Catseye by Andre Norton Page A

follow.
    His mind pictured for him a cage, hodded and stored—but not in any room of the shop he had seen.
    â€œIn the yard pens?” he asked.
    There was a long moment before the answer came and then it was evasive.
    â€œCool air, many smells—maybe outside.”
    Was the fox only relaying for the kinkajou? Troy thought that might be true.
    â€œCage covered—not to see—”
    That fitted. The animal might well be in one of the outside pens still in a carrying cage. But to find it tonight would be a risky project, and what could he do if he did locate it?
    â€œHide!”
    They had picked that out of his thoughts, replied to it. The standing fox was panting a little, its red tongue lolling from its jaws.
    Troy considered the problem. For some reason Kyger had hidden the kinkajou, intending to get rid of it. To meddle in this at all was simply asking for trouble. Not only would the merchant break contract, but he was entitled to black-list Troy with the C.L.C. so that he could never hope for another day’s labor on Korwar. That had happened to Dipplemen in the past, and for less cause. He had only to fasten down the cover of the foxes’ cage, leave the room, forget everything, and he was safe.
    How safe? He stared down at the fox. The kinkajou, the foxes, even the cats, all knew that he was able to communicate with them. Suppose they passed that information on to Kyger? That interrupted conversation the other night—if Kyger knew he had “heard” that—Yes, a refusal to help might cut two ways now.
    He jerked the flap of the cage cover into place, making no further attempt to talk to the foxes. Then, thrusting the stunner into the top of his rider’s belt, he padded to the rear door and let himself out cautiously, ducking into a convenient pool of shadow.
    Just as he patrolled the shop during the night, the senior yardman made the rounds out here. And Troy’s presence near some of the larger animal pens could arouse their inhabitants to noisy protest, betraying him at once. Nor did Horan have the least idea in which of those enclosures the kinkajou was now housed, if it was here at all.
    He slipped along the wall, his left shoulder against it, making a quick dart across an open space to the shelter of a doorway. From that came the scent of hay, seeds, dried vegetation. And those mingled odors took him back to his twenty-four hours in the Wild. Perhaps it was then that the first flick of an idea was born—not concrete enough yet to be called a plan, just a hazy half-dream suggesting a way of escape if Kyger did dismiss him again to the Dipple.
    Troy felt the door yield to his gentle push and he went in. Under his hand the panel swung almost closed once more, but through the crack he was able to reconnoiter the rest of the courtyard. In which of the pens and cages about its circumference could what he sought be effectively hidden? And would Kyger have undertaken that mission himself or left it to one of the yardmen—or Zul?
    Kyger—or Zul, the most likely. Zul had not wanted Troy to be left in the shop tonight; he was certain of that. He wished he knew where that small man was right now.
    There was a stir by the door that gave on the passage leading to Kyger’s private apartment. A figure moved into the open and Troy saw Zul, by his present actions a Zul who did not want to be observed, for, as Troy had done, the other took advantage of every shadow to cover his journey along the row of pens.
    Perhaps the creatures penned there were used to his scent and such nighttime journeys, for none of them roused. Then Zul disappeared, seemingly into a patch of wall. Where his flitting had been soundless, the tap of footsteps now sounded briskly down the opposite side of the yard, and Troy held his breath as they approached the supply room. He gently eased the panel fully shut and waited tensely to see if the patrolling guard would try it.
    When the footfalls