibly call the ‘knowing’ simply ‘being good at reading others,’ but that…blue lightning, or whatever it was, and his supposedly opening the boot without being anywhere near it? I suppose Coricopat and Tantomile could shed some light on the matter...”

MacVitie shook his head. “That’s the frightening thing. He baffles even them. Tantomile could only say, ‘He’s gifted.’”

“Well,” Munkustrap shrugged, “I don’t suppose there’s anything much to worry about…”

“Apart from his powers growing as he grows and his accidentally harming someone?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Yes, he’ll have to learn caution, and that can’t happen until he realizes he has these abilities. Let’s hope the twins can help with that. But for now, he’s just a kitten. He’s not…”

“Not ready? Like Cassandra and Alonzo ‘weren’t ready’ to learn about their families?”

Munkustrap jerked back as if his younger brother had struck him a blow to the face. “Mack…”

“That was low,” MacVitie added hastily, immediately regretting his words. “I only mean…let’s not…wait too long…we don’t want our telling him to be made necessary by someone’s getting accidentally hurt.”

“Agreed.” Munkustrap’s tone remained subdued, and MacVitie for the first time stopped to consider the toll this day must be taking on his older brother.

Only… He really had no idea. Once, Munkustrap had offered to tell about that night and MacVitie had stopped him: desperate as he’d been to know, he’d been more desperate to save Munkustrap the pain caused by even the mention of the Dispute. But today, he’d abruptly and unhesitatingly asked—practically demanded—the knowledge from his brother, right then and there. Yes, it had been important. But MacVitie still ought to have shown some concern for Munkustrap—he hadn’t even asked exactly what it was that haunted the silver tabby. Instead, all he’d thought of was confronting Growltiger and getting information: as much for the sake of satisfying his own curiosity as for the sake of protecting the Tribe. And yet, now that they’d seen Growltiger, they knew little more than they’d already known; but Munkustrap still had to live with whatever inner battle he was experiencing, while MacVitie had behaved and spoken as if he couldn’t care less.

“Well,” Munkustrap resumed, attempting a heartier tone, “meanwhile… Can we conceive of a plan in which we figure out what Growltiger is up to without putting ourselves and others at risk—Mack…?”

MacVitie had turned away and was scanning the area, as if making sure no one else was about. “Catnip,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Double and triple catnip…” He turned back round. “Munk, Growltiger can wait. Sit.” Munkustrap was so startled, he obeyed without a moment’s hesitation, though his face clearly expressed concern over MacVitie’s mental wellbeing. Ignoring the look, MacVitie sat down beside him. “First, know that if you mention this to anyone ever, you are going to die the horrible and painful death a hundred times over. Clear?”

“Mention what?”

“This, you great oaf.” Before he could persuade himself otherwise, the ginger tom scooted right up against Munkustrap, wrapped his arms around him, and laid his head on the silver tom’s shoulder—something he hadn’t done since they were kits. It felt ridiculous, and probably looked so. But in that moment, MacVitie knew of no better measure to turn to.

For much of their kittenhood, there had been an unspoken agreement among the three brothers: ‘snuggling’ was only permitted under one of two extenuating circumstances—the worst of nightmares or the coldest of weather. No matter how loudly any of them might speak against it in the daylight, in the moment of need none thought the worse of another for seeking warmth or comfort from another cat’s presence. It was one of the few things Tugger and MacVitie had ever agreed upon—and then, neither would audibly admit to agreeing on it.

Now they were nearly fullgrown, and here MacVitie sat holding his great big muscly brother as if they were still newkits in their den and one of them had awakened mewling from night terrors. “Tell me about that night—and I don’t mean the ‘facts’ of what you know occurred. Tell me what happened to you.”

Munkustrap attempted—quite feebly, MacVitie noted with a small smirk—to object. “What…that’s…Mack, it’s unimportant now, what matters is that we…”

“Rubbish,” MacVitie cut in, though from the sound of his voice Munk couldn’t have kept it together long enough to continue in any case. “You listen to me, and you listen good and proper. Of course it matters, you dolt. If you like, you can think of it this way: you’ll be no help in this situation or any other, no use to anyone, if you continue to walk around scarred for life from whatever it is you saw that night and never talk it out with someone.” He was more reciting the sort of speech Deuteronomy would give on the matter than saying what he actually thought. MacVitie could be quite the brooder himself; “talking it out” was certainly not his forte. But he more or less knew it was what one ought to do; and it would surely make sense to Munkustrap, who “talked things out” with others about their feelings on a nearly daily basis but often neglected to deal with his own.

Munkustrap looked up sharply. “What do you mean—what makes you think I saw something?”

“Only,” MacVitie shrugged, “that I have trouble believing the kitten-friendly account Dad would have first given you could possibly tear into you the way something clearly has. And…you were off ‘hunting food’ for quite a while.” He watched his brother expectantly, though he half-hoped Munkustrap would prove him wrong—no, nothing as terrible as all that happened, in fact I am brooding, but it’s over something entirely unrelated and can be dealt with some other time, and so forth.

Indeed, for a moment it looked as though Munkustrap would open his mouth and start in on just such an explanation.

But all at once, MacVitie saw him give way. Then he knew that there was something, something Munkustrap felt he had to say—because he had no way to conceal it any longer apart from flat-out lying. “All right. You’ve got me.” Now that he’d committed to sharing, the silver tabby seemed strangely calm. MacVitie hoped this meant he’d been right to insist, and hadn’t simply made matters worse. Instinctively, he tightened his grip on his brother. “Please understand, I’ve not told you this before because…well, for one, what happened that night was awful enough without any more vivid details surfacing. And then, too, every time I’ve thought of it…I’ve…worried that it might get back to Cassandra—that she might find out in the wrong way.” Munkustrap held up a paw. “I know you’re trustworthy. But…there are all sorts of ears round about the junkyard.” At that, the silver tabby sent a quick, sharp glance around.

“He’s sound asleep, remember?” MacVitie prompted, guessing whom Munk had thought of.

“Right.” Munkustrap didn’t look as though that fact reassured him, but continued regardless. “I went, as you remember, looking for food. I’ve told you that. What I haven’t told you is that I came across Dad and the others returning. They didn’t see me,” he added quickly. “And I stopped and kept out of sight—truth be told, for the moment I forgot their mission and only feared I’d be in trouble for being out of the ’yard so late.” He grinned weakly. “But then…They paused a moment, I suppose to rest, and I noticed that they were all over blood, almost head to tail, every one of them.” He shuddered. MacVitie buried his face in Munk’s shoulder fur, afraid to speak. “Mum—Dad—Jelly—Jenny—Skimble—Peter—even Jelly’s father, Old Asparagus, had gone along to help. I couldn’t ever imagine any of them laying a paw on another cat in anger, not ever. Yet their appearances suggested otherwise. Dad said something akin to, ‘We should wash up as best we can. No need to frighten the young ones.’ He was carrying something and shifted it to the other shoulder—I thought at first it was some sort of large bag or sack, but…it was Hecuba. Cassandra’s mother,” he added, realizing MacVitie may not have remembered her name. No one intended to behave as if Cassandra’s parents never existed, but as no one quite knew how to speak of them either, they had managed to become an unofficially forbidden subject all the same. “Her…body, limp as a rag doll.”

MacVitie looked up. “And…her dad?” he ventured. “Gilbert, was it?”

“Gilbert, yes. He…” Munk shook his head. “I don’t know. He wasn’t there.”

“You mean—he could still be alive?”

“It’s possible,” Munk admitted reluctantly, “but…”

“Great Heaviside!” Mack all but yowled, leaping to his footpaws, “did no one ever look for him?”

“Shh, Mack,” Munkustrap pleaded, “please…I don’t know.” MacVitie forced himself to be seated again and listen. “Think, MacVitie,” his brother continued, “if he’d been alive, wouldn’t he have returned with the others? That he didn’t most likely tells that…his body was maimed beyond recognition, or…he joined Growltiger’s gang.”

“Those can’t be the only two options,” MacVitie insisted. “Suppose he was forced to stay. Suppose he made some sort of bargain with Growltiger, one he couldn’t escape, like Alonzo’s parents.” The ginger tom shuddered. Is that what would happen to him and Munkustrap if they investigated this mystery any further? Be killed or join him—was that what became of anycat who crossed the tiger? But they had to continue investigating, all the same…the Tribe was in danger, he knew it…they’d simply have to outwit their adversary…some way…

“You’re right,” Munkustrap acknowledged. “But… at the time, I only saw Hecuba. Gilbert didn’t enter my mind until much later, and then I was certain he must be dead. There was no one I could ask, to confirm or deny this. That’s no excuse,” he added quickly, “and I’m realizing more and more how cowardly my stance has been, but… I’ve no excuses or explanations, MacVitie. I’m only telling you what I did and thought.”

“And I’ve no call to question or berate you,” returned MacVitie, regretting his outburst. “When,” he added in a hoarse whisper, “I did nothing.”

“You were practically a newkit,” Munk objected. “You couldn’t have known.”

“Please finish,” MacVitie said, having no answer for that last. “I won’t interrupt again, promise.”

“Not much left to tell,” Munkustrap sighed. “I hurried to get home before the adults so they wouldn’t suspect I’d been out and seen them. You’d fallen asleep, but I left you on your ‘lookout perch’ because I knew you’d be annoyed if I moved you. I waited for Mum and Dad to return, but only saw Dad. I guess Mum went straight to bed, too shaken to do or say anything more that night. Dad asked me, very nonchalantly, if I’d mind very much fetching little Cassandra from her humans’ house for a visit. I’d guess it was because he feared Growltiger knew where she lived and might go after her next. I brought her back here and…that was that.” He shook his head. “Mack, she asked several times about her parents. ‘When Mummy comin’?’ she’d ask, just like that. I’d lie to her; I’d tell her, ‘Soon.’ After about a week, she stopped asking. I told myself I’d tell her, explain everything one day, when she was old enough to understand. As you can see…that still hasn’t happened. Again with my bloody cowardice…”

“Enough,” MacVitie interrupted firmly. On the one paw, he could not believe his brother’d gone this long and still not told Cassandra. On the other…this was Cassandra. Whom…beyond mere speculation, he understood even less than before. “Before, you were only protecting her. Now…well, she’s not exactly the easiest queen to strike up a conversation with. But I know you’ll find a way,” he added. “Folk…you may not realize this, but they trust you. I don’t doubt you could get anyone to speak to you about anything, if you set your mind to it. If you simply explain to her, in the frank, honest way you just told me…it still may be the most awkward conversation of the century, and she may be angry, but…you’ll have told her and finally got it over with. And she can make her own decision on what to do with the knowledge. All the same… It may be best we get the Growltiger situation dealt with first.” He couldn’t imagine Cassandra going on her own personal vendetta against the tiger tom, but…one never knew.

“Which brings us back to where we started,” Munkustrap concluded, sounding almost relieved. Apparently the prospect of hatching a plan to rid the Jellicles of a dangerous enemy was less intimidating than that of speaking to a queen about her past—which, to be fair, MacVitie could certainly sympathise with. Unfortunately, he felt no more enlightened as to how to ‘deal with’ Growltiger than he had done when the conversation had begun.

“Right,” Mack muttered glumly. “Any new ideas?”

“No,” Munkustrap admitted. “Anything that comes to mind amounts to a repeat of what Dad and the others did last time. Only… Worse, because he hasn’t actually done anything yet, that we know of. So he could claim we were confronting him unprovoked.”

“Come to that. What did he do before? I know Dad said the whole reason he was banished had to do with ill-treatment of humans…”

“That’s all he’s really told me, as well. I don’t quite understand what a feline could really manage to do to a human—simply put, they’ve got the advantage on us in sheer size alone. But apparently Dad was concerned enough that he actually felt the humans needed our protection. Growltiger had some elaborate scheme…but Dad never found out exactly what it was. From what I can gather, Growltiger only ever harmed a Jellicle in the first place because we stood in the way of this scheme.”

MacVitie frowned. “This makes so little sense. But at least that’s something. If we could just find out this ‘scheme,’ it’d be one mark to our advantage at any rate.”

“It’s obvious what we need,” spoke a familiar voice nearby. MacVitie jumped up and hurriedly put as much distance between himself and Munkustrap as possible, as though his brother were a stick of dynamite.

“Just how many cats are out and about still?” the ginger tom exclaimed. “Well, come on, show yourself.”

“Might as well, Alonzo,” Munkustrap agreed with a weary sigh, standing up as well.

The harlequin stepped out of the shadows, looking somewhat sheepish, yet determined. “I was patrolling,” he said, before Munkustrap could speak again. “As you asked me to, Munk. Because you had ‘something important to attend to.’ I suppose now I know what.”

“So you just happened to stroll by and stop to listen to a private conversation?” MacVitie asked, glaring.

“You figured to sort this all out, just the two of you?” Alonzo countered.

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough.”

“Enough?” Munkustrap interrupted, coming between the two toms before this became an all-out face-off. He looked searchingly into Alonzo’s face. How much was ‘enough’? Had he heard the bits about himself…? Alonzo didn’t exactly look like a cat who’d just learnt his parents were working for the enemy—listen to that, I’ve already labeled Growltiger ‘enemy’ in my mind. But it could be the harlequin was merely in shock or putting on a brave face. “Alonzo, are you…?”

“No,” Alonzo held up a paw dismissively, “don’t bring anything personal into it now. All that can be dealt with later, say, when we’re none of us in danger of our lives. I meant, I heard enough to know that the first priority is finding out the tiger’s plan. To do that, we need someone on the inside. And I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he persevered, despite the other two toms’ beginning to protest, “but we need to involve Coricopat or Tantomile. It’s time they put their abilities to good use. Someone’s got to determine just how much of a liar this Growltiger is.”

---

By the time Munkustrap and MacVitie crawled into their family’s den, utterly spent, the sun had already begun to rise.

“Do we really think this is going to…?” MacVitie began, but Munk cut him off.

“Later,” the silver tabby said. “Let’s get some shuteye. After all, we need it: things are about to get exciting around here very soon…” Before even completing that thought, Munk had dropped off to sleep.

MacVitie supposed he should try to do the same. He made his way further into the den, and let himself fall into a heap on the pile of rags that he used as a bed. Immediately, he jumped back up again.

He had landed on something small, soft, warm, and very alive: whatever it was had said “Eep!” in protest to being landed on.

“What’re you doing here?” he snarled, squinting into the dim light of the den to try to see who it even was. “Can a cat not get any sleep?”

“But it’s morning already, Vitie,” said the calm, reasonable, unmistakable voice of little Quaxo.

MacVitie sighed. “You were up late. Thought you’d sleep longer. Anyway, what are you doing here?” he repeated.

“You haven’t slept at all,” Quaxo observed cheerily. “Is it because you and Munkustrap were up all night discussing that scary tom?”

“Keep your voice down,” MacVitie shushed him. “You should not even know about that, and you can’t let anyone else know, understood? We are not going to tell you anything more about him, because he’s too dangerous. So if that’s why you’re here…”

“Oh, understood completely. Who would I talk to about it anyway? Plato and Admetus are too little to know such a big secret.” As if Quaxo wasn’t. “So I won’t say anything more about it, even though I want to know so awfully much. No, I came to tell you that Bombalurina wants to talk to you.”

“Bomba?” MacVitie frowned. That was unusual—unless she had a lecture lined up for him on ‘being nicer to Demeter,’ as if their not speaking to one another were his fault… “Did she say why?”

“Oh, no. In fact, she didn’t even ask me to tell you. But I was passing by her, and heard that she wanted to talk to you. It was important.” As Bomba was not in the habit of talking out loud to herself, MacVitie could only imagine Quaxo’s ‘sharp instincts’ had been of use yet again. “And I hear that queens think it’s cool if a tom comes to talk to them about something that they wanted to talk about all along, because then it shows you consider their feelings. Or something.” Quaxo wrinkled his nose. “And like, don’t you Jellicles ask each other on dates to the Ball or something? I don’t get it…it’s so weird… But maybe you’re supposed to ask her to the Ball?”

MacVitie put a paw to his forehead. “I doubt that’s it. But…thanks, Quax. Maybe I’ll talk to her now and…” He stopped short of adding ‘get it over with.’ No need to depress the tomkit by suggesting all was not right among the Jellicles. He had probably already noticed, in any case. “Well…guess I can sleep…later.” He allowed himself one enormous yawn before making his way out of the den—after being in it for less than ten minutes. He glared enviously at the sleeping Munkustrap as he left.

Outside, he glanced around for Bomba.

“I think she went to sit up on the old car,” Quaxo suggested helpfully. MacVitie looked over at the kit.

“Are you planning to come along…?” he tried to hint.

“Of course not!” Quaxo assured him. “I’m not going to listen to a private conversation!” Right. “Especially not one that might turn mushy.” He stuck his tongue out in disgust at the thought. “So if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to find myself a mouse and then see if my friends are still asleep. See you later!” And the tuxedo tom was off like a bolt.

MacVitie shook his head, exhausted just watching the kit. If only he were older. Someone so quick-moving and quick-witted could be a great asset to helping with their situation… But no. He’d better not go getting ideas that Munk would kill him for later. Better go see what Bomba wants. Remembering that she had not actually sent for him, he wandered as aimlessly as he could in the general direction of the old auto. He glanced about, trying to look for Bomba without looking for her.

