Gretchen’s Tale
As the pirate raid of the clipper ship carried on raucously outside the small room, Gretchen and Cecil faced each other in astonishment.
“I can’t believe it!” Cecil purred, swishing his tail back and forth. “Aren’t you Gretchen from back home? It’s me, Cecil! You remember me from around the docks, right?” Cecil bobbed his head as the white cat stared at him with wide gray eyes. She said not a word. Had she forgotten her home village already?
“You were taken, weren’t you?” Cecil asked in a lower voice. “That’s what we heard. Awful story!” He looked closely into her face. Was she embarrassed? Did she not remember him at all? “My brother, Anton, was impressed, too, right off the dock in broad daylight if you can believe it.” Cecil waited for her to speak.
“I’m Gretchen,” she said finally, her voice low and cold. She paused, looking away. “But no one calls me that here.”
Cecil leaned back, casting his eyes around in the dim light. “Here, eh?” He chuckled. “So where is here?” he asked. “What happened to you?”
“Long story,” she said shortly. She turned back to Cecil and sighed. “I never expected to see anyone from back there again.”
“Back there? Home, you mean?” Cecil asked, surprised. “Well, I don’t know about you but I’m sure glad to see a familiar face.”
“I just never expected it,” Gretchen repeated. She paused and looked toward the door. “I could show you around the ship. Are you hungry?”
Cecil nodded. “My favorite question.” He thought about showing her the stone he had hidden, but her manner made him hesitate. She was strange, distant in a way. She didn’t seem happy to see him.
“Come on then,” Gretchen said. They walked to the doorway and stepped out into the late afternoon haze.
The starboard side of the vessel was away from the mayhem of the raid, and the two cats sniffed through boxes on the deck in search of food. Cecil hadn’t eaten well for quite some time, and smells of spices, cheeses, and tangy meats were all around. After they found a suitable cache of cheese and fish to snack on, Gretchen began to tell her story.
“Getting impressed in the first place was really stupid. I never thought it would happen to me,” she said briskly. “I always liked fishing at night.”
Cecil swallowed a chunk of fish. “Didn’t Billy ever tell you—”
“About the danger?” Gretchen snorted. “Of course. Everyone told me, but I thought I was too smart to be captured, too quick anyway.” She looked up, as if remembering. “But there I was, stuck in a dark hold, my head pounding, and the next time I saw daylight the ship was surrounded by water. That was it.” She shook her head bitterly.
Cecil noticed a long scar running across her neck and shoulder. “Rough times, were they?” he asked.
She picked at a slab of cheese and shrugged. “On that ship, the crew were mean and mad all the time. The captain spent most of the days sleeping and the men were always fighting each other. They thought to kick me if they saw me, but nobody thought to feed me. It was almost a relief when the buccaneers attacked us and took me along with the loot. That’s how I got to be here. Much more interesting.” Cecil saw a glint of amusement in her eyes. She looked up at him quickly, returning to the present. “Were you taken, too, then?” she asked.
“No,” replied Cecil, and the weight of his mission slid back over him like an anvil. “I have to find Anton, so I stowed away to follow him. Though, actually, I don’t know if I’m following, or just lost . . . It’s bigger out here than I imagined.” He gestured widely with his paw.
Gretchen’s mouth dropped open. “You’re telling me you got on a ship voluntarily, and you’re searching the whole ocean for your brother?” she asked, her voice rising. “That’s . . . crazy.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” said Cecil, leaning back to gaze at the intricate rigging and billowing red flags high above their heads. “Kind of fun, though, I have to say.”
“And brave,” Gretchen added softly, dropping her eyes back to the cheese.
“What is all this stuff, anyway?” Cecil asked as they made their way through a maze of boxes and barrels, heading toward the stern of the ship. The men moved among the piles, stacking crates on top of other crates and dragging stuffed seabags to stand leaning against one another. Often they stopped their work to root through the contents, snarling or snorting depending on what they discovered of worth.
“This is all the stuff that we’ve taken on from other ships,” explained Gretchen, sniffing curiously at the new cargo.
“We,” Cecil repeated. “Interesting. You think of yourself as part of the crew, do you?”
Gretchen sent him a tepid look. “Some things you just get used to,” she said, as she turned to walk ahead.
Eager to show off his shipboard savvy, Cecil crouched to spring up to a nearby barrelhead. “I usually like the view from on top of one of these to get my bearings.”
“Wouldn’t do that,” she said, not looking back.
Cecil leaped, but the barrel was open and full of rice. His paws sank down and he flailed for a few seconds, sloshing grains onto the deck, until he finally scrambled out, shaking his fur from head to tail. A pirate grabbed the handle of his cutlass and swung it at Cecil, narrowly missing his ears. Cecil dived between two barrels and caught up with Gretchen.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide. “That was close.”
