one of them, “Would you be good enough to tell Morwen that I’m here and would like to talk to her?”
The cat, a large gray torn, blinked its yellow eyes at Kazul. Then he jumped down from the porch rail and sauntered into the house, his tail held high as if to say, “I’m doing this as a particular favor, mind, and don’t you forget it.”
“He doesn’t seem very impressed,” Cimorene commented in some amusement.
“Why should he be?” Kazul said.
“Well, you’re a dragon,” Cimorene answered, a little taken aback.
“What difference does that make to a cat?”
Fortunately, Cimorene did not have to find an answer, for at that moment Morwen appeared in the door way. She was wearing the same black robe she had worn when she visited Cimorene, or another one exactly like it, and she peered through her glasses with the air of someone studying an unexpected and rather peculiar puzzle.
“Good morning, Kazul,” she said after a moment. “This is a surprise.”
“Good,” said Kazul. “If you aren’t expecting us to be here, no one else is, either.”
“That's the way of things, is it?” Morwen commented thoughtfully. “How much of a hurry are you in?”
“Not much of one, as long as no one knows we’re here,” Kazul replied.
“Then Cimorene had better get down and have something to drink,” Morwen said in a tone that forbade contradiction. “There’s cider, or goat’s milk, though if you want that, you’ll have the cats after you, or I can put a kettle on for tea. Good gracious, what have you done to your hand?”
While Morwen had been talking, Cimorene had turned and slid carefully down Kazul’s side. It was a long slide, and when her feet hit the ground, she had to put out a hand to keep from falling. Morwen’s exclamation made her blink in surprise, and she looked down. The palm of her right hand was covered with blood from half a dozen deep slashes and as many scrapes.
“Oh, dear,” Cimorene said. “It must have happened in the caves, when it was so dark. I didn’t realize. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
“Hurting or not, it needs attention,” Morwen said firmly. “Come inside, and I’ll see to it while Kazul tells me why you’re here. You’ll have to go around back this time,” she added, turning to Kazul. “The front steps won’t take the weight. A gnome stole one of the supports, and I haven’t had time to get it fixed yet. Pesky creatures—they’re worse than mice.”
“Don’t the cats keep the mice away?” Cimorene asked, mildly puzzled.
“Yes, but they don’t do a thing about gnomes, which is why gnomes are worse. Mind the step.”
Kazul started walking while Morwen shooed Cimorene up the wooden steps and into the house. Several of the cats eyed Cimorene curiously as she passed, and a tortoiseshell kitten got up and followed her in.
The front door led into a large, airy room with an iron stove in one comer. There was a good deal of furniture, but everything except the table and the stove had at least one cat on top of it. Morwen frowned at a fat and fluffy Persian that was sitting on one of the chairs. The cat stood up, yawned, gave its front paws a cursory lick or two just to show that this was all his own idea, and jumped down onto the floor. As Cimorene sat down in the vacated chair, there was a knock at the wooden door on the opposite side of the room.
“That’ll be Kazul,” Morwen said. She crossed to tile door and opened it. “Come in. I’ll get you some cider as soon as I’ve seen to Cimorene’s hand.”
Morwen’s back door did not seem to get any larger, and Kazul certainly did not get any smaller, but when she put her head through the doorway, her scales did not even scrape the sides. The rest of her followed with no apparent difficulty, and somehow there was plenty of room in the kitchen even after she got inside.
Kazul settled down along the far wall, where she would be out of the way, and as soon as she stopped moving, six cats
The cat, a large gray torn, blinked its yellow eyes at Kazul. Then he jumped down from the porch rail and sauntered into the house, his tail held high as if to say, “I’m doing this as a particular favor, mind, and don’t you forget it.”
“He doesn’t seem very impressed,” Cimorene commented in some amusement.
“Why should he be?” Kazul said.
“Well, you’re a dragon,” Cimorene answered, a little taken aback.
“What difference does that make to a cat?”
Fortunately, Cimorene did not have to find an answer, for at that moment Morwen appeared in the door way. She was wearing the same black robe she had worn when she visited Cimorene, or another one exactly like it, and she peered through her glasses with the air of someone studying an unexpected and rather peculiar puzzle.
“Good morning, Kazul,” she said after a moment. “This is a surprise.”
“Good,” said Kazul. “If you aren’t expecting us to be here, no one else is, either.”
“That's the way of things, is it?” Morwen commented thoughtfully. “How much of a hurry are you in?”
“Not much of one, as long as no one knows we’re here,” Kazul replied.
“Then Cimorene had better get down and have something to drink,” Morwen said in a tone that forbade contradiction. “There’s cider, or goat’s milk, though if you want that, you’ll have the cats after you, or I can put a kettle on for tea. Good gracious, what have you done to your hand?”
While Morwen had been talking, Cimorene had turned and slid carefully down Kazul’s side. It was a long slide, and when her feet hit the ground, she had to put out a hand to keep from falling. Morwen’s exclamation made her blink in surprise, and she looked down. The palm of her right hand was covered with blood from half a dozen deep slashes and as many scrapes.
“Oh, dear,” Cimorene said. “It must have happened in the caves, when it was so dark. I didn’t realize. It doesn’t hurt at all.”
“Hurting or not, it needs attention,” Morwen said firmly. “Come inside, and I’ll see to it while Kazul tells me why you’re here. You’ll have to go around back this time,” she added, turning to Kazul. “The front steps won’t take the weight. A gnome stole one of the supports, and I haven’t had time to get it fixed yet. Pesky creatures—they’re worse than mice.”
“Don’t the cats keep the mice away?” Cimorene asked, mildly puzzled.
“Yes, but they don’t do a thing about gnomes, which is why gnomes are worse. Mind the step.”
Kazul started walking while Morwen shooed Cimorene up the wooden steps and into the house. Several of the cats eyed Cimorene curiously as she passed, and a tortoiseshell kitten got up and followed her in.
The front door led into a large, airy room with an iron stove in one comer. There was a good deal of furniture, but everything except the table and the stove had at least one cat on top of it. Morwen frowned at a fat and fluffy Persian that was sitting on one of the chairs. The cat stood up, yawned, gave its front paws a cursory lick or two just to show that this was all his own idea, and jumped down onto the floor. As Cimorene sat down in the vacated chair, there was a knock at the wooden door on the opposite side of the room.
“That’ll be Kazul,” Morwen said. She crossed to tile door and opened it. “Come in. I’ll get you some cider as soon as I’ve seen to Cimorene’s hand.”
Morwen’s back door did not seem to get any larger, and Kazul certainly did not get any smaller, but when she put her head through the doorway, her scales did not even scrape the sides. The rest of her followed with no apparent difficulty, and somehow there was plenty of room in the kitchen even after she got inside.
Kazul settled down along the far wall, where she would be out of the way, and as soon as she stopped moving, six cats
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