Princess cat

Her train, like a tail, whipped Brendan to his feet. It was certainly not done on purpose, but somehow he was still embarrassed. It was as if he’d been put in his place.

«You’ll play for me tomorrow night at dinner,» the princess decided.

Why not tonight? It’s suppertime-unless they’ve decided to skimp on the minstrel’s food tonight.

«They’ll bring your supper to your chambers. You are tired. Tonight you will rest and eat, and tomorrow you will entertain us.»

Now that’s noble. He thought he’d be exploited at once.

«Thank you!»

But the princess had already slipped behind one of the closed doors, and Rebecca led him down the corridor. There was no flirting with her. The beauty was very serious.

«Do not think that if you are allowed to stay, you can do anything,» she warned.

«Can I see the cat that scratched you so? Does it live in the Princess’s apartments?»

The Bastard always slept and ate in the King’s apartments. It must be the same here. He wondered what the local cat’s name is. «Is it the Sadist? Is it Lady Scratchy? Or is it just Rival?» Rebecca was definitely hurt by it, so to her the princess’s cat was no other than a rival.

«If you were smarter, you wouldn’t ask so many questions.»

«You sound like a schoolteacher. Where are we going, by the way?» Brendan quipped. Rebecca’s coldness hurt him. It’s not nice when a pretty girl pretends she’s not interested in you. Nothing! After listening to him play, she’ll be kinder. All girls love to hear minstrels.

At the end of the corridor was a winding spiral staircase.

«It’s the way to the tower,» Rebecca explained.

«Is my bedroom is in the tower?»

«Yes, it is.»

«I feel like a prisoner.»

«Don’t be so dramatic. You’re a guest, of course.»

The lock on the door was strong. Rebecca opened it with a key from a large bundle she carried with her. Behind the door, however, it was so luxurious that Brendan dismissed the notion of a dungeon. The silk-covered walls, the paintings on the ceilings, and the abundance of upholstered furniture created aristocratic comfort. The bed under a lush canopy was the size of an entire tent, and there were vases of flowers on the cherry wood tables. A tray of supper was already waiting here. He wondered who had brought it. Brendan did not notice the servants. They must have learned to sneak around like shadows. With Rebecca’s nervousness, it was no wonder they’d been trained that way.

Who would have thought that a wandering minstrel would be treated like a nobleman? Something’s not right after all. Either they suspected he wasn’t who he said he was. Or his uncle has sent out messengers with news that he’s wanted. He must be on his guard. Brendan locked the door with a latch and prepared in advance a rope from a torn sheet to escape through the window in case of capture. It was very high up here, but there were bushes of vines twisting below the tower. Their vines braided the window vault. It was a pity they were not so strong that they could be climbed down at once.

Brendan’s entire dinner consisted of fruit. Not a crust of bread. He wasn’t used to this kind of diet, but it was better than nothing. A pitcher of fine ale supplemented his diet. The ale was unaccustomedly strong. The first sip made him insufferably sleepy. Brendan hoped he might dream again about the blonde called Rashelina.

Prisoner’s Dream

The vines whispered something and reached out to choke him, like living snakes or dryad hands. Brendan now understood the warning of the whisper that hovered over the fields. The whispers might be a warning to the vines coming to life. They were whispering about his fate.

«Would he survive, would he not survive? Will he love – will he not love?»

Their whispering was like a little counting rhyme.

«Would the same thing happen to him that happened to everyone else? Or was he the only one who would make it?»

«He looked like a smart guy!»

Brendan fluttered his eyelids open sleepily. Could the vines really be whispering, zigzagging above his bed? He was dreaming! He’d have to be out of his mind to believe they were reaching out the window like living hands.

«Look! He’s got a handkerchief with the King’s crest on it!»

«He must have stolen it!»

The voices were still whispering, and the tip of the grapevine slid down his neck. Brendan pushed it away with his hand and sat down. When he had entered this bedroom, the vines had only hung around the high arched window, but now they lay imposingly across the rug and even draped a border around the bottom of the four-poster. What the devil is this? Or had he not looked carefully the first time?

To one of the vines was indeed clung his new handkerchief, with an Aluar’s crown embroidered in the corner. It was a gift from his uncle! He certainly hadn’t stolen it. But could one of the mischievous vines have stolen it right out of his pocket?