“Mackey!” called a queen’s voice. Well. That was easy. Reluctantly, he looked up to see Bomba sitting atop the car, motioning him to join her. “We’ve got to talk.” MacVitie slowly crawled up the vehicle to sit next to her, certain he was about to get an earful from the older queen. Bombalurina and Demeter might have ten arguments a day, and it wouldn’t matter: neither sister would stand for what she saw as ‘mistreatment’ of the other by anyone else. Mack braced himself to wait this out.

“Right,” Bomba commenced without any preamble, “it’s obvious what we’ve got to do, isn’t it?” She waited, and it took MacVitie a moment to realize she actually wanted a response.

“Do?” he repeated, startled. “About what?”

“Thickheads, the both of them,” she muttered, raising her eyes Heaviside-ward as if for help. “About the Ball, you dolt!”

MacVitie shook his head, still not following. It was difficult even to think of the Ball when he, Munkustrap, and Alonzo had something to attend to that seemed so much bigger. But then, at least the Ball would serve as a good distraction for the others. “The Ball? I’ll…not be there much…Dad wants us to take turns patrolling…”

“You’re completely off the point,” the scarlet queen snapped. “Listen. You need to ask me to the Ball.”

“I—wha?” The ginger tom gaped. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. For one, he’d not intended to ask anyone. Queens were far too terrifying—and suppose the one he asked said no? He’d have to deal with the humiliation of going alone and everyone knowing he’d failed to find a ‘date,’ which was why he’d planned to use ‘patrolling’ as an excuse to skip most of the Ball altogether. For another, if he had asked a queen, it wouldn’t have been Bomba. It’d been obvious since they were newkits which tom her cap was set for. Far be it from him to interfere with fate! Mind, she’d have plenty of competition… “But you don’t even like me,” he blurted out before he could really consider what to say. At least he’d managed not to say ‘I don’t even like you.’ That would’ve earned him a long set of scratches to the face, no doubt.

“Of course not,” Bombalurina sighed, looking ready to tear her headfur out. “No more do you like me.” This was without doubt the strangest conversation he had ever had: he was no expert, but did toms and queens normally have to have a whole discussion just to let each other know they couldn’t stand each other? What was this?

“Well then…ah…if that’s all…?” Mack fumbled awkwardly for a way to close the conversation.

“No, that is not all,” the queen growled, seizing his shoulder fur to stop him leaving. “You’re an even bigger dolt than I took you for! Look, here’s how it is: I’ve known the both of you since you were born. Maybe you, being an idiot, still haven’t noticed, but it’s obvious you not only adore each other, but would be perfect together—”

“I’m—sorry—me and—who…?”

Patience utterly spent, Bomba seized Mack by both shoulders and pulled his face as close as possible to hers. (MacVitie dearly hoped no one was watching.) “You mean I’ve got to spell it out for you? So you’ve not noticed. Typical. Toms never figure out what they feel until it’s too late. No…Not too late. They never figure out how they feel, period. I’m talking about you and my sister, you eejit. The one you’ve not spoken to in twelve hours?”

“Demeter?” His mouth dropped open. “Bomba…you’ve got this all wrong, we’re just friends, we might not even be that any more, she’s clearly angry at me, and…” he babbled unintelligibly.

“Well, whose fault is that, idiot? All you needed to do was apologize.”

MacVitie frowned. “I didn’t do anything that needs apolo—”

“Never mind,” she growled, holding up a paw. “That’s beside the point in any case. She’s not just upset with you over the stupid car incident! Don’t you even…? ‘Just friends’? ‘Just friends,’ my eyetooth. It may have escaped your notice, but you’re not just kits chasing mice anymore. Noticed her lately? She’s gorgeous. Don’t tell me it’s escaped your notice. You’re not half-bad, yourself. Your brains just need to catch your looks up, is all. If she didn’t like you, she couldn’t be mad at you. Don’t you know anything?”

“Stop,” MacVitie interrupted, finding his voice again with difficulty. I should have talked all this out with Munkus when he gave me the chance. This is torture. “Listen. Even if what you say is true: why on earth did you just ask me to ask you to the Ball, then?”

“I was coming to that. Unfortunately for you, a little bird told me that Demeter’s already got a date to the Ball. She won’t say who.”

“I told you,” MacVitie exclaimed, exasperated. To his own surprise, his spirits drooped a little at the news. “We’re only friends, and she’s not speaking to me until I-don’t-know-when. She doesn’t like me, she likes whoever it is she’s going with. Heaviside, Bomba, I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation!”

“Well, it’s about time,” she countered. “Clearly you need it. Look. Just because she agreed to go with someone else doesn’t mean she likes them better. As you said, she’s angry at you. She’s doing it to make you jealous, idiot. And you’re going to do likewise.”

MacVitie blinked. He’d heard of these dirty tricks queens played to make a point. He hadn’t thought Demeter capable, though. “By asking you instead of the one I really want to ask?” he blurted out without thinking. He let out a gasp, and shut his jaws as if to chomp on the words and take them back.

Bomba grinned triumphantly. “See? You can’t deny it. And, yes, good for you, you’ve got it. It’s a perfect plan, isn’t it?”

“Not so fast. Who are you trying to ‘make jealous’?” If Bomba got to force him to bring his private thoughts out in the open, it was only fair he got to do the same. The scarlet queen didn’t answer, only glared at him for daring to be so bold. As if only she were allowed to pry into everyone else’s lives. But in this case, he didn’t really need to be told. “Look. If you want my opinion, which I’m sure you don’t, but here it is: you waste your time with my brother. Tugger enjoys being adored by all the queens far too much to be willing to settle down with one—at least, not for a long time. And another thing: there’s nothing but fluff between his ears. If you’re waiting for him to ask you, he’s…probably not even thought about it.”

“Rubbish,” Bomba snapped. “You know nothing. You wouldn’t know, would you. Since when do you and he keep one another informed of your personal lives? He’s just a slow-thinking idiot, like all toms. And anyway, who says I—? Ah…” She blundered, realizing she’d more or less given herself away. “Look,” she persevered, “will you ask me to the Ball or not?”

He did not care for Bomba’s plan at all. But would it be better to go along with it, than to incur her wrath? He already had one queen angry with him… “Look, Bomba,” he attempted, “I’m sure you know more about these things than me, but this just seems low and cruel all around.”

“You’re exactly right, I know heaps more than you. He’ll—she’ll be angry for a while, but it’ll get her attention, and you’ll have to seize the opportunity to talk with her and sort everything out before it’s too late.”

“And the same with you and Tugger?”

She went on, ignoring that last, “And once you’ve confessed your love, the rest will take care of itself.”

“Confess my—” MacVitie’s blood ran cold. Just how fast did this queen’s mind work?! He’d only just begun coming to grips with the idea that there was a very slight chance he had some sort of feelings for Demeter, and here out of the blue Bomba was already speaking of love. “Look,” he growled, his terror (and exhaustion from not sleeping all night) making him act angrier than he was, “don’t get ahead of yourself. In any case, as I said, I’ll not have time to stay at the Ball the whole night. Is getting left on your own part of the grand plan?”

“Just talk to me a bit and ask me for a few dances,” she insisted. “That’s enough to be noticed. You’ll still be able to go off and play hero to your heart’s content. Only take care you get Demeter on her own to speak to her—if not at the Ball itself, not too many days after. Before the magic fades.” The word ‘magic’ reminded him that he was meant to find Coricopat and Tantomile… This could be his out.

“Look, Bomba… Fine. Please come to the Ball with me,” he said rashly. Not even waiting for her response, he went on, “Now I’ve got to find Cori and talk over the plan for patrol.” He hurried away as if the car were on fire, but could practically feel Bomba’s triumphant smirk whacking him in the back of the head as he left.

He didn’t actually need to find the twins yet, since Munk wanted to be along for the conversation and was still sleeping…so, might as well get some sleep himself. Finally.

But even as he gratefully stretched out on his bed of rags, he couldn’t altogether silence a nagging thought in the back of his mind: Who is going with Demeter to the Ball?

---

What seemed only moments later, MacVitie was awakened by a sudden jolt. Forcing his tired eyes open, he noticed that he was—not on his bed but beside it. “Weird,” he muttered. “I never fall out of—” Suddenly, he was seized by the scruff and hauled to his feet. Blinking sleep dust from his eyes, he found himself looking into the very unhappy face of Tugger. “What is it now?” he complained, too tired to be more than mildly annoyed. “Could you not see I was—”

“You,” Tugger interrupted, pointing an accusing claw at him. “Explain. Now.”

“Explain what?”

“Don’t play dumb. Thought it’d be funny, did you? Of course you did. Think because you’re Mummy and Daddy’s ickle babbykit you can just take whatever you want? Well, I’m here to tell you…”

“Hoi. You know you’re wearing it, right?” Tugger stared. “Your precious mane,” MacVitie prompted. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”

“Mane? Mane? Who gives a rat’s ear about a stupid mane?” Tugger tore the contraption off and threw it into his corner of the den. “What do you mean by stealing my queen?”

“Stealing—? Which one? Don’t you consider them all yours?”

“Bombalurina,” hissed the leopard tom. The only thing keeping him from screaming aloud was Munkustrap still sleeping a few feet away—not because he’d wake and lose his rest, but because he’d wake and overhear. “I just went and asked her to the Ball. Turns out she’s going with someone else. Who might that be, now?”

Now it all became clear. Well, not clear. MacVitie had difficulty wrapping his mind around the fact that Tugger actually had a preference for one queen above the others, and had actually thought to ask her to the Ball. But—didn’t that mean Bomba could forget her whole scheme? Why hadn’t she just said ‘yes’ to Tugger and let MacVitie know she no longer needed his help? No skin off his nose. But no…she had planned for this. She wanted to let Tugger suffer long and hard. Just like a queen. Why was he thinking of liking one…?

Never mind all that. He had to explain the situation before his brother went berserk. “Listen, Tugger, it’s like this…” he began, then re-thought his approach. Suppose he milked this for all it was worth? Bomba wanted Tugger to pay attention, and this would certainly do the trick; it would also be nice having the upper paw for once. It wasn’t as if Tugger would kill him. And MacVitie could hold his own now in such a fight, in any case. Perhaps this was the time for them to have it out once and for all. “It’s like this,” he resumed. “Bombalurina prefers me over you as a date to the Ball. Is that so difficult to believe? Perhaps it’s you who needs to learn he can’t have everything, dear brother.”

For a moment Tugger could only stare at his brother, puffing and blowing like a walrus. When he did speak, his voice came out in a whine. “Since when do you care anything about queens anyway? You know I’ve planned for months on the best way to ask her and I’m putting together this whole song just for her and—and—” Munkustrap stirred. Tugger glanced at the awakening silver tabby and turned back to shake his fist in MacVitie’s face once more. “You wait,” he hissed. “You’ll be one sorry kit one of these days…” He ran from the den.

“She also says I’m much handsomer than you,” MacVitie called after his brother, for good measure.

“MacVitie?” Munkustrap yawned. “How late is it?”

“Not even midday yet,” MacVitie assured him. “We can sleep a bit more. I just, ah…got woken up briefly.”

“So I heard.” Munkustrap glanced keenly into his younger brother’s face. MacVitie gulped, wondering how much he had heard. “Care to share what that was about?”

The ginger tom almost said no, then thought better of it. “Oh, why not. Someone intelligent may as well be in on this ridiculous situation.” He briefly explained Bomba’s ‘plan’ and his involvement, and Tugger’s reaction soon after. At his mention that Demeter was apparently going with someone else, Munkustrap looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“I can’t believe this,” the silver tabby moaned, holding his head in his paws.

“What now?” Just how elaborate was Bomba’s scheme? Maybe we should get her in on the Growltiger solution…

“Vitie…I’m sorry… I’m the one who asked Demeter to the Ball. I didn’t think you were going to ask her,” the silver tabby went on hastily. “That is, Bomba had told me Demeter did not have a date to the Ball yet and was beginning to feel hurt. She asked if I would take her, just as a friend, you know, so she’d not be alone. I said I thought you’d be asking…er, that is…that she’d prefer to go with you. This was early yesterday, before we knew of the Growltiger situation, of course…I’d not be taking anyone if I’d known about that…But Bomba…”

“She said I was already going with someone else, didn’t she?”

“Precisely. I’m sorry, Mack, if I’d known…”

“Great Heaviside.” MacVitie pounded the floor in exasperation. “And she wants to go with Tugger, but insists on going with me! And now Tugger will ask someone else to make her jealous, which is no doubt what she wanted all along. This is ridiculous! What are queens, Munkustrap? Please tell me. Because I’m beginning to think they’re an entirely ‘other’ species, not even feline. What kind of creature thinks such a mixed-up situation as this is a good idea?”

“Perhaps we can still save the situation,” Munkustrap ventured. “I’ll simply explain to Demeter that you…”

“No. Bomba’s already complicated things enough without us re-complicating them. We’ll have to simply suffer through… Or, you know, forget everything and just spend the entire night working on our tiger problem and let the queens just feel abandoned, whatever.”

“Mackey…don’t you think it would be better…”

“No,” MacVitie repeated. “No, Munk. You don’t understand. Before all this, I had no intention whatsoever of taking any queen to the Ball. Trying to glue this situation back together would inevitably bring about a conversation with Demeter that I am not ready to have. Do you understand that well enough without my saying more?” He shook his head. “Then again…no. Why not? Might as well be completely frank here and get it over with. I already want to eat rat poison.” He took a deep breath, grimaced, then soldiered on. “Up until about an hour ago, I saw Demeter as only a friend—and a friend who wasn’t currently speaking to me, at that. Anything more was not…what would your humans say…not on my radar, about her or any other queen. At least, I didn’t think so. Talking with Bomba—being talked at by Bomba, more accurately—my views began to take on the slightest change. I began thinking differently of Demeter—maybe even…uh…feeling differently, too. They say that’s a thing that happens. I don’t know. The point is, I don’t understand it, and it’s not sorted, none of it…whatever ‘it’ is. I wouldn’t mind considering it further when I’ve got the time, but Heaviside! Could there be a worse time! We’ve got a crisis on our paws, I can’t sit about thinking on feelings. And then Bomba jumps straight into talking about…” He glanced over his shoulder. “…Love. As if I could be anywhere near there yet! And insists I’ve got to get Demeter on her own to talk with her and ‘sort everything out,’ when I’ve not even sorted myself out! And am not likely to soon…and…most importantly…Growltiger,” he finished lamely, running out of steam. “The point is, Munk,” he groaned, “if you try to repair the situation now, I’ll only have to speak with her sooner. At least if I go along with Bomba’s plan I can stall. Either way, I’m not going to have the slightest notion what to say. Maybe there will be an attack, and we’ll be so busy defending the ’yard…that can be my excuse…”

“Don’t say that,” Munkustrap interrupted sharply. “MacVitie,” he continued in a more mellow tone, “I…don’t know what to say.” He gave an awkward gulp. “I feel…honored is a stupid word to use here, but I can’t think of a better one…that you’d…share that much with me. I had no idea you were…”

“So complicated?” MacVitie supplied. “Nor did I. You understand, of course, this does not go any further than the two of us. Now…suppose we move onto more important matters and leave these personal issues to be dealt with afterward.”

“Agreed,” Munkustrap nodded, though he looked rather uneasy. There seemed to be a lot of things they were ‘leaving till later.’ But was that not right? Nothing could be more important than what they had to do concerning the threat of Growltiger. “Not quite midday? Let’s get another hour’s shuteye and then track down the twins.”

MacVitie nodded. Ordinary life must still be attended to to some extent, at least…

---

“You really think they’ll agree to help, ’Lonz?” Munkustrap was asking as the three toms wandered through the Junkyard, more or less waiting for Coricopat and Tantomile to ‘sense’ what was needed and show themselves.

“They will,” Alonzo promised, jaw set determinedly. “Couldn’t really call themselves part of the Tribe if they didn’t, could they?”

Munkustrap frowned. “That’s a bit harsh…”

“He’s right, though,” MacVitie interrupted. “Think on it, Munk. How long they’ve either kept their powers to themselves, or used them to play tricks on the rest of us.”

“They haven’t done that in some time,” Munk objected.

“The point is,” Alonzo went on, “now we come to a time where their…particular talents…are really needed. Surely they’ll see that, and help.”

They all kept saying ‘help,’ MacVitie observed silently, which made it sound like this was about nothing more serious than an abnormally large object needing to be moved, or some such notion.

“All right, you’ve both got a point,” the silver tabby sighed. “But about the other bit of your plan, Alonzo…I still don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it, Munk, you’ve been outvoted,” MacVitie informed him. He hated to keep disagreeing with his brother, but Alonzo was right on this one: the best—perhaps the only—way was to send someone in to spy on Growltiger’s gang from the inside and determine their plan. Munkustrap knew this was the best plan, practically; but he was also still trying to keep everyone safe, and knew that going down this road involved possible risk and loss. Whereas Alonzo knew this as well, and was willing to take those risks on. Actually accomplishing this might not be so easy, however… “But,” he added, looking at Alonzo, “I still say I should be…”

“No,” the harlequin said firmly. “We all know that of the three of us, if something untoward happened, I’d be the least missed. I’m going in.”

“Alonzo,” Munkustrap ventured in a mild tone, “are you certain you’ve no ulterior motives for wanting to be the one…?”

“Don’t worry on that score,” Alonzo growled. “I’ve said. No attending to personal matters until the real crisis has been averted. You can depend upon it, I fully intend to follow my own diktat.”

