Reserved for the Cat

All this glancing and looking worried had begun about a week ago. Ninette finally got fed up with it. It was making her more nervous than thinking about magic. So she decided to accost the one person of everyone in the group that was likeliest to give her the truth.

“Ailse,” she said that night, as the maid was combing out her hair, “why is everyone so on edge this past week? And why do they keep looking at me?”

The maid was silent for a good long time. Her hands kept moving automatically, but looking in the mirror, Ninette could see a very thoughtful expression on her face. “Well, ma’amselle,” the girl said thoughtfully, “They wouldna like my tellin’ ye, but I’ve been thinkin’ ’tis a sin and a shame to be keepin’ ye in the dark.”

“I knew it!” Ninette said fiercely. “I knew there was something amiss!”

“Well, it’s that summon tried to burn down the theater, d’ye ken? And they be thinkin’ it has sommat t’ do with you,” Ailse said reluctantly.

“Me?” Ninette’s mouth fell open with surprise, and she turned and took the brush from the maid’s unresisting hands. “How could that have anything to do with me?”

“Because, ma’amselle, they’re thinkin’ it’s all of a piece, that you have a strong enemy, a magician—well, not you, but your Papa that’s gone.” The girl nodded. “They’re thinking that the wreck of your friend’s wee boat, the laddie that tried to set fire to the theater, and the accidents are all at the hand of this magician, d’ye ken. Because they’re unnatural for certain sure. There’s thousands as wouldna believe that tale yon Harrigan told, of the hole in the street opening up under his feet, but I do, and more’s the point, so do Master Nigel and Master Jonathon.”

Ninette listened to this with astonishment, not the least because Nigel and Jonathon were hanging their theory on a slender thread indeed. That their entire “chain of events” began with a shipwreck that never really happened—

She bit her lip and was about to turn away from the maid, feeling a terrible load of guilt, when suddenly from the direction of the kitchen a commotion erupted that sounded like a cross between a cat-fight and a drunken brawl, punctuated by the crash of crockery.

Both young women hesitated a moment, then Ninette leapt up from her seat and ran for the door. She stopped long enough to grab a poker from the fireplace tools, and flung open the door of her bedroom.

It was easy to see the cause of the noise. Thomas and the brownie tumbled together on the floor, tangled up with something else, both of them fighting, both of them screeching. The brownie was shouting something incomprehensible, while Thomas sounded like a perfectly ordinary cat in a towering rage.

The thing they were fighting, strangely, made no noise at all.

Ailse went straight for the kitchen, as Ninette stood by looking for an opening in which she could bash the thing with her poker. She couldn’t tell what it was; it was a sickly, muddy-earth color, and had four limbs and a head, and that was all she could tell for sure. But as she set eyes on it, she felt a creeping horror, absolute revulsion, and her hands shook as she clutched the poker.

Ailse came back with a big iron pot and a lid. Before Ninette could ask what that was for, she shouted, “Stand aside! Cold iron!” and in a flash, both the cat and the brownie freed themselves.

Ninette, who had been waiting for just that, took the opportunity to bash it with her poker. Incredibly, she connected with it. Even more incredibly, she stunned it. And while it was stunned, Ailse clapped the pot down on top of it, then slid the lid underneath, and flipped pot and creature back over. Ninette slid her poker through the pot’s two handles, locking the lid down tight.

And a good thing she did so, too, for a moment later the creature recovered, and the pot began gyrating as it tried to batter its way out. Ninette, went quickly to the fireplace, then put one of the fire-dogs on top of it just to be sure; this stopped the pot from bounding, but a furious hammering came from inside as the creature beat on the lid and sides.

The brownie stood there, panting, staring at the pot. “Damme! Wha’ be that?” he asked, the first time that Ninette had ever heard him speak.

That, Thomas replied grimly, is an homunculus, and it means us no good, I promise you. Don’t, on your lives, let it out. I am going to get Nigel and Jonathon.

Limping slightly, the cat leaped out of the window, leaving the two young women and the brownie staring at one another.

“Well,” Ninette said, finally. “Do you think we ought to put more heavy things on top of the pot?”

“I’m thinkin’ it wouldna hurt,” Ailse said, and went in search of something heavier than a fire-dog.