Gretchen was unfazed. “It’s no big deal,” she said coolly, leading them up to a ledge by the rail where they could look out over the water. “That’s just the way they are.”
Cecil watched her face. “So your life hasn’t been easier here,” he said.
Gretchen surveyed him for a moment, as if considering what to say. “When I first came aboard, there was already a cat here—a fat, lazy, ginger-colored cat. I learned to do her job better than she did. She didn’t care for that and began attacking me while I slept.” She stopped and licked her shoulder a few times, where the long scar ran from her jawline. “It took a while, but I figured out how to defend myself—I fought the ginger cat and won—and afterward she was terrified of me and worthless to the crew. The captain finally dumped her onto a packet ship we raided. That was a good day.” A smile of satisfaction briefly lit her hard face. She turned back to him. “So now it’s my ship,” she finished simply.
Cecil sat looking at her, wide-eyed. “Wow, that must have been tough.” He cocked his head. “Nice scar, though,” he said with a small smile. “It makes you look worldly, like you can take care of yourself. But you’re too thin. You need to eat more.”
Gretchen gave him a smirk. “Well, you look like you’ve been eating well enough. In fact, a diet might be a good idea.” As Cecil surveyed his own bulk—he thought he’d lost weight—she resumed her role as tour guide, turning to the crew at their work. “The men here obey the captain, which makes life easier,” she said. “I know how to stay on his good side. He gave me a name; Pearl, he calls me. They all do. Sometimes they laugh at me and hold their fingers around their eyes, making fun of my black mask, I guess, but none of them has the courage to hurt me.”
Cecil was startled by a strange thought. “Have you seen your black mask?” he asked slowly.
Gretchen closed her eyes, as though considering something. When she opened them again, she said, “Follow me. I’ll show you,” and she hopped down from the ledge and moved off between the barrels without looking back.
Cecil sat for a moment longer, inhaling the briny ocean breeze. Gretchen was quite an adventurer, all right—a pirate cat through and through. The question was, did she want a friend, or did she want to be left alone? A gray-bearded crewman stomped toward Cecil and he decided it was time to move along.
They had to pass through the port side of the ship, which was where the action was. They crouched under a box on its side to avoid getting hit by falling items, and watched the scene. The men were still swinging on the long ropes attached to the crossbars, sailing across to Cecil’s old clipper with wild abandon, laughing loudly and singing snatches of bawdy songs. They seemed to be having a delightful time, although Cecil thought there really couldn’t have been that much to plunder on the other ship.
Sometimes one of the pirates lost his grip on the rope and sprawled across one or the other decks, or dropped into the sea between the ships and had to be fished out by men with ropes hanging over the sides. Undaunted, smiling, the dunked sailor jumped back and shimmied up the ratlines again. If a crewman successfully swung back to the pirate ship and got his feet planted on the spars once more, he dropped whatever loot he had onto the deck before taking off again.
Cecil craned his neck to look up at the men on the crossbars. They seemed to be slowing down, taking fewer trips across. “Do they always swing over like this? Doesn’t a lot of good stuff get broken this way?” he asked as a small chest crashed on the deck and burst open.
Gretchen chuckled softly. “They do love to swing, it’s true. Let’s have a look at what’s coming in.”
Gretchen carefully picked her way through the piles and the wreckage spread across the deck planks. Her eyes searched back and forth over the booty. Cecil followed, watching her keenly till he caught a whiff of roasted meat and turned aside to hunt for it. He spotted a large bone with a bit of meat still clinging to it. Ham! I love ham, he thought happily.
“Ah, here we go,” said Gretchen quietly. Cecil turned back to see her grasping a thin piece of cord with her teeth and tensing her back legs to pull it out from underneath a heap of coats.
“What’s special about string?” he asked, dropping his ham bone. Gretchen didn’t answer, but continued to tug on the cord until it slid free from the pile. It was attached to a small canvas pouch, similar to the one Cecil had brought over. She laid the pouch flat on its side on the deck and, beginning at the bottom, began stepping quickly with her paws on the canvas, like she was dancing a little jig, working her way up to the top. At the cinched-up mouth of the pouch she pushed swiftly down with both paws, and out rolled a round blue stone of lustrous beauty.
Cecil caught only a glimpse of the stone, how it was carved with many tiny flat sides, how it reminded him of the dark sea at night lit with cool sparkles of moonlight, before Gretchen scooped it into her mouth and moved off at a fast trot.
“Be ri’ b’k,” she murmured, her words muffled.
Cecil leaped aside in time to avoid a stuffed seabag dropped by the swinging pirates, and trailed after Gretchen, reluctantly leaving his bone behind. He turned a corner and saw her approach a large man who, from the looks of him, had to be the captain. The man wore a long green coat and a black hat with a feather sticking out from one side and tall boots up to his thighs. He dropped down on one knee to greet Gretchen, stroking her head and speaking to her quietly as she placed the blue stone carefully into his other open palm. Cecil trotted toward them to make his introduction, but the captain stood quickly, slipping the stone into his pocket.
