"No," said the local, not smiling, "I wouldn't believe it."
"Oh." Murdoch pretended to think. His comrades stared, and Simone beamed, glad to see another joker. "Well, you could always ask him."
"Ask who?" asked the local. Townsfolk watching the exchange were bewildered or bemused, but all were entertained.
"Ask the tiger."
Sister Wilemina rolled her eyes and huffed in disgust at Murdoch's lack of manners. Jasmine snorted. Lieutenant Peregrine drummed her fingers on her saddle and shook her helmeted head at the sergeant's puckish sense of humor. Drawn by the crowd, more locals wandered up to hear the strange conversation.
The bayman sipped beer for time to think. Finally he said, "The tiger talks?"
"I think so." Murdoch looked dim, then asked Jedit, "Do you talk?"
Having listened the while, the tiger turned baleful green eyes on the former sergeant. "No."
"Oh." Murdoch turned back to the local. "Sorry."
"What?" asked the local. "No, wait. The tiger does so talk!" To Jedit, he asked, "You. Where d'ya hail from?"
Jedit Ojanen stood unmoving except for his tail, always with a mind of its own, that swished and lashed, betraying his agitation at unwanted attention. The tail tip spanked a horse's flank and made it jump.
Finally, with hundreds of eyes watching, Jedit conceded, "Efrava."
"E-far-va?" asked the man. "Where under the stars is that?"
"Near Yerkoy," rumbled the tiger.
"What?" It was Murdoch's turn to be surprised. "It is not! I'd know if a herd of talking tigers lived nearby!"
"Perhaps you're not really from Yerkoy," countered Jedit.
"I am so!" Hoisted by his own petard, Murdoch grew indignant.
Locals hooted, chuckled, giggled, and buzzed. One man said to the red-faced spokesman, "Want us to chuck him in the bay, Cefus?"
"Eh?" The local snorted and killed his beer. "No, he's all right. For a bloke from Yerkoy. If so."
"Hey, you-" sputtered Murdoch.
The big door swung open, and Adira Strongheart tramped out with Heath in tow. "That's set! We can spend the night." She stopped. "What sort of trouble have you been up to?"
"Nothing," said Murdoch.
Suspicious, Adira told her crew, "We'll bunk here the night. Haul your kits up the stairs, men on the second floor, women on top. You can eat here or elsewhere. We'll ask after you'know-who on the morrow. We know he's in town."
"No, we don't." Jedit's announcement made everyone look up. "His spoor leads into town, it's true, for I sniffed it out. Nor does it lead back out the mountain road. Yet the one we seek may have departed by another route, or even on a boat."
If Jedit expected a reward for his canny observation, he was disappointed. Adira glared. "Don't contradict your captain, sailor, or I'll have you lashed to the grating and given a new coat of stripes. Clear?"
"Aye aye, cap'n." Simone joked to break the tension. "But there's something else we should do first."
"What?" snapped Adira.
"Pitch Murdoch in the bay!" crowed Simone with a laugh. "What say, you all?"
"Aye!" shouted near two hundred people.
Murdoch yelped uselessly as, grabbed and hoisted over a hundred heads by locals and pirates alike, he was ferried to the edge of the quay and lobbed at the scummy water to land with a tremendous splash.
Adira Strongheart stood by her horse, saddlebags in hand, flabbergasted by the queer action. Turning to her straight-faced crew and one bland tiger, she fixed on Peregrine, someone with sense.
"What was that all about?"
The lieutenant bobbed her head. "Would you believe they're all drunk?"
"The locals?" carped Adira. "Yes! But my crew, no! We just got here!"
Wilemina said, "Murdoch makes friends wherever he goes."
Adira gave up. Slinging her saddlebags over her shoulder, she sighed, "I was going to warn you to steer clear of the locals, but never mind."
"Plains of plenty, what's that wretched stink?"
"Arrgh! It's putrid! Only one thing can smell that dratted rotten, and that's a fishgut-gobbling cat!"
The insults came from down the dark street in hoarse nasal tones not quite human. Sergeant Murdoch, in dry clothes, Virgil, and Jedit Ojanen paced in semi-darkness under the stars. The men wore their weapons, a sword and boarding axe, not so much for protection as to keep them from being stolen back in the guildhall. Boots plodded in gooey mud while the tiger padded silently.
"Something tells me those jabs are aimed at you, Jedit." Murdoch didn't turn around to see who blustered.
"Oh so?" asked Jedit. He towered a full head above the two men, who were not small. "Am I the only cat in Buzzard's Bay?"
"Let's not start that again." Murdoch thumped the side of his head. "I'm still daubing sea water out of my ears."
The scruffy Virgil, always expecting trouble, cast a glance over his shoulder. "It's cavalry."
"Cavalry? That don't make sense." Murdoch turned to squint into darkness.
The only light came from slits through house or shop shutters, for the town was buttoned for bad weather. The sky was solidly overcast, with no moon or starlight. The trio had been strolling toward the next pool of light, the next tavern. They'd been sampling local brews and, after fourteen mugs, had yet to be satisfied. Murdoch insisted they test every pub in Buzzard's Bay if need be, though pubs numbered in the scores. The going was slow, for the men wove, and the mud was gluey.
"Ahoy, cat!" called the coarse voice, closer. "Your kind ain't welcome in this port! You're liable to get your tail tied in a knot or your fur set afire! You hear me, meat breath?"
Jedit waited in the street, apparently without worry. Virgil peered at the huge tiger, at the distant light and sanctuary, then at a seagull croaking overhead, for he was drunk. Murdoch put out a hand toward a building to steady himself, but the building was five feet away, and he missed. Then he saw what approached them.
"Polish my toenails! It is cavalry! Or-no, it's not! Hoy, what be you loudmouths?"
"Loudmouths? We be centaurs, manling, of the Oyster River clan, and the heartiest soldiers to ever strap on a sword!" The booming voice filled the narrow twisting street. "And we be enemies of any cat warriors foolish enough to show their twitching tails among decent folk!"
"Ah," agreed Murdoch. "I see why."
Immense, dark-faced and dark-bearded, with shaggy coats and stiff manes, the centaurs wore only coarse shirts overlaid by leather straps and tall helmets with forward-pointing fins. Lethal cutlery jingled from their harnesses, but they scarcely seemed to need weapons. Between four thudding hooves like mallets and brawny bare arms like gorillas, the man^horses looked capable of tearing down a tavern or kicking it flat.
Halting in mud on eight stout legs, they glared down long noses at Jedit Ojanen, who for once had to look up to meet another's eyes. Despite the street-blocking pair, Jedit stood with striped arms folded across his furry white chest. A night breeze whiffled his whiskers, but in no other way did he move.
Caught between a tiger and two horses, who could only be mortal enemies, Murdoch and Virgil wished they were sober, if only to scramble clear.
The sergeant gulped, "Uh, gentlemen. Gentlebeings. Our friend, the cat here, means no harm-"
"No harm!" interrupted a centaur. His black eyes were invisible in the gloom, but he snorted, or whinnied, down his long nose. "Cats are meat eaters, ain't they? So cat warriors must be too, though they're a bastard mix of two races not half as good as either! Centaurs always war against cat warriors, you know. We just can't stand the ugly sight of 'em or their maggot-gagging stench!"
"Aye!" brayed the other. Both centaurs had been sampling beers themselves, to judge by the fermented cloud swirling about. "I've killed half a dozen cats meself! Some I stomped to death on the battlefield as they fled squawling! The others I just ran down like chickens, then laid a noose around their necks and dragged 'em to death! Thirsty work, that! Cats weigh too much from all that meat eatin'!"