King of the Vagabonds Page 3

  ‘Not often. A hedgehog or two. The occasional cat.’ The goat looked at him slyly. ‘Your mother used to come here sometimes, when she was feeling a bit frisky, I suppose.’

  Sammy had never seen Stella in a frisky mood. He did not understand what the goat meant.

  ‘Only Stella? No other cats?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Well yes. That’s what I was telling you about – when your mother came looking for company. Oh, I expect you’re too young to know anything about it.’

  ‘Of course I’m not too young,’ Sammy declared, although he had no idea what the goat was talking about. All he wanted to know about was the other cats. ‘Was one of the cats a tabby like me?’ he persisted.

  ‘You’re full of questions, aren’t you?’ returned the goat. ‘There was only one cat that came. He was a tabby, yes. A battle-scarred looking animal. But Stella didn’t seem to mind that—’ She broke off. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this,’ she added uncertainly.

  ‘He’s my father. Beau,’ Sammy asserted proudly.

  ‘Of course, yes. I see it now.’

  The young cat looked carefully at the goat to see if he dare risk one more question. She appeared good-humoured enough and she had very gentle eyes.

  ‘I don’t know your name,’ he mumbled, suddenly abashed.

  ‘Belinda.’

  ‘Do you know, please – er – Belinda, where my father came from?’ he asked.

  ‘No, no. How could I tell you? I never leave the meadow.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sammy could see there was no more information to be gained. It was time to turn back. He had not the courage yet to cross the road. ‘I’m sorry to have intruded without your permission,’ he said politely. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’

  ‘Don’t mind me, young tabby,’ Belinda told him. ‘You don’t need to ask first. Just come. I’ll be glad to see you. ‘I’ve known Stella for years, and next time, bring her with you. I’ve not seen her in a long while.’

  ‘How kind you are,’ Sammy answered warmly. ‘My mother has been busy with us kittens,’ he went on. ‘But, as you see, we’ve become more independent now.’

  He hastened back to tell Stella of his new friend. He was fully occupied with his thoughts and was not being very careful. One of the gardens on his homeward route had a dog in it now. The first Sammy knew of it was its sudden furious yapping. He was moving nonchalantly across the grass, looking straight ahead to the next fence. He turned in alarm and saw a small, wire-haired terrier racing towards him on its stubby little legs. It was not much bigger than Sammy but its barks were terrific. Greatly frightened, Sammy broke into a run. The dog put on a spurt, dashing between the cat and the fence, its hackles up and its teeth bared.

  Sammy turned tail and fled back to the fence he had just crossed. Swiftly he scrambled up it and sat in safety on the top, his heart pounding furiously and his breathing coming quickly. Now the terrier barred his way home. It stood below, snarling deep in its throat.

  The two animals stared at each other. Sammy wondered how he could get back. He had to cross this garden: there was no other way home. The dog seemed content to stay where it was indefinitely, determined to prevent him from passing. There was no human being anywhere about to call it off. Sammy tried to think what his father would do, but the dog’s threatening snarls did not help his concentration.

  Then he had an idea. He climbed down from the fence into the adjacent garden, pretending he was going away. For a while he crouched amongst some plants, keeping perfectly still. Then, when he thought he had waited long enough, he returned to the fence top. As he had suspected, the terrier had lost interest and wandered off, thinking Sammy had given up. Without hesitation, Sammy jumped down and streaked across. He was up and over the next fence before the terrier had come to its senses.

  Sammy was thrilled at having outwitted the dog. Here was an adventure to regale Tiptoe with that night. He reached home without further difficulty, feeling especially pleased with himself.

  5

  Wondering

  At night in the shed Sammy told his mother about Belinda and what she had said to him.

  ‘You went as far as that, did you?’ Stella remarked, sounding surprised. ‘Well, I’m glad you didn’t go any farther. It might have been dangerous.’

  Sammy thought she was referring to the road. ‘Belinda wants you to come with me next time,’ he told her. ‘She said you used to meet our father there.’

  Stella enjoyed an inward smile. It was obvious Sammy did not understand what he was talking about.

