Scryer's Gulch

Episode 5: Most Honored Cat

Some smart aleck in the peanut gallery pointed out that I called Tony Bonham, Jed's oldest son in one part of this story, and Nathan Bonham, the oldest in another. Well, smart aleck, here's how it went: Nathan was the oldest, then came Tony, and then Jedediah Junior, called Junior to his great frustration--his middle name was Franklin, and he could never get anyone to call him Frank. I called Tony the oldest because he was Jed's oldest child in town, Lily being quite a few years younger, Nathan being in New York City whooping it up on his daddy's money, and Junior still being in his fancy boarding school. That's my story, smart aleck, and I'm sticking to it.

Any other questions or comments? No? I could've wished my children paid this close attention when they were still home. Damn kids, never listen unless you're doing something you don't want them hearing, like your private time with your spouse. By the time they're out of the house, your private time with your spouse is more likely to sound like snoring than anything else.

But I digress.

When demons meet, it's always hard to tell if they're fighting or courting. Maybe it's the same thing, I dunno. Maybe they don't know either.

* * * * *

Mamzelle stood on the second floor balcony of the Palace, sipping her afternoon café au lait as she watched the hurly-burly crowds below. More than a few men tipped their hats to her; she gave them a lazy wave of her elegant hand, and a curl of her cherry lips that at a distance could be taken as a sultry smile.

Before Jed Bonham enslaved her, she had only the disdain for humanity carried by all her kind. But now, she hated the men below her, and this town, with all her black cherry heart, and Jed most of all. The day she was free was the day she would kill them all and burn Scryer's Gulch to the ground.

She leaned against the balustrade, and dreamed as usual of setting fire to the Palace. The fire would nibble at the draperies, then slither through the walls, licking at the foot of the stairs, lapping at the valleys of the roof until the shingles shivered and the beams spread for the tongues of flame. In her mind's eye she watched the blaze chase down the hallways, consuming the couples inside each room--the girls she always sent to a quick, merciful, crispy death, but the men she roasted slowly, picturing them screaming in agony as they cooked.

Finally, the fire would reach the door of her own luxurious apartment. She saw the doors collapse in smoking ash, and then the fire almost creeping, circling around the enormous, despised bed. Staked to the bed would be Jed Bonham, naked and struggling, or trying to struggle; real stakes would be involved, and she'd drive them in as the fire approached. "Staked to the bed." That always made her giggle.

Would she un-man him first? Mamzelle wasn't sure. Perhaps. Demons didn't consider humans meat very often any more, but she might make an exception. Then again, the last thing she wanted was the taste of Jed Bonham, ever again. She would watch her by-then-former master writhe and squeal like a little girl, pleading with her to have mercy and kill him cleanly, but no, she'd watch as the fire crawled up the bedcurtains, chewed up the silk sheets, and slowly, slowly burned Jed Bonham to death, his blood boiling, his hair flashing up all at once, his handsome, brutish face distorted in terror and agony...

Oh! Such a beautiful dream! Through all the days and nights she spent shackled to Bonham's whims, the dream warmed and sustained her. And now, another demon was in Scryer's Gulch. Would it help her? But how could it? A demon here was either a slave or about to become enslaved; a free demon around this much hermetauxite would be ecstatic but defenseless in minutes. She wished she could say she'd been young and stupid when she came to bask in the deposits after the white man found them, but no, only stupid. Arrogant and stupid.

Mamzelle returned her gaze to the street and reached out her senses into the crowds, hoping to see which one of the men might be the other demon. A good number of the men were strangers--so many arrived every day to try their luck, or to rob another man of his luck. But while some of them could be called demonic, none were her mystery demon. She closed her eyes, just before a jolt of recognition raised the downy hair on her arms. Not from the street--from nearby, quite nearby. Had it come into the Palace? It had--it was inside the Palace!

She bolted from the balcony, shattering her dainty coffee cup. Cafe au lait dripped down the front of the Palace as Mamzelle raced down the broad staircase, through the front rooms and the casino, scattering astonished clients and startled girls as she chased the thread of awareness to the back of the house. The kitchens? She dashed through the double doors into the steam and sweat, and stared wildly around her.

The head cook and his two assistants broke into agitated Chinese before the cook shushed them and said, "Miss Mamzelle okie dokie?"

"I'm fine, Chen," she answered in Chinese. "Has anyone--a stranger--come through here in the last few minutes?" Speaking Chinese was such a luxury; she didn't have to use the stupid accent Jed liked when she spoke Chinese, but now she didn't have time to savor it.

"No see nobody, Miss!" said Chen. In Chinese, he added, "I'm practicing my English, ma'am. It's a very hard language, especially after years spent studying my own." He shook his head. "A soul stuffed with the most elegant poetry of my people, and I end up frying eggs in a gwai-lo's bordello."

"Yes, yes, Chen, but is anyone possibly hiding in here!" she shouted.

He drew himself up all dignified and said, "I say it! No see nobody, Miss!"

Mamzelle made a search of the kitchen all the same, shooing cooks out of the way and a straggling girl back to the front of the house. No one. But she could feel it, right here in the room! She sensed eyes on her, and looked down.

There by the open door was a black cat with saucer-shaped amber eyes, chin white and dripping from a saucer of milk. "When did that cat arrive?" she demanded.

"I apologize profusely, ma'am," said Chen with a deep bow. "I am afraid I cannot resist cats, especially polite ones. This is a very polite cat. And we have mice. I thought--"

"Eet's all right, Chen," Mamzelle replied in English. "Jus' fine--okie dokie." She and the cat never took their eyes off one another. One by one, the hairs on the cat's back rose, and it arched; Mamzelle's eyes turned a strange shade of red, and her incisors bit slightly into her lower lip. "Kitty, kitty," she cooed menacingly. "I wonder what I'd do eef you slipped into my room via deh front balcony. Such a sweet petit chat, I might eat you up." She looked over her shoulder at Chen, who instinctively backed away at her changed eyes and longer teeth. "Chen, you may give this cat whatever it wants, but don't tell Mr Bonham about it. He hates cats."

"Demon no eat cat, dui?" he asked, polishing his shaking hands with his apron.

"Demon no eat cat," she mocked, then relented. "No, I won't eat the cat, Chen."

Chen stopped wiping his hands, and cocked his head sideways, looking west across water he could not see, as he often did. "A poem I recall," he intoned, "by most honored Song poet Mei Yaochen:"

When I had my Five White cat,

The rats did not invade my books.

This morning Five White died,

I sacrifice with rice and fish--

"Chen, I have not deh time. I'm sure eet's a very nice poem." Mamzelle gave the cat a last, hard look. "Come upstairs some time an' see me, petit chat. I'm sure we have much to talk about."

Misi watched her leave the kitchen, the hair on his back still on end. He recovered himself enough to lick his chops and rub against Chen's legs in thanks before bounding out of the kitchen. Wow! What a demon! he marveled as he chased over the rooftops in elation. Never had he seen such perfect red eyes, such beautiful sharp teeth! Boy! You bet I'm gonna be coming up to see you some time, babe! Dammit, why do I have to be a cat? He paid no attention to where he was going, exulting in the sun on his back and the sheer joy of running on four legs, until he pulled up short.

Mamzelle was owned. She knew who and what he was. Judging by her abode, and the form she took, she belonged to Jed Bonham. If her master asked her, would she give him away? Oh, Dark One--Annabelle! I've put Annabelle at risk! He looked around wildly, but saw no sign of her on the street, nor at Hopewell's when he raced back to peer in the window of their rooms. Was he already too late? Had Mamzelle given them up already? What should I do?