Princess cat

Translator Natalia Lilienthal

© Natalie Yacobson, 2023

© Natalia Lilienthal, translation, 2023

ISBN 978-5-0059-6992-7

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

Jewels and claws

This castle is incredibly difficult to get into. But is it easy to escape from here? Tobias glanced at the rope ladder thrown down from the window of the not-too-high tower. The end of it was less than five meters from the ground. Yes, he was in trouble! He would have to use the normal entrance instead of the window. Fortunately there were no guards except the statues. He would have been arrested with a sack of stolen jewels, and they would have quartered him for sure.

Tobias tried to shove the diamond tiara he had just noticed into the bag as well. It wouldn’t fit anymore. The sack was already filled to overflowing with jewelry, and his pockets were stuffed with gold coins minted from the Kingdom of Cats. At least that’s what Tobias himself had called the country. In the old days it had been called something else. Now it was called Grapevine-land, because the country was covered with grapes and roses. A pretty maid told Tobias that a cook had once tried to sneak away with a basket of stolen oranges. Vines supposedly caught the boy in a net and tore him to pieces.

«The road to Cat’s Castle is paved with the bones of those who have tried to come here, and soaked in the blood of all those who have been invited and escaped from us,» confided the pretty former chaperone of the local princess at dinner. «If you go out into the wasteland behind the castle and look closely, the sand there is mixed with human skulls and body remains. You’ve come to a dangerous place. Only supernatural beings are welcome here, but you’re an ambassador. Ambassadors have to be let in.»

Tobias remembered waiting under the gate for nearly three days and three nights before they took pity on him and let him through. The gate itself resembled the mouth of a mythical beast. On the chains of the winch lived mischievous leprechauns that taunted anyone who wished to enter. A strange whisper seemed to emanate from the vines on the ramparts. Or so he thought from the long wait. What were the castle dwellers thinking? He could, after all, get sunstroke or die of dehydration. The only well near the castle was rotten, and some water creature had taken up residence in it and filled the ambassador with riddles. It was she who first called the kingdom the Cat Kingdom. Tobias understood why only when he met the scratched beauty who had been acting as both steward of the castle and maid to the princess.

«It’s a dangerous place; deserted, saturated with magic,» she explained, studying the royal seal on the message Tobias had delivered.

«So why don’t you move to my suzerain’s court?»

Tobias liked the pretty brunette much, despite the scratches on her shoulders and neck.

«I wish it were that easy to leave,» she sighed as if the horses and carriage house were never in the castle.

Tobias at first mistook her for a harmless lunatic who’d read fairy tales, but in time he realized that it wasn’t that simple. It was as if the devil himself had taken up residence in the castle. Feline portraits of the ruling dynasty were interspersed with human portraits. The tapestries were torn apart by claws. But the royal coffers were full of jewels. And it was not Tobias’ fault that he decided to rob the castle. Here he had been treated in a way that could not have been done otherwise.

He shoved the sumptuous tiara into his tunic. The caftan swelled with it. It was hard to breathe. The diamonds chilled his chest as if his heart were frozen in ice.

No matter how hard one tried to take all the treasure with him, he could not take it all with him. There were too many treasures piled in chests and forged chests. And there were many more glittering crowns on velvet pads in the depths of the treasury. Tobias looked at them with great regret. He had more than he could carry.

That’s it, it’s time to get out of here, and the royal regiments should be brought here to put all the cats on leashes.

Tobias grinned at his plan. Maybe it wouldn’t turn out so easily. But the troops would deal with the local population far better than he would alone. There would be no peace.

The greedy ambassador reached for the glittering ruby crown. Why didn’t he think of putting it on his head and throwing away his inexpensive beret? With what he could get for the cat’s jewelry, he’d buy up all the velvet of Aluar instead. Tobias’s fingers were on the verge of reaching for the coveted crown when nimble, hard claws scraped across them. And how sharp they were! Tobias howled in pain. His little finger and middle finger had been replaced by ragged stumps.

Cats didn’t scratch like that. It wasn’t a cat, either. Cats’ claws weren’t the size of human fingers, and they didn’t wear sleeves with lace cuffs.

Finding out who had maimed him was as inappropriate as protesting. He was the thief here, not the assailant. Tobias dashed away, dropping rings and bracelets from his overstuffed bag along the way.

