Chapter 13
At the Wendell residence, Phileas's days went by like any house cat's, except for his two forays to the cobbler shop. He stayed at the house, alternately getting played with and being left alone to nap.
The family had a housekeeper who came twice a week. She was a Muggle who did heavy cleaning. Rachel Wendell handled her household from there the rest of the time. Her preferred type of magic might be passive, but to Phileas' untutored opinion, the woman must be powerful in active magic, too. On the days the housekeeper wasn't on duty, the industrious witch had work spells going on everywhere. Dishes cleaned themselves in the sink. Knitting needles hung in the air in the parlor, making winter sweaters and socks. A tatting shuttle made lace beside that, and mending was done with an intelligent needle threading and re-threading itself to the right color. The only thing the woman did by hand without magic was cook. Not that Rachel couldn't do it by magic, but because she genuinely seemed to enjoy cooking. Judging by the scraps he received, Rachel Wendell was an excellent cook.
Mrs. Wendell didn't complain about the mess the kids made in the attic because the carpetbag that made their costumes and requested playthings gathered them back into itself after the children left. Rebecca found out about that one evening as she rested on some costumes. As the bag did its work, the sleeping cat was hauled in by mistake. Rachel rescued her when her cries were heard, but Rebecca's hair stood on end for an hour after.
Ben Wendell turned out to be a civil servant of sorts. The serious, dark-haired man worked with some government branch called the Ministry of Magic in the disinformation office. He cleaned up messes left when some witch or wizard used active magic in sight of non-magic people.
Sitting on the edge of the man's desk, Phileas overheard Ben describing accidental and deliberate infractions of the ban on magic in the outer city.
A child was saved from a runaway wagon once.
Someone set a spell to do his yard work and a neighbor on a ladder witnessed the rake working of its own accord over the fence.
Yesterday, an old woman got fed up with some thieves getting into her vegetable garden and turned them into goats. She made them clean the weeds around her fence before agreeing to transform them back.
Memory loss potions were the usual method of countering such incidents. When large groups were involved, the job was tougher, requiring cover stories and disinformation. Fines were issued against the guilty magics, but Ben grumbled they weren't stiff enough. At his insistence, the old woman had her wand confiscated for a year.
On the eighth day of being a cat, Mrs. Wendell found her de-spell stone.
Hazel had Phil trapped in the parlor with the doors closed, playing tag. The object was to chase her down and touch her and have Hazel chase him in turn. One would have thought a cat would have all the advantages in this game, but the child was quicker than Phileas expected. After chasing her around the sofa four times with no success, the black tom went over it to tag the child on the shoulder.
Unfortunately, a vase of flowers was on a narrow stand just behind the sofa. Phileas landed on the table, too close, twisted away at the last moment, but not enough to head off disaster. The big cat's weight and the force of his sudden stop unbalanced the plant table. It lurched to the right, sending the table, cat, and vase to the floor in a spectacular crash and splash of water.
Hazel was horrified! Not only for the broken vase, which would get her in trouble enough, but for the cat landing in the water and broken glass. A born cat might always land on its feet, but Phileas hadn't had a lot of practice at that. He landed like a ton of bricks in the middle of the mess, stunned and crying out in pain. The child ran out, crying for her mother. Mrs. Wendell came moments later to find the mess, with the black cat still in the middle of it all, half wet, and nursing a bleeding foot.
"Gracious!" she cried out.
Hazel was sent to her room while the injured cat was bundled into Rachel's apron and carried to the kitchen. Besides the foot, Phileas had a deep cut on his left shoulder and had to have several bits of glass pulled out of his side with tweezers. Rachel carefully removed all the glass, and then tried to close the wounds with a healing spell. Only the spell didn't work. Surprised, Rachel tried again. Still nothing.
At that point, the injured cat knew he was caught.
"Take off my collar first," Phileas said.
Rachel removed the collar and found the little pendant hanging off it. "Gracious!" she cried out. "This has been hanging in plain sight all this time."
"A bit below your line of sight," the sheepish cat added.
"So it was," Rachel said. With the charm out of the way, Rachel set the healing spell to work. Within minutes, the cuts were healed over, and the cat's pain was gone.
"I have been sick about losing this," she told Phil. "It is too valuable a piece to misplace."
Rachel caught at the chain to remove it from his collar.
"Please, madam, may I keep it for a while longer?" the cat said.
"Whatever for?" Rachel said.
"I… have need of its protection soon. I would rather not tell you the whole, but I won't need it for more than a few days."
Rachel pressed her lips together and sat up straight in her chair, eyes narrowing. In that moment, Phileas realized he had made some mistake and just how out of his favor the situation was. The first time he had tried to face down one of these people, he did it in ignorance, costing him his form and freedom. What Rachel might do to a cat for defying her…
The cat backed away under the woman's scrutiny. Without uttering a word, Rachel levitated the evasive animal off the kitchen table.
Ben walked in a moment later to see the cat suspended in the air under his wife's determined scrutiny.
"Did Phil do something wrong?"
"Phil says he needs the use of my de-spell stone," Rachel said, still staring hard at the black cat. "Hazel hung it on his collar. I assume he found out what it would do when I told you it was missing. I want to know just what a house cat would need of it, and Phil doesn't want to tell me. All Phil will say is that he has a future need for it."
