A gust of wind replied.
This unnerved me more than anything. For all its criminals, the penitentiary was and always had been, from my brief surveillance, eerily quiet. I supposed the men inside were unable to talk, but I did not know why. This caused my imagination to create reasons more horrible than the silence itself, the worst of which involved the de-tonguing of prisoners upon arrival. I yowled again to fill the quiet.
A white cat rose like a specter from a grass patch to my left. She spoke, assuring me of her mortality, “State your business.”
“I’ve come to see Big Blue.”
The ruff around her neck rose, almost imperceptibly. “How do you know his name?”
“On a windless day, you can hear most anything—even a name.”
She cocked her head. “You look familiar.”
“I live across the field. In one of the row houses.” I motioned in their direction with my tail.
A look of recognition crossed her face. “Ah!You’re the one who sits atop the fence posts and watches.” She sniffed my nose in greeting. “I’m Snow.”
“I’m Cattarina.”
“That’s your human name. What’s your cat name?”
“I no longer speak it.”
“I’ve seen Big Blue refuse audience to those who’ve lost their wild streak, their…cattitude.” She twitched her whiskers. “So, Cattarina, what name do you give?”
Cattitude? What a load of fur. I had cattitude to spare. I sat back and switched my tail, creating a fan shape in the grass. He had nerve, passing judgment on me for keeping two-legged company. And yet I had no choice. If I wanted to catch Mr. Abbott, I had to play his game.
“It’s…it’s QuickPaw.”
“QuickPaw?” She eyed my ample physique. “I see why you cling to your new name, Cattarina. It suits you better.”
I stood, redistributing my waistline. “I’m still a good mouser. The best around by most accounts.”
“If you say so.” She turned with a flick of her tail. “Follow me.”
We trotted deeper into their territory until we arrived at the rear of the prison. A gang of cats patrolled a small brick structure adjacent to the main building. The door of this sturdy shed hung open, revealing hoes, rakes, and other gardening implements. Snow brought me to the entrance and instructed me to sit. I did as she asked, claws out, as she disappeared inside to speak to Big Blue.
The prison overwhelmed not just me but the whole of Fairmount with its size. An intimidating fortress, it reminded me of the castles in Eddie’s history books. Four corner towers connected the walls, creating a smooth stone box. However, the building lacked the gargoyles common in medieval architecture and had an altogether utilitarian feel—unsurprising considering its function. I craned my neck to look inside the garden shed. Nothing but darkness and tools. Earlier, the risks in coming here had seemed insignificant. But as I waited for the enigmatic leader to make an appearance, my nerves vibrated like piano strings. I grew wistful at this comparison. How I loved to sit atop Sissy’s square piano and watch the inner workings as she played. I licked my paw and wiped my face. Music graced the Poe household less and less these days—a pity.
Presently, Snow left the shed, followed by a large blue-grey cat with velvety fur of a thickness I longed to knead. His broad face and small ears lent him the regal air of a king, a comparison furthered by the castle behind him. Had he emerged with a crown, I wouldn’t have blinked. Quiet as smoke, he drifted toward me, studying my features with eyes the color of pumpkin. I’d just thought about slinking away when he spoke. “Why have you come, QuickPaw?”
“To seek your help.”
“Go back to your master.”
“Master? But how did you—”
“Your shape tells me everything I need to know.”
Clearly, a new health regimen was in my future. I steered us away from my oft-maligned midsection. “Current state aside, I once lived free like you. And when I did, Iearned my name. The waterfront knew no better mouser.”
A couple of the sentries snickered. Big Blue quieted them with a crook of his tail. “Then why seek my help?” he asked.
“While I am an excellent hunter, I lack the necessary skills to defend against a group of attackers.” I withdrew my claws and began to pace. “I need to travel past Logan Square and—”
“Claw,” Snow hissed under her breath.
I stopped, midstride. “You know him?”
“As much as anyone can know the deranged,” she said. She slunk beside the tom and whispered in his ear. “I say we help her, Blue.”
“I know you’ve had your quarrels with Claw,” Big Blue said, “but is that any reason—”
“Quarrels?” She switched her tail. “Your memory is clearly shorter than mine.” She turned and began grooming herself with a little too much force.
Big Blue watched Snow for a time, then spoke with hesitation. “War is a human folly. But…I’ll grant your request, QuickPaw.”
Snow quit licking her fur and glanced at us over her shoulder. “You will?”
“Yes,” he said to her. “Butafter she’s proven worthy of my help.”
He whispered something to Snow. She nodded. I swallowed.
“We have an excellent mouser as well,” he said to me. “But there can be only one champion. So I’d like to propose a challenge. If we win, you must tell every cat along the waterfront that my son, Killer, is Top Hunter.”
“K-killer?”
“And ifyou win,” he continued, “I’ll guarantee your passage beyond Logan Square.”
The rules were simple enough: hunt until Bobbin, the lead sentry, completed his rounds, catch as many mice as we could, and let Big Blue decide the winner. Yet his son was my opponent. Given their familial connection, I had serious doubts about the fairness of the competition. After a nod from Snow, the sentries called their goliath from the tall weeds, chanting, “Kill-er! Kill-er!” to summon him. I don’t know which shook more, my knees or the spear grass parting before the beast. Catching Mr. Abbott had better be worth this. I steadied myself as my opponent emerged: a grey-striped adolescent with a white chest, no more than a year old.
“Killer?” I asked, eyeing the scrawny male. “You’re a bit short in the whisker, aren’t you?”
Killer objected, “My whiskers are long enough—”
Big Blue stepped between us, halting the verbal jests. “Don’t underestimate my offspring, QuickPaw. What he lacks in experience, he gains in speed.”
My offspring. Fiddlesticks. The tournament had just become impossible to win.
Big Blue continued, “For this trial, you will catch as many mice as you can inside the Spider.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the penitentiary.
“Thewhat?” Either he didn’t hear me, or he didn’t care to explain. The tom left to speak to Bobbin, crossing the field in commanding strides.
“He means we hunt inside the prison,” Killer said. “We call it the Spider.”
“You’ve been inside the prison?”
“You don’t think we spend the night out here, do you, QuickPaw?” Killer said. He left to position himself near the base of the gardening shack.
I kept an eye on Big Blue, waiting for his signal, and puzzled over the name he’d given Eastern State. Did a giant eight-legged beast stand guard inside? If so, what did it eat? Prisoners? I shivered at the thought of a man bound with silken threads, waiting to be devoured by a carnivorous spider. Then I pictured Mr. Abbott—stained cravat and all—in the same confines and sniffed with satisfaction.
“Heed my advice, QuickPaw.”
“Hmm?” I turned to face Snow. She’d snuck away from the others and crouched beside me now, staying low.
“Use your ears, not your eyes to best my son.”
Before I could ask what she meant, Big Blue shouted “Begin!” and set the race in motion.