It was a good thing he had spotted the marble staircase that spiraled down into the garden from the parapet of the tower where the treasure was kept. It was as if it had been specially made for thieves. The architect here was excellent. He planned everything for the benefit of burglars.

The steps led up into the night garden, into a thicket of lavender and balsam. The smell of the flowers was suffocating. But there were no guards in the garden. But the gardener’s gate must be there somewhere.

The jewels fell out of the sack as often as if holes had been made in it. Tobias stepped on a dropped ring, lost his balance, and fell. He fell, and his foot was sorely stabbed, as if by knives or claws.

The bag fell out, its glittering contents scattered in the flower bed. He couldn’t get all that expensive things together fast enough. And time was running out. Tobias couldn’t see the pursuit, but he could sense that something was moving behind him. Only the vines that braided the wall had changed position. It happens! Suddenly they looked like snakes.

Several vines were wrapped around his legs and arms. This was no joke. The vines twisted his limbs like ropes. There was blood on the skin beneath them. Maybe the myths about plants eating fugitives weren’t fiction.

«The claws of masters wound thieves to death!» There was a lady in an opaque veil, and she was already standing there, as if she had sprung up from the ground.

«No, I am not a thief. I am an ambassador,» Tobias hissed, and felt the vines sink deep into his meat.

«Silence,» the lady held a hand mirror up to his face. In it, Tobias could see how badly his cheekbones, nose, and chin were scratched. That’s why it hurt so much.

He would have liked to see the lady’s face, but instead of a face she showed her claws. These claws would have cut him to death. They are as long as a stiletto blade.

«Thieves find death here,» the stranger almost chanted.

Tobias believed her eagerly. Especially when the white, sharp claws, somewhat reminiscent of a cat’s, darted toward his throat. The crown had long since fallen from his forehead, but the message from the local princess to the king was still in his pocket, rolled up like a tube. It looked as if it would remain undelivered.

The Wandering Minstrel

«That’s it! I’ve had enough! I’ll live by myself! To wander the roads and earn my living by playing the lute!» With pathos proclaimed Brendan.

The cat inside the crown purred and rolled onto its side. It became his favorite pastime to curl up inside the large royal crown. He was like a king who sleeps inside a symbol of his power.

It was a pity to leave the Bastard. But here he would be taken care of. All his antics are tolerated, because he is a cat of a very rare breed. He’s also the cat of the king himself.

«Come on, let’s say goodbye, kitty!» Brendan reached out to stroke him, and he did so in vain. The proud cat awoke only to scratch his mate’s palm with all five claws.

«Oh, you… they don’t call you Scoundrel for nothing,» Brendan blew on his palm, but the pain didn’t subside.

What was it the royal wigmaker used to say? Royal property must not be touched without asking. But the white fluffy Aluar’s cat named Scoundrel is also, after all, royal property. They even put a cot for him in the king’s study.

Brendan himself had sneaked in today just to get the locket with the portrait of his parents on it. He should have taken the money with him, but that would have been stealing. He could earn his own keep. If minstrels were in demand even at the royal court, music was not so difficult to make a living from. Brendan learned a variety of songs, changed his clothes to the simplest, and prepared for the challenges ahead. Better to wander the dusty country roads than to marry a capricious widow from a neighboring kingdom with which the uncle-king had decided to form an alliance. The influential relatives can get into their heads all sorts of things. So it’s better to do without them. One is more comfortable.

What is it about marriage? Brendan had no intention of getting married anytime soon. There were too many beautiful girls around. To choose a particular one as a lifelong burden would be to be completely out of love.

In Aluar, they could drive you mad, too. There was a mysterious old lady in his uncle’s court named Effigenia, who dressed exclusively in black and was reputed to be a master of spells. She boasted that she had worked magic on several impertinent young men so that they jumped off the tower and crashed to their deaths out of unrequited love.

This is another excuse to flee his uncle’s kingdom. Otherwise he too will be bewitched to some toothless gray-haired widow.

Brendan was delighted to find that no one would recognize him in the noisy corridors of the castle. All he had to do was dress poorly, and you were no longer the king’s nephew. He had also learned the secret passages behind the sliding panels of the walls, and could get in everywhere without opening a door. Here he was, all alone in the locked royal chambers, and outside he could hear outside conversations.