  Then the young cat began his questions again. Where did Beau come from? Would he come back? When had she last seen him?

  ‘Oh, Sammy. Always the same thing,’ Stella sighed.

  ‘I wish we’d never heard of Beau,’ Josephine yawned contemptuously.

  But Stella would not accept that. ‘He is your father, Josephine. Don’t talk like that. It’s only fair that Sammy – and you – should know something about him.’ She seemed to be about to tell them. Sammy was agog.

  ‘Your father,’ Stella went on, ‘comes from – oh! a long way from here. He was born in the open air, under a bush. That was the only shelter his mother could give her family, so he told me. He was brought up and lived amongst a colony of strays, always in the open with no real home. There was a lot of rivalry amongst the males in the group and eventually Beau wandered away to a new area until he grew bigger and stronger. He’s been a bit of a wanderer ever since. But he does return from time to time, Sammy, to his favourite haunts.’

  ‘When will he come? When will he come?’ Sammy cried excitedly.

  ‘That I can’t tell you,’ Stella said, ‘so it’s no use your getting in a state. There’s no set pattern to your father’s movements and only he could tell you of his plans. Perhaps he won’t come near here again. I don’t know. But I hope—’ She broke off and looked away. She was lost in her own private thoughts.

  Sammy was exasperated by the uncertainty of his father’s re-appearance. Without thinking he blurted out: ‘Where would I go to look for him?’

  Stella looked at him for a long time before replying. She was evidently searching for the right thing to say.

  ‘Sammy,’ she began slowly, ‘it would be very foolish of you to set off on such a venture. You have no idea what you might encounter; you don’t understand that you’d find things quite different from what we’re all used to here.’

  She paused. Then she resumed, ‘And, to answer your question, I don’t know where you would go. You might search high and low and never find Beau. Then again, he might be in the next field. That’s how he is.’

  Sammy was not at all put off by his mother’s words. He had not really been expecting a straightforward answer. What he had been looking for was some sort of clue. As for Stella, she sensed that the young male cat’s mind was made up. It would only be a matter of time before he would take it into his head to go off on his search. She understood that there was bound to be a wanderlust in his blood with Beau for a father. She could not prevent his going, but she could try to delay it until he would be better able to cope. There was only one way she could think of doing that – by frightening him. She spoke to Sammy again.

  ‘You’re still very young,’ she said, ‘and young enough to heed my advice. So while you’re still here with me I give you a warning. Don’t go into Quartermile Field. It’s a dangerous place. You can go as far as Belinda’s meadow. One day, perhaps, you’ll go farther. But don’t stray into Quartermile Field. I myself have never been there and any animal with sense avoids the spot. Remember what I say.’

  Sammy was silent. His tail twitched slightly as he stared at his mother. Her warning had struck home. He was suitably shaken.

  Josephine’s flesh crawled. The name of the place seemed to have a sinister ring about it. She said the name over to herself. ‘Quartermile Field.’ She shivered slightly at the sound of the words.

  ‘Wh – what is it?’ Sammy stammered.

  �
��I told you. A very dangerous place,’ Stella answered. ‘Don’t ask me more. I’ve said enough.’

  Sammy thought he would ask Molly about it. But suddenly his desire to search for his father did not seem so urgent after all. It was a long time before either he or Josephine slept. He had forgotten all about the rendezvous with Tiptoe.

  The mouse had not. But he did not go far into the shed. The tension created by Stella’s warning hung in the close air like a cloud. His fur prickled and he backed away. His instinct told him to run.

  The next day the garden appeared to Sammy to be more inviting than it had been for a long time. He ran about, in and out of the plants, and even played with Josephine for a bit. Then he had the idea of climbing the apple tree again to see if he could catch a glimpse of the place whose name was still ringing in his head.

  Sammy was a good climber by this time. He had never forgotten his first lesson. From the top of the tree he looked out with more purpose than before at the neighbouring terrain. But, try as he might, he could make out nothing unusual in any of the fields he could see, from the wasteland onwards, though he strained to look farther than ever. He wondered just how far away Quartermile Field could be. Was he looking at it now or was it away, over the horizon? He merely wanted to see it. He certainly meant never to go there.

