“Stop that!” I said, snatching it up before he could knock it to the floor. I received an offended look for my rudeness, but nothing more.
“Do you know why?” I asked finally.
Sunbeams through the window gilded the edges of his fur and turned his ears to red stained glass. “Mirrors,” he said, after lengthy contemplation, “are strange.”
I waited over a minute for a follow-up, which was not forthcoming. “That’s it?”
He sat down with his back to me and began to clean one delicate paw.
“You were so helpful the other day,” I said, exasperated.
“Ifelthelpful,” the cat said. “I don’t feel particularly helpful today.”
“What if I got you a saucer of cream?”
“Then I would drink it,” the cat said, between licks.
“Thenwill you feel more helpful?”
“Unlikely. I am not a dog. I do not perform for treats.”
I wanted to tear my hair out. “Then I won’t get you any cream.”
“Inthatcase,” said the cat, transferring his attention to the other paw, “it is highly unlikely that I will feel helpful anytime soon.”
I gripped the edge of the table and reminded myself that screaming would be counterproductive. “Listen, cat—err—ohhell. Do you have a name?”
“I have many names,” said the cat.
“Do you have one that you would like me to call you?”
“Mmm.” A bit of fur caught under one claw required his attention. “His Gloriousness, God-King of the Deserts, Lord of Rooftops, Kin of Mirrors, Heir to the Mantle of Harar, He Who Treads the Serpent’s Tail, Whose Claws Have Scarred the Bark of the Great Tree.”
I put my head in my hands. “That… is a lot.”
He did not dignify this with a response.
“I was thinking of something… er… shorter. Like Stormy. Or, um, Mouser.”
His Gloriousness twisted his head around and gave me a look more venomous than the caged adder.
I leaned against the table. The cat, after a short pause, went back to cleaning his paws. I waited. If he was waiting, he didn’t show it.
After about five minutes of this, I realized that I was trying to outwait a cat and gave up. “Your Gloriousness,” I said, trying to remember, “God-King of… um… the Deserts, Lord of… Lord of Rooftops…”
I got most of the way through my straggling recitation when he stretched and said, “I have occasionally found the name Grayling useful.”
Strangling the only being who understands the mirror would be counterproductive. Yes. Very… counterproductive.No sense asking why he was like this. He was a cat. If cats were helpful, they’d be dogs.
I had always been more of a dog person.
“Grayling, then,” I said.
He curled his tail neatly over his toes and looked up at me with an expression of bland innocence. “Now, I believe that there was some mention of cream?”
The cook did not wish to part with the cream. Despite fierce negotiation, I’m pretty sure that only the aegis of the king’s favor allowed me to succeed. The only cows out here were stark, bony creatures with protruding ribs and hip bones, like leather sacks half-full of doorknobs. They lived on things that you’d think were only good for kindling, but they were quite stingy about producing cream.
I returned to find Grayling sitting in front of the rooster’s cage. The rooster had his head down, his neck feathers puffed out to make himself look bigger, and was making an extremely hostile noise. The cat gave no sign of fear, but the last inch of his tail was flicking back and forth.