It’s worth a walk. There’s something wrong with this room. Perhaps insidious Rebecca had deliberately put him in a haunted tower. Everything is to be expected of that proud girl. Unlike the princess, she doesn’t like visitors. Perhaps that’s why the castle is so quiet and there are no servants to be seen at all. Rebecca has driven everyone out of here. But he can’t be handled that easily. He was used to his uncle’s mentoring, he would get used to Rebecca’s whims.

Brendan was sure the door was locked from the outside, but he was wrong. It gave way easily. He strode down the empty corridors of the castle. All the rooms looked uninhabitable, but luxurious. There was lots of feline molding all around. But the cats themselves were nowhere to be seen.

Brendan touched the gilded symbols embossed on the walls and columns. The patterns are amusing, as if a wizard had painted the marble with witchcraft symbols. It’s definitely an imitation of magical writings! It was well done. Even Ephigenia couldn’t do it. And it also glows in the dark!

His fingers ached to touch the murals and his eyes felt as if a sheath had been taken off his eyes. Brendan only now noticed the hideous, deep scratches on the furniture, the sculptures, and even the walls. They certainly weren’t cat’s claw’s prints. They were more like tiger’s or a cheetah’s. Or maybe they were something bigger. Suddenly the dreadful legends of woodland werewolves sprang to mind.

Brendan felt sick to his stomach. But why should he be so nervous? It was a field, not a wilderness. But in those fields he had encountered more evil creatures than he could count in hell, much less in the woods. What if one of those things got into the palace?

«Hey! Somebody! Help me!» A desperate voice came from somewhere on the lower floors. It was barely audible, but Brendan broke out in a cold sweat.

A trellis just caught his eye, completely torn apart by someone’s claws. And on the mantel screen he could see the furrows from five large claws.

«Where are you?» Brendan climbed down the stairs, trying to determine which side the voice was coming from.

«Go this way! Quick! It is before they come back!»

The voice was clearer now. How much anguish there was in it! It was as if the unfortunate man had been tortured.

Brendan had seen the executions of traitors and rebels in Aluar, but he had never heard such despair in anyone’s voice.

Trying to find the victim, he went deep into the cellars. It was damp and cold. Cobwebs laced the walls. Instead of the customary cellars with wine and food supplies, there were cells with bars. The floor was flooded. Clamps bolted to the walls where chains had been fastened. Where had he gone?! Maybe he should turn back, but Brendan heard another call for help. How could he not help? No good fellow would leave a man in trouble. And Brendan was very kindhearted. This time it was on his own head. Because the prisoner discovered in the dungeon was definitely insane.

At any rate, his eyes gleamed madly in his pale, feverish face. His neck was crushed by an iron collar from a chain embedded in the wall. That’s the kind they usually put on crazy people. Brendan would have turned back if he hadn’t noticed the deep scratches from the paws of an unknown animal on the prisoner’s body. The same scratches as on the walls upstairs!

«Who are you?» Brendan came up to the bars. «I’m from Aluar myself, and…»

«It doesn’t matter who you are! It doesn’t matter who I am! We’ve got to get out of here…»

If it hadn’t been for the bars separating them, the mad prisoner would have clung to Brendan’s collar.

«Come on, let’s go!»

«But how could we escape?» Brendan was taken aback. «Where are the keys to your um… fetters?»

It was as if the prisoner only now realized that he was shackled and frustrated.

«That’s right. You are the only one who can escape. Run to Aluar! Get help! Tell them it’s urgent! I’m the ambassador from there myself.»

«I never saw you there,» Brendan said, scrutinizing the pale face as if he did not recognize the prisoner as anyone he had met at Court.

«Don’t go into details!» The prisoner pressed himself against the bars, as if he could walk through them. «Get out of here! You will thank me later for my advice.»

He does not think so! He is comfortable here too! Unlike the prisoner, he does not sleep in chains, but in a comfortable bed. Except that the vines have become restless. Perhaps the prisoner had such hallucinations too, which is why he is sitting here now.

Again there was a bad suspicion that Rebecca deliberately put him in the tower, which is haunted, driving everyone who sleeps there crazy.

«You didn’t happen to sleep in the tower before you got here?»

«You’re out of your mind, boy!» The prisoner sounded like Brendan’s own thoughts. Their opinions about each other seemed to be mutual. Each suspected the other of losing his mind.