“Who let this mangy fat fellow on board?” the captain growled, glaring down at Cecil. “We have a cat. We don’t need another.” He struck Cecil with the side of his tall boot and sent him tumbling head over tail across the deck.
Cecil rolled onto his feet and crouched. What was that for? he thought angrily. These pirates are nuts!
Gretchen sprang past him. “This way,” she hissed, and Cecil followed, his mind whirling. So the stones are worth something, he thought. He felt anxious about the glowing white beauty he had brought with him, still hidden in the knothole. At least, he hoped it was still there. Would Gretchen help him get on the captain’s good side? Whatever happens, Cecil thought, that stone is my ticket. I’d better use it well.
Cecil followed Gretchen among the kegs, barrels, crates, and seamen’s legs on deck to the narrow steps that led down into the galley. At the second step she stopped and looked up at a porthole, which was set into the low slanted ceiling overhead. It struck Cecil as an odd place to put a window.
“Come sit here,” she said, motioning him to her side. “And tell me what you see.” He stepped down toward her, his eyes up on the porthole. The only thing he could see through it was a set of dark steps that seemed to lead down into darkness. But that was impossible because he knew there was nothing out there but the wide, flat deck.
“Is it a picture?” Cecil asked uncertainly.
Gretchen watched him with amusement. “What do you think?” she asked. “Move over this way. Take another look.”
Cecil sat beside her and looked up at the glass. He gasped and stared openmouthed. Two cats sitting side by side were looking down at him through the porthole. He didn’t recognize one of them, but the other had a most distinctive face. “That’s you!” he cried, pointing at the smaller one with white and black fur. “Did someone paint you?” he asked, impressed.
Gretchen shook her head. “It’s me, but not a painting,” she said mysteriously. “Who’s that other guy?”
Cecil studied the other cat. He was a big fellow with sparkling golden eyes and black fur with white whiskers. He looked kind of unkempt and reckless, and quite well-fed. Cecil liked the looks of him, actually.
“Well, he must be some sort of . . .” but he broke off, noticing with a shock that the big cat in the porthole had also raised his paw to point. “What’s going on here?” he asked, as he and the porthole cat moved their paws up and down in sync.
“It’s you!” laughed Gretchen. “It’s a glass that shows you yourself. I think they call it a ‘meer.’ Isn’t it funny? This is how I know what I look like.”
Cecil began to understand. “That’s . . . me?” he asked hesitantly. He straightened up and the porthole cat’s face came closer. He put on his most menacing expression, holding up a paw and popping out his claws. Hmmm, not bad. He tried a knowing grin, and then a mischievous glance. Nice!
Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Okay. Come on, Mr. Full of Yourself, we’ve got to move. They’ll be bringing stuff down here soon, and there’s something else I want to show you.” She turned back toward the deck. Cecil sent himself a regretful farewell salute in the porthole and followed her. No sooner were their feet on the deck than a crewman stomped up and kicked a barrel he was pushing onto its side. The cats sprang away and the sailor rolled the barrel noisily down the steps.
“Over here!” called Gretchen, leading the way. Cecil sprinted after her, suddenly finding himself balanced precariously on the bowsprit, a long thin spar jutting out over the water on the very front of the ship. “Come out a little farther,” she suggested. “We’re out of the way here.” She promptly began cleaning her tail, seemingly oblivious to the waves directly below.
Cecil edged out a few more inches, then settled his girth as best he could on the narrow spar. Looking down at the sea in the orange light of the sunset, he noticed the figure of a fabulous creature carved under the bow, in the same space where the two little girls had been on Anton’s ship, the Mary Anne. This figure had a cat’s face, surrounded by a magnificent circle of fur, and deep, wide eyes that appeared brave and wise.
“Amazing, huh?” asked Gretchen, following his gaze. “They call this ship the Leone. I’ve never seen a cat like that.”
Cecil sat silently. The figurehead had brought Anton back to his mind, where he should always be, if I’m ever going to find him, thought Cecil reproachfully. Gretchen seemed to read his thoughts.
“Have you had any news yet about Anton?” she asked. “Have you picked up his trail at all?”
Cecil looked pained. “Nope.” He sighed. “No idea where he is now. But . . .” He glanced up at her. “There have been a few strange signs, I guess.”
“Like what?” she asked, stretching out her front paws along the bowsprit and sharpening her claws on the sides.
“Well, this will sound crazy,” he said, “but I’m sure there’s a huge and very old whale following me. Don’t know what he’s up to.” He squinted off at the horizon. “And I’ve heard now a couple of times about some ‘eye’ up in the sky, and also a saying where one eye meets another eye.” He shook his head and sighed again in frustration.