  Eventually he climbed down and went in search of Molly. Perhaps she could help. After all, it could surely do no harm just to know what the place looked like.

  The old dog was indoors. The kitchen door, as usual, was open. Sammy stepped into the cottage. Mrs Lambert was in her kitchen, chopping vegetables. She stooped down stiffly to stroke her young cat, speaking to him with affection. This time Sammy returned her affection gladly, rubbing himself around the old lady’s legs and miaowing prettily in answer to her remarks. Molly was lying under the table, trying to keep cool.

  When Mrs Lambert was busy again, Sammy joined his friend. Molly thumped her tail once or twice in a feeble greeting.

  ‘Can’t seem to feel comfortable,’ she muttered. ‘The heat’s awful.’

  ‘It’s cooler in the shed,’ Sammy suggested.

  ‘Maybe. But I’ve got to cross the garden to get there.’

  ‘There’s something I want to ask you,’ said Sammy.

  ‘There always is,’ sighed Molly.

  Mrs Lambert was listening with amusement to the animal noises coming from under the table. Presently she peered down in an effort to see what all the fuss was about.

  ‘The mistress is looking at us,’ said Sammy.

  Molly got to her feet reluctantly and stretched. Sammy took this as a sign that she was ready to follow him. He led her off along the lawn to the shed, and once inside, he burst straight out with his question, without any preamble. ‘What does Quartermile Field look like Molly? Tell me, please?’

  Molly was taken aback. ‘How do you know about that?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘My mother told me. She warned me never to go there.’

  ‘Of course she did.’

  ‘So you see, I’m curious about it.’

  ‘Best not to be, Sammy. Curiosity killed the cat.’

  ‘But I don’t want to go there. I only wondered what it looks like.’

  ‘Oh – it’s a field of sorts,’ Molly answered vaguely. ‘Not unlike the others, until you get into it.’

  ‘Have you been into it?’ Sammy asked in a breathless voice.

  Molly had been into it with her master, but she thought it wise not to admit it. ‘It’s out of bounds,’ she answered bluntly.

  Sammy was disappointed. Molly was always so obscure.

  Then, surprisingly, Molly continued, ‘You see, Sammy, as I’ve tried to tell you before, there is another, different world from the one we know. Where we live, and around us, all is friendly. Animals tolerate each other. Now, in that other world, things are not the same at all. There’s rivalry and hunting and killings. And Quartermile Field is like a boundary between the two. So if you stay this side of the boundary you need never know anything about the sort of savagery that goes on there. And now I’ve told you, you must forget your curiosity. Be content. You have a happy life.’

  ‘Thank you, Molly,’ said Sammy. He thought he understood. And he did try to put it out of his mind. The trouble was, the thought kept recurring to him that his father must be part of this other dangerous world. And so, if he still meant to find him one day, he would have to face it himself.

  It was quite some time later when Sammy suddenly remembered Tiptoe. Why had he not come into the shed? Had he forgotten their arrangement? Or perhaps he had not had an adventure worth telling. Sammy felt he had a lot to tell Tiptoe, anyway. And there was another thing. Perhaps the mouse, being a wild creature, could throw some light on the mystery of Quartermile Field. Sammy was so eager to see him that he started to comb the garden for him, beginning with the clump of alyssum by the cottage. Of course, Tiptoe was not there.

  Sammy soon found he had set himself an impossible task. The mouse was so tiny there were a thousand secret places in which he might hide himself. He might have ventured into the mistress’s cottage. He could be anywhere. The young tabby decided he must wait until nightfall and hope that Tiptoe would this time come into the shed. But, as it turned out, he did not have to wait that long.

  Sammy was snoozing contentedly under the apple tree when he felt his tail tweaked. He opened his eyes slowly, suspecting Josephine. His sister, though, was nowhere to be seen. Instead he saw Tiptoe sitting on the tip of his tail, as bold as brass. But when Sammy looked at him, the mouse seemed ready to run off.

  ‘Don’t go,’ said the cat quickly. ‘I want to talk to you.’