MacVitie exchanged a glance with his brother, wondering if Munkustrap were thinking along the same lines: First—that perhaps this ‘real crisis,’ as the black-and-white termed it, was just the thing to knock Alonzo into shape and remind him that protecting the Tribe was more important than impressing the queens. Second—now that he was beginning to show himself such a strong asset to the Tribe, were they about to lose him? They might, if they went along with his plan…

“All I’m saying,” MacVitie persisted nonetheless, “is that I may have an easier time convincing him. I’m not sure how, but Munk and I already seem to have some sort of pawhold with Growltiger…”

“It’s obvious,” Alonzo interrupted, growing impatient. “He’s closest with your family because he used to be Old Deuteronomy’s chief friend. But no doubt if it’s done right, he’ll gladly take on any Jellicle who decides to betray your father and join him.”

“We may not need to go that far, anyway,” Munk reminded them, still holding onto hope. “If we can accomplish what’s needed simply by talking with him and if the twins can determine whether he speaks true…”

“But that’s not stopping it,” Alonzo sighed. “You know it’s not, Munk. If we know and can’t do anything about it—what then? As you’ve said yourself, even if we told your father and involved every fighter we’ve got and confronted him…we’re still outnumbered. It would be the Dispute all over again: we’d be devastated, while his gang would barely suffer a scratch, and he’d soon gather more numbers.”

“He’s got an agenda,” MacVitie added. “His is a gang with goals and plans, while we’re…”

“A family,” Munk supplied, realization beginning to dawn on him.

“A family,” Alonzo agreed, “which is all any of us wants. But it also means we’re no army. We’re not prepared to deal with a situation like this through force, so…”

“Stealth,” MacVitie concluded.

“Aye, stealth.” The harlequin gave an involuntary shudder. “Let’s hope we’re stealthy enough to stay alive.”

The three toms reached the front entrance to the Junkyard and came to a halt. Munkustrap glanced around. “Still no twins, then…” he began. MacVitie elbowed him and gestured silently towards the top of the rubbish heap closest to them. Looking up to see what the ginger tom was on about, Munkustrap and Alonzo laid eyes on two felines: one was Tugger, keeping watch—which was somewhat of a relief, as he was meant to be on patrol but could not always be relied on to remember. The other was Tantomile—which was not exactly surprising as she’d been known to make one of Tugger’s ‘entourage’ before. What was surprising was the fact that she didn’t immediately turn about and notice them. Clearly she was so occupied by whatever she and Tugger were discussing, that three more felines’ presence didn’t even register in her senses. That was somewhat disconcerting, since they were relying on her and Coricopat’s abilities for the first bit of Alonzo’s plan.

“Well. One of them’s a bit busy at the moment,” Alonzo observed. MacVitie thought he detected bitterness in the harlequin’s tone, but decided to take a page out of Alonzo’s book and determine to ignore any personal issues that did not directly relate to the matter at paw. As such, he made no comment in that regard, but moved on.

“Coricopat’s bound to be nearby,” MacVitie said. Feeling a tap on his shoulder, Mack spun about and found himself facing the very tom he’d just mentioned.

“You were looking for me,” Cori stated, for once displaying the slightest bit of irritation. MacVitie supposed it was annoyance with Tantomile and not with him, Munk, or Alonzo, but it still surprised him to see one of the twins in any state that wasn’t utterly calm and cool.

“Yes,” said Munkustrap, “and for Tanto as well, but…” He shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, not needing to state what they all could plainly see.

“I imagine she’ll be along presently,” Coricopat said through slightly clenched teeth. “She is not responding to my contacts at the moment, so…in the meantime…” He seemed, with great difficulty, to remove his focus from his sister and try to understand what the other three toms wanted. Unlike Tantomile, who liked to be told things aloud even when she knew them, Cori was not so particular. In fact, he disliked listening to long, often confused, explanations, when he could easily get the gist himself by mind-melding with the correct party. Knowing this, none of the other three toms felt rude waiting silently for Coricopat to come to grips with their plan on his own.

After a few moments, Coricopat shook his head. “It’s never going to work.”

“Of course you’d say that,” said Alonzo, folding his arms defiantly. “You may be a telepath, but—correct me if I’m wrong—you can’t see the future.”

“Alonzo,” Munkustrap put in mildly, “we did ask.”

“And whose idea was it to involve the twins?” MacVitie couldn’t resist adding, though in a low tone that may or may not have been heard.

“Of course we did,” Alonzo waved a paw impatiently, turning back to Coricopat, “and I’m willing to take your opinion into account if you’ll explain it properly. Just why is it ‘never going to work’?”

“For one thing…there are too many holes,” Coricopat told them. “What, for example, would you do—even supposing you could infiltrate Growltiger’s gang—what then? What could you do to stop his scheme?”

“Dismantle his gang from the inside somehow,” Alonzo answered rather vaguely. “Try to make allies…turn his own folk against him…find out his weaknesses… Well, rat’s dung, Cori, it’d be impossible to know exactly what would work until I—ah, whoever—was actually in the gang,” he finished lamely.

MacVitie’s ears flattened in embarrassment. He’d known their plan wasn’t perfect; but now, actually trying to explain it to another feline, it sounded downright useless.

Coricopat regarded the three toms gravely. “That’s the other main problem,” he informed them. “You’re not all in complete agreement. Each of you thinks he should be the one to infiltrate the gang. You’ve…all got different reasons for wanting to do this.” He held up a paw to stay their objections. “I don’t doubt you all have the same main goal, to protect the Tribe. But there are…other reasons surrounding that, different for each of you. Some of which you may not even be aware of yourselves, but which could be disastrous in the right context.”

“That’s clear as mud, then,” MacVitie said irritably.

“It’s not my intention to confuse you,” Coricopat told him. “But it’s not my place to bring your deeper thoughts and reasons out into the open; the three of you have to be frank with one another and in complete accord and understanding, if you’re to attempt this.” He sighed. “I’m not suggesting you have to share everything you’re thinking and feeling about every single scenario…that’s impossible. But if any of you has any outlying motives that you’re aware of, you ought to bring those out into the open and consider whether you can still go forward with this plan. And, that’s if you can modify it into something that might…actually work.”

Alonzo frowned. “You know, Cori, I do believe that’s the first open insult I’ve ever heard you make.”

MacVitie rolled his eyes in the harlequin’s direction. Someone can’t take criticism… What was he saying about not making things personal…?

“Alonzo,” Munkustrap began, having to bring his friend back onto task for the second time in this conversation.

“I get it,” the black-and-white interrupted, “the plan reeks and we’re conflicted, but the situation’s salvageable. The problem,” he went on, turning back to Coricopat, “is that we haven’t much time. And the situation does not allow for a perfect plan, however much time we have.” He sighed. “But as far as being frank with one another… I’ll go ahead and start the sharing. I want to find my parents.” He said it in the tone of a human who had merely said he wanted to find his missing shoe. “That being said,” he added quickly, “though I may want that, I’m choosing to attend to the plan first and foremost. Is that legitimate?”

“Of course you always have a choice,” Coricopat said to all of them. “And…I’m not suggesting any of you is ruled by his emotions.” He cast a sidelong glance at Alonzo. “But things like what you’ve just shared need to be taken into account—acknowledged, not denied. You can’t always know how you’ll ultimately behave in a given situation.”

“But perhaps,” Munkustrap spoke up, “we won’t have to even come to that.” Alonzo and MacVitie both shot him a ‘we’ve been over this already’ glance, but Munkus continued nonetheless, clearly hoping for a different answer from Coricopat. “Cori, you may have seen that we…before any…infiltration attempts, we planned to see what can be accomplished just by speaking with Growltiger. When MacVitie and I saw him last night, he hinted that he had information for us and essentially left us with an open invitation to meet with him…” He gave a nervous glance around. “He may be watching right now…”

“Not that I’m aware,” Coricopat assured him. He glanced up in Tantomile’s direction. “It would be a sorry situation indeed for both Tantomile and myself to miss the aura of such a formidable feline.”

“The general consensus on the ‘talking,’” MacVitie put in, “was that it might get us information, but not…well, not much else. No solution.” He looked at Coricopat as if for confirmation or denial.

“Information can be quite a powerful thing,” Coricopat said thoughtfully. “It certainly wouldn’t be of no use at all; the trouble, though, with…well, holding parley with the tiger, if you’d call it that…is that he already has—or claims to have—information interesting to you. That means that, as of now, he has a hold over you, and not the other way round. And you can be certain he intends to fool or manipulate you in some way with this information.”

“Which is why we hoped you could be present,” Alonzo spoke up. “At the meeting, I mean, ah…well, one of us would speak to him while the others would stay out of sight to avoid suspicion. Even if the rest of the plan is shot, would you be willing to do this and at least see what comes of it? I don’t suppose we can make the situation worse, at any rate, by just talking with him. True or false, Cori?”

“You’re…most likely correct,” Coricopat agreed reluctantly. He looked decidedly uncomfortable, and MacVitie supposed it was rather an unusual and difficult thing for the tom, expressing opinions without first consulting his twin. It wasn’t as if they never had their own separate thoughts and ideas, but so much of Coricopat and Tantomile’s life and speech was determined together, once they conferred and got on the same footing. That was how it appeared, at least.

“He is correct,” interrupted a queen’s voice. The three toms turned to see Tantomile joining them at last. MacVitie bit his lip to avoid saying something irritable or rude. He glanced up at Tugger to see if he might be watching or listening in, but his back was turned. Turning his attention back onto the conversation at paw, Mack half-expected Alonzo to make some sarcastic remark; thankfully, the harlequin opted for maintaining an icy silence instead. Tantomile wore a neutral expression: if she was still distracted by her talk with Tugger, it didn’t show. “If there is even the slightest chance of avoiding more danger or a fight by talking with him,” Tanto continued, “it should be taken. You’re none of you in any state to go spying alone in a gang such as the one The Tiger keeps. But you’ll do as you must, no matter what anyone says, I see that.” She exchanged a long glance with Coricopat before resuming, “This conversation—consultation—truce—parley, whichever we’re calling it… Please explain the particulars of how you mean it to go. That is, when, where, and who will be the spokescat.” She sighed. “Please do so with as little arguing as possible, if you can.”

“Does this mean you’re willing to take part?” Munkustrap asked.

“I should hope so,” the queen answered decidedly. Again she looked towards Coricopat. “This is our family, too, is it not? We’ll not let anything happen to them if there’s the least thing we can do.”

Midsummer’s Night

This isn’t happening, thought the ginger tom for at least the fifth time within the hour. Having been so busy thinking, first, of patrolling and keeping everyone safe in general—then, later, completely preoccupied with the real crisis that had arisen—MacVitie had not stopped to think on what the Ball itself would really be like, or what he would do for the time he actually had to be in attendance at said Ball. He’d known vaguely that cats were preparing songs to perform—and that Tugger was obsessing over his, whatever it was, because it was “just for her” (her, Bomba)—but he’d paid not the least attention to specifics apart from Plato and Admetus’ planned stunt that they hoped to perform alongside Tugger. As such, much of the evening came as a surprise to him. On the whole, it had been…not his favourite thing on earth, but not the nightmare he’d imagined. One great relief had been Deuteronomy’s decision to remain in the Junkyard the entire time. He’d explained to them previously that it was something of a tradition for the Leader to make his rounds of the town, inviting anycat he saw to join the Ball. He’d decided to forego that this year, however, and merely instructed his sons and the other protectors to keep an eye out during their patrols. So, that was one less thing to worry about.

He had had to endure being dressed up as a mouse, and then some sort of beetle, for Jennyanydots’ song. She’d hissed into his ear something about “following the others’ lead, since you missed every rehearsal.” This was news to MacVitie, but he went along to keep her happy—nor did he feel too badly about his poor performance, as nearly everyone else participating did just as poorly (some of them, he suspected, intentionally). Jellylorum, Bombalurina, and Demeter had been the best bit of the song, performing a trio piece on the choruses which must have taken them weeks to perfect. More than once, MacVitie found himself pausing, costume piece forgotten and hanging limply from his paws, as he became lost in the music he was hearing—then having to rush to keep up with the others.

He’d not realized before what a captivating voice Demeter had. It had never crossed his mind to notice. Now he half hoped she would sing again in the course of the evening—preferably on her own. Not that he’d be around to hear it, most likely.

And then…there had been Tugger.

MacVitie still stood, dumbstruck and gaping, when the song ended and Munkustrap joined him. Skimble had taken it upon himself to assign each ‘defense cat’ a patrolling shift for the evening, and the brothers and Alonzo, after conferring, had decided to go along with this plan as far as they could to avoid suspicion. Each would keep an eye out for Growltiger on his shift, and report to the others. Once sighted, the three toms would find a way to discreetly leave the Ball and meet with him. If Growltiger had not been sighted by the end of the Midnight Dance, they would leave anyway and go searching for him. Coricopat and Tantomile would know when they were needed (nothing unusual with them) and appear accordingly.

MacVitie hated the uncertainty of this plan—but what else could they do? Growltiger knew the Junkyard well, and the fact that anycat was welcome to the Jellicle Ball.

“Anything?” was MacVitie’s first question upon seeing the silver tabby. Upon Munk’s shake of the head, Mack went on, “Did…you arrive in time to see any of…that?”

“No.” Munkustrap couldn’t help breaking into an amused smile at his brother’s flabbergasted expression. “But I could certainly hear quite a bit of it. I take it Tugger’s performance was as…interesting as it sounded?”

“Interesting? The queens certainly thought so. They positively ate it up! As for me, well…let’s just say… I regret that I can’t un-see that.” The ginger tom shuddered, though admittedly he was slightly exaggerating. Whatever else it had been, however embarrassing Tugger’s hip-swagging display had been, the song itself had been rather fun and catchy. Even the cats who weren’t specially interested in Tugger—or The Rum Tum Tugger, as his song had described him—for himself, had difficulty not dancing along to the upbeat tune. “He won’t say where he found the song. But I recall him pulling an old…I think you’d call it a juke?—out of a junkpile. He must have got it working.”

Before either brother could say more, Alonzo walked over and joined them. “No sightings yet, I take it?” Munkustrap and MacVitie shook their heads. “Well then. About time for your shift, Mack? I’ll join you.”

“You don’t want to stay for more of the dancing?” Munkustrap asked in surprise. It would soon be time for the Midnight Dance—a prime chance, so they were all told, for anycat to show off special skills and talents. Munk would have thought Alonzo would jump at the chance to impress queens. But the black-and-white wore a decidedly unsatisfied expression.

“No,” said Alonzo shortly. “This is more important. I was thinking that none of us should be caught alone with the Tiger. It’s just as well you didn’t run into him, Munk. Besides,” he added, almost in a growl, “who’s to dance with? Everyone’s taken.”

“You know,” MacVitie ventured, rather perceptively, “I’m sure Bomba would dance with you even though she came with—” Alonzo glared daggers, and Mack wisely trailed off. “Ah…well,” he resumed, “I expect if we’re going, we’d better get on.” He glanced at his brother. “We’ll…keep you posted. But do try to enjoy yourself.”

“Yes,” Munk agreed, shifting his paws nervously, “I was just thinking I should ask Deme for a dance…”

“Of course you should,” Mack nodded. This was the awkwardest situation ever…but after all, it was none of their doing, but Bomba’s. All they could do was make the most of it. All the same, Mack didn’t envy Munkus having to stay for the longest dance of the evening. He’d tried to keep his word and ask Bomba for a dance, but all she’d done throughout the course of the evening was ogle Tugger. So much for ignoring him and making him jealous. Well, Mack’d done his bit. “Let’s go,” he said quickly to Alonzo, who had stood by tapping his tail impatiently. The two toms hurried away before the conversation could grow any more uncomfortable.

---

Aside from a few insignificant remarks, Alonzo and MacVitie remained mainly silent as they made the rounds. The silence kept adrift in a place somewhere between “awkward” and “tense.” The two had not much to say to one another, partly because they had never really spoken alone together until recently: this made for an awkward situation from a social standpoint, but the reason for their speaking more lately was far more important than any mere social discomfort. Even still, Mack did wish he was better at thinking up small talk…if for no other reason than to lighten the situation a little…

“Really something, your brother, isn’t he?” Alonzo said abruptly, breaking the silence.

MacVitie glanced at the harlequin, startled by the strange question. “What—you mean Munkustrap?”

Alonzo rolled his eyes. “Only if it was Munkustrap we saw strutting about in a belt accompanied by obnoxious loud sounds just now.”

Was this Alonzo’s way of making idle chatter to help ease them both—or was he really on about something? MacVitie could think of no response apart from, “Oh. Him.”

“Yeah.” Alonzo chuckled, but there was little real humour in the sound. “Bit of a fix, this evening, wasn’t it? The two best-loved cats in the Junkyard couldn’t even manage to snag the dates they wanted, so they took everyone else’s instead. D’you know, I asked Bomba, then Tantomile, then Cassandra. All three said no, and all for something leading back to Tugger…well, not Cass…I think she just felt insulted because I didn’t actually seem excited to be asking her…”

“Are you…okay?” MacVitie glanced sideways at the other tom. Had “responsible, business-like” Alonzo reverted to “queens-obsessed” Alonzo so soon? Or was there something deeper there? Why did he have to be the one hearing this, he was no good at understanding other cats, this was Munk’s area of expertise… “What happened to…you know, saving personal issues until Growltiger is dealt with?”