«More and more danger was coming from the east, and even Lady Ephigenia could do nothing more.»

«How can you send a witch doctor against danger when there are troops?»

«And how can you send troops not against men, but against the black mist.»

«They say it will be resolved soon, and if not, we will have to fight all the same.»

«Is it weapons or magic?»

«All means are good in a fight.»

«Or maybe we should just turn a blind eye to what’s going on until we are directly approached with an ultimatum?»

It sounds like the voices of counselors! Brendan was immediately disappointed in them. The wisest men in the kingdom were so drunk they were talking nonsense. Soon they would begin to shy away from their own shadows, suspecting that something magical had settled within them. What had Uncle King done to them that made them drink themselves to death? Usually they walked around the castle puffed up like peacocks, making puffed-up speeches. That was when Brendan saw them. Now all he could hear were frightened voices. It was a good thing he himself did not drink, even after fierce quarrels with the king over his future and even in moments when his uncle, enraged by his behavior, threatened to execute him.

«If it hadn’t been for the good memory of your humble mother, your head would be on a pole by now,» his uncle liked to say.

Brendan had long ago stopped believing him, so often he had heard such empty threats. In fact, his uncle took pity on him and would not have him executed even in the case of high treason. For it is always possible both to protect the guilty and to execute the innocent. There was much injustice in the kingdom, and the black magic of Ephigenia sometimes seemed to slip through the keyholes, inspiring a melancholy that made one want to howl.

Suddenly it seemed to Brendon that his shadow had become some kind of mythical horned creature, dancing on the floor no matter what its master did.

That’s enough! It is enough illusions, optical deceptions, compulsions and reproaches of his uncle. Better to be free than noble and rich. Brendan had made his choice. The main thing was that no one would stop him from getting away. A chase would be a nuisance, too, so Brendon cleverly disguised himself, even smeared his skin with grated chocolate powder to simulate a tan. Now he looks like a hobo.

«Sleep well in captivity, Bastard. I don’t let the guardian get to me again!» Brendan slung his bag over his shoulder, grabbed his lute, and was off.

Fairies and fortune tellers

He was free! At last! The guards at the drawbridge didn’t even recognize him. Brendan felt like a hero until he spotted a group of pretty gypsy girls in the market square. Before, pretty fortune-tellers in colorful dresses would have mobbed him and started promising all sorts of prophecies. Well, he used to be a duke. They naturally didn’t pay any attention to the beggar minstrel.

But the three graceful winged ladies swooped down on him. Brendan was taken aback. They were fairies! Real fairies with colorful wings behind them! He had only heard of fairies, but had never seen them up close, except for one of his uncle’s favorites, who was occasionally received at court, but she always delicately hid her wings, folding them behind her back in the form of a cloak. But these three beauties proudly unfurled their wings and waved them as if they were huge fans. Two of the fairies were brunettes and one was a blonde with violets growing in her curls. What wonders! And such creatures walk through the marketplace! And how many wonders were in the woods outside the city? He shouldn’t have stayed at home so long. He should have gone on his journey much earlier. Too bad he hadn’t been wearing well-worn boots when he’d barely set foot outside the castle. He would have been surprised if someone hadn’t noticed he was wearing new boots. He was playing the beggar, after all. Brendan glanced warily at the drawbridge.

«Oh, you’re cute,» the fairies were already combing through his hair. «You are as pretty as a summer’s day. We are lonesome.»

«Play for us!» The blond suggested she see the lute dangling from a leather strap over his shoulder.

«Shall we coin first?» Brendan was reminded that he had a part to play, not to gawk at any curiosity that came his way. «I don’t play for free. I only play for money, or for the broth.»

That’s it! He spoke with an expression like an actor on the stage of a traveling theater. Travelling actors were often invited to perform at royal feasts, so he had someone to learn from.

«Wouldn’t you like it in exchange for the fulfillment of a wish?» The blond fairy smiled slyly.

Brendan hesitated. She looked very sly, Brendan thought.

«Play, or we’ll curse you!» One of the brunettes snapped. She was beautiful, and obviously not used to being rejected by boys.