«You have to get out of here and tell them it’s time to attack the castle, or they will attack Aluar.»

«Who is it? There’s no one here but pampered women and a couple of servants, I suppose.

«There are cats,» the prisoner whispered fearfully.

«Only plaster and marble ones. I haven’t seen any real ones.»

Brendan would have been more likely to believe that there were werewolves, clawing at the furniture, if the man had told him there were.

«It is peaceful here,» he tried to reassure the poor creature, but he found the man was in a feeding frenzy, uttering one absurdity after another.

«Cats leash people up in here,» he finally blurted out.

«What is it? Are you serious?»

«Get out of here!» It sounded like an order.

«Okay, I’ll really go,» Brendan hurried toward the exit.

«And get some help!»

«Yes, yes… of course… don’t worry…»

Where would one come from? The prisoner must be out of his mind. Two exquisite noblewomen live in the palace. Not even guards at the door, and no sentries in the towers. What’s there to worry about? Why hasn’t a physician been called to this madman? Perhaps the physician lives too far away. Even at the royal court, there’s only one physician.

There’s a reasonable explanation for everything, if you think about it. Brendan returned to the tower and went back to sleep, forgetting all about the night walk into the dungeons. And in the morning he decided that he had only dreamed it all.

Vines of grape

Early in the morning Rebecca herself knocked on his door, but she did not bring the tray with the light breakfast (again, of only fruit). Somehow it had ended up on the bedside table. Who had put it there? Had not the living vines slipped the tray through the window?

«Good morning to you!» Rebecca said hello, but she did not look friendly.

Rebecca clearly didn’t want to get along with him. To hell with her! Let her be arrogant.

Brendan quickly devoured his breakfast, which consisted only of orange and pineapple slices. They should have brought a ham sandwich or at least a cheese sandwich! Has the feudal estate become so impoverished that there is nothing but fruit from the garden to feed the guest?

He could ask Rebecca about it directly, but she is so prickly that it is better not to annoy her with unnecessary questions, or else she will give an angry tirade. Brendan didn’t like confrontation. It was better to keep quiet so as not to argue.

There must be no bread in the castle because of the evil creatures that occupied the fields and drove all the peasants somewhere. After all, to get bread, someone must work the land, sow, plow, and then take the harvest to the mill.

«Where did all those things come from in the fields? Brendan couldn’t stand it any longer.

Rebecca struck him again with a wave of icy contempt.

«You are dreaming!» She muttered.

Tonight she wore a beautiful light outfit with pink ruffles. She was crumpling a bowed hat in her hands.

«Let’s go for a walk in the garden!» She commanded rather than suggested.

«Am I not supposed to play for the princess?»

«Her Highness does not wake so early,» replied Rebecca in a stern tone.

How capricious princesses are! Does she sleep till afternoon or evening?

«My uncle,» said Brendan, «always wakes up with the rooster.»

«Is your uncle a prince or a king?» Brendan sarcastically snickered.

«Actually…» Brendan realized he’d almost blurted out whose nephew he was. He’s traveling incognito.

«Shut up!» Rebecca took his hesitation as a guilty pleasure at the awkward joke. «You don’t know the etiquette of nobles.»

«What’s up, noble persons!» Brendan muttered to himself. «They are sleeping until dusk, like werewolves.»

At just the right time he was reminded of the tortured man who had been chained up like a werewolf caught in the woods. What if…? Brendan was taken aback by his own hunch. Why were there so few people in the castle? He followed Rebecca through sumptuous enfilades of halls that were empty. There were no servants, not even the steward. Even if his attendants were confined to a discrete wing, the steward was sure to intrude.

«Where is everyone?» Brendan asked Rebecca as she led him into the fragrant garden, with its many fountains and pergolas.

«Who is everybody?» She made a puzzled expression.

«Well… the other inhabitants of the castle.»

«Am I not enough for you? Would you prefer the company of a noble lady to noisy drunken company?»

«No. I’m sorry! I meant no offence.»

«But you have!» Rebecca opened the fan with a bang, the slats of which again bore a scene of kittens playing with a ball. The sight of those kittens was somehow frightening. It looked like you were about to be in their claws instead of a ball of fur.