“I’m just… Trying to take Cori at his word… Clear the air of any… Share any… Look, Mack, I don’t blame you for the whole—uh—situation… What I mean to say is, I know you got caught in the crossfire between Bomba and Tugger and can’t help how things have turned out,” the harlequin babbled confusedly.

“Okay…?” MacVitie was still utterly lost.

“I’m not explaining well at all.” Alonzo sighed. “Look, bottom-line, I don’t want a beef with anyone in the Tribe in case I don’t—I mean, in case I’m…gone for a long time.”

“You mean—” So that was it? “Alonzo,” MacVitie said sharply, afraid the harlequin had lost his head before their plan even commenced, “one thing at a time. You know it may not even come to that, and we shouldn’t assume…”

“Is that you talking, or Munkustrap?” Alonzo interrupted. “Tell me honestly, MacVitie. I know you see Munk as the greatest cat in the world, and no doubt he is; but that doesn’t mean he’s always correct, and you must admit he can be a trifle naïve. In a good way, usually. But. In this case, I think we both know—and he secretly knows—that this can only go one way.”

MacVitie opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. What was the use of going through the same debate again? He felt Alonzo was right, yet… “So nothing Coricopat said makes any difference to you?”

“He didn’t say we were wrong about one of us inevitably having to accomplish this from the inside; he only said we’d better be bloody well sure we navigated this plan in such a way that it would work.”

“And apparently the other night it wasn’t in a state to ‘work.’ What’s changed?”

“Oh…I dunno. Nothing, I reckon.” But Alonzo’s jaw had a determined set to it that worried MacVitie—as if the harlequin had his own plan in mind, and nothing nor no one could dissuade him from it, not even the psychic twins. Better hope talking does the trick… Mack felt he should say something more, keep Alonzo talking, figure out what was going on with him…but he hadn’t the foggiest how.

“Lonz…” he began, but the other tom suddenly stopped and held up a paw.

“Shh,” Alonzo hissed. “Listen.” They were just passing by the pile of tubs behind which MacVitie and Munkustrap had hid before. Coming from the other side, they could hear hushed voices. The two crept closer. “Sounds like two felines, a tom and a queen,” whispered the black-and-white. “I’m gonna look…” He peered round the pile, and pulled his head back around almost immediately. “Go find Munkustrap.”

“Huh?” MacVitie frowned. “What happened to ‘not being caught alone with him’—that is… him, isn’t it?” He didn’t want to draw Growltiger’s attention by saying his name, not until they figured out who was with him. And he certainly was not keen on leaving Alonzo, who was behaving so oddly it was hard to predict what he’d do.

“Don’t argue,” Alonzo whispered fiercely. “I won’t be alone long: the twins’ll be along soon, no doubt. I won’t show myself till then.”

“Better plan: I stay here, you go and get Munk.” Mack couldn’t shake the feeling that something was ‘off’ here. No way in Heaviside was he leaving…

“Do as he says,” came Coricopat’s voice, as if on cue. MacVitie spun around to face him and Tantomile, who said nothing but gave MacVitie the distinct impression she was making the ‘clear out of here’ motion with her head.

“What are you all on about?” he demanded, though somehow managing to keep his voice down. “There are four of us and one of him. We can wait until he’s done conferring with whoever’s with him, have our own little talk with him, and report everything to Munk later. Supposedly all we’re going to do is talk. If anything else happens, we’ve got numbers on our side. We don’t require Munk’s help at this exact moment; I’m not some kit who will only be underpaw and needs to be got rid of; in fact I’m the most likely to be able to get answers out of the Tiger. So I repeat: What is going on?” He and the older cats stood paw to paw glaring at one another for a few moments.

“He’s not going to leave,” Tantomile murmured finally. “Very well, then, MacVitie, stay and see this through with the rest of us.” Cori grimaced, but said nothing more.

“I was giving you an out, idiot,” Alonzo told him through clenched teeth. “Well done. Whatever happens, mind you don’t compromise the situation.”

“Me compromise the situation?” Mack was just shy of punching Alonzo in the face and screaming, Fight me, Patches! right then and there—stopped only by the fear of giving away their position.

“MacVitie,” Tantomile interrupted. Her tone caught Mack’s attention: the twins were nearly always calm and cool—he’d never heard them shout—but this was different; she sounded almost…gentle? Soothing? As if she were trying to soften some blow. This made no sense. He waited for her to continue, hoping she would explain, not fog the issue further with riddles. “Just have a look for yourself; all will be clear.”

MacVitie crept round the end of the tub-pile, doing his best to look around to the other side without showing himself. He thought he heard Alonzo whisper, “Are you serious?” What on earth was the—

And then he saw what had the others so on edge. They were not concerned about Growltiger—at least, their concern over the Tiger was dwarfed in comparison to this new development: the other feline currently speaking with him.

“Mum.”

The next moment MacVitie found himself on the other side of the pile, standing between Bella and Growltiger, without being quite certain how he’d got there. “Back off,” he snarled, facing the burly tom. “Stay away from her!”

“So, you’ve decided to come and continue our bit o’ chat,” Growltiger grinned, looking completely unconcerned despite Mack’s aggressive stance. “I’m that glad. You made the right choice, lad. Where’s that brother o’ yours?”

“That’s as may be,” replied MacVitie, not quite snarling this time but still on his guard. He did not answer Growltiger’s question. Coming down a bit from his initial shock, Mack had a moment to reflect on how stupidly impulsive his action had been. The others were probably furious; but there was nothing for it now. They’d find a way to adapt and join him, or he’d see to this on his own. “I may give you the opportunity to explain yourself. But leave her out of it.” He turned round to Bella. “Are you all right? Better clear out; I’ll see to him…”

“I…” his mother began, then trailed off, still shocked at seeing MacVitie here.

“What is the matter, lad?” Growltiger chuckled. “D’you forget, your mum and me knows each other quite well. We’re ole pals, all of us, her and me and Old D. No need to act as if I’d harm her.” He looked over at Bella. “I s’pose it is a bit odd for ye to find out the little lad an’ I’ve spoken before now. I was about to tell you when he burst in of a sudden, see.”

“MacVitie,” Bella gasped, finding her voice at last, “you’ve…met before? Recently?”

“Yes.” MacVitie folded his arms, beginning to feel frustration with his mother now that his concern for her immediate safety was more or less put to rest. “Have you?” He felt a sense of impending doom; of what sort he was uncertain; and he was painfully aware that Coricopat, Tantomile, and Alonzo must still be on the other side, listening to every word. He did not know which he preferred: for them to stay hidden or to show themselves now.

“I…no,” Bella stammered. “That is…not for a long time…until this evening. Dear love,” she continued, tone becoming forcedly cheerful all of a sudden, as if Mack were a kitten and she was suggesting he go play with his friends, “why don’t you just nip along back to the Ball now? I know you’d not want to miss any more of your first Ball…I’ll join you as soon as Mister Growltiger and I have finished our meeting.”

“Meeting?” MacVitie stared at her in disbelief. “Mum, I know. I know this isn’t just some ordinary ‘meeting.’ He’s banished, not even meant to be here—”

“And yet here you are,” countered the queen, “apparently looking to meet with him yourself. Care to explain that? I’m sure your father will not be pleased.” It was one of the frustrating qualities about his mother that MacVitie had noticed more and more as he grew older: she liked having kits around to cuddle and play with, but the moment a difficulty arose she either argued uselessly, avoiding the actual problem, or foisted the burden onto someone else—usually Deuteronomy or Munkustrap—to deal with.

“Mum, can you just tell me what’s…”

“Now, now,” Growltiger cut in smoothly, as if he were the self-appointed Arbiter. “Suppose we simply talk this out like reasonable creatures. It’s true, I’ve business with each of you—perhaps we can see to it all at once, since we’re all here together?”

“I don’t want you saying anything to my son,” Bella told Growltiger, speaking in a more assertive tone than Mack had ever heard her use. “Anything you or he may think you’ve agreed to speak on, you can leave to me. MacVitie…” She shot him a meaningful look. “…Is leaving now.”

“No, I’m not. I’m not leaving you alone with him,” MacVitie said firmly, adding that last so Bella couldn’t accuse him of simply being mutinous for the sake of it.

“The lad has a right to hear what I have to say, if he wishes it,” Growltiger shrugged. “Ain’t exactly a kit anymore, is he, Bells?”

“No.” Bella’s expression changed. She looked…desperate? “I’m begging of you. I don’t want anyone to know—least of all him. Please.”

Growltiger stroked some bits of scraggly fur on his chin, seeming to consider this. MacVitie tried to interject, but his mother shot him such a half-crazed look that he stopped. What is happening here? Where are the others? Then again…what could they do in any case? What can I do?

“Well,” Growltiger resumed at last, “may I take it that you’ll go along with the plan, then, as we discussed?”

Bella grimaced as if in pain. She looked at her son again, then turned back to the Tiger and nodded. “Yes.”

“Excellent!” Growltiger exclaimed, clapping his paws together and almost beaming. “I knew I’d bring you round to my way of thinking.”

“Just…” Bella turned towards MacVitie again. “Give us a moment, won’t you?”

“But of course, m’dear. As long as y’need.” Growltiger walked away from them, though MacVitie saw him sit down just near the Junkyard exit.

“Mum,” he gasped, certain he’d receive answers now that they were out of earshot, “what is this? What have you agreed to? What hold does he have over you? Whatever it is—”

“No, no,” she interrupted, trying to smile but failing miserably. “There’s nothing like that. But I’m afraid I can’t explain…not now. Soon, I promise, I will. But for now, I need you to simply trust me. And there is something very important I need you to do. Are you listening, lovey?” She never quite figured out how to speak to her youngest without kitten-talking him.

“What is it?” MacVitie asked, refusing to promise anything until he knew.

“I need to…leave for a while. But I’ll be back,” she added quickly, afraid he’d interrupt. “Soon… Do you remember how much danger your father said the humans were in?”

“Yes.” MacVitie frowned. “Because of that tom you just made…some sort of bargain with. Mum, I’m no idiot…”

“Please, I know it all looks dreadful, but believe me, I’m only trying to help. I’ve got to take care of something, that’s all. It will help make my humans…all the humans…safer. But you can’t let the others know, do you understand?”

“What is anyone meant to think, when you simply disappear…?”

“Tell them I’ve gone to stay for a long visit with my humans. I may not always be at their house because sometimes they travel… But believe me, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Mum! How can you say that? How can you possibly be safe with—”

“What do you know of this?” Bella cut him off sharply. “Nothing! And it will stay that way if I’ve anything to say about it. Listen to me, MacVitie. I shall be perfectly safe. Nothing will happen to me, you, or the rest of the Tribe, if you promise me you’ll say nothing to anyone of seeing Growltiger here—mind that. And stick to it that I’ve gone on an ordinary journey. This, and only this, will keep everyone safe. Promise me.”

MacVitie gave her a long look—this queen who’d always cared for him and his brothers as best she knew how, whom they loved, and he guessed she returned their love, though she’d odd ways of showing it— “I promise,” he answered finally.

What more could he say? He’d no intention of keeping any such promise… Doubtless the others were forming a plan as they listened in, but he knew already what he’d have to do—regardless of what they would say.

“There’s my good Mackey,” Bella said, managing a smile this time and patting the ginger tom lightly on the cheek. “Mind you behave yourself while I’m gone. I’ll be back before you can grow an inch taller.”

Without another word, she left MacVitie’s side and joined Growltiger at the exit. She turned about to give her son one last wave before disappearing into the starlit summer night.

Autumn


“Oi, Napoleon! You’re wanted, babbykit!”


The ginger tom sat up with a jolt, banging his head on the den’s ceiling (which he could never remember was so low), and lay back down again with a low moan. One never woke up gently here: he’d not realized how spoilt he was in the Junkyard.

He made no further move to get up. Probably he’d let them call ten or twelve more times before finally answering the summons. What did it matter? He may get shouted at, but no more, if the last several weeks were any indication. Thus far, everyone here was all bark and no bite where he was concerned. Should that not prove the case today…well, a fight might be a refreshing change of scene. He’d not been in a fight since the first day he’d come here…

To his surprise (and rather to his delight), no further calls came. In no hurry to rise, he let himself relax and dozed for several minutes. He was awakened the second time by somecat nudging him in the side with a footpaw. Opening his eyes, he peered out at the familiar (and very put-out) countenance of Alonzo.

“Just lie abed all day, won’t you,” growled the harlequin. “Ignore a dangerous tom when he summons you. Are you off your head? Have you forgot where we are, Mack? You’re lucky it’s me who wanted to talk to you, and one of the henches just decided it’d be a good joke to make an announcement.”

MacVitie—though no-one actually called him that here—sat up. “What’s he going to do, or anyone? We’re more or less untouchable here, in case you hadn’t noticed. I think I can take a few liberties without much untoward happening.”

“Is that your strategy?” Alonzo raised an eyebrow. “Exaggerate your dislike so much that he believes it’s actually false and you wouldn’t possibly conspire against him? That makes such sense.”

“There’s nothing for it: he knows I hate him; he also knows I’ve no choice but to do as he says; he also, for some odd reason, rather seems to like me. Nothing I can do but try to make this all work to my advantage. And…exactly why are we discussing this here? Never mind how much we keep our voices down, there could be ears anywhere…”

“That wasn’t actually what I came to discuss.” Alonzo blew out a long sigh, trying to rein in his impatience. MacVitie waited, trying not to stare at the relatively-new scar above Alonzo’s left eye—the one he himself had put there. “There’s been…a development. Two developments. First, I’ve…got to leave.”

“You—what?” Mack stared at the other tom in disbelief. “But how…even…never mind everything else, how are you being allowed to leave?”

“Surprisingly easily—frighteningly so, even. Mack, you…had the right idea from the beginning. You’ve got the best chance of finding a solution here. The Tiger put it nicely enough. ‘Of course you must go,’ he said, but no doubt he’ll have me followed, so anything you can do to help out with that…”

“But just what is your situation?” MacVitie bit his lip to resist going on, What could possibly induce you to leave me all alone here? After all his brave talk at the Junkyard, which seemed now like lifetimes ago, Mack couldn’t very well let himself sound like a whining kitten now that it came down to it.

At the question, Alonzo looked decidedly uncomfortable. But he forced himself to go on, “Back home. I’ve…got a…kit.”

Mack stared at the other tom for several seconds, uncomprehending. It wasn’t until Alonzo sank down onto the floor, looking ready to vomit, that it actually registered what he’d said. And then Mack was certain he must have misheard. “You…what?” he repeated, jumping up to his footpaws even as Alonzo was forced to sit. “Since—when—how’d you find out—you—ah…” he babbled unintelligibly, then tried again. “You…uh, never mentioned you had a mate,” he finished awkwardly and lamely. What else could one say? ‘Doozy of a time to start a family’?

“Sort of been busy with other matters, haven’t we?” Alonzo snapped. Then shook his head, immediately apologizing. “Sorry. Uncalled for. I…don’t have a mate. I mean,” he reddened, “not really, not in the proper sense, it was all a mistake…”

“Please,” Mack’s face reddened to match the rest of his coat, “you…don’t have to explain if you don’t want.” If this conversation proceeds any further, one or both of us will be ill. He could absolutely not believe that such a conversation was happening here and now. He’d thought he’d welcome any distraction from the present difficulties, but this…

He glanced over at Alonzo and caught the patched tom watching him, anxiously, as if gauging his reaction. “You know I’d never do this unless I had no choice…You…okay?”

“Yeah.” MacVitie frowned. “Just having trouble understanding…”

“Uh…what, exactly?”

“Oh, I dunno. What was in your head, for one. Did you get together with someone before or after you took it upon yourself to eavesdrop and take over our plans? ‘Oh, I’m about to go out as a spy in a very dangerous place, I may never come back, better get with some queen while I can’?” Before Mack had even finished speaking, Alonzo had him pinned to the floor.

“Shuttup,” the black-and-white snarled. “Shut. Up. Don’t mock at things you know nothing about. Unless you’d like to challenge me again, of your own accord this time—and this time I won’t let you win.”

“That’s wise,” Mack chuckled, feeling surprisingly little alarm. Not so much because he knew Alonzo would not seriously injure him, but more because this was rather a welcome change to the relative dullness of the past several weeks, and a relief to taut nerves. “Wouldn’t want to mark up your handsome face any more than I already have.”

Alonzo rolled off him, pounding the floor with his fist instead of the ginger tom’s head as he’d have liked to. “You are impossible!”

“Me? I’m not the one abandoning the plan after promising to stick it out to the end!” Mack held up a paw to stay Alonzo’s objections. “I won’t blame you, if I just know why it’s so bloody important! No offense—kits are important, but it isn’t as if this particular kit is abandoned in the streets and starving and—or is he…she…? I revise my earlier statement: you don’t have to explain yourself, but you do have to explain the situation. Keep it as impersonal as you like, only let me know why your particular presence is required so much that you’re willing to risk both our necks leaving here.” He paused before adding, “Because it is risking our necks, you know. No matter how peacefully it appears he’s allowing you to go…there must be a hitch somewhere.”

“D’you think I don’t know that?” No longer shouting, Alonzo rubbed a paw across his forehead wearily. “All right. It has to do with the other ‘development’ I mentioned… But never mind, that can wait a moment. Everyone will soon know, so I might as well say it: the mother of my kit is Bombalurina.”

MacVitie’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull. Of course Alonzo had never kept his long-held feelings for Bomba a secret. But he’d always seemed resigned that Bomba was unreachable and those feelings would never be returned.

