The Adventures of Caterwaul the Cat (9 page)

“It won't help you in a real fight, mind you, but it ssseems to repel those annoying darts. I can let you borrow them if you promise me you'll bring them back,” said the turtle. He passed them around to the queen and her group, making sure that the queen got the prettiest and Warwick Vane Bezel III, the clunkiest. “Hopefully this one will fit you, big boy,” he said to the commander, winking.

“How truly gracious of you, Joffrey,” the queen said. “Words cannot begin to express my thanks.” They all put on Joffrey's creations. “You know I haven't had this much fun in years. I really need to get out of the castle more often. Your generosity will be remembered.”

After they all had time to put on the armor, Joffrey smiled. They looked very slick in his creations.

“Your majesty, you look marvelous, if I do sssay so myself. Ssstylish but functional: that's my motto. These outfits ssshould protect you, but try not to get them too dirty. Have you any idea how hard it is to get ssstains out of Ssspanish moss?” Joffrey minced.

Then something else occurred to the turtle. “Ooh . . . just hold those positions. You all look ssso good, especially you, my handsome friend. Absolutely dashing!” He winked again at Warwick, who shifted uncomfortably. “Ssstay there . . . all of you. I will be right back.”

This time Joffrey went inside the oak and returned with a mirror. “You guys just have to see how fabulous you all look.”

The queen, Warwick, and two of the guards turned their heads quickly away and shut their eyes. “No Joffrey, no mirrors please!” she shouted. Unfortunately for the queen, the third guard was more fashion-conscious than the others. He sucked in his gut and posed, looking straight into the mirror. Poof, he disappeared and in his place was a long-haired Persian cat, who upon seeing a large and hungry-looking snapping turtle, scampered quickly away into the woods.

“Well,” said Joffrey astonished, “I have to sssay that that has never happened before. I wonder what could have caused that?”

“I have no earthly idea,” the queen lied. “But whatever it is, it has to be supernatural. That's why we need to see the Witch so badly. All I know is that people all over my kingdom are turning into cats, and mirrors are involved. If anyone has the answer, we believe it is the Witch.”

“You may be right, your majesty. The Witch used to have a cat. It was a big, bushy, black one. But then one day, it just disappeared on her. When she found out that he was missing, she was terribly upset. Do you think that she put a curse on mirrors as a way to mourn the loss of her pet?” he inquired. “I know that she loved him very much.”

“It may just be, Joffrey,” said Druciah. “That's what we are hoping to find out.”

It was amazing how easy it was for the queen to slip right back into her evil self. For a while it seemed that her journey had changed her, and perhaps it had, briefly. But even if her encounters with the Parliament of Possums and Joffrey the designing turtle had brought some fun into her life, it was only temporary and not enough to erase the years of hatred and jealousy that had reshaped her soul in darkness.

She was motivated again to soldier on. She had a mission and that was to find the Witch of Red Moon Forest,

8

The Poison Dart Frogs of Bug Stool Creek

T
his is all going according to plan, Warwick,” said the queen as the group, now one guard short, moved on down the path. The forest seemed to Druciah to be “sentient, like it was watching them carefully as they descended deeper into the thickness of the wood. As they pressed on, they could feel its eyes all around them.

The air was thick with humidity, and they all grew tense. As they approached the creek bed, they heard a tiny voice shout, “FIRE!”

All of a sudden, a barrage of tiny arrows came from all directions. It was a full-fledged ambush that went on for several minutes. The darts bounced off of their fish-scale clothing just as Joffrey said it would. Not a single quill penetrated the armor.

“Praise our reptilian friend, my suit is repelling every shot,” said one of the guards.

“Cease fire!” said the tiny voice. “Did you say reptilian friend?” Warwick Vane Bezel III turned his head all around, looking for the source of the orders. “Joffrey's been at it again boys!” the voice screamed. Just then hundreds of frogs appeared, climbing down the Spanish moss, gathering in ranks, military-style. They were brightly colored with glossy black patterns that resembled camouflage. Most of them were yellow or yellow-green, but there was the occasional red or blue one in their midst. The largest among them could not have been more than three inches in length.

The frog, who appeared to be the leader, hopped forward. Warwick Vane Bezel III resisted the urge to squash him with his boot.

“I am General Fairfax, leader of the Poison Dart Frogs of Bug Stool Creek, and you are trespassing. You have no right to be here.” The general was one of the larger of the frogs. He was yellowish green and black and wore a tiny tailored officer's jacket complete with a red sash and gold epaulettes. On his head he wore an equally tiny black Marshals hat with fur trimmings. “Retreat now and we will not subject you to our curse,” he said with authority.

“Your curse?” the queen inquired. “Tell me, my tiny general, how are you cursed?”

“Once we were men,” said Fairfax, before letting out a loud
ribbit
. “The Witch cursed us. Now we guard this creek. It is our sole purpose. I will tell you again that you must turn back, or we will fire. There are hundreds of us, and we all are armed. If even one of our poison arrows pierces your skin, you will change into a frog like us.”

Warwick Vane Bezel III looked at Fairfax incredulously, but the general continued. “My frogs are excellent marksmen, and I can promise you they will find the holes in that fish-scale clothing that no-good turtle gave you.”

The queen was only half-listening. Something the frog said had her thinking. “Fairfax?” she said, “I remember a General Fairfax from years ago, when I was a small child. Are you the Fairfax who was the leader of my father's army?”

“I was a general in Harsizzle's army long ago.” He paused and then quietly queried, “You are little Druciah?”

“Not little anymore,” she answered. “I have ruled in Harsizzle for more than twenty years, since my father's unfortunate and untimely passing. What happened to you, General? We all assumed that you were dead.”

