Six Lives of Fankle the Cat by George Mackay Brown Page B

their friend Bat-ye.
    The last dead firework lay in the imperial garden, one summer dawn.
    It was time for the Emperor to return to his arduous duties.
    Arduous they were – far more difficult than the tasks of a fisherman beside the river, or a fowler, or a hunter of tigers, or a silk weaver.
    One morning, a month after the wedding, the Emperor came into his wife’s chamber, after a council-of-state meeting, wringing his hands.
    â€œA whole fleet of merchant ships!” he cried. “Scattered in a storm! Half of them sunk. It was a very precious cargo, tea and jade and spices! Two merchants in the sea port will be ruined!”
    The Empress stroked her black cat, and said nothing.
    The Emperor went out again. Who expects advice from a woman? He went to consult this maritime adviser and that.
    The black cat stopped purring. It spoke to the Empress for the first time. It laid its head on her shoulder and whispered things into her ear.
    When the Emperor returned to his wife’s chamber, for a glass of tea and a few consoling kisses, she said, “I wouldn’t worry about the merchants so much. They’re well insured against storm and shipwreck. They make a hundred times more than they ever lose. There will be sailors’ widows now in all the little villages along the coast. Winter is coming on. See that the women and the children are all right. They are the ones who really suffer, after a disaster like this.”
    The Emperor looked at the Empress with astonishment. He had never looked at the situation from this particular angle.
    â€œI think there’s truth in what you say,” he said.
    The black cat slept, or pretended to sleep, on his favourite stool that was patterned with flowers and peacocks.
    That weekend the families of the drowned sailors were given silver and an imperial guarantee of food and shelter until the following spring. The great merchants grumbled and said it could not be afforded. But they were not noticeably poorer themselves.
    Five or six weeks later the Emperor came into his wife’s chamber clasping his head in both hands. The council of state had just finished an emergency sitting. “Terrible!” he cried. “A revolt! My own people, that I love dearly, to take up swords and catapults against me! They will suffer for this. There will be heads rotting in the wind along a hundred miles of mountain road. Those gentle people from the mountains – goatherds, falconers, timbermen – who would have thought they would rise against their Emperor!”
    The Empress stroked the black cat and was silent.
    The Emperor went out, to consult a few generals. What does a woman, however beautiful and good, know about treason and force of arms?
    The black cat murmured certain words into the ear of his friend.
    When the Emperor returned, to forget his worries for a while in his wife’s arms, she pushed him away, gently, and said, “There are no finer people than the mountain tribes. No people have shown you more loyalty and love. But people will do desperate things when they have a dragon for a governor. If I were you, I would make enquiries – urgent enquiries – into the character and behaviour of the mountain governor. He is an evil man. Examine the account books. Of every six trees felled on the mountain, the governor takes four for himself and one for you. It’s the same with the falconers and the goatherds. The governor has set up a flogging post in every village. The fine house of the governor is teeming with slaves – girls that were, until last year, the happy daughters of the mountain men.”
    The Emperor looked long into the indignant eyes of his wife. Then he went out of the room.
    The black cat stretched himself on the silken stool.
    Next morning the wicked governor, who had of course returned to the capital at the first stirring of revolt, was executed in the city square. An embassy, carrying a cage of doves, was sent into the