This threw a whole other spin onto the “scheme” into which Bomba had got Mack and Munkus caught up just before the Ball. Before he could capture it, MacVitie had a sickening thought: Just how far was Bomba willing to go to make Tugger jealous? Alonzo had called it a ‘mistake’…

“Well… Bomba may not be exactly the ‘maternal type,’ but she should have plenty of help…”

“That’s not it at all,” Alonzo cut him off. “It’s much more complicated than that.”

“Isn’t it just always.”

“Let me finish,” the harlequin snapped, “or we’ll never get anywhere.”

“Right. Sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“There’s this humans’ pub in town. Most evenings you can find tasty scraps in their bins. I happened upon Bomba there one evening…we argued… No, this is going to take too long. The gist of it is, several of Growltiger’s henchcats are regulars at that same pub. Her face is known to them, and that we…know each other.”

“What else is new? There aren’t many back home whom the Tiger doesn’t know of and couldn’t use against us any time he chose…”

“Such as now.”

“I—what?”

“They’re here, Mack.”

“They? They who? Exactly what are you trying to tell me?” Mack growled. “Quit talking in riddles and just spit it out already! Who are you meant to be, Coricopat?”

“Bombalurina and…Demeter.”

“What?” Now it was MacVitie’s turn to pin Alonzo to the floor—truth be told, the harlequin put up little to no struggle. “Where is your head, you bloody patched-butt idiot? What’d you do—let them see you when you were on one of your spying assignments? How in bloody Heaviside could you let this happen?” Alonzo gave no response but an odd-sounding gurgle, which clued MacVitie in to the fact that his arm was pressing down on the patched tom’s throat. Reluctantly, the ginger tom moved his arm—‘Reluctantly,’ because, much as he didn’t want to actually kill his friend, at the moment he would really have liked to kill this imbecile who’d put more of their friends in danger. “Well?” Mack demanded, folding his arms so as to resist the temptation to resume choking the harlequin.

“They followed me,” Alonzo answered, with a slight cough. “You know he’s been sending me there, out of pure spite, no doubt. I have to tell him something, it isn’t as if he can’t go there himself and verify if what I report is real. At first I was careful not to be spotted, but he grew dissatisfied with my reports. ‘You’re one of them,’ he said. ‘What’ve I got you for if you don’t actually speak to anyone?’ So… Then I intended to show myself only to those I could persuade not to mention seeing me to anyone, or if they did, to somehow make a plausible story that I’d found a human family and simply didn’t want to leave them for the foreseeable future… All that vanished when guess-which-kit sneaked up and surprised me behind the old oven.”

“Quaxo.” Mack shook his head. “You’re going to pin all this on a kit?”

“A kit with powers,” Alonzo corrected. “And, no, I’m merely describing what happened.” He shook his head. “D’you know, Bomba had him more or less trying to track us down without even knowing he was doing anything of the kind? Others’ve started to notice he ‘knows’ or ‘has feelings’ about things, so she’d ask seemingly-innocent questions just to see what he’d say…”

“Bomba’s been trying to find us?”

“Well, we simply disappeared one night, didn’t we? Munk…appears anxious, but does not seem to be actively searching, which can only mean he’s figured out where we are and is giving us time to accomplish something before he interferes—or, more likely, Cori and Tanto have had to sit on him to stop him doing anything for the time being. Apparently they’ve said something to your father, because he’s not searching either.”

MacVitie couldn’t help feeling discouraged at this news, even though he knew he should be relieved. “And so the only one actively looking for us has been Bomba?”

“That’ll be my fault,” Alonzo admitted. “Of course she thinks I simply fled the scene to avoid the responsibilities of parenthood… But I didn’t know at the time, I promise I didn’t.”

“And so…Quaxo found you and told the others?”

“Yes. I tried to get away without them, tried to make them understand the danger without really explaining…You can guess how well that sat with Bomba. Quaxo seemed to pick up on something and actually made the responsible decision to leave the conversation then and there. I managed to get a promise from Bombalurina and Demeter that they wouldn’t tell anyone I’d been there. I came back here as soon as possible…and caught them trying to sneak in the entrance behind me. Bomba then informed me that they’d only promised to keep my secret—not to stay put.”

“So where are they now?”

“With you-know-who. I’m meant to explain the situation to you, and then…we’re meant to join them.”

“How can you say all this so bloody calmly?” Now that the initial task of telling MacVitie had been accomplished, the black-and-white did seem a right sight calmer than the shouting state he’d been in a moment ago—almost imperturbable, even.

“One of us has got to keep his head,” Alonzo informed the ginger tom. “The situation’s arisen, I know bloody well it’s my fault, but there’s nothing for it now but to make the most of it. Mack, I need to know you can handle this; Bomba and Demeter will have no one to turn to here but you.”

“After all you’ve told me, how can you still be leaving?”

“Mack. When the Tiger ‘gave me permission,’ what he meant was ‘Clear out and never return on pain of death.’”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“You’ll see for yourself. But isn’t it obvious in any case? He wants me gone, but wants to keep the queens here. As ‘guests.’”

“So hostages,” MacVitie groaned, kicking himself for not realizing sooner.

“Of course. Think on it, Mack. He agreed to let your mum go in exchange for our staying. So he clearly values us on some level. All the same, he has little hold over us beyond that.”

“Had,” Mack corrected dryly.

“Had,” the harlequin repeated. “Is…this all clear enough? The others are waiting…”

The weight of everything Alonzo had told him began to hit home at last. They’re actually here… What must they think?... “Let’s go then,” the ginger tom sighed. “Probably not much more you can tell me that I won’t find out myself in any case…”

Alonzo cleared his throat. “So can I get up then?”

“Huh?”

“You’re kind of sitting on me.”

MacVitie looked down at the other tom, having momentarily forgotten pinning him to the floor. He was also very aware that the black-and-white could easily have shoved him off. The fact that he didn’t spoke volumes… And then his words really began to sink in, I need to know you can handle this…they’ll have no one to turn to but you. What must it be like for him at this moment—having only just learnt he had a kit, and that the mother of that kit was being taken hostage? And here Mack was, flying off the handle. Guiltily, he stood up, releasing Alonzo. “Right. Sorry.”

Alonzo stood as well, shrugging his shoulders. Apart from a slight tremble in his lower lip, the harlequin had his nerves under control and showed no visible signs of worry. “Quite a fix we’ve got into, eh. Well. Time to face the music…I think that’s what the humans say?”

"You'd have to ask my brothers about that one."

---

Stone-faced, the ginger tom led the two queens through the warehouse, back towards his den. Growltiger had ordered him to find ‘the guests’ their own sleeping quarters, but first a serious discussion needed to be had and rules laid down. If they were foolish enough to seek out this place to begin with, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of their doing something equally foolish while being here, resulting in their being maimed or killed.

He’d spoken little during the short meeting between himself, Alonzo, Bombalurina, Demeter, and Growltiger. The others seemed to have settled things well enough without his input. The Tiger had merely informed them all, in a general sort of way, that Patch had been called away to deal with ‘certain pressing matters,’ they had gained ‘two lovely guests whose stay here was indefinite,’ and that ‘of course Napoleon would see to it the guests had all they needed.’

That had been all. Alonzo had gone. Growltiger had dismissed them.

Having reached his den, MacVitie sat down on the floor, leaving the bed for the queens. Having nothing else to do, the two sisters took the silently offered seat. Then an awkward silence stretched on for several minutes.

“It’s…good to see you, Vitie,” Demeter ventured at last. “We thought…we were afraid that…well, no one was sure…”

“Don’t bother, Deme,” Bombalurina cut in. “He’s about to throw a tantrum at us, and nothing we do or say will stop it.” She turned a saucy eye towards the ginger tom. “Isn’t that right, Mackey? Or should I say…Napoleon?” She snickered. “Is that your new tribe name? Just whose idea was that?”

“Bomba,” Demeter murmured reprovingly.

“You are unbelievable,” Mack whispered—only because the alternative was screaming. “Have you any idea what you’ve done?”

“I’ve already had the lecture from Alonzo,” Bomba scowled, “and don’t intend to hear it again.”

“Bomba,” Deme began again.

“No, Deme!” The scarlet queen pounded the bed with her fist. “‘What’ve you done,’ these idiots ask. What’ve we done? You simply disappear one night and no one does anything about it. Just after that patched scoundrel takes advantage of high emotions, a pub, and a late night to get the only thing any tom cares about. Coincidence? I think not. How was I to know he’d go to such lengths to escape responsibility? Even before he knew there’d be a kitten! Bloody ratsdung. I hate toms!” She’d worked herself into such an agitated state that she’d begun shredding the bits of cloth that made up MacVitie’s bed. “You owe me a bloody good explanation for, firstly, how you came to help bloody Patch run away from his bloody problems, and secondly, what the deuce made you think this was a good place to run away to. Just look what you’ve got us all into!”

MacVitie had looked away in embarrassment when Bomba mentioned her… ‘rendezvous’ with Alonzo. But as she went on, he turned back and gaped at her in astonishment. Alonzo had said, of course, that Bomba would say he was fleeing his responsibilities…but MacVitie had assumed she’d also suspect there was more to it than that. Was Alonzo aware that as far as she was concerned, this was the crux of the matter—he and Bomba, nothing else? That according to her, they’d joined a dangerous gang ‘just to get away’? Bomba’s rant had quite knocked all the fight out of Mack for the moment, and he now spoke with relative calm. “So. You think that all of this was about Alonzo running away from his problems, and that I was his confidant in all this? Bomba…you’ve got this completely wrong.” He paused. How much to tell them? Perhaps it was best to keep them as ignorant as possible. He himself still knew little, in any case—only that Growltiger had a plan, not what that plan was or how to stop it. He also suspected one or two gang members of being secretly against the Tiger, but he was too new here for anyone to begin taking him into their confidence. So, why involve the queens in that uncertainty? Besides, if they did suspect something, Mack could just see them—especially Bomba—getting themselves in trouble by attempting to gather information or some such notion. No, best to tell them as little as possible. All the same, he hated for Alonzo to bear so much of the blame unnecessarily. Now that the harlequin had gone, MacVitie was beginning to realize how much of a…well, a reassurance, the other tom’s presence here had been. Also, upon reflection, and what he knew of Alonzo, it was likely that, whatever other motivations may have been there, the patched tom’s chief motivation had still been the wellbeing of the Tribe. Mack shouldn’t allow him to be completely thrown under the bus if he could help it.

“Well? What do you mean?” Bomba snapped, breaking into MacVitie’s thoughts and reminding him that he’d been silent for some time. “He’s thought up some excuse? This ought to be good.”

“Bomba, just give him a chance,” said Demeter.

“No matter what he says,” Bombalurina turned her glaring eye on her sister, “it does not change what Alonzo did.”

“And I’d never defend him in that,” Demeter responded firmly. “I’m completely with you there. But don’t give him blame he doesn’t deserve. And don’t take it out on Vitie.”

“He worships the ground you walk on,” MacVitie blurted out, on a sudden mad impulse. “He always has. You know that. He didn’t leave to escape, he left to…” He thought of what Alonzo had told him before he’d taken the rash action of coming between Bella and Growltiger. “To give you an out.”

“And thus the relationships expert speaks at last,” Bomba sneered. “He’s here to tell us what everyone’s feeling because his brother Stripes isn’t here to do it for him.”

“Just what do you mean, Vitie?” Demeter asked, perplexed.

MacVitie hadn’t thought he could be in a scarier situation than when he’d joined Growltiger’s gang; this right here nearly qualified. Still, how could matters get worse? There was nothing for it but to be brutally honest. What would Bomba do, not speak to him for a week? That hardly mattered. “Look,” he pressed on, “Bomba. Tugger and you—you’re mad for each other, right? Have been since we were kits. You’ve perhaps never quite learnt how to show it in the correct way, but the fact stands. Everyone knows it. Another well-known fact is that Alonzo has admired you for just as long. But he’s the sense to know it was and would always be from afar. Or did have. Something changed, for a fleeting moment at least, that evening you met at the pub. I don’t know much about that—nor, frankly, do I want to know any more. Whatever changed, whatever happened, he quickly regained his senses. Realising the compromising position he’d placed you in, he concluded the best thing was to make himself scarce so you could forget the moment of madness and move on with your life. Mind, I’m not saying he was correct in thinking this way, but his intentions were the best they could be under the circumstances. Kittens had not entered into his calculations at the time.” He paused for a moment’s respite, not used to making such long speeches. He did not know for certain that any of this was true, but it was the most likely from what he could tell, doing his best to follow Munkustrap’s example of paying attention to others’ actions and trying to understand what they meant. “That was partly why he left,” Mack went on, not daring to meet either queen’s gaze until he’d done talking. “The other reason…was to help me. It can’t have escaped your notice that my mum disappeared the same night Alonzo and I did. She tried to make it seem as though she’d only gone to stay with her humans, but her long absence must have started to seem suspicious. Well, that is because she was…here. The Tiger has some sort of hold over her, I still haven’t found out what. Alonzo and I came upon them arguing…whatever they were arguing on, it ended with her agreeing to accompany him back to his gang. Alonzo and I followed. One thing led to another, and we somehow eventually managed to get her freedom in exchange for our staying here indefinitely. We’ve—I’ve—been chiefly trying to find an opportunity to escape, while following orders and generally keeping out of trouble. And…now you know as much as I do,” he concluded. “Though,” he added, looking up at last to see the queens’ reactions, “perhaps my mum has shared at least some of what I’ve told you?”

Both were staring at him in speechless astonishment. All semblance of fight seemed to have fled even Bomba’s face.

“Vitie,” Demeter began tentatively, “she…” The gold queen glanced to her sister as if for help.

“Your mum hasn’t been back since that night,” Bomba informed him, though in a much gentler tone than was her wont.

“I—what?” MacVitie gawped at the scarlet queen. “No, you must be mistaken, she…”

“Don’t you think if she’d been there we’d have noticed?” Bomba interrupted, the slightest hint of irritation returning to her voice.

This made no sense. “Perhaps she’s staying with her humans, unless…” A horrifying thought occurred to him. “I’ll be back,” he said flatly, getting up, “I’ve a little chat to have with…”

“No, Vitie!” Demeter seized his paw to stop him going, eyes widened in alarm. “Please don’t cross him, not for this, I don’t think he’s keeping her here, Bombalurina has seen your mum, just not…” She glanced guiltily at Bomba, as if afraid she’d said too much.

“Where?” MacVitie demanded. “Was she all right? What did she say?”

“If you must know,” the red queen sighed, “it was…at that pub.” She held up a paw to stay Mack’s outburst. “Don’t start. I don’t want to hear it. I was trying to gather information as to your and Alonzo’s whereabouts, thank you very much. Believe it or not, I’m quite good at gathering information in general. Cats of all sorts who’ve been everywhere—mostly scruffy-looking, smelly toms, for your information—sit about the place drinking some sort of water they lift from the humans’ stores. I’ve tried it once or twice—awful flavor, but it does seem to calm the nerves if taken in small quantities. In large quantities, on the other paw…In any case, these toms sit about consuming glass after glass, and let’s just say it gets them talking. I’ve not found out much useful thus far—or hadn’t, until this particular evening.” Just how often had Bomba been there…? “That’s when, amidst all the stench and scraggly fur, I spotted Bella off in a corner on her own, a glass and bottle in front of her.” She hesitated, as if considering how much to tell him, for once thinking of her words and their effect on another cat. MacVitie recognized the look, mainly because he’d seen it so often on his brother’s face.

“Don’t leave out a thing,” he commanded. “I was perfectly frank with you just now.” He felt a twinge of guilt at his not-completely-true statement, but he had been as frank as he could safely be at the moment. “Return me the favour. Tell me everything you can recall that passed between you.” He glanced in annoyance at Demeter, who’d seated herself on the floor and was pulling at his paw to make him sit down as well. “And will you stop that, please, Deme,” he growled, though he did sit. “I’m not a baby kitten who needs someone to hold my paw.”

“No,” snapped the gold queen, “and you’re also not an emotionless brick wall. At least I don’t think you are.” She retained her grip on his paw—tightened it, even, as if he’d try to escape—and he made no further objection.

“Well,” Bombalurina continued, looking more uncomfortable than ever, “as I said, the bitter water makes cats talk more than usual, and of course everything they say is a mixture of truth and utter nonsense. Mind that.” Mack nodded impatiently for her to go on. “When I spotted Bella, of course I made straight for her, sat down across from her, and asked where in Heaviside she’d been all these weeks. It seemed to take her a moment to recognize me, and to register what I’d even said. When recognition dawned, she burst into tears and started in on a long rant, much of which made no sense—either because she was simply spouting nonsense brought on by the drink, or because I didn’t know the context of what she was talking about. But one thing was clear: she’d been mixed up with a gang of thugs, and now you and Alonzo were deep in it as well. Because of her. She…kept repeating, ‘I’m the worst mother on earth, I’m the worst mate on earth, I don’t deserve him,’ over and over. I tried to persuade her, first, to explain what she meant, then, when that was useless, to return with me to the Junkyard. She looked terrified at that and kept sobbing, ‘I can’t go back, not ever,’ getting so loud that others turned and glared at us. Then a few began leering, and I knew it was getting to the dangerous time of evening and it was time to clear out. I couldn’t leave Bella there, of course. Though in her hysterical state, it was doubtful any of the toms would want to bother her; still, common decency was to get her out of there. And I thought maybe if I waited a bit, she’d tell me more. I finally got her to leave with me, only after promising that I’d take her to her humans’ house, not the Junkyard. I said nothing until we reached her door, figuring I’d give her time to calm down a bit. She made no move to go inside, so we perched on the front step. ‘You can’t tell him,’ she said finally. ‘It would kill him.’ I had no idea who she was referring to, though I could well guess it was you, one of your brothers, or Deuteronomy.” She paused. To Mack’s expectant, inquiring look, she shook her head. “I promise, I got nothing more of sense out of her. Finally I opened the kitty door and more or less shoved her inside the house. I told her not to do anything, I’d be back to see her again soon, and then I left.” She shrugged her shoulders helplessly. “What more could I do?”