Gretchen sat up slowly and looked fixedly at Cecil. “An eye, yes,” she said softly, as if talking to herself. “I’ve heard the saying, too, from Billy and my grandmother back in the village.” She looked at the sky and her voice rose a little. “I think I saw it once—it’s kind of misty, white and glowing, shining down on you in such a comforting way. And it tells you things, important things, without using words. You just get a feeling . . .”
Cecil looked up, too, but the slate blue sky was thick with muddy clouds, even covering the rising moon. “What feeling?” he asked quietly.
She paused and looked down again before speaking. “It . . . it told me to take heart, find my way back,” she said. She nodded slightly and continued. “My grandmother told me the legend. She and Billy are the only ones who still remember it. Do you know my grandmother Mildred?”
“Sure, I’ve seen her,” said Cecil. “But what is the legend? My mother never told us.”
“It’s an old cats’ tale,” Gretchen said, looking out over the waves, her gray eyes dark in the dusky light. She spoke softly. “The legend is that long ago, when cats began to be stolen from their homes and families and impressed into service on ships, there was no one to look after them. One young and kindhearted cat had been impressed by a crew that traveled through all of the widest oceans, and after many years and many voyages, he became old and very wise in the ways of ships and sailors. When the old cat’s ship sank in a terrible storm and he drowned, the spirit protectors of the world pulled him from the depths of the ocean and sent him into the sky. And now his eye watches over all lost cats at sea.”
“Huh,” said Cecil, resting his chin on his front paws. “You believe this story?”
“I don’t know,” Gretchen said thoughtfully. “I’d like to believe it.” She briefly rubbed a paw over one ear. “Anyway, there’s more.”
Cecil swished his tail from side to side. “How much more?”
“Just a little,” said Gretchen. “My grandmother also says there is a messenger in the ocean, some sort of creature who serves the spirit in the sky, protecting lost cats and helping them find their way home.”
“What kind of creature? Like a fish?” asked Cecil, thinking of all the fish he’d devoured recently.
Gretchen shook her head. “No one knows. But the saying goes: Where the eye sees the eye, the lost shall be found.”
Cecil lifted his head. “Well, Anton’s lost.”
Gretchen opened her eyes wide. “You are, too.”
“And let’s not forget you, right?” Cecil countered. “We’re all three of us lost and far from home. But two of us are together now. So that’s a start.”
Gretchen gave him a wondering look and nodded. “That’s true,” she agreed.
The sudden rattle of heavy chains against the deck boards startled them, and Cecil struggled briefly to hang on to the spar as they glanced over to the deck. The crewmen moved purposefully now, tying down loose items and arranging the rigging. They were departing.
“Quick, come on!” called Gretchen, and she took one long leap, hurdling Cecil and landing expertly on the deck railing before dashing away. Impressive, thought Cecil. He turned precariously and followed at a gallop, trying to keep her in sight. He didn’t know what she would do next; he liked that about her. But she had agreed that two might be better than one, so he made up his mind to trust her.
Cecil dragged the small red bag from its hiding place, stepped into the side room with Gretchen, and dropped the bag on the floor. He pressed on the silk cloth with his paws until the white stone rolled out onto the floor between them and lay glowing faintly in the torchlight streaming in through the open doorway. Cecil looked at it and back at Gretchen. She looked at him and down at the stone.
“I stole this from the captain of my ship,” Cecil said evenly, watching her face. “I thought I might give it to your captain. Maybe he’ll quit kicking me.”
Gretchen seemed bewildered. “Yes, he’d be pleased, I’m sure, but . . .” Her face clouded over and she stood up. “Why didn’t you tell me about this when you first got here?”
Cecil took a big breath and let it out again. He didn’t know what to say.
“You thought I’d take it,” she said slowly. “You thought I’d steal it and give it to the captain myself, didn’t you?”
Cecil shifted uncomfortably and looked away. “Well, you might have,” he said. “I don’t know, you still could. You seem to like being the only cat aboard!”
Gretchen stared at him. “Do you know how lonely it is being the only cat aboard?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah, actually, I do,” Cecil replied, standing to face her. “And it’s awful, and I’d rather stay here.” His eyes dropped to the white stone. “But it’s kind of up to you now, isn’t it?”
There was a long silence. They both sat down, carefully arranging their tails. Gretchen looked at him. Cecil knew that she was the quicker cat, that she could easily grab the stone and run. He knew he had to wait for her to choose his future. And he knew that she knew this as well. But his face remained perfectly peaceful, his golden eyes just barely smiling at her.
Finally, Gretchen smiled back. “Come on, shipmate,” she said with a sigh at last. “Bring your stone. There’s someone you need to meet.” She turned to the door.
Cecil picked up the stone in his mouth once more and together they walked, their tails in the air, to the captain’s quarters.