Plague of Cats, Page 2

  "No, I could not.” Grandpap sighed heavily. He was more sorrowful about the loss of coins than he would have been if the witches had carried me to a great height and let me fall to my death.

  "That is too bad. However, you will be gladdened to know that with my wiles, I earned a treasure of additional coins."

  His bushy white eyebrows rose. "How? And, how much?"

  I emptied my purse into my palm and nonchalantly spread the coins out for him to see. "I earned twelve silver grott-kies."

  "Twelve!" He grasped my sleeve in wonderment. "How did you accomplish that?"

  * * * *

  It had not been easy. I had run for my life as the witches pursued on their brooms. I had turned to look behind me as I ran out off Hamlerroth and saw at least thirty old crones in pursuit, dipping and rising and swerving from side to side on their broomsticks to gain advantage over each other.

  "Yoo-hoo, pretty boy! Slow down!" the pack leader called. She had a large hooked nose and hair so coarse and matted it could have been a horse's tail. The look of desire in her eyes nearly made my heart stop.

  I ran faster. Faster than I had ever run before, faster even than if a murderous husband had been in pursuit. I had not known I could run so fast, or so far. But the thought of what the witches might do to my person, not to mention my reputation as a lover, drove me on through the pain of exhaustion.

  When I reached the village of Ewe Crossing, I could run no more. I had to hide. I lurched toward a shop at the center of the village, gasping and wheezing. The witches landed on village rooftops, cackling back and forth. Mayhap, the villagers would rally around me and drive the witches away.

  My hopes rose when I staggered into a nearest merchant's door. It was the village butcher's shop, and there were several people inside, along with the butcher. And the butcher had plenty of knives at his disposal. But, he and the other villagers became emphatic about my leaving and taking the flock of witches with me.

  * * * *

  "So they forced you out at the tip of a blade?" Grandpap asked, bringing me back to the present.

  I chuckled. "No, grand-sire. I, of course, recognized the opportunity for a harvest, and demanded payment to leave Ewe Crossing. They paid grudgingly, but they paid."

  "Why did they not force you out with a knife to your throat? The witches would not have come to your aid, after all."

  "The Ewe Crossers did not know that. Of course, only a short time later the witches would have gladly come to my aid."

  "What do you mean?” Grandpap stared at me.

  "Uh … nothing. Nevermind."

  "Did you befriend the witches?"

  "Yes, for a time, at least. I could not outrun them, so I exploited them instead. If a small and unremarkable village like Ewe Crossing would pay twelve silver grott-kies to be rid of them, imagine how many coins I could demand from a bigger and wealthier town! So, I set my feet toward Humbalumb—and asked them to accompany me."

  "Did they?” Grandpap poked me with a finger.

  "Yes, without hesitation. They all wanted to carry me on their broomstick and stroke me, as if I were one of the cats they had picked up at Hamlerroth."

  "Where are they now?"

  "They left, deserted me. They are very fickle, witches. Mayhap, they became disconsolate when I was not smitten with them."

  "Is that so?” Grandpap's voice grew contemptuous. "I know how self-important and entitled you can become at the best of times. I suspect you made demand after demand until they dumped you off."

  "It was not called for!" I protested. "I merely asked for a ride, and since they were all flying, I was hindering our progress by walking."

  "Did you ask them to conjure you food and drink?"

  "Well, yes…but I had greatly exerted myself in fleeing Hamlerroth like a hunted fox. I needed to rest and recuperate. And, a good foot rub was necessary so I could stand once we arrived in Humbalumb. Then, I needed—"

  Grandpap snorted. "And, they had no cause to drop you?"

  I straightened my vest, picking a thorn from the sleeve of my tattered white lace shirt. "They certainly had no cause to drop me from such a height…or into a buckthorn thicket!"

  Grandpap was silent for a moment, then a new expression crossed his face. "Before, you said something about committing unspeakable acts. What did you mean?"

  "Oh.” My face grew warm. "It was something they forced me to do. Something I would fain not talk about."

  Grandpap's lip curled. "Did they force you to do common labour?"

  "No, no, nothing that heinous.” I looked around to make sure no one else would hear what I was about to speak. "The cat-scratch fever, it continued to worsen. The scratches turned an angry red, then purple. I could scarcely resist the urge to scratch my legs until they were bloody.

  When I first fell in with them, the witches noticed my unbearable discomfort. When I showed them my legs, they set down upon the ground. They said there was a safe and effective cure they could administer."

  "And, what would that be?” Grandpap folded his hands over the top of his walking stick and leaned on it, staring expectantly at me.

  "Uh, well … they claimed the cat-scratch fever would dry up immediately if I…if I had carnal relations with them…all of them."

  "The flock?"

  "Yes, you could call it that, I suppose."

  Grandpap chortled in amusement. "I am not surprised, not surprised in the least. Witches!" He wiped a drop of mirth from the corner of an eye. "And, how are they?"

  "As well as can be expected," I replied, staring at the ground. "Not so bad, actually. What they lacked in looks, what with the big noses and warts and chin hairs and all, they certainly made up for in enthusiasm."

  Grandpap's expression turned from amusement to disgust. "No, I meant the scratches! Did it help with the cat-scratch fever, dolt?"

  "Oh, uh…yes, I do think so.” My face burned as I made a show of pulling up my trouser legs and inspecting the multitude of red furrows on my shins.

  "Anything but labour, eh, Sonny?” Grandpap chortled. "Did they pay you for your services?"

  "Yes. They bid me disrobe and chanted as they collectively smeared me with hag balm. It has done wonders for the scratches."

  "The cat scratches?"

  "Uh…yes, those too. In truth, the cats were more restrained about using their claws."

  THE END