The fairies whirled over Brendan’s head in a hurricane of color, even ripping off his beret and throwing it into a puddle. Not fairies, but hooligans. And why had he left the castle? Or were they henchmen of his guardian who wouldn’t let him out into the open world? They must be in cahoots with the old king.

«Leave me alone!» Brendan was already wishing he’d played them right away. It was better not to bargain with witches. Luckily, a group of gypsies was passing by.

«That’s who I came with,» Brendan lied to get away from the fairies. «They can curse you just as badly as you can curse me if you don’t let up.»

Strangely enough the fairies believed him and left him alone. Scary ones! And behaved like bullies! But communication with the gypsies was much easier and more pleasant. They didn’t even look at his lute.

«Would you like a prediction, my dear?»

One of the fortune-tellers at once asked for a coin. At least they were fairer than fairies. He had a coin in his pocket. It was all he had left of his royal allowance. From now on, he would have to make his own living.

The young gypsy with the piercing black eyes studied his palm for a long time, and then suddenly spat on the ground with disgust.

«Is something wrong? Did I not pay enough? Or am I going to die early? Or am I cursed?»

«The latter was more likely.»

«What do you mean?» Brendan was taken aback.

«You’re marrying a monster!» The fortuneteller paused theatrically.

And it was worth paying for!

«How’s it? Are you sure?»

«I’m sure!»

And for such a prophecy he was left without lunch.

To live his whole life with a monster! It wasn’t worth running away from his guardian for that. Though, perhaps, if he were caught and brought back, the king would just marry him off to some old hag with a big dowry, and thus the prophecy would come true. The ugly woman and the monster are essentially the same thing. The fortune teller might have used a metaphor. If only she knew what it was. And if she did not know it, she was guided only by a secret vision. Are Gypsy women as good at fortune-telling as they are said to be? Should they be trusted unconditionally?

Brendan had such a sad look on his face that passersby looked at him with pity.

:So they predicted happiness for me, too!» The wretched cripple at the bridge muttered. «But it didn’t come true.»

«Well, maybe it won’t come true for me, either!» Brendan rejoiced.

He was relieved. He would have thrown a coin into the cripple’s pewter mug, but he had none left. He’d given his last for a prediction.

Marry the beast! What fortune-tellers are they! They think because he’s young, he’s stupid. He’ll believe anything you tell them.

The gypsies were beckoning with their tambourines, but Brendan was already in a hurry to avoid them.

Sleeping Fields

A cavalcade of knights dashed down the dusty road. Brendan hastily ducked into the bushes so they would not see him. Their crests indicated that they were no vassals of his uncle. Somehow the stately knights resembled elves in silvery armor. There was even one lady among them, a blond beauty on a snow-white horse. He would have married such a woman and would not have run away from the wedding, but alas, no one offered him one.

Brendan would have composed an ode in her honor, but there was not enough time. The cavalcade rushed past quickly. Only clouds of dust remained on the road.

He had chosen the road at random, by the way. He probably should have swiped a map from his uncle’s office. He didn’t even know where he was going, or if there was any settlement ahead. Or is there nothing but woods for miles ahead?

Come on, Brendan consoled himself. The world is full of different kingdoms and principalities. If you persist, you’ll eventually reach a kingdom or two.

By nightfall, the wilderness was replaced by a wilderness that seemed to have no end. Or was it fields, not wasteland? Brendan remembered stepping on dry, cracked ground, and now the rye was flattened beneath his soles. It had barely sprouted yet, and in the distance tall ears were already growing. How can it be? Weren’t all the stubble fields sown at the same time?

This was suspicious, but he didn’t want to turn back. Brendan wandered on. The birds flying around the fields were strange, with angry red eyes. Brendan hummed a merry song to cheer him up. The lyrics were humorous, but for some reason it sounded gloomy in the fields, like a funeral hymn. Was it something wrong with his voice, or was it the witchy echo of which Lady Ephigenia had spoken so much? It usually taunts people who have wandered into forbidden and enchanted territory.

Nonsense! Fields cannot be enchanted.

«Hey, are you minstrel?»

Brendan looked around for the person who had called out to him. There was no one around except a straw scarecrow, which for some reason was wearing a fancy jester’s coat and a motley hat with bells on instead of the usual old shirt.