Brendan was distracted by the beauty of the garden. There were such rare flowers blooming here that he didn’t know the names of them. But mostly roses dominated. Their wattles stretched across arbors, steps, columns, gazebo roofs, even the ground. Only the water they did not reach. The lily ponds seemed abandoned without ducks or drakes. Just wait for the webbed paw of a waterman to poke out of them.

«Where’s the gardener?» It seemed to Brendan that the boxwood bushes had not been pruned in a long time. And the gladiolus bushes were neglected. Some black stems sprouted between the flowers, like weeds.

«We don’t need it!» Rebecca whistled melodically, and the vine, suddenly detached from the arbor on which it twisted like a living snake. It put her arm around Rebecca’s waist and helped her climb up the rose-covered stairs that led to the large, round fountain.

«So they really are alive!» Brendan watched in horror as the long vines separated from the walls, and as if his hands were pulling apart the bushes blocking the passage, even finding a basket and scissors so that Rebecca could cut the roses.

«Why do you think there are no guards in the castle? If it weren’t for them,» she gently stroked one naughty vine that was trying to pull her hat off, «we’d have an army to protect Her Highness’s domain.»

«I’ve never seen anything like it!» Brendan whistled, and one vine nearly strangled him.

«Don’t whistle in their presence!» Rebecca snapped at him. «And don’t make any sudden moves! Otherwise they’ll think you’re a thief.»

«It is all right!» Brendan gradually became accustomed to treating the vines courteously, like living beings.

As luck would have it, there were just as many grapes in the garden as there were roses. They twisted along the walls and towers, stretched along the parapets of the fortress wall, even wrapped around the roof. If it’s all alive, it’s no wonder the castle hasn’t been occupied by invaders yet.

«Are the berries alive, too?»

«No, you can pick the berries. But you try to prune them, and they’ll strangle you,» said Rebecca, looking triumphant, as if Brendan had walked into a trap.

«If you’d known it was so risky, you wouldn’t have come to us at any price,» she said, her gaze informing him.

«Are you picking roses for the princess?» Brendan guessed.

Rebecca nodded haughtily.

«Does she like roses? There are plenty of more harmless flowers. I don’t like roses myself, because I’ve often pricked myself on their thorns. But honestly, you’re prettier than roses. They just stabbed you!»

«What do you mean?» Rebecca didn’t even frown upon him for his impertinence. «I pick roses with gloves on. I’ve never been pricked.»

«I mean the scratches on your shoulders! They’re so deep! They don’t hurt!»

«Is it scratches?» She was amazed. «You imagined it.»

You were dreaming! You imagined it! What kind of game is she playing with him? He could see the marks of the five claws on her arms, her shoulders, even her cheekbone.

«You’re like the bride of a werewolf who flirts with him at night and hides her dangerous affair by day.»

«You’ve read too many fairy tales!» Rebecca barked at him.

«I do not read them at all!»

«Then how do you know about werewolves? Have you ever seen one?»

Yeah, Brendan almost said it, the one on a chain in your dungeons. But it was better to keep quiet about the nightmare. Rebecca would have laughed at him.

«Tell me honestly, do you have a werewolf beau?» Brendan was getting bolder with his theories.

«No!» she retorted. «I don’t have a beau.»

«Probably it is because of your prickly disposition, but frankly, your wicked tongue aside, you’re as pretty as a rose.»

Rebecca was about to scold him, but softened when she heard the compliment. All women adore compliments. Here she is no exception. It’s worth continuing to flirt with her.

«You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen in my life,» Brendan admitted honestly. «Well, it is except for the one pretty girl I just dreamed about.»

You have to be honest to the end. The blonde named Rashelina, who flashed in his witchy dream, was far more beautiful than the graceful brunette Rebecca.

«Don’t believe in dreams!» Rebecca said. «Don’t believe in werewolves, either. It’s all nonsense, invented by the local plowmen.»

«Where do you see any plowmen? The fields are empty!» Brendan peered through a peep-hole in the vine-clad wall. He saw black silhouettes in the fields. Then they vanished.

«You’ll get sunstroke if you don’t get out of the shade!» Rebecca quipped again.

Brendan obediently stepped back, and glanced casually at the castle window. He must have thought he saw a large, clawed paw pull the curtain back. He wondered if a werewolf could live in a palatial castle. They usually nested in the thicket of the forest. And they do exist. Word once came to the Court of Aluar of a pack of werewolves. They terrorized the Northern. The King took it seriously and sent a band of knights to help. Brendan himself had seen no werewolves, but the scratches on Rebecca’s shoulders worried him. She’s definitely having an affair with a young werewolf boy who peeks into the castle at night. That’s why she’s so unkind to the other guys. After all, werewolves have a knack for flipping beauties and seducing women in such a way that they no longer want to see ordinary men.

