Toris took the cat to the playhouse the next day, where he soon acquired the name Lucky, because of his colour, and because of his good fortune in being rescued by Toris instead of run over by a cart. Almost as soon however most people had decided that "Nuisance" would be a better fit. Lucky got under everyone's feet. He ran away from rats. He was excessively friendly, clingy and noisy with everyone, but especially Toris. There was no way to explain to him that the stage was not an appropriate place for him; he obviously felt it was, as the most exciting and populated area of the theatre. He did not seem bound by either logic or normal cat behaviour.

Thinking he might go to sleep, Toris tried shutting him in a basket. Lucky instantly set off a tremendous racket, screaming and crying and scratching as if he was being murdered. This did for any plans of putting him a quiet room until later, chances were they'd return to find the walls and furniture torn to shreds.

Eventually, perhaps exhausted by this outburst, Lucky submitted himself to be carried by Toris at all times, or to drape himself around his neck, like a furry scarf.

"Oh isn't he cute!" Bet cooed, running up to Toris in the middle of rehearsing the restored sword ballet.

"He's evil," Toris grumped. Lucky opened one eye and extended his claws, but was apparently too lazy to risk eviction from his elevated place by actually scratching.

"He likes you."

"Well I don't like him, he's nothing but trouble. You hear me, cat?"

"Mrow," said Lucky complacently, and batted the side of Toris' head, without any real force, as if he understood every word, and also knew that it wasn't really true.

Ivan cornered him at lunch. Toris supposed it was his turn. They sat in the stalls, eating their pasties and kettle chips, and Toris listened to Ivan pour out his woes.

"It's not fair though," Ivan was saying, "some people get to direct and star, and the rest of us are left with the scraps."

Toris felt a flush of anger run through him. "If that's my mother you're talking about, it's her theatre! And she's not the star anyway."

It was the first time in months he'd stood up to Ivan like this. For a second Ivan looked thrown.

"Well I'm sorry," he said, not sounding it. His face fell suddenly into a still stormier misery. "Of course, I don't have parents. If I had parents like yours Toris, maybe I'd have turned out different. Better. Maybe... I'd be someone people could stand to be around."

"Oh, Ivan..." Toris began hopelessly. "Ivan, you're a good actor and great with the sets and stuff, and everyone really appreciates the work you do here."

"No they don't."

This was the worst of arguments with Ivan. You started by trying to make some point or suggestion or anything, and ended up like this, chasing him with comfort and reassurance that he really was perfect and everyone loved him.

Lucky the cat chose that moment to wake up, stretch, and leap off Toris' lap onto Ivan, who looked surprised and then tried to pet him. Lucky twisted swift as lightening and bit him, though not hard.

"Lucky!" Toris scolded. "Bad cat!"—as if that did any good.

As he picked Lucky up and, apologising, backed away to take him elsewhere, Toris wondered obscurely if the cat had been listening to their conversation. The unfortunate result of the incident of course was that Ivan was now further convinced in his belief that everyone, even animals, just hated him for no reason. But on the plus side, and it was a big big plus, Lucky had provided a distraction and an escape from that conversation, and now Toris had the rest of lunch to himself.

"Thank you," he murmured to the cat, "I appreciate the effort."

Behind him, he thought he saw Natasha melting out of the shadows, hands outstretched to comfort her brother, and Ivan turning his face way.

A vaguely irritated, itchy feeling followed Toris all through the rest of the day and home to the kitchen. Maybe it was everyone's stress about the upcoming play, but he thought it was probably Ivan. Maybe Ivan was right, and if he'd nice parents like Darius and Justyna but... The thing was Darius and Justyna were in many ways like parents to many waifs and strays of the Fortune company and crew. There was Natasha for one, and Toris remembered a brilliant if mercurial and over-dramatic teenage girl who had starred in several productions and, who know he thought about it, had also had no parents of her own. His parents' love and welcome was surely as available to Ivan as to anyone else, Toris thought huffily as he worked pastry, and Ivan rejecting it was no one's fault but his own. But maybe that was just Toris being selfish, seeing everything from his own, privileged point of view, just like Ivan always said...

Ivan's people were nobles, right? Why did he have to hang around the theatre making everyone unhappy?

"I wish Ivan would just go off the royal court or whatever," he said aloud, slapping the pastry down hard one more time. "I wish he'd never come to the Fortune at all."

A shiver ran through him and Lucky the cat yowled, leapt off his perch on top of the armchair and ran across to rub against his legs.

"I'm alright," Toris said to the cat, feeling foolish. "I just... it's not just him. It's me, it's everything."

"Mrow?" said Lucky, in what definitely sounded like an enquiring tone.

"Everyone else at the Fortune wants to be there. And I do too, of course. Anyway there isn't anything else I want to do. There's nothing else I can do. There's nothing I'm really good at, not like Eduard or Raivis. When they had us doing elementary magic in school I couldn't even levitate the hand mirror or make a penny bright or anything. And I mean, that's fine, it's not as if I want to do magic, not really. But... is this it? Is this my whole life?" He'd spoken these last, unbearably maudlin, words into the air above the stove, and now he looked down at Lucky.

The cat was still leaning against his legs. His eyes were closed, his mouth drooping opening and a light rumble came from his chest.

"Are you asleep?" Toris said, outraged despite himself. It was probably just as well though, he didn't really want even a cat to have heard all that. Lucky opened one eye again. He wasn't asleep. He continued to purr. "Oh alright then," Toris said, and crouched down to rub the cat's ears. Lucky purred still louder. "Thank you for listening, I suppose. I better get this pie in the oven."

He stood up to wash his hands again before continuing, and as soon as he stepped away Lucky followed him and started whining loudly.

Something was making him restive, or maybe he just felt that Toris had had his turn at talking and he now had some things to say. Unfortunately, Toris could make absolutely nothing of the mewls and yowls.

"You're really not happy either, huh?" he said. "Food soon, though! Human food, you weird thing."

"Mroooow."

Toris sighed and picked up the pie dish full of ham and spinach pie. "I wish you could tell me what the matter is!" he said as he put it in the oven.

"It's still hot," Toris warned as he put down the cat's saucer of pie.

"Mrow," said Lucky, which was as much of a thank you as Toris ever got, and started to eat immediately.

After one mouthful, he sprang back from the dish, convulsing and retching as if he had a fur-ball.

"Stop being so dramatic! It's not like I've poisoned you!" Toris exclaimed, beginning to wonder if he had.

Lucky was rolling on the ground in apparent distress.

Toris dropped to his knees. "Lucky?"

He reached out to hold the cat's shoulders, and suddenly there was a bump and a change.

Where a moment ago there had been a small black cat — a cat to whom Toris had bared his soul in the most embarrassing terms — there was now a young man wearing only a nightshirt, with a pale face and yellow hair and the same bright yellow-green eyes.

He sneezed twice. "Odd socks and bodkins!" he said miserably. "I'm allergic to cats!"