Even the scarecrows look luxurious in this field. And the rye seems cast from solid gold. Brendan bent down and plucked one straw. Both the grains and the chaff in it were cold and golden. He was so astonished that he almost dropped the expensive item. Surely it was Fortune himself who had led him to these fields. If you pick such rye, you can buy your own estate.

«You rejoice too soon!»

Another haunting voice from nowhere! There is only a scarecrow nearby. And scarecrows, as everyone knows, are not alive and do not speak. Unless the leprechauns live underground and tease him. They are usually the ones who keep treasures. The field of golden rye might be their joke. Surely they are waiting for him to pick it greedily. Then you can laugh at the fool who will throw all the stuff out of the bundle to put rye in there, which will turn from gold to ordinary stalks in the morning.

«Get out of here!»

This time it was clear that the muffled hoarse voice was definitely coming from the scarecrow. Brandon stopped in front of it, looking up at its face. There was no mouth to be seen beneath the bells of the hat. But the scarecrow itself, on a pole, somehow resembled a man crucified in a field.

«Where must I go?» Brendan wondered. «There are fields all around. Everywhere you go, there are fields ahead.»

«There is a castle up ahead.»

«I don’t see any castle.»

«Just because you don’t see one doesn’t mean there isn’t one.»

Brendan was so amazed that the stuffed jester spoke to him that he didn’t think much about the meaning of his words.

«I was like you, coming here to make fun of an ugly princess who had her beauty taken away from her by some wizard for her stubborn character. I could joke, but look what my jokes have done to me!»

«But I’m not going to make jokes about anyone.»

«Then why do you have a lute, if not to accompany frivolous songs?»

«I sing only good songs,» said Brendan indignantly. «And I write my own songs. Would you like to hear them?»

Stop! Scarecrow wouldn’t pay him to play. Why did he take out his lute so readily? Has the creature on the pole bewitched him? What if it was alive? Brendan touched the leg of the scarecrow. There was straw under his caftan. So it’s not alive after all, but it’s certainly magical.

«Don’t play!» It warned.

«Didn’t the rulers there forbid music?» Brendan snapped. He wasn’t going to play for free either, but if he was forbidden to play, that was a professional insult.

«Loud noises would wake them up.»

«What do you mean?»

«They are under the field. They come in all kinds: small and large, like giants, ugly and statuesque beauties, but step into their circle and you’re lost. It’s the same if you steal something here. They can’t stand thieves.»

Brendan quickly threw away the golden spike, though it’s a waste, but if someone is watching him from under the ground, it’s best not to steal. The scarecrow might have lied. But it’s a good idea to double-check. He has no royal retinue with him now. If he gets into trouble, he will have to defend himself.

«Who are they? Do they have a name? Do you say they live underground, like the leprechauns?»

But the scarecrow was already silent. But his posture had suddenly changed. One hand pointed in the direction from which Brendan had come.

So it’s trying to get him to turn back. All this must be Lady Ephigenia’s magic tricks. Surely hys uncle had already noticed his nephew’s absence and told his witch to track him down. Where the guards were powerless, Ephigenia acted. But he was no match for this one. He’s already gone far enough away from Aluar that the king’s witch’s charms won’t catch up with him.

We need to keep moving. The farther he went, the more her magic would weaken. Brendan went forward, against the scarecrow’s advice. And if there really was a castle up ahead, he would have lodging and supper. In feudal castles, itinerant actors and minstrels were free to roam. Bored hosts usually expect entertainment and are willing to provide both dinner and shelter for them.

«Don’t go! Don’t go!» Some buzzing insects tried to fly into his ears. Brendan pushed them away with difficulty.

The ground vibrated slightly beneath his feet. The fields suddenly seemed alive and breathing, as if a giant were slumbering beneath the rye, but Brendan would be swept away like a gnat as soon as he got up. Maybe we really shouldn’t have come in here.

Yeah, what was wrong with him? Didn’t he think he was the bravest when he made jokes about uncle’s ministers?

«Silly fellow, you don’t even know who sleeps under the field!»

There was no scarecrow around this time. So the voice came either from the void or from a large black bird that was circling over the fields.