How to make it clear to Rebecca that she was caught in a web of enchantment, not true love. She was just whistling some dark ballad about a queen who fell in love with a demon. Such frightening tales even Brendan had never heard before.

The sun-drenched garden grew darker with the song. There was no longer a whisper from the vines, but a grunt of dissatisfaction.

«Would you like me to play lute?» Brendan politely suggested to Rebecca.

«No!» she declined.

«Don’t you like the sound of the lute?»

«I don’t like music in general, and I don’t like yours in particular!»

«But you yourself hum about demons.»

«You have auditory hallucinations!»

There she goes again. Secrecy! Cunning! Insubordination! Insolence! What kind of behavior? Rebecca was clearly in love with some werewolf and hiding all evidence of a connection with him. Brendan hadn’t even considered the possibility that she, for example, might be a werewolf herself. She didn’t scratch herself.

Candlelight Feast

By evening there were no more people in the castle. Brendan kept expecting to see servants who were not there. He even got a little creepy. Only plaster seals squinted at him from all sides. There were caryatids and bookends and stucco decorations on the walls. Even the candelabras are not the typical cupids, but pussycats.

He wished he’d met one living cat. Brendan had long dreamed of a cat of his own with it they would have mutual love. The Bastard, as luck would have it, preferred Uncle King and purred exclusively for him. He wished he had a personal furry friend of his own.

«No more lazing about!» Rebecca caught him looking at the murals. «Her Highness wants to see you in the feast hall!»

«Where’s that?»

«I’ll show you out. Don’t forget to bring your lute.»

«Are there any other guests there besides me?»

«What difference does it make to you whether to play for one princess or an audience?»

«Don’t sulk! Let’s be friends!»

«We’re already friends!» Rebecca responded indifferently.

And you call that friendship?! What, then, was her enmity and hatred? Brendan was even frightened.

Rebecca acted like a stern nun, but she was dressed even vulgarly. The morning dress had been replaced by a provocative evening gown with a plunging neckline and train. The dress was so bright pink it made her eyes water. Brendan never saw whether Rebecca was holding the candelabra in her hand or whether it was flying ahead of her through the enfilade of the hall.

In the evening, the castle was lit by countless candles in chandeliers and sconces. Who lights them all when there are no servants around? There was something like a low whisper from the flames:

«It is danger!»

Did he hear the warning or was he imagining it? It wasn’t Rebecca who was dangerous! Brendan even glanced around, wondering if some monster was following them down the corridor, but it was quiet and comfortable and unoccupied. Only the candles flickered like the Milky Way.

The feast-room was as opulent as could be. She could have held a whole army, but the princess sat proudly alone at the head of the long table. The usual opaque veil covered her face.

«Take your seat anywhere you like!» She politely offered.

It seemed to Brendan that the velvet covered chairs were occupied. But they were all empty. He thought for a moment and decided to sit at the farthest end of the table. He put the lute beside him and was greatly surprised when the strings jerked. The music began to flow. Didn’t he even have to work? It all worked itself out.

Rebecca walked noiselessly away. Why can’t she stay for dinner? Or does she have some urgent business to attend to? Is it at bedtime? Brendan’s mind was once again filled with thoughts of the werewolf with whom the beautiful girl goes on dates.

«Here you are.» The princess suggested it. She hadn’t touched anything herself. Or had she already eaten?

Contrary to Brendan’s expectations, there were only meat dishes on the table, and not much fruit – only one small vase. And they grow in abundance in the garden. Why save them so much? Grapes, of course, can also be used to make wine. But pears, peaches, plums, if they’re too ripe, they’ll just rot. Maybe they’re used to make juices here.

A mouse sniffed across the table. Brendan shuddered, and suddenly claws peeked out from under the lady’s wide sleeve and clawed at the mouse quite catlike. Was he dreaming? Brendan even pinched himself. Couldn’t a finely dressed lady have slipped a mouse under her veil and eaten it, could she? That’s absurd! The veil was opaque, but there seemed to be blood flowing from underneath. Or was it wine?