MacVitie nodded. “What more could you do?” he repeated dully, trying to quell his disappointment. All this really revealed to him was that something dreadful was eating away at his mother…which, if he were honest, he’d known for some time. But nothing Bomba said gave him a clue as to what that might be. He caught Demeter watching him anxiously, and gave her what he hoped was some sort of a reassuring smile. What am I doing here? Can’t find out Growltiger’s plans, can’t help Mum… I may as well have stayed home and out of the way where I belong. “And did you?” he asked Bomba, grasping at a last hope. “See her again?”

Before the scarlet queen could respond, she was distracted by something behind the other two felines. MacVitie and Demeter turned about to see what Bomba was looking at: two small fuzzy feline faces peeking around the doorway of the den. They looked uncertainly at Bomba, but the moment MacVitie spotted them they broke into enormous grins and walked right in. Without so much as a by-your-leave, they seated themselves on either side of Bomba and leaned up against her cozily. The scarlet queen looked annoyed, but not frightened. These were nothing more than a couple of kittens, evidently siblings, tabby-furred—matching patterns, only one had mixed black and gold stripes, the other black and orange.

“Hiya, Nappy,” grinned the black-and-gold one, a little queen. “Wot’s kickin’?”

“Look, Teazer,” growled Mack in annoyance, “if you two can’t say Napoleon, I get it. But ‘nappy’ is not a good alternative. Try my old name, MacVitie. Or Mackey, if that’s too hard. Or, you know, just plain old Mack. Nice and easy.”

“Mack,” the queenkit, apparently called Teazer, tried. “Hmm…wotcha think, Jerrie?”

“Mack,” repeated the black-and-orange tomkit…Jerrie. He seemed to think deeply on the subject—for about two seconds. Then he dismissed it. “Not goin’ to ’appen. Too boring an’ not intimate.”

“Intimidating,” Mack cut in impatiently, whilst Bomba and Demeter struggled to stifle their giggles. “All right, then. How about the others?”

“Wot were the others, now?” Jerrie mused. “Mmm…Mack…a…thing…somefin’… Macavee…Macavity…”

“Ohhh, I like that’un!” his sister cut in excitedly. “Er, wot was it? MacKintosh? MacPhee?”

“Mac-a-VEE-tee,” Jerrie corrected.

“All right, all right,” MacVitie interrupted, putting a paw to his head. They can pronounce any stupid human Scotch name except the one I want them to say. “It doesn’t matter. But I’m busy now. Clear off.”

“Vitie,” Demeter spoke up reproachfully. Mack rolled his eyes. He’d nearly forgotten what a mother-hen she was.

“Careful, Deme,” he cautioned. “They look cute, but they’ll steal the whiskers right off you if you don’t look out.”

Ignoring him, Demeter looked up at the kits. “Hello,” she said kindly, “my name’s Demeter. What are your names?”

The tomkit jumped up and gave a little bow—so solemn-looking as to be almost comical. “’Ello, nice lady, my name is Mungojerrie. This’s me sistah…” Not to be outdone, the queenkit hurriedly stood and bowed likewise before her brother completed the introduction. “…Rumpelteazer.”

“I’m Bombalurina, in case anyone’s interested,” said Bomba. “You know, the one you crowded in next to without so much as an introduction?”

Mungojerrie spun back round to face her, looking distraught. “Please fergive our terrible manners, milady!” he exclaimed, actually leaning down and kissing the scarlet queen’s paw.

“Lady Mother did teach us,” Rumpelteazer added apologetically, “but we do ferget sometimes…”

“All right,” Mack cut in once more, “we’re all good and introduced. Now did you two actually have something to say, or did you simply come to make nuisances of yourselves?—And steal my food?” he added, staring down Jerrie until the tiger tomkit guiltily put back the mouse he’d been hiding behind his back. The truth was, MacVitie was rather fond of the two irrepressible kits—too fond, in fact. They reminded him constantly of Plato and Admetus. This, to his mind, was a problem. The moment he’d first seen Jerrie and Teazer, he’d at first been shocked that there were any kits here at all—then, upon reflection, decided it made sense. Apart from going out and recruiting, how was a gang—this one, or any other—to keep up their numbers if there were never any mates and kittens? Besides, being small, and at just the age when youngkits needed plenty of activity, they made ideal burglars. Once he’d reasoned this out to himself, he immediately determined on one vital self-imposed ultimatum: not to get attached. However cute they were now, they couldn’t be raised here and not grow to be just like Growltiger and his ilk. And whatever happened, MacVitie would inevitably have to fight them one day. He would have to make Demeter and Bombalurina understand that. Before too much damage was done.

“I just remembah’d!” Rumpelteazer exclaimed. “Leadah wants you t’know…t’know…ah…” She looked to her brother for assistance.

“Ah…lemme see, now, they wos lots of instruct-shins…” Jerrie wrinkled up his nose in concentration. “Fuhstly… Patchy’s duties are now yours. Second…”

“I remembah this’un!” Rumpel cut in eagerly. “Find yer lady-guests useful fings ta do, or see to it they stay outta the way, an’ the fuhst time they’re caught meddlin’ wif anyfin’ in any way, it’s their ’eads. Oh, an’ if any’un should ’appen upon ’em lookin’ fer a good time, it ain’t Leadah’s job t’ say anyfing about it.”

“Fin’ly,” Mungo concluded, spreading his paws dramatically, “come’n see Leadah fer further instruct-shins before sunset.”

“That wasn’t a lot,” Mack shrugged, feigning indifference. In truth, their words had him more than a bit worried. “Well,” he prompted, hoping to finally be rid of them, “aren’t you two meant to be replenishing the food stores, or something…?”

Teazer gasped. “Matter o’ fact, we are! C’mon, Jerrie, we’d bettah get a move on! Y’know it takes a while an’ Lady Mother don’t like us out after dahk…”

“Lovely t’meet yew ladies, must dash,” Jerrie said, giving a hasty bow. Without further ado, the twins fled the den.

---

“What was that about, Mack?” Demeter demanded the moment the kits had gone. MacVitie shrank back slightly. She only called him that when peeved with him. The gold queen looked as if she couldn’t decide whether to whack him or burst into tears or both. “You can’t… you can’t have grown so calloused already just by living here. They’re kittens, for Heaviside’s sake!”

“And I’ll do them so much good by babying them,” the ginger tom countered. “Have you forgot where we are?”

Bombalurina rolled her eyes. “Not this song-and-dance again. Listen, if you two are quite done with your lovers’ tiff…”

“It’s nothing of the kind, Bomba,” Demeter objected, flushing crimson.

“…Let’s move on to the important questions,” Bomba went on, as if her sister hadn’t spoken. “First: who’s this ‘Lady Mother’ they kept mentioning? I gather she’s important?”

“Her name is Griddlebone,” MacVitie informed her, just as glad to be saved from the other conversation. “Big, imposing Persian queen. The most important thing you need to know is to keep out of her way.”

“That seems to be the general idea round here,” Bomba scoffed.

“Is she actually their mother?” Demeter asked.

“As far as I know,” MacVitie sighed, “and she makes them call her Lady. But it’s so with everyone here. She is what you’d call Growltiger’s… queen, lady, love, lady love, you get the idea.” He grimaced. “And she must make sure everyone remembers it. Fortunately she shows herself but rarely, preferring to keep to her den and have things fetched to her as if she were a human monarch.” He shook his head disdainfully.

“Growltiger isn’t their father, though, is he?” Demeter persisted. It was all too clear where her priorities lay already. MacVitie got the sinking feeling she would make herself a dangerous liability if he didn’t keep her in check. It may already be too late.

“I expect he is,” Mack answered in spite of himself. “What makes you say that?”

“Just seeing him, and then them—Jerrie and Teazer, that is—it didn’t seem quite…although they do speak very much like him…you have to wonder how the Lady Mother feels about that…”

“Dem,” Bomba interrupted sharply, thinking along the same lines as MacVitie, “please tell me what your questions have to do with the goal at paw? Namely, staying alive, in case you’d forgot?”

“Bomba… How can you of all cats not understand? How can you be a mother and still gloss over the fact that two kittens are being raised in a place like this?”

MacVitie cringed, certain that all havoc was about to break loose. But the only visible signs of displeasure Bomba showed were a slight curl of the lip and her paw shaking at her side as if she’d very much like to strike her sister. Seeing Demeter was close to tears, it was obvious the gold queen spoke out of concern for the kits, and not with that cold cruelty that was queens’ sharpest weapon against one another. “Demeter,” the scarlet queen said firmly, “you’ve got to move on past that. It’s not a question of being unmoved by these poor kits’ situation, but of trying to stay alive. That means putting aside these—for now—irrelevant matters and listening to Mack’s advice. (You will tell no one I ever said such a thing, Mack. Ever.) We’re no help to the kits or anyone else if we get killed off within three minutes of being here simply because we let our emotions get the better of us.”

MacVitie nodded in agreement with her speech, until she came to the bit about controlling one’s emotions, at which point he raised an eyebrow skeptically. He let that pass, however, and picked up her line of thought before Demeter could interject. “Of course we’ll help them if we can.” Why on earth did I just say that? “But,” he went on hastily, “you’ve got to understand that my very first priority is keeping you two safe and getting you home as soon as possible.”

“And you’ve got to understand,” Demeter countered, “that I am not going anywhere without those kits, any more than I’ll leave without you. We all go or we all stay.”

Bombalurina fixed her sister with a scrutinizing glance, before turning to MacVitie with a shake of her head. “Nothing for it, Mackey. You aren’t going to change her mind on this now. Whatever plans you’ve got cooking, you may as well go ahead and make those two obnoxious fur-heads a part of it. Oh, and this is from me, if you had any hair-brained idea of getting us out and staying yourself, you can forget that too.” So much for having Bomba as his ally in reason and logic.

“Demeter…” Mack continued to stare at the gold queen in disbelief. “You’ve known those kits for five minutes.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Demeter said coolly. “You’ve known them for weeks and yet hadn’t even considered how to get them out of here? You and Alonzo would have just left them at the first opportunity and not thought twice about it? What’ve you been doing here, twiddling your paws?”

“You don’t understand…” MacVitie felt a suspicious burning at the back of his eyes, and shoved his paws up to them to prevent any possible tears escaping. That would help no one. “Fine. Have it your own way. We’ll work them into the plan.” Right. What plan? He struggled to swallow back the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him.

“Meanwhile,” Bomba suggested, buying him time, “we’ll still be here quite a while, most likely. So tell us what we should expect and do in day-to-day life.” She hastily added, before he could respond, “And don’t say ‘keep out of the way’ again. We’ve got that one, all right.”

MacVitie swallowed several times and cleared his throat loudly before trusting himself to speak again. “Well, that is the main one,” he shrugged.

“So you’re saying mean old Uncle Tiger won’t expect us to attend to any duties like proper tribe-members?” Bomba smirked.

“Not unless you draw undue attention to yourselves. Believe me when I say that, to him, you’re nothing but pretty faces,” Mack told them bluntly. “But you remind me of another important point. Don’t underestimate him. He may seem funny and easygoing, but believe me when I say that, whatever you remember about him from when we were kits, he’s dangerous. He’d smile serenely at you while giving another cat orders to rip you apart. He’d make you fight your best friend just on a whim. He’d…” He stopped himself short of going on a rant. He needed to frighten the queens enough to deliver his point, not scar them for life unnecessarily.

Demeter caught his eye: she was staring at him, wide-eyed, frustration with him for the moment forgotten. “You’ve seen all that since being here?”

MacVitie hesitated and glanced at Bombalurina, asking with his eyes if he should say any more. If she’d really been to that pub as often as she made it sound, the scarlet queen couldn’t be too shocked by anything he shared. But Demeter, on the other paw… He received no signal from Bomba but a raised eyebrow. How helpful.

“I’m not some helpless kit, and Bomba’s not my mum,” the gold queen spoke up again. “Say whatever you’ve to say.” Her voice shook, contradicting her words, but she stared Mack down until he felt it useless to argue.

“Fine. Yes. Of course I’ve seen things since being here. This isn’t a happy-fuzzy family, Demeter, it’s…well, I don’t know quite what, yet. Not just a load of felines who amuse themselves by being brutes, either; they’ve got some goal they’re working towards, I don’t know what.” He bit his lip, having given away more than he meant. “The Tiger has got to keep control somehow. He’s got a variety of methods. For example, if he notices two cats sharing too strong a sense of comradeship, he makes them fight, and not leave off until he says so. Sometimes one ends up dead. Just to prove we’d follow any order. When Alonzo and I got here, well…obviously we were too close for his liking already. So fighting each other was our initiation, if you will.”

“So that’s how his face got rearranged,” Bomba muttered in spite of herself.

“Vitie,” Demeter gasped, backing away. “Did…one of you nearly…would you have…?”

“How can you ask me that?” MacVitie demanded.

“Of course Mackey would never do such a thing, Deme,” Bombalurina snarled. “Patches, on the other paw…wouldn’t put it past him…”

“Don’t ever say that!” the ginger tom exclaimed. “Just because you intend to hold a grudge against him forever…” Hot tears of anger flowed freely down his cheeks, but he no longer cared. He turned away from the two queens. They’d not even been here a day, and already he’d had it with them. “Listen,” he growled at the wall, “Alonzo and I have never been the greatest of friends. There are times I’d like to stove his head in. But I trust him with my life, and I hope he does me. Neither of us would consider seriously harming the other, not for a moment, d’you hear? For my part, I’d die myself first, and he’s given me reason to believe he feels the same. Why? Because he’s a Jellicle. We’re of the same Tribe. We’re comrades—more than comrades—we’re family. Just as I consider you two family, no matter how much you are both behaving like prats right now. Nothing can change that. And don’t think for a moment that living here has caused me to forget.” He leaned his forehead against the den wall, feeling utterly spent already, though it was barely midday. “Any other questions?” he rasped without turning around. Neither queen responded, either too shocked or too angry or too hurt or—the list of stupid queenly emotions they could be feeling was overwhelming… In any case, for the moment they seemed to have nothing to say. “Then I’m declaring ten minutes’ quiet. I need to think. Heard of it? It’s a thing somecats try to do instead of simply feeling and fussing and talking. If you two want to talk, fine, just keep the noise to a minimum and don’t involve me. At the end of ten minutes, we’ll resume our conversation, but keeping strictly to useful topics relating to our survival here. I’ve no stomach for anything more, this afternoon.” He half-expected one or both of them to make a saucy remark back to him, but apart from a bit of murmured conversation between the two queens, silence reigned. This fact told him that, however ill they may grasp the current situation, they at least had the sense to recognize that listening to MacVitie was key in their survival.

Thinking along those lines reminded him of the last thing Alonzo had said—about the queens’ having “no one to turn to” but him. Of course the queens were clueless about the situation—what else could he expect? And here all he could do was shout at them, he thought guiltily. He’d often missed one or another of his fellow Jellicles—mainly his own family, whom he couldn’t leave off worrying about, but others as well, including Demeter, with whom he’d never really made it up before leaving. Well, now she and her sister were here; they must be terrified however much they tried to hide it. He ought to be comforting them with thoughtful words and reassuring them that they would soon be home again, as he was hatching a plan, and a brilliant one at that… the sort of things Munkustrap would be doing in his place. Instead, he had no patience with them and had told them hardly anything useful or reassuring—only bothered them for news of his mother, frightened them, and more or less complained about his own troubles. No wonder Alonzo had been concerned. Truth was, despite the considerable time he and Alonzo had been here, MacVitie, for his part, had hardly made good use of it, as Demeter had so aptly noted. Unless directly ordered to do something, he’d mainly kept to his den, remaining as disconnected as possible, trying not to break. The queens’ coming had awakened everything he had been trying not to feel or think about for weeks.

He heard a slight rustle behind him. Glancing over his shoulder in spite of himself, Mack saw that Demeter had made her way over to him. After one short, searching glance at his face, she leaned against him comfortingly, in much the same way he had done for Munk one of the last evenings they’d talked together. Mack turned his face away, but let her stay. What a state he must be in, that the queens he was meant to protect had to be the ones comforting him, instead of the other way round.

That did it. He must start in on much more actively trying than he had up till now. Figuring out what Growltiger’s plan was, finding out how he kept so many cats obedient to him (before now, Mack’s mind had only been on the Tiger’s personal hold on himself, namely his mother—what about the rest of the gang?), making a plan of escape for the queens (and now those stupid striped twins as well), and discreetly speaking to other gang-members to find out whom he might enlist to help in taking down Growltiger… Stop a bit. What an idiot he was! When not on duty, where did gang-members go to amuse and enjoy themselves? Hadn’t Alonzo mentioned that some of them could be found at the pub which Bomba kept referring to…?