It’s all Ephigenia’s jokes, Brendan consoled himself again. Though she remains in the king’s castle, her evil power extends far beyond it. We must hurry. The more miles he walked, the weaker her sorcery would become. My uncle had the misfortune to tangle with a witch! If Brendan could find a wizard along the way, he would ask him, just for the fun of it, to bewitch his uncle the King with Ephigenia. In this way he would settle his debts and grievances. The uncle would find himself forcibly married to a witch, and he would think nothing of meddling in other people’s private lives in the future.

Although, they say, magic is not so simple. You can’t always make a magical plan work the way you thought it would. Sometimes things go wrong. And magical failures can even lead to the destruction of the world, according to the words of the wise men.

Brendan noticed that the spikes in the fields were regular to the touch instead of golden. He must have done well not to pluck anything. Sometimes it pays to listen to warnings.

He didn’t listen to the last warning, since he’s wandering around looking for a castle. Well, the castle is not the fields. You can’t conjure up strange vegetation underfoot like that. The field was changing. First there was wheat and rye, now barley and beanstalks, on which live creepy biting bugs. These bugs also shine brighter than fireflies. And up ahead are vineyards and cornfields. Had someone conjured this place up by mixing all the plant crops?

Brendan picked one cob of corn because his empty stomach was already rumbling with hunger. Instead of corn kernels, real gold coins spilled from the cob. They tinkled and fell right under his feet. More and more of them, as if the earth had bred them.

No, he wouldn’t fall for that. Pick them up, and the coins would be yellow grains again. Maybe he should pick some up after all. He has no money on him, and he has a long way to go.

Brendan leaned over and picked up a handful of coins. These are the real ones! Only the coinage was unfamiliar. The tails have a feline profile, and there’s a claw print instead of a coat of arms. Good thing gold is valuable anyway, no matter whose mint the coats of arms were minted from. Brendan slipped the coins into his pocket and felt the fields beneath his feet as if they sighed and twitched. Something moved beneath the ground, as if an army of monsters were rising from there.

Where to run to now? Brendan felt something like a tourniquet wrap around his wrist and begin to squeeze. It was a living vine! It clung so tightly that it nearly tore his arm off. As soon as he was free of it, many other vines crawled toward him like hissing snakes.

Brendan jumped from his seat and ran. The swift vines darted after him, trying to grab his legs. Coins fell from the corn again, but there was no time to pick them up. The vines were determined to trap the fugitive. Brendan barely dodged their grip, and they hissed grudgingly. Here he passed corn fields, and fields of peas. Ahead of him was an empty, unseeded field. As he ran into it, the vines suddenly retreated, hiding in the shade.

Were they afraid of the uncultivated land? Brendan looked back at the fields. The ground there was trembling, as if whole armies of monsters were already climbing out of it, but there were no monsters in sight.

Brendan waited a moment. No dangerous plants were climbing the uncultivated ground to chase him. Here, then, was the place to take a break. In the sky, the moon was just shining, framed by a scattering of stars. Brendan only now realized how tired he was. He had no pillow or blanket, but he did have a bundle of belongings. Brendan put it under his head instead of a pillow.

«We’ll get you, you impudent thief!» hissed the vines from a distant field, or were they women’s voices? Through the haze of sleep Brendan saw beautiful embittered girls in wreaths of leaves and grapes. And there were a variety of monsters, small and large, galloping haphazardly across the fields. It was like a coven and a preparation for a war of infernal creatures against all mankind.

There were vague threats, like, «We’ll get you, boy!» to the sleeping Brendan.

«You’d better be quiet. I like silence at night,» he wanted to reply, but his tongue couldn’t roll with the fatigue. He was exhausted from running through the magical fields.

He had a strange dream: both frightening and pleasant. In the dream, the evil creatures were talking about something in the fields, pointing at him with their claws. Against the background of the monsters a marvelous image flashed across his mind: a girl with braids the color of ripe wheat and azure eyes. Just like the one he had seen in the cavalcade with the knights. This time she was alone, not counting the living vines behind her. She leaned over him, rustling her luxurious brocade gown, and tugged at his shoulder as if to awaken him. But if he woke up, he would never see her again. She exists only in dreams. Yes, she is too beautiful to be true.

«Rachelina! My name is Rachelina,» she repeated several times.

When Brendan awoke, there were scratches on his shoulder. A wild cat must have scratched it.