Part 32 (1/2)

”Because,” Jarrod said slowly, ”while the Discipline

170 has been granted territory in the Outland, its location hasn't been decided upon. As you probably know, I was the Discipline's representative on the Commission. Now, if you were one of the Queen's spies ...” He let the phrase die.

”Oh, so that's the way of it,” Yarrow said, and slumped out.

Early the following day, Jarrod made his way to Greygor's lodgings with a tingle of antic.i.p.ation. Al- though what he was hoping to do was not considered serious Magic, he felt, nonetheless, as if he was em- barking on an adventure. The previous evening he had gone over the notes he had made as a boy. He had dis- liked the anatomy sessions that were an integral part of shape-changing, but he was glad now that Greylock had been so meticulous in his tutelage. The drawings of the musculature and skeleton of that long-dead cat were clear and precise.

Greygor opened the door at his knock and then bus- tled about preparing chai.

”Do you want me to go out for a walk?” he asked.

”Not unless you want to,” Jarrod said. ”In fact it would be rather a help to have someone to judge how successful my efforts are.” He accepted a mug of chai and added, ”You'll have to be absolutely quiet.”

”I'll just sit in a comer and watch,” Greygor prom- ised. ”D'you mind telling me what will happen?”

”Not much of anything to begin with. I shall just try to get into the mind of one of your cats first. I know what the body of a cat looks like, but I don't know what it feels like.”

”You won't hurt the cat, will you?” Greygor asked anxiously.

”Not at all. If I do it right the cat won't even know I'm there.”

”Oh well then, I suppose it's all right,” Greygor said, 171.

sounding not altogether convinced. He took his chai over to a miraculously cat-free chair by the wall.

Jarrod drank his fill and put his mug aside. He looked over the group of cats. Two were grooming each other, one was stalking a fly, three were intently watching something through the window and the rest were snooz- ing. He picked a large white stretched bonelessly in a patch of suns.h.i.+ne. He adjusted his own posture until he was comfortable and then shut his eyes and collected himself. He blocked out his awareness of the room and concentrated on the image of the cat. He reached out gently with his mind, seeking that other intelligence. He sensed a veiled consciousness, somnolent on the sur- face, alert below. He probed further and knew that the cat was aware of him. He felt an ear twitch. He slid further in.

The cat's eyes flicked open and Jarrod saw a segment of the room from the floor up. The cat shook its head.

Huge chairs loomed. The ceiling was a long way off.

Distance, however, occasioned no loss of detail. Every- thing was sharp and clear. Inside the cat there was wari- ness balanced by intense curiosity; a concentrated stillness that could explode into motion in an instant.

The cat rolled from its side to its belly, hind legs pre- pared to spring into escape if that was needed. The head moved from one side to the other, scanning the other members of the extended family to see if they had no- ticed anything amiss. No visual evidence of that. The cat sniffed the air and Jarrod knew the pack smell made up of a dozen different strands. Chatham's odor was part of the familiar. His own, he realized, was less so, but the cat detected no sharpness of fear or anger com- ing from his body.

The head turned and looked over the shoulder just to make sure. Jarrod saw himself as a vast expanse of blue, tapering upward. No sign of a threat, but one

172 never knew with strange humans. The cat was on its feet in one lithe move. It stretched, claws digging into the carpet. It sauntered across the room and lept up onto an unoccupied bench. Good vantage point, back protected. Whatever this disturbance within it was, there seemed no reason to display aggression. The eyes roamed over the room just to be sure. When in doubt, wash. Grooming commenced.

Jarrod withdrew and slowly opened his eyes. His sight, he noted, was not as sharp and his sense of smell seemed severely limited. He sat up.

”Interesting animals,” he commented.

”Beautiful, mysterious and independent,” Greygor replied.

”The surface is cool and collected, but it's completely feral underneath.”

”Miniature warcats,” Greygor said complacently.

”Fortunately I don't have to become one, just look like one.”

Jarrod stood up and undid his rope belt; then he started to pull his robe off over his head.

”What are you doing now?” Greygor asked.