“Have I been here for that long?” the frog asked, not expecting an answer. “The king . . . dead? More than twenty years, you say?”

“Yes, General,” the queen answered. “It has been a long time. But focus now and tell me what happened.”

“Yes . . . yes,” he said slowly as if shaking the cobwebs from his memory. “Your father sent me to council with the Witch because he was fearful of an uprising among the Folland people to our north. Though they had been quiet for generations, there were rumors of a famine in their country, which your father thought might cause the nomads to migrate south.

“Your father thought he could gain some advantage by making a covenant with the woodland sorceress. So I and ten of my men chopped through the thick trees for many days until we finally reached this place they call Bug Stool Creek.” There was sadness in his voice.

“Nobody told us the forest had certain ‘rules' that had to be followed. We began our hacking and slashing in broad daylight. The woods seemed to fight us. If we had only waited until nightfall, things might have gone differently. Not one of us had the slightest idea we were being watched . . . and judged by her.

“It was only after we arrived at this stream that my fate, and that of my men, was sealed. I took a tiny arrow to the cheek. All ten of my men were hit by poison darts. I saw them topple as I felt the consciousness drain from me. When I awoke, I was in this form as you see me now. As you can see, our numbers have grown over time.” He rubbed at his tiny frog moustache.

“I warn you again, Queen Druciah, out of the great respect and love I had for your father, leave this forest now, for in this froggy form, we have no control of ourselves. We are but slaves. We live only to serve the Witch.”

“How positively awful, General,” said the queen, feigning concern. “Surely there must be some way that you can break this hold that the Witch has over you?”

Just then, one of the frogs saw an opening. One of the two remaining guards had an itch on his left flank and instinctively moved his hand there to scratch it. As he dragged his nails over the irritated spot, he accidentally raised the fish-scale shirt Joffrey had given him. There was now easily an inch of bare skin unprotected. The frog fired his poisoned porcupine quill, and it lodged itself in the guard's exposed buttocks.

The guard leaped into the air, and before his feet could reconnect with earth, he was transformed into a frog. The fish-scale outfit remained, however, and it dropped into the muck of the creek bank. The former guard hopped clumsily across the creek and joined the other frogs in one of the back ranks. Warwick Vane Bezel III grabbed up the garment and put it in his pack.

“General, please, in the name of my father, the king, please do not fire on us again!” implored the queen.

“I'm sorry, your majesty, for I gave no order to fire.” Fairfax was enraged that one of his soldiers would act without orders. After all, if you don't have discipline in an army, what do you have?

“Listen up, you treacherous tadpoles!” he growled. His throat pouch was trembling with the air he was taking in. He was a frog who was used to being obeyed. “If any more shots are fired at the queen or her companions, I am going to deep-fry the shooter's legs and serve them up to those pitiable possums. Am I understood?

“And as for the amphibious anarchist who fired that last shot without my command, I want you to give me fifty pushups, froggy-style.” He looked straight at the shooter. “That means front legs only, now! Somebody count ‘em off!” the General shouted.

Fairfax returned his attention to Druciah. “I believe you're safe now, your majesty. You should turn around and get out of here while you still have time. This is no place for royalty, this cesspool of darkness. Save yourself,” pleaded the frog.

“I appreciate your warnings, General, but I must press on. I have to find that Witch,” the queen insisted.

“Well if you must go, follow the flow of the creek for about half a kilometer, and you will find what you are looking for. But don't say I didn't warn you, your highness. Witches aren't the best sorts of people. I don't expect I will see you again.”

General Fairfax kicked his rear legs together and raised a webbed foot to his forehead in a salute, and then he and the other frogs disappeared into the cover.

The queen, Warwick Vane Bezel III, and the last of her guards followed the creek bed for half a kilometer as directed by Fairfax, sidestepping slippery rocks and the occasional water snake. It occurred to her that every step they took might just bring them a step closer to their doom. She imagined she could hear her companions' heartbeats. They sounded like arrhythmic drums beating uncontrollably. They were now in the darkest part of the forest. The smells of decaying plants and termite-infested tree trunks were palatable. Then as if at once, all of the natural sounds of the forest went silent. They had arrived at the cave of the Witch.

Druciah could tell it was an ancient cave, carved out eons ago by the blood of some long-extinct volcano. Warwick Vane Bezel III pointed to an old sign above the cave and said, “Look here, it has ancient writing on it.” On closer inspection, it happened that the words were not ancient at all, but read “KEEP OUT! THAT MEANS YE!”

Suddenly a voice seemed to come from nowhere and said “Hold there; you're the queen, aren't you? You don't want to go in there.”

“Where are you, and why can't I see you?” asked the queen.

“I'm down ‘ere,” said the voice. “Or what's left of me, that is.” Druciah looked down to see a large and slender rat. He was laughing and smiling with big, yellow teeth. In front of him was the core of some long-rotten piece of fruit, and he took the occasional gnaw at it.

“My name's Edsel. I used to be a blacksmith in Harsizzle, but I couldn't afford to pay your taxes . . . so I asked this nice old woman in the village if I could borrow some coin. Now, my business didn't pick up, and I couldn't pay her back. Didn't really think it was that big of a deal. I meant to. But anyway as it turns out, the old woman had a sister. You'll never guess who.

“So one night I'm sitting ‘round, minding my own business having a bit o' cheese, and there is a knock on me door. I open it, and there is this other old woman standing there all in black—not slimming at all, if you ask me. I think she coulda benefitted from some high heels and a bit of makeup, not to get off the point . . . but she starts telling me that I need to pay her sister back the money I owes her.