  ‘I saw you ranging the garden earlier on,’ squeaked the mouse. ‘You weren’t hunting me, were you?’

  Sammy looked puzzled. ‘Hunting? Of course not. What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, never mind.’ Tiptoe relaxed. He looked very relieved. ‘We mice have to be so careful, you know. And you looked very determined.’

  Sammy was pleased with this description. ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ he said. ‘I was determined to find you, that’s all. Why didn’t you come last night?’

  ‘Oh, it didn’t seem – er – safe,’ Tiptoe answered diffidently.

  ‘Well, anyway, do you want to hear about my adventure?’ Sammy continued. ‘I’ve been quite a long way away and I saw a goat and – and a fierce dog.’ He went on to describe in detail what had happened the previous day.

  Tiptoe did not seem very comfortable in the open. While Sammy was talking he was up and down on his hind legs, sniffing the air in all directions and looking round to see what was happening in the garden. He just could not keep still.

  ‘I don’t believe you’ve listened to a single word,’ Sammy accused him.

  ‘Oh yes, I have,’ said the mouse. ‘You were chased by a terrier. I know the dog you mean. About your size and as tame as anything. It makes a lot of noise and that’s all. If you’d faced up to it, it would have run away.’

  ‘All right,’ said Sammy crossly. ‘And what wonderful escapade have you had, then?’

  ‘Quickly – follow me,’ Tiptoe bade him. He could see Stella pacing slowly over the lawn. He darted away down to the end of the garden and disappeared into a tiny gap under the shed which Sammy had never noticed. When the young cat reached the shed all he could see were Tiptoe’s whiskers protruding from the hole.

  ‘That’s much better,’ said the mouse. ‘Now my adventure was much closer to home – in fact in your mistress’s cottage. A number of us have nests under the floors and behind the walls. Yesterday I heard there were more scraps to be had for the taking there than ever before. It was as if your mistress had spread them around for us deliberately. I was collecting some to take to a safe corner to enjoy, when in she came. My only escape route was to run up a broom handle. I sat on the top, quivering all over. I didn’t know where to go next Then – guess what? Your mistress stretched out a hand and grasped the broom!’

 
‘You’re making this up,’ Sammy said disbelievingly.

  ‘I’m not! I’m not!’ squeaked Tiptoe. ‘If you think that, I won’t go on.’

  But Sammy was fascinated despite himself. ‘Oh, please do,’ he begged. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, there was one thing for me to try then,’ the mouse resumed. ‘I couldn’t run down the broom again. So, as soon as the old lady took hold of it, I ran up her arm to her shoulder and then down her back, jumped to the floor and skipped out of sight. What do you think of that?’

  ‘It’s a remarkable story,’ Sammy said wryly, ‘and I think you invented it.’

  ‘There you go again. I didn’t invent it,’ shrilled Tiptoe angrily.

  ‘The last part you did, I know.’

  ‘Oh, very well. Perhaps I elaborated on it a bit. But the essence of it is perfectly true.’

  Sammy had lost interest. ‘I don’t know what to believe now,’ he said grumpily. ‘What’s the point of telling fibs?’

  Tiptoe did not have an answer to that.

  ‘Look,’ said Sammy. ‘I want to ask you something. Do you know anything about Quartermile Field?’

  There was a stony silence.

  ‘Tiptoe? Are you still there?’

  ‘Of course I’m still here. And what do you want to mention that place for? Do you intend going there?’ His voice sounded quite different. Gone was the usual chirpy tone. Now there was a new note of sullenness; almost unfriendliness.

  ‘No, I don’t want to go there. I just—’

  ‘Good,’ interrupted Tiptoe, more brightly. ‘Because if you did, we couldn’t be friends any more. And for now, I think I’d better leave you.’

  Sammy was left to ponder afresh on the strange influence the fateful name seemed to exert over his friends. Why did none of them wish to talk about it? If only someone would explain to him fully, he could put it to the back of his mind. But, so long as the air of mystery prevailed, he could not rest.

  To whom could he turn now? There was no one. Ah, if only his father were around. He was the creature who could tell all.