Ben walked to the table. "May I?"
Rachel grudgingly let the cat go.
Ben carried the cat and collar out of the kitchen to his study. After closing the door, he set them both on his desk. Pulling a wand out of the top drawer, the man aimed it at the cat. Phileas had been here before and wanted no part of that wand.
Phileas twisted to dash away. The move was halted in mid jump. Rachel wasn't the only one in this house who could do magic without uttering a word. He slowly floated back to the middle of the desk. Ben finished his spell and put the wand away, dropping the collar in the desk drawer with it. As Ben sat down before the cat, he became all business.
"Now," Ben said, "I don't understand animal communication the way my wife can. So, I just rendered you capable of human speech. A house cat or anything else under my protection doesn't need a de-spell charm. A born cat wouldn't have the intelligence to consider the future need of one, either. Animals live in the present. They have only a utilitarian use for past knowledge and no concept of the future. As such, animals don't keep secrets."
"Now, you aren't what you seem. I think you had better use the gift of speech I just granted you and tell me what's going on. It is my job to investigate magic used against people like you and, I assume, Becca. If you try to hide anything from me, I will know it. At the first sign of deception… well, there are other ways to skin a cat. Now, start talking."
The captured cat knew he was lost. Phileas hadn't intended to get this family involved in what he and Rebecca were planning. They wouldn't likely allow it. Besides being members of the society of magic people, Ben's job was to protect that society from the outside world. It was in the name of security that Phileas and Rebecca were sentenced to life as cats. "It is better you aren't involved with this, sir," the cat said. "A leader of your society transformed us. I was going to use the de-spell stone when I faced him again for protection."
"Tell me what happened."
The door to the study opened. Rachel was there with a puzzled expression on her face. "Ben, there is a man at the door asking to see you. I wouldn't have intruded, but he insists it is urgent."
Ben looked from the cat to his wife and gave a huff. "I will be right back," he said, frowning at the cat. Think about what you will say when I get back.
Phileas settled lightly on the desk as Ben left the room, closing the door behind him. The reprieve was welcome but would be short-lived. The cat looked around the room. There was only one window, and it was always shut.
I'm trapped.
Going to the door, the tomcat listened. His hearing was much more acute now. The voices were clear despite the distance. Phileas heard Ben arguing with someone in the hall. It had to do with missing pets. The other voice was–Passepartout!
Now, how did he find out where I am?
The valet insistently argued about wanting to see a black cat seen near this house that might belong to his employer. Ben was equally emphatic about their cat not being the one he was looking for.
Then, bless him, Manfred came by and opened the study door. The boy was holding the mail. He walked in, put the mail on the desk, and walked out, leaving the door open. The jubilant cat jumped onto the desk chair and worked the drawer open by pulling at the drawer pull with his paws. The big cat had to put his entire weight into it, but the drawer finally came open. Grabbing the silver chain in his mouth, he headed out the door on the run.
All saw the escaping cat take off out the door, but could do nothing to stop him.
Passepartout watched the cat jump the gate. He turned back to the man and his wife. "You are right, sir," he said pleasantly. "That not our kitty. Boots wearing high white boots. That kitty wearing low slippers. My apologies."
He tipped his hat with a smile and left the porch.
Down the road, Phileas met up with Rebecca as she was coming home. He knew Rebecca's route and hoped to catch her before she reached the house. It wouldn't have happened at all, but Rebecca saw him first and put herself in the running cat's path. "What are you doing out of the house?"
"We have worn out our welcome," Phileas said, "or at least, I have. Rachel found the de-spell stone. Fool that I am, I gave myself away, asking to keep it. Ben was questioning me when Passepartout came to the house. I ran out the front door."
"Passepartout. How?" Rebecca said.
"I don't know, but we need to find him. If we don't get him out of this neighborhood, Ben will question him next. I don't want those people knowing anything that would help them figure out what we are planning."
The two cats found Passepartout a block behind them, following in Phileas's wake. They let him see them and ducked into a space between houses. As Passepartout followed, Rebecca meowed to him.
Passepartout heard the cat call and followed it into a cluttered side yard. Once in the narrow-secluded space, a ginger and white cat walked out of the shadows. Passepartout sighed in disappointment. "Sorry, Miss Kitty, I looking for black tomcat."
"Will I do?"
Passepartout started at the sound of his employer's voice so badly he whirled around, tripped on a box, and fell flat on his back.
"Steady on, man," Phileas said from the top of a crate. "It is a long story. We must get out of here before Mr. Wendell comes looking for you. Go find a carriage and get back home."
"You… messenger kitty–Phileas Fogg?"
His eyes went wide, staring at the English-speaking cat. "Where is Miss Rebecca?"
"Right in front of you," Phileas said. "Come on, man, we don't have the time. What little you know might be enough to get the man's mind working. Let's get out of here."
Passepartout got off the ground. My cat, my master, is sending me away. But what of him?
He picked up a box from a stack of refuse. It was a wine box meant for four bottles.
"Big enough for two cats, I thinking. Jump in, I take you home."
Both cats jumped in.
Passepartout picked up his small burden and headed out of the neighborhood at a quick trot. Once he was on a business street again, he flagged down a hackney carriage and gave the driver his address.