“Hello, cat,” Ben ventured with a wry smile.
“Hello, yourself,” the cat replied.
Ben stared, certain that he must not have heard correctly. Had the cat spoken? He straightened. “Did you say something?” he asked cautiously.
The cat’s gleaming eyes blinked once and fixed on him, but the cat said nothing. Ben waited a few moments, then leaned back again on his elbows. It wasn’t as if it were surprising to imagine that the cat might have said something, he told himself. After all, the dragon Strabo spoke; and if a dragon could speak, why not a cat?
“Too bad you can’t talk,” he muttered, thinking it would be nice to share his misery with someone.
The night brought a chill with it, and he shivered briefly in the rough work clothes. He wished he had a blanket or a fire to help ward off the damp; or better, that he were back in his own bed at the castle.
He glanced over again at the cat. The cat hadn’t moved. It simply sat there, staring back at him. Ben frowned. The cat’s steady gaze was a bit unnerving. What was a cat doing out here in the woods alone like this anyway? Didn’t it have a home? The emerald eyes gleamed brightly. They were sharp and insistent. Ben shifted his own gaze to the shadowed woods. He wondered again how he was going to find Willow. He would need help from the River Master and he hadn’t the foggiest idea as to how he would convince that being of his true identity. His fingers brushed the tarnished medallion that hung about his neck, tracing the outline of Meeks. The medallion certainly wouldn’t be of any help.
“Maybe the River Master’s magic will help him recognize me,” he thought aloud.
“I wouldn’t count on it, if I were you,” someone replied.
He started and looked quickly in the direction of the speaker. There was no one there but the cat.
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “I heard you that time!” he snapped, irritated enough that he didn’t care how foolish he sounded. “You can speak, can’t you?”
The cat blinked and answered. “I can when it pleases me.”
Ben fought to regain his composure. “I see. Well, you might at least have the courtesy to announce the fact instead of playing games with people.”
“Courtesy has nothing to do with the matter, High Lord Ben Holiday. Playing games is a way of life with cats. We tease, we taunt, and we do exactly as we please, not as others would have us do. Playing games is an integral part of our personae. Those who wish to have any sort of relationship with us must expect as much. They must understand that participation in our games is necessary if they wish communication on any level.”
Ben stared at the cat. “How do you know who I am?” he asked finally.
“Who else would you be but who you are?” the cat replied.
Ben had to stop and think that one through a minute. “Well, no one,” he said finally. “But how is it that you can recognize me when no one else can? Don’t I look like someone else to you?”
The cat lifted one dainty paw and washed it lovingly. “Who you look like counts for little with me,” the cat said. “Appearances are deceiving, and who you look like might not be who you really are. I never rely on appearances. Cats can appear as they choose. Cats are masters of deception and masters of an art cannot be deceived by anyone. I see you for who you really are, not who you appear to be. I have no idea if how you appear just now is how you really are.”
“Well, it isn’t.”
“Whatever you say. I do know that however you might appear, you are in any case Ben Holiday, High Lord of Landover.”
Ben was silent a moment, trying to decide just what it was he was dealing with here, wondering where on earth this creature had come from.
“So you know who I am in spite of the magic that disguises me?” he concluded. “The magic doesn’t fool you?”