Without thinking, he gave Demeter’s paw an affectionate squeeze, feeling more excitement and optimism than he’d felt in what seemed like ages. She gave a slight jump and her eyes sought his with a look of surprised inquiry. “Ten minutes’ silence is over,” he announced (though he wasn’t at all sure ten minutes had actually passed), turning himself and Demeter both round to face Bombalurina. He was unable to help grinning from ear to ear, but his face quickly sobered as he looked at Bomba. “This is important,” he told her. “I need to know all about the pub, where it is, and any cats you remember seeing there.”

The scarlet queen exchanged a knowing glance with her sister. “I was wondering when you’d think to ask me that, Mackey dear,” she smirked.

---

“So, the elusive new favourite honours us with his presence at last,” guffawed a large Himalayan queen. “Lily LaRose, can’t recollect if we’ve been formally introduced. This here’s my establishment, so any plans of causin’ a fuss here and ye’ll feel the toe of my boot before ye can say canary. What’s yer poison, babbykit—er, Biscuit—say, what’s it we’re supposed to call ye, anyhow?”

“Get this kit a glass o’ milk,” snorted a tabby-and-patched-furred tom, seated near him.

MacVitie bore their ridicule silently, per his predetermined strategy. Getting into a brawl over his own pride would help no one. As the Himalayan…Lily LaRose, obligingly slid a dish of milk over to him, however, he murmured, “Macavity.” Much as he hated to admit it, that name Teazer had spouted at random did have rather an intimidating ring to it. More than any of the others, at any rate. And he needed to establish a name and reputation for himself among these cats, or he’d get nowhere. If names like ‘Biscuit’ and ‘Babbykit’ were to become stuck to him the way ‘Patches’ and ‘Patchy’ had got stuck to Alonzo, he was doomed. That thought actually made him chuckle. Must be nerves.

“Eh, wot’s that?” Lily leaned her ear in closer. “Ole Lil don’t hear so good.”

“I’m called Macavity,” he repeated, looking round at Lily and the others near him.

“Heard tell the Leader call ye Napoleon,” sneered the tom who’d told Lily to give Mack a glass of milk. “Know who Napoleon was? He was a human…” All the cats within earshot spat upon the floor in disgust. “…Who tried to conquer the world an’ failed because he was too little an’ scrawny.” The tom smirked.

“The Leader can call us what he wants, can’t he,” spoke up a tom on Mack’s other side, who had until now remained silent. “Leave off, TB, Lil, and let Macavity, here, drink in peace.” The tom seemed to have some influence over the others, as they rolled their eyes but went about their own business after that.

Mack began sipping at his milk, curious as to why this tom had defended him but trying not to appear overly interested. Meanwhile, he glanced discreetly around for Bombalurina and Demeter.

There had been much fierce argument over the matter. At first, Mack had insisted on going to the pub alone—really, his idea of “keeping the queens safe” consisted mainly in leaving the queens hidden in his den except to get out and use the litter box (there was no litter box, but how much more delicate could one get when explaining?). Any other needs—food, water, bedding—could be brought to them. But they soon showed him how ridiculous that would be—anycat would go mad shut up in such a way, and besides, he couldn’t possibly keep an eye on them at all times; what was to stop any other gang-member from coming along and doing just whatever he liked? Of course they couldn’t possibly follow him everywhere, but that was a question to be resolved later. In just the matter of the pub, Bomba had the most experience; she had no doubt Mack would need rescuing from some situation or other, and she ought to be there to cue him as to how to act. Though resenting that last bit, Mack grudgingly had to admit that she did know more about the place than he. “And before you can even say it,” Demeter had added, “don’t think of leaving me behind either. I’m much safer with you two than here alone, in any case.” Neither could argue that point. At a short distance from the pub, they stopped, each entering separately within a few minutes of one another. Couldn’t hurt to pretend to be strangers at least until they’d gauged the situation. And perhaps they could each glean information from different sources, despite Bomba’s insistence that she’d never yet found out anything useful. That’s only because you weren’t a fellow gang-member, MacVitie had told her, though he wasn’t at all certain. They went early in the evening, hopefully before everyone was completely dead tipsy.

And so here Mack was, catching a glimpse of Bomba’s red pelt as she flirted with a tom next to her, holding a full tankard from which she only stole occasional sips. Glancing round for Demeter, he spotted her at another table, looking pitiful. Apparently Bomba had advised her to go the ‘sob story’ route, and it appeared to be working on the two toms at the table with her. All the same, Mack determined to keep tabs on that situation and intervene if necessary. Bomba had insisted she would see to herself and her sister, he need only focus on his own bit. But he was not so dimwitted as to believe Bomba and Demeter alone could take on a whole group of toms. Then again, neither could the three of them together. His heartrate quickened, and he did his best to abandon that line of thinking. Panicking was the worst idea.

“Macavity, eh,” said a voice, startling him. Mack turned back to the tom beside him, having almost forgotten he was there.

“Macavity,” he echoed, looking the tom in the eye, uncertain if he was being challenged or…?

But the tom merely nodded. “Genghis,” he said by way of introduction. “You’re the new recruit who joined recently along with that patched one, I think. Don’t strike me as the sort to enjoy human liquor. What brings you here at last, then?”

Mack was rather put-out by the fact that he had come here hoping to interrogate other cats, and was already the one being interrogated himself. But, remembering Bomba’s advice to ‘play along, keep them talking, there’s no danger as long as you don’t reveal anything important, and you may just find out something,’ he heaved a sigh. “Same reasons as everyone else, I reckon,” he said vaguely, testing the waters.

“One of three reasons brings us here, mainly,” Genghis nodded. “Pleasure, business, or brooding. Usually the first or third. Yours is the third, I expect.”

“How’s that?”

“If you came seeking pleasure, you would not have taken this long to make your first visit, and you would not look so glum. If business, you would be glancing round for someone—whoever you were here to do business with.”

“Perhaps I’m simply good at concealing.”

“That, I’m afraid, is not the case. I’d strongly advise and caution you not to wear your intentions and emotions so prominently in your features and body language. That sort of thing gets one killed.”

“Thanks very much,” Mack growled.

“You see?” Genghis raised an eyebrow. “Fortunately for you, I am not one for confrontations except when absolutely necessary. So, I will ignore your less-than-amiable tone.”

“Less-than-amiable? Where are we meant to be, the Human Queen’s parlor?” He spat on the floor for good measure, as he’d seen the other cats do at the word ‘human.’ Genghis merely watched him, lip twitching in amusement.


“No. We are in a far less forgiving place, which is why I recommend you moderate your tone.”


Mack flattened his ears, but saw the sense in this tom’s words. Though why anycat here would want to be so helpful was beyond him. Play along, play along, he reminded himself. “All right, then,” he managed stiffly.


“Better,” Genghis nodded. “Now we’ll talk. Suppose you tell me what’s happened in your day to bring you here brooding.”


“Oh, well, as to that,” Mack shrugged, trying to decide on the spot what was and wasn’t safe to share, “I was called in to see Leader.”


Genghis nodded again, his manner surprisingly sympathetic. “And the meeting was not to your liking, I take it?”


“Not especially,” said Mack rather gruffly, trying to hide his confusion and not knowing where or how to look meanwhile. “But I don’t suppose it’s wise to speak of such meetings amongst ourselves. Might give the incorrect impression that we’re leaning towards…the ‘m’ word.” The moment the sentence left his mouth, Mack wished beyond anything that he could retract it. He sounded like a kit carefully referring to a swear word without actually speaking it.


“The ‘m’ word?” Now Genghis looked hard-pressed not to laugh.


“Mutiny,” the ginger tom muttered, looking down into his milk dish.


“Ah, yes. Perhaps you’ve some sense after all, to be so cautious about saying it. The word is somewhat fitting, as Leader has been known to use us to crew his barge…that has not happened in quite some time, however.”


A few moments’ silence stretched between them. Then,


“What do you mean by ‘not to your liking,’ anyway?” Mack resumed. “Each of us, one way or another, chose to throw in his lot with the Leader. We follow orders and live well, or we don’t and get punished. Straightforward enough, but I hardly think likes or dislikes enter into the matter.”


“I suppose you are correct,” Genghis shrugged. He went back to his drink, as if the conversation had been brought to a close.


Mack seethed, barely holding himself back from dashing the contents of his dish all over the countertop. What a useless load of drivel he’d just exchanged with this odd tom. Glancing over at Bomba, he caught her shooting him a warning glance. He turned back round with a frustrated sigh. She had said not to expect much, and he’d only spoken to one cat thus far. Even so, this was torment. When thinking of what he’d have to do after infiltrating Growltiger’s gang, he’d mainly considered a savage battle, impossibly outnumbered, going down fighting… This talking business was much more difficult.


“It’s not true, you know,” Genghis said, causing Mack to give a slight jump after the long silence.


“What isn’t?”


“The thing you most fear. Concerning your mother, Bella. At least, it’s not so bad as you may believe.” Mack let out an involuntary gasp. This was the last thing he’d expected.


“What do you know about my…”


“Not now,” Genghis hissed. “Listen: we can’t speak any freer with so many cats about.”


“What are you on about—”


“Quiet,” the Siamese snapped. “Later. Stay until the place has cleared out. Don’t speak to anyone on any important matters. Should be empty before dawn.” Seeing Mack about to object, he added, “If you are concerned for your friends, tell them to feign dead drunkenness.” Mack stared blankly. “Pretend to be asleep,” Genghis explained. “It happens when one consumes too much of the human drink. But you wish to maintain anonymity, I see. Let me discreetly impart the instructions to them, and you may signal them I mean no harm. In a few hours all will become much clearer.” He shrugged. “If you believe I can be trusted, that is.”


Mack stared after Genghis, dumbfounded and too shocked to even consider the imprudence of trusting him until several minutes had passed. And even then—what? Somehow this tom seemed to know things Mack had never even mentioned. If Genghis wished to harm them or betray them to Growltiger, couldn’t he do so at any time? It couldn’t hurt to simply listen to what the tom had to say. If it turned out all he wanted was to murder them, well—Mack only wished he could send the queens away for safety. But of course they’d never hear of leaving without him.


He settled down to wait for dawn—and, he hoped, answers.

---

“What was that?” demanded the scarlet queen when they’d nearly reached the warehouse. MacVitie stopped and turned, holding up a paw as if to keep at bay the tirade about to spill from Bomba’s mouth. It was a rather feeble attempt, however; he was much too preoccupied with the conversation that had just taken place.


“Don’t start,” he mumbled, “nothing happened, we’re all alive, we’ve gained important information…”


“You had no idea how it would go,” Bombalurina accused. “You risked all our necks on a gamble.”


“We risk our necks on a daily basis here!” Demeter cut in. “Bomba,” she continued, glancing nervously at Mack as if worried he’d go to pieces at any moment, “you may be the one who can best tell us if the information we’ve just got holds any weight or truth at all. For starters: was that really Gilbert? I…can’t remember what he should look like at all, though he does seem to resemble Cassandra.”


Mack nodded absently in agreement: he clearly didn’t remember Gilbert from the past, either, as he’d not even questioned the Siamese’s assertion that his name was “Genghis.” An alias for his new life here, he supposed, just as Mack had given his own name as “Macavity”…But all of this hardly mattered. For a moment he allowed the queens to talk around him.


“Well done making me feel old, the pair of you. It’s him all right,” Bomba answered impatiently, “but that hardly means we can trust anything he says. He’s been alive all this time—what is he still doing here?”


“What are we still doing here?” Demeter countered. “What is anyone? Perhaps he’s been forced to stay here. He’s still got Cassandra…maybe the Leader has threatened her in some way…Great Heaviside, Cassandra! Shouldn’t we try to get a message to her, or—?”


“Why?” MacVitie spoke up. In response to Demeter’s shocked look, the ginger tom shrugged. “Under the circumstances…isn’t it better if she thinks he’s dead? No harm is coming to her now, she probably doesn’t remember him…If we can get him away from here, along with ourselves, those twins, and the ridiculously long growing list of felines we’ve somehow got to rescue—well and good. She can know then. But what would be the use of telling her, getting her hopes up, and then he gets killed and she never sees him anyway?”


“Mackey’s reasons are rubbish,” Bomba announced, “but in any case it’s too dangerous, Dem’. Mack may be required to ‘spy’ on the ’yard and make up some report every so often, but he can hardly show himself to the others unless we want the entire Tribe here on a rescue attempt that’s doomed to failure. At least that’s what I think you’ve been trying to pound into us?” She raised an eyebrow in Mack’s direction.


“You’ve caught on,” he observed, choosing to ignore her sarcastic tone. “Good. Now, we can’t stand about jabbering all day, so let’s get moving…you two wait in the den, I’ve got to have a look at the Junkyard and make up some rubbish to tell the Tiger…tonight we’ll discuss the most important bit: this plan they’ve got in the works…”


“All assuming anything we heard back there was true,” Bomba interrupted. “I gather no one actually wants to hear my thoughts on the question?”


“Later, Bomba,” Demeter said, shooting MacVitie another worried look. “Let’s do as he says. Last thing we need is to attract trouble…”


“More than we already have,” Bomba muttered. “This whole ‘plan’ is a trap…”


Still muttering, she followed the other two into the warehouse.


MacVitie had but one thing on his mind: whatever the risks, whatever he’d said to the queens, he had to capture a moment’s conversation with Munkustrap. These terrible questions…there was only one feline to whom he could ever dare speak them aloud.

---

Crouched behind a pile of old catfood cans, the ginger tom peered out cautiously. He felt himself an intruder in his own home—which, for now at least, he supposed he was. If spotted, how could he begin to explain anything?—his whereabouts for the past few months; what he was doing here now; why, if he meant well, he was sneaking about guiltily… He wondered how Alonzo had managed. He even dreaded speaking to Munkustrap—suppose the silver tabby asked too many questions, tried to persuade him to stay…but no, he wouldn’t, not when considering how much the queens needed Mack… Involuntarily, he cringed. No doubt Munk had been…unhappy, to say the least, that the queens had got themselves in such a fix…or, rather, that Alonzo and MacVitie had got them in such a fix… Had Alonzo told the truth, or invented some gentler version of his own? MacVitie had better not mention it until he knew… But how on earth was he to even speak to Munkustrap? Wait here in hopes he’d show up? Or sneak about some more and risk being seen…he’d have to get Munk to say something that sounded interesting enough to tell Growltiger, as well, just to keep him appeased…


“Light!” MacVitie ducked down at the sound of a shrieking kitten-voice. The pitter-patter of tiny paws drew closer to his hiding-place. “Light!” shrieked the voice again, in a beseeching tone that was almost demanding.


“All right, all right,” groaned a second voice, that of an older cat, a tom. “But not so loud, please?”


MacVitie peeked through a small gap between two cans, and saw that the tom was little Quaxo, not quite so little anymore. Well. Actually, he rather was. His voice had developed into a more matured pitch, but he had not grown much in physical size; the kit, though obviously very young, was nearly half his height. The kit, a little queen, MacVitie did not recognize. Yet, she seemed somehow familiar. She was black-furred, with some white points on her legs, tortoiseshell markings in her headfur and tail, and scarlet streaks scattered throughout.


It occurred to him this must be Alonzo and Bombalurina’s kitten, and the reminder made him flush. He couldn’t help being amused, though, wondering how poor Quaxo had managed to get stuck with kitten-duty. All at once MacVitie felt overcome by a desire to speak to the tuxedo tom, even for five minutes; but he resisted. It would be too risky, especially with the kitten around who would surely talk—if she could talk. So far he’d only heard one word out of her mouth… At any rate, he opted to remain hidden at least for the moment. Perhaps soon someone would come and relieve Quaxo of kitsitting, then MacVitie could get Quaxo to bring Munkustrap here…if the young tom could keep quiet about it…


“I’m sorry, Silla,” Quaxo was saying, “I can’t seem to make the lights at the moment… It doesn’t just turn on and off like a tap, you know. Or, if it does, I’m certainly not the one turning the knob.”


The queenkit, Silla apparently, pursed out her lower lip in a pout. “You can does it, Waxy,” she insisted, getting right up into his face and staring him in the eyes. “Con-cen-trate!” she commanded, pronouncing the word carefully, obviously having practiced. Without waiting for a response, she reached up and tickled him.


“Yahhh!” Quaxo yowled, startled. He jumped back, flailing his arms about. All at once, MacVitie had to drop down to the floor, narrowly missing the bolt of blue lightning that had shot over his head. So he hasn’t outgrown those odd powers or whatever it is… Gingerly, Mack brought himself back up into his previous crouching position and peeked out again. Silla was rolling about on the floor, giggling madly; Quaxo, on the other paw, looked far from amused.


“I told you! I told you!” Silla cried triumphantly, between twitters. “Again, again!”


“No,” Quaxo answered, so sharply that Silla ceased giggling to look up at him. “Never do that again!” The tiny queen hung her head. “Sillabub,” the tuxedo tom sighed, in a gentler tone, “the lights look pretty, but they’re dangerous. I might have accidentally hurt you just now, or anyone who was in the way—it’s just a good thing no one was there, or things would have gone very badly. I need to practice more, all by myself, until I learn to use them safely. Until then, please don’t ask to see them. Do you understand?” The kit merely stared at him, wide-eyed, solemnly nibbling her paw. Quaxo shook his head and smiled, realizing he’d used far too many words at once for a youngkit to process. “No more lights.”


Sillabub took her paw out of her mouth. “Forever?”


