The situation reminded her a little of her adventures at Carrington, where she was always in the forefront of one underground revolution or another. Except that here, she knew, the consequences of being caught out might be a bit more extreme than at a women’s prep school.
By now, she had told Thom of the conversation she had overheard between His Eminence and Pinch, and together they had puzzled over the identity of the unknown allies and the origins of the books taken from the Stacks and the nature of whatever magic was being used, but had been unable to come up with a reasonable explanation for what it was all about. Someone was using magic, someone was trying to get out, and somehow Crabbit and Pinch were involved. That was about all they could agree upon.
She had said nothing to him of the visit from Questor Thews. Nor could she think of a way to speak to him of what the wizard had confided about the origins of Libiris. Doing so would require an explanation of how she had come into possession of such knowledge, and she couldn’t think of one that didn’t necessitate her telling him who she really was.
She considered doing that, but quickly dismissed the idea. If he found out she was a Princess of Landover, it would change everything between them, and she didn’t want that.
“We have to give it a few days, at least, before we try to go back there again,” Thom was saying as time wound down toward the close of the day. By then the discussion had been ongoing for hours.
“I don’t think waiting is going to help,” she replied, sorting through the stack of books closest at hand. Another one was missing, she noticed. Another in an ever-increasing number. “Pinch won’t give up watching us no matter how long we wait.”
“He’s like that,” Thom agreed. He brushed his dark hair out of his eyes. “Maybe he’ll get sick.”
“Maybe we could make him sick.” She gave him a look.
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But he never eats anything he doesn’t prepare himself.”
“We could get around that.”
“We could.”
They were quiet for a moment, thinking through various scenarios that would allow them to poison Pinch’s food enough to render him temporarily unable to function. But poisoning was an uncertain science, and neither wanted to do anything worse than make him sick.
“This would all be much easier if we had a way to make ourselves invisible,” Thom said finally. “If they couldn’t see us, they wouldn’t know what we were doing.”
Mistaya nodded absently, thinking that her magic would allow her to make them invisible, at least for a short time. But using her magic might give her away. Then again, maybe that didn’t matter anymore. Her father and mother would know where she was by tomorrow at the latest, and they were the ones she had been worried about before. Still, she also found herself thinking suddenly of Craswell Crabbit, of whom Questor had told her to be especially careful. If he had the use of magic, he might be able to detect hers and determine its source. Not a pleasant prospect when you considered the consequences of being caught out.
She sighed. Questor had told her not to use her magic except in an emergency, and their hunt for the source of the voice probably didn’t qualify. At least, not yet.
They didn’t talk after that, concentrating on the sorting and cataloging of the books, their thoughts kept private until it was time to quit and they were walking toward the kitchen.
“We’re not going to give up on this, are we?” Thom asked her quietly, giving a quick glance over his shoulder for what might be lurking in the shadows.
“I’m not,” she declared firmly.
“Then I’m not, either. But we have to find a different way.”
“What if we don’t find a different way?”
Thom shook his head. “Sooner or later, we’ll have our chance. We just need to be patient.” He frowned. “You didn’t hear the voice again, did you? It didn’t call out to you or anything?”
She sighed. “Not since the last time. But I think it will. Soon.”
“I do, too.” Thom’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “There has to be a way.”
As it happened, he was right, but when opportunity knocks, it doesn’t always appear the way we expect. Thus, as Mistaya was walking back to her bedroom after finishing her dinner, already dreading tomorrow’s workday in the stables, she was surprised to find herself suddenly in the company of Edgewood Dirk. As usual, the Prism Cat appeared out of nowhere and with no warning. One moment he wasn’t there, the next he was. For a moment, Mistaya just stared, not quite believing what she was seeing.
“Where have you been?” she demanded, recovering herself sufficiently to demand an explanation.
The cat’s face was inscrutable as he glanced over at her. “Here and there,” he said, showing no inclination to offer anything further by way of explanation.
“Well, you certainly were quick enough to disappear once you’d brought me here!” She was steaming and not the least bit interested in keeping it to herself. “What about all those promises you made about keeping me safe and hiding me from discovery?”
The cat didn’t even glance at her. “If I remember correctly, I never said anything at all about keeping you safe. What I promised is that you wouldn’t be discovered through use of another magic. I didn’t promise that Questor Thews wouldn’t figure out on his own that you might be here and come looking for you.” He paused, reflecting. “Although such initiative is quite unlike him, I admit.”
“At least he offered to try to help me!” she snapped back. “He listened to what I had to say and then he tried to do something about it. At least he talked to me. What have you done lately? Disappeared and stayed disappeared, is what!”
“I wasn’t aware that I was under any obligation to do anything other than what I had promised.” The smooth, silky voice was infuriating. “I didn’t promise to help you or talk to you or do anything else. I’m a cat, in case you hadn’t noticed, and cats don’t do anything for people unless they choose to. I didn’t so choose. Or at least I didn’t before this and may not still if you don’t keep a civil tongue in your head.”
She forced down the retort she wanted to make and kept quiet a moment, considering her options. They were almost to her bedroom door now, and she glanced up and down the hallway to see if anyone was watching. Rufus Pinch came to mind.
“No one but you can see me,” Dirk advised, obviously reading her mind. “Spying is poor form, even for humans. I don’t allow that sort of thing.”
She sighed. “Of course you don’t.”
They reached the door, and she opened it. The cat walked inside, jumped up on her bed, and assumed a Sphinx-like pose, forelegs extended, head raised, rear haunches tucked against his lean body. His fur glistened in the dim candlelight, as if encrusted with diamond chips or dappled with morning dew.
“Shall we start over again?” the cat asked.
She nodded. “Please. Do you know what’s happened to me since I arrived? Do you know about the voice and the darkness in the back of the Stacks?”
Edgewood Dirk closed his eyes in contentment. “I am a cat. I know everything that happens. Did you think that because you couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see you?”
“I just didn’t know if you would bother.”