Cicero’s ears perked up at the sound of pages turning. Had the young cat returned as promised? It was critical Marco had kept his word about returning tonight, but Cicero was used to broken promises. He tried to contain his hopes as he searched the first floor and found Marco lost in a book.
The young cat didn’t even notice his presence and Cicero fought the impulse of making a rash decision. He did not want to make the same mistake again, but there was something about Marco. Something besides his choice of reading material and long tail, a sure sign of intelligence.
He had to remind himself that intelligence was only one aspect needed to be a Guardian. Wasn’t it his own reverence for knowledge that had blinded him before? Hadn’t he learned how deceiving appearances could be?
Marco’s slender tail twitched. He was young; all the better for training, but youthfulness had its drawbacks. The vulnerability of youth could be heartbreaking. Cicero sighed. He had enough worries. Why did he always want to add more?
Then he winced. He was getting way ahead of himself. He barely knew Marco. And why on earth did he think it was only the young who were victims of deceit?
Cicero gave himself a good scratching to shake off his fears and exchanged his gloomy thoughts for the cheerful anticipation of a visit to his old friend Akeel. It must certainly be no accident that Marco showed up at this critical time. If destiny was working in his favor, he would have a traveling companion.
To Marco, he said, "I see you are reading about your namesake."
***
Marco jumped a little, startled by Cicero’s sudden appearance.
"Yes," he replied. “I… I mean Marco Polo… was being introduced to the Mongol emperor.”
“You enjoy a good adventure,” said Cicero, in a way that could have been either a statement or a question.
“Yes,” Marco answered, flustered by Cicero’s gaze. He had questions. Like how did the adventurer get two names? And what did it mean that he and Polo shared the name of this famous explorer?
But he didn’t ask. The look in Cicero’s eyes stopped him.
“You are free to continue reading about the adventures of others,” said Cicero. “Remain among these common books.” He spoke in such an odd way, as though he were giving and taking something at the same time.
Marco held his breath.
“But I must counsel you,” continued Cicero. “There are worlds far beyond your ordinary imagination, far beyond what you find here.” With that, Cicero turned and headed for the stairs. He paused but did not bother to glance back. “Tonight, you must make a choice. Stay with your safe adventure stories,” he said as he climbed the stairs. “Others’ adventures, I should say...”
Marco felt light headed, then remembered to breathe.
“...or follow me, young Marco Polo, on a true adventure.” Cicero continued up the staircase, in no way resembling heroes Marco met in books. But even when he could no longer be seen, Cicero left a trail of powerful energy in the room.
He tried to shake off the spell, and when he finally did, he was a little offended by Cicero’s remark. Safe? Who does he think he is? And just what is wrong with my imagination?
Marco was getting a little indignant. I travel throughout the human world in their books. Sometimes I even forget I am a cat. What’s safe about my adventures?
He scrunched over his book, but he’d lost his place and couldn’t remember what had been happening anyway. His thoughts were muddled and the air was filled with an electric charge. Even though he tried ignoring it, curiosity grabbed hold of him. Cicero was bigger than he looked, thought Marco, and then wondered what in the world that meant.
When Marco entered Cicero’s chambers, the old cat was curled up, sleeping on a long wooden table. His eyes were still closed when he said, "Come in. I'm just resting up for our journey."
Chapter 9: The last peaceful moment
‘What journey?’ wondered Marco. He thought Cicero wanted to show him a book. What other kind of adventure would be in the library?
“Do you believe in destiny?”
Marco had no idea what destiny was, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He chanced an answer. “Sure.”
“Good. Because I think it is no mistake, your coming here. Especially tonight.” Cicero jumped down from the table and peered deep into Marco’s eyes. “By the way, how did you learn to read?”
Marco backed up from the intensity of Cicero’s gaze. “It… it was a girl. I don’t know if she was intending to. One night, the words started making sense on their own. But it was Lucy who read aloud to me at first.”
“Human transmission. Interesting. Reading is normally passed down from one of your elders.” Cicero paced the length of the table. From a high place, a warm glow appeared. Marco sat on the floor, feeling small and insignificant.
“I want to show you a book. A book that is both here and not here.”
The warm glow strayed from its position, causing Cicero’s shadow to shift and leap onto a wall of books. He looked larger than life in that dark, book-cluttered room.
“But I’m afraid I must delay your introduction to the Book, because there is a human I want you to meet first.”
Then, as if there was no question about it, Cicero said, “Come.”
Spellbound, Marco followed him down to the library’s main floor, up onto an antique hutch that held a display of classic children’s books. They were staring at their images in a mirror.
Marco thought this must be routine behavior for a library cat, but he found it disturbing to look at the ‘ghost cat’ in the mirror. He squirmed.
“Be still,” Cicero instructed. “This will be a different kind of traveling. From here on out, be prepared for anything. Things are not always as they appear. This mirror, for instance.”
Cicero and his mirror twin nodded towards the floating light that had followed along and their images vanished. Then the mirror vanished, leaving a gaping black hole which Cicero walked through, as though it were something he did every night.
Marco sniffed the edges of where the mirror had been. He was cautious about going through doors, especially ones which magically appeared out of nowhere. He looked for evidence of the vanished mirror and found none. But Cicero had disappeared and his curiosity pushed him onwards. He gingerly stepped through the frame into the darkness.
Nothing was the same on the other side. He was in a narrow passageway with rock walls, like a cave. Cold stone steps led downwards into more darkness. He peered into the hollow blackness and fought a sense of panic. The opening he had passed through had closed. Marco was trapped.
Cicero called up from below, a bodiless voice in the void. “Don’t be afraid. Think of it as an adventure.”
Marco took the first step. This didn’t seem like adventures he read about in books. There was no enemy, nothing to fight against. No swords, no pirates. Only the soft bouncing light and his jagged shadow on the rock wall accompanied his descent.
When he reached a platform, the walls on one side dropped away. They were in a deep cavern, even darker and more boundless than the stairways.
But Cicero wasn’t looking out through the railing into the cavern. Marco turned to face the rock wall and found there was a door, just a regular door. For some reason, this small bit of familiarity comforted Marco.
The door creaked open. The floating light led the way, and this time Marco did not hesitate to follow.
The room was nothing more than a small cave. Marco explored its nooks and crannies while Cicero waited, but the room was occupied only by a single wooden table. Why did Cicero bring him to such a strange place? He jumped up to join Cicero on the table and saw what he couldn’t see from the floor.
“You must not tell anyone about this,” Cicero said.
What was there to tell? There was a box. Sitting on a table. It smelled nice but that was about it.