Fool's Errand (Tawny Man #1)

Fool's Errand (Tawny Man #1) Page 136

“I would have welcomed that,” I returned honestly. “I'd have liked a look around. I've never been in a place where they kept cats instead of dogs.”

The other servant took the basket to the back door. A man waiting there took it from his hands. Something furry -si, swung limp from his other hand. I only had a glimpse before the door was closed again. I longed to leap up and follow that food, but Lebven was still speaking.

“Well. That's only been in the last ten years or so, since the old master died. Before that, we had hounds for the most part, and only a cat or two for my lady's hunting. But the young master prefers the cats to the dogs, and so he's let the hounds die out. Not that I miss their barking and yammer, nor having them underfoot! The big cats are kept to their pens, save when they're hunting. And as for the small ones, why, they're darlings and no mistake. Not a river rat dares put his nose into this kitchen anymore.” She cast a fond look at a particolored house cat on the hearth. Despite the mild evening, he was toasting himself by the dwindling cook fire. She finally gave off her folding, and commenced beating the layered dough until it began to blister. It made conversation difficult and my departure more graceful. I went to the door of the kitchen and opened it. The man with the food was out of Sight.

Lebven called to me, “If you're seeking the backhouse, it's out the other door and around the side. Just before you get to the rabbit hutches.”

I thanked her and obediently went out of the other door. A long look around showed me no other folk moving. I went around the side of the house, but another wing thwarted my view. The moonlight showed me rows of rabbit hutches between the house and the stable. So that had been what the man carried, a rabbit, its neck freshly wrung. The perfect late meal for a hunting cat. But there was no sign of the man and I dared not reach out toward Nighteyes, nor be gone from the kitchen too long. I growled to myself in frustration, certain that the packed meal had been for the Prince and his cat. I'd missed a chance. I returned to the warmth and light of the kitchen.

The kitchen had grown quieter. The washingup was mostly done, and the chore boys and girls escaped to their beds. Only Lebven remained beating the dough, and a morose man who was tending a pot of simmering meat. I resumed my seat and poured the last of the ale into my mug. Doubtless the others would get what sleep they could before they had to rise and prepare the next meal. The mottled cat abruptly stretched, rose, and came to investigate me. I feigned ignoring him as he sniffed at my shoes and then my calf. The torn turned his head and opened his mouth wide as if expressing disgust, but I suspected he was only savoring my scent.

Smells like that dog outside. A disdainful curl of thought from him. Effortlessly, he floated up to land on the table beside me and thrust his nose toward the platter of venison. I fended him off with the back of my wrist. He took neither offense nor notice, but stepped over my arm to seize theslice he Êdesired.

“Oh, Tups, such manners in front of our guest. Don't you mind him, Tom, he's as spoiled as they come.” She picked him up with floury hands. He kept possession of his meat as she set him on the floor then hunkered down over it, turning his head sideways to shear off mouthfuls. He gave Lebven one reproachful look. Shouldn't feed the dogs at the table, woman. It was hard not to imagine malevolence in his yelloweyed stare. Childishly, I stared right back, knowing well that most animals hate that. He muttered a threat in his throat, seized his meat, and whisked himself out of sight under the table.

I drank the last of my ale slowly. The cat knew. Did that mean the whole household knew of my connection to Nighteyes? Despite Avoin's monologues all evening, I still knew too little of the hunting cats. Would they regard Nighteyes as an intruder, or would they ignore his scent in the courtyard? Would they think the information significant enough to communicate to the Witted humans? Not all Witbonds were as intimate as the one I shared with Nighteyes. His concern with the human aspects of my life had distressed Black Rolf almost to the point of disgusting him. Perhaps these cats only bonded with humans for the joy of the hunt. It was not impossible. Unlikely, but not irri' possible.

Well, I had not learned much more than what we had already suspected, but I'd had a more than ample meal. Sleep seemed the only other thing I could accomplish tonight. I offered Lebven my thanks and goodnight, and despite her insistence that she would do it, cleared my things from the table. The keep was quiet as I made my way softly back to my room. Only a dim light shone from under the door. I set my hand to it, expecting to find it latched. It was not. Every nerve suddenly aj angle, I eased it silently open on the darkened room. Then I caught my breath and stood motionless.