“No, no. Not forever. Just for a while.”


“When?” the queenkit demanded.


“Well,” Quaxo sighed. “How about… The Jellicle Ball? Your dad’s told you about the Ball, hasn’t he? I will show the lights to everyone at the Jellicle Ball!”


“Jellicle Ball,” Silla chanted, clapping her paws, her smile returning. “Jellicle Ball! Jellicle Ball! Lights at the Jellicle Ball!”


“All right, all right,” Quaxo laughed, rather nervously, MacVitie thought—couldn’t blame him, either, now that he’d just more or less set himself a deadline for perfecting his powers. “It’s lunchtime…let’s head back to your den and see what you’re having…”


“Papa!” Sillabub exclaimed suddenly, dashing forward. MacVitie stared at Alonzo as the Harlequin tom approached the two younger felines. He looked much the same… Well, how else should he look? MacVitie had almost expected some Great Change to take place now that Alonzo was a parent.


Alonzo smiled at Sillabub as they met, though he did look a trifle uncertain. She rubbed up against his knee, and he stared at her a moment before reaching down and patting her head rather awkwardly. Unperturbed, Silla seized his paw. “Guess what, Papa! Waxy is gonna show the lights at the Ball!”


“How nice,” Alonzo nodded, at the same time shooting Quaxo a quizzical look. “I’ve got lunch,” he added, holding up a burlap sack.


“Where’s Tumble?” Quaxo asked, glancing around. “Weren’t you taking him mice-hunting with you?”


“He wanted to go on border patrol with Munkustrap instead,” Alonzo answered, somewhat shortly. “They should be here in a moment…”


“Munkee!” Sillabub screeched, dashing off yet again.


MacVitie couldn’t help smiling at the scene before him. If anyone ever feels uncared-for, they should just come see this kit. Her greetings alone are sure to boost one’s morale sky-high. However, he shifted uncomfortably as Munkustrap came into his view, Sillabub clinging onto him and a cream-and-tabby tomkit with a prominent brown eyepatch following close behind. Mack could watch the others, think of what he missed, and leave…but Munk he actually had to speak to…then somehow still convince himself to leave. But at any rate I can’t show myself until the others have gone. This thought was some comfort; it meant he could prolong his stay, even if only slightly.


“All well, Munk?” Alonzo inquired.


“All well,” Munkustrap confirmed. “Tumble, here, smelt something,” he added, somewhat apologetically, putting a paw on the tomkit’s shoulder. “That’s why we’re a bit late—but it’s good he insisted on making certain it was nothing dangerous. Thankfully it was only a skunk.” He chuckled.


“We ran, Dad!” Tumble exclaimed, going over to Alonzo. He didn’t snuggle up to the black-and-white as Sillabub had done. “It almost stinked on us, but we got away.”


“Good,” Alonzo nodded, at the same time passing the burlap sack to the tomkit. “Now, have a nice lunch with Munk and Quaxo. I’d better take over patrolling…”


“Oh. Okay, Dad,” said Tumble, though his face fell noticeably.


Sillabub, not so cooperative, let go Munkustrap’s leg and ran back to her father. “No, Papa,” she pouted. “Eat with us! We have picnic in the den. With Vicki too. Please?”


Alonzo glanced at Munkustrap. MacVitie couldn’t tell if he was looking for permission or for an escape. “Go ahead, ’Lonz,” Munkustrap encouraged. “I can see to things a bit longer.”


“I’ll help,” Quaxo added, shooting Munk a significant look as if he had something specific to discuss with him.


“All right, all right,” Alonzo held up his paws in surrender; it was impossible to tell if he was happy about this or not. “Picnic time, then!” he announced, a bit too heartily. Taking the sack back from Tumble and taking Sillabub’s paw, he headed off with his two kits.


MacVitie gaped after him. Bombalurina had said there was a kit; she hadn’t mentioned it was twins. And possibly a third? And the tom’s named Tumble…? Then Alonzo must know, but why would he name a kit after— or did Bomba name them…

Shaking his head to clear it of (for now) pointless questions, he turned his attention to Munkustrap and Quaxo.


“Someone needs to speak to you,” Quaxo told Munk as soon as the others were out of earshot. He glanced towards Mack’s hiding-place. “You can come out now. Believe me, I won’t say a thing.”


MacVitie was so shellshocked he stood up and came out to them at once. Munkustrap’s eyes bugged out at the sight of him. “Vitie,” the silver tabby gasped. He looked about to throw his arms around his younger brother, then seemed to think better of it. MacVitie was glad—this would be difficult enough without adding any extra emotion into the mix.


“Munkus. Quaxo,” Mack nodded, doing his best to keep his tone level and nonchalant.


“Are you—where—the others—has…” Munkustrap stammered, unable to get any single question to roll off his tongue with any sort of coherence.


“You had better let Mack talk,” Quaxo interrupted quietly. “We most likely have unseen company, and he hasn’t got a lot of time.” He glanced briefly at MacVitie before adding, “And he wants to talk to you alone. So I’ll be off. It’s good to see you, MacVitie. Don’t worry, as far as the others are concerned, I haven’t seen you. Soon we’ll all be together again, it’ll be all right. Meanwhile, I said I’d help, and I will. Have a good talk, the pair of you. Wish me luck.” The tuxedo tom disappeared behind the piles of junk, and before Mack could ask Munkustrap what on earth Quaxo was talking about, they heard the younger tom’s voice again, a short distance away. He was speaking in a loud, unnatural tone, every so often giggling idiotically. “Hullo! Wanna be friends? Guess what, I can do magic tricks! You don’t believe me, do you? Do you? Just you watch!”


Munkustrap shook his head, though he couldn’t help smiling. “By ‘help,’ I guess he meant distracting whatever shadow has been sent to follow you.”


“Stupid idiot,” MacVitie growled, “he’s going to get himself killed…”


“Quaxo’s actually become quite good at holding his own,” Munkustrap said in all seriousness. “But you. What do you need? What can we do? You know I’d have every able-bodied Jellicle there in a moment…”


“No,” MacVitie cut him off. “What do you want to do, leave every kit here an orphan?”


“I am sick and tired of sitting about here doing nothing, wondering if you and the others are dead or alive,” Munkustrap hissed. “What do you want, then?”


“I’ve my report to make,” Mack answered shortly. “I’ve got to at least think up some bit of rubbish to take back with me.” He hesitated. “And I have a question…a question you won’t want to answer, but you’ve got to, and completely and honestly.” Munkustrap frowned, but nodded for him to continue. Mack took a deep breath and went hastily on before he could change his mind, “Is Mum a Glamour Cat?”


“I—what?” The silver tabby looked shocked, as if this were the last thing he’d expected to hear. But, MacVitie noted, there was no trace of guilt in his features. Clearly he didn’t see anything wrong with the fact that he’d concealed such a thing all this time. Or could he possibly not have known?


“Answer,” MacVitie persisted. “Is she or isn’t she?”


“This is our mother you’re talking about,” Munkustrap said, his voice shaking as though he were trying to keep his temper in check or fight back tears or both. “Since you ask… She was once. But that’s all over; she gave up that life, and no one ever need speak of it again.” He sounded too much like he was simply reciting words he’d been fed by Old Deuteronomy. “Whoever has told you differently is only trying to hurt you.” He gave MacVitie a scrutinizing glance. “I’m sorry you had to hear such awful things. But are you certain you’re still focused on your chief reason for being there…? Remember what Cori said about personal motives getting in the way. What has…this…got to do with…?”


“A great deal, I’m afraid,” MacVitie murmured. He hated to go on, but there was nothing for it. “There’s more to it, isn’t there, Munkustrap? The Dispute—it wasn’t really about the humans, was it? At least,” he added, as Munk began to protest, “not exclusively. The rivalry between our tribe and his—it’s more personal than that.”


Munkustrap hesitated. “I wasn’t there, you know I wasn’t, and no one told…”


“But you’ve heard things, haven’t you? Here and there, at least? You’ve got suspicions.” Munkustrap didn’t answer. “Well, I have some of my own based on a conversation I had last night,” MacVitie continued. “But it could all be nonsense, I hope to high Heaviside it’s all nonsense. But I need to hear from you first—anything you’ve got, anything at all, to help me figure if things add up. Believe me when I say this is important—more than important—I’m beginning to think everything hangs on it.” The ginger tom wasn’t quite as certain as all that—but dash everything, he needed his brother to talk!


The silver tabby drew a long breath and closed his eyes briefly before speaking. “If…if it really matters all that much. Mind, I may not have anything useful to say, it may all be nonsense as well, or…”


“Let’s hope so,” MacVitie nodded, though he didn’t believe that in the slightest. “But we need to know—or try to know. If this falls through, Bomba, Demeter, and I will be back at the start and our prospects of getting home will be further delayed.”


At that, Munkustrap’s look grew more determined, and he proceeded. “Soon after the Dispute…perhaps you noticed Mum seemed…different.” He glanced at Mack inquiringly.


The ginger tom nodded. “I thought she was a bit distant even before that,” he confided. “But definitely more so afterwards.”


“I had a vague idea that she was still upset over what had happened, though I still didn’t know precisely what, except that there had been a fight and Hecuba had been killed. But one day I passed by Jenny’s den and heard Mum’s voice. Normally I’d think nothing of it, as the three of them—Mum, Jenny, and Jelly—often spent time together, but it sounded like Mum was in some sort of hysterics and Jelly and Jenny were trying to reason with her. Mum was scarcely coherent, but I heard a few words…mostly terms and names I didn’t recognize… I recall ‘Glamour Cats,’ and her worrying that somecats called Griddlebone and Grumbuskin had found them.” MacVitie gasped involuntarily. “Jenny and Jelly kept trying to persuade her that they were safe here, the Leader would not let any harm come to them, and so on. I didn’t understand what I’d heard, but it frightened me. I kept it to myself for a few days, but soon couldn’t stand it any more and asked Dad about it. And he explained to me, very delicately of course, that Mum, Jenny, and Jelly had once, through no fault of their own, been forced to lead ‘lives of ill-repute’—his exact words. But that was all over, the Jellicles had rescued them, helped them find not only a feline family but human homes as well…they could live happily the rest of their lives, and it never need be spoken of again. And so…I haven’t. And I’ve tried to forget.” He looked at MacVitie, his eyes pleading. “That’s all I know; I promise. You’ve got to believe me, Vitie.”


“I do,” Mack answered, and meant it. It was all he could do to conceal from Munkus how agitated he’d become. His mind was hard at work, piecing together what Munk had told him with what Gilbert and the others had said. Munkustrap would expect him to share in return, and he must decide what to say and what to keep back…


“Does…does any of this help?” Munkustrap asked, sounding as if he didn’t really want an answer. “Does it…match anything you’ve heard? And…can you tell me safely?” he added, jerking his head meaningfully. The two toms listened carefully: they could still hear Quaxo chattering on amiably with whoever-it-was. Somehow he was managing to keep them occupied for much longer than Mack had expected…


“I heard,” he began, gleaning facts from one another on the spot, “that…Griddlebone…was the…Leader of the group of Glamour Cats that Mum and the others were part of. She one day came across a tom called Grumbuskin—he had a gang of his own, a load of lowlifes trying to survive on the streets like anyone else but causing more mischief than necessary in the meanwhile. They eventually decided they’d do better joining forces and came to some sort of convenient, suitable arrangement. Remember Dad mentioning that Growltiger was helped to ‘go wrong’ by running with the wrong crowd? It was them. Only…I think he’d already gone wrong by then: the gang has only grown more savage, he’s got this hatred against humans, and…Somehow he’s now the leader. What happened to Grumbuskin?” The question hung in the air ominously. MacVitie had already said more—or at least been more detailed, used more names—than he’d intended. If Growltiger were to get wind of this, there would be trouble…


All at once, he felt something tug on his fur. Mack looked down, startled, to see yet another kit: a little queen, white-furred, staring up at him with large blue eyes. How had she crept up on him without him even noticing? “Hello,” he said uncertainly, then looked at Munkustrap in a panic. How much had she heard?


“It’s all right,” Munkustrap assured him. “This is Victoria.” He held out his paw to the queenkit, but she shook her head and stayed clinging to MacVitie. “You’ve made a friend,” Munkustrap chuckled in spite of himself. “She won’t waltz right up to just anyone. Vicki,” he added, “aren’t you meant to be having your lunch? Your papa, Silla, and Tumble just went to find you. Have you finished already?”


Victoria pulled wry face and mimicked an exaggerated chewing motion.


Munkustrap laughed again. “I suppose I’d have left too. Who chews like that, then?” She put a paw over her right eye. “Tumble. I might’ve known. Perhaps you and Silla can teach him some mealtime manners.”


MacVitie gave a small cough, doing his best to conceal the extent of his anxiety. “Erm…Munk…”

Munkustrap took one keen glance into his brother’s face before turning back to the queenkit. “Vicki, maybe by now they’ve all finished. Will you run along and see if they’d all like to play a game?”


In answer, Victoria bounded off, but not back in the direction of her den—rather, towards where Quaxo had gone to create a distraction.

“Munk,” MacVitie exclaimed, near the end of his rope. The two toms tore off after the queenkit, skidding to a stop just outside the junkyard gates. Instead of Quaxo fighting off a henchcat with Victoria caught in the middle, which was more or less what Mack had expected to see, a much less threatening—albeit strange—sight awaited them.


Quaxo sat on an overturned washtub with Victoria seated on his knee, both young felines shaking with laughter. Seeing Munkustrap and MacVitie, Quaxo tried to get a grip on himself and explain, but Vicki tapped his arm, pointed at something, and the moment he glanced at it he collapsed into giggles again. So instead of speaking, he waved frantically with his paw to indicate just what he and Victoria were so tickled over.


Coming closer, MacVitie saw two tabby-striped kittens curled up next to one another, fast asleep. The tom was open-mouthed, snoring loudly enough to wake the dead. “I can’t believe it,” he exclaimed. “Them? He’s just toying with me now!”


Munkustrap shot him an inquiring look. “What do you mean? Who is it, Vitie? You know them? Are they from…him?”


MacVitie rolled his eyes. “From him? Aye, but they couldn’t hurt a fly. All they know how to do is rob you blind. But they’re still too fond of playing and fooling around to be any good as spies. It explains why Quax had no trouble distracting them.”

Quaxo, who had got hold of himself at last, looked offended at those last words. “Excuse you,” he sniffed. “Just who d’you think got them to sleep?”


“You can do that?” MacVitie gaped, amazed in spite of himself.


“Apparently,” Quaxo shrugged, trying to appear casual, though his eyes sparkled with excitement at the new discovery. “Although,” he added sheepishly, “I’m not exactly sure how. One moment I had them spellbound by some silly tricks; the next, uh…so…they may be asleep a good while, or…”


Victoria hopped down and gave each kit a good poke. Neither of them stirred; the tom didn’t even skip a snore.


“Who are they?” Munkustrap persisted. “And how can they be in league with him?” Much like Demeter, MacVitie noted, all Munk could think of was how young and innocent they seemed. Which, Mack had to concede, apart from the thievery, they were.


“Their names are Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer,” Mack explained, slightly less worried about what to say now that he knew there was no one to overhear. “As far as I can gather, they’re his kits, his and that lady Griddlebone we were just…” He stopped suddenly, eyes widening as he picked back up on the thread of his own thoughts before Victoria had interrupted. A gang of Glamour Cats joining with a gang of ruffians…Sending ‘spies’ he knew perfectly well would be easily distracted…Clearly either trusts me…not likely…no longer cares what I do… or intends to do as he pleases regardless of my compliance or lack of it…


“MacVitie,” Munkustrap broke into his thoughts sharply, “what is it?”


Mack closed his eyes briefly, regathering his wits. There was no need to start a panic here. “Nothing,” he said through clenched teeth, “but I’ve lingered too long. I’ve got to go…”


“What about them?” Quaxo interrupted, indicating the thief twins. “You going to drag them back with you?”


“Of course not,” Munkustrap exclaimed. “Back there? Now that they’ve got themselves here and you’ve got them under a… ‘sleeping spell,’ they had better stay. It’s the least we can do,” he added, looking MacVitie in the eye as if daring him to disagree. “They’re not dangerous, correct?”
He glanced at Vicki, who was patting the unresponsive Rumpelteazer on the head. 

“Dangerous,” Mack scoffed, “hardly. But whenever they wake, they’ll be in a panic that their ‘lady mother’ will have their necks for being gone so long… Catnip, Munk, you can’t keep them here! Are you trying to give the Tiger a reason to attack?” Where were Coricopat and Tantomile to back him up? Surely they’d be in agreement with him on this.


“He needn’t know they’re here,” Munkustrap countered. “If you can maintain that you never saw them…mightn’t he conclude they’ve simply wandered off somewhere on their own?”


“He’d still suspect…”


“I don’t care, Vitie. You just stick to it that you know nothing and let me take care of things here. Whatever happens, I’m never letting you take two kits back there, to stay until they’re adults and become…” Munkustrap shuddered. Victoria sidled up to him and stroked his paw gently.


“Fine, fine,” MacVitie threw up his paws in exasperation, “do what you want. I don’t have time to stand about arguing any longer. Now if you don’t mind, there are two more cats back there who shouldn’t be, and I’ve got to make sure they’re still alive.”


Without waiting for anyone to say more, the ginger tom about-faced and stalked off. The moment he was out of their sight, he ran like mad, praying to high Heaviside his suspicions were incorrect.