Robin Hobb - The Inheritance and Other Stories

An instant later, however, it was back and starting to dig. The stupid hound would not have to move much earth to be able to cram himself under the boardwalk and reach the cat. He was a large enough dog that Marmalade had no hope of winning against him in a fight. Yet fight he would. He stood his fur up proudly, fluffed his tail, and growl-yowled his defiance. He hated this, hated going into a fight he would lose, one that might even cost his life. Yet there was no help for it, just like his uneven combat against the intruding male. If one must die, one died fighting.

He danced forward to deal the dog a slash across his face. But before his claws could connect, the dog vanished with a startled yelp. A moment later, the sounds of a full-fledged dogfight greeted his ears. The cat wasted no time. He poked his head out of his hiding place and then streaked away at top speed. In passing, he observed that the watchdog from the porch had seized the hound by his hind leg and jerked him out. Mine, mine, mine was his sole brutish canine thought. The porch was his, whatever was under it was his, and he would kill the intruder before surrendering it. He was a huge dog with massive jaws; the hound had no more chance against him than the cat had had against the hound. Let him see how he liked such a fight!

He found a quiet spot in an alley and groomed all his fur straight again before he went on. The damn hound had put him off the man’s trail. Well, the night did not have to be entirely wasted. There were always the fat rats under the fishmonger’s shop to consider. He shuddered his coat all over, gave his shoulder one more lick to make one orange stripe match the next, and then trotted purposefully on.

There were rats aplenty creeping about under the fishmonger’s, and even more nudging through the trash heap of the tavern next to it. He had just killed his third one and was eating the tender belly out of it when he heard a voice he knew, raised in an anger that was also tediously familiar. Gripping what was left of the rat in his jaws, he padded through the darkness to the front of the tavern.

The intruder male was there, with a noisy woman at his side. “You have no right,” she was shrieking, but not at Pell. “I’m a woman grown and I can do as I please. You can’t make me go with you.” She was not the cat’s woman who fed and sheltered him, so he had little interest in her. Yet he dropped the rat and, under cover of the tall grasses along the side of the tavern, crept closer. He flattened his ears and paid no attention to the woman’s yammering. She was not what interested him; what fascinated him were the three men who stood in a half circle, almost ringing Pell and the shrieking woman. One was an older man, big but looking both tired and sad. He would fight, thought the cat, but without much heart. The men who flanked him, however, were hard muscled and narrow eyed. Their shoulders were up as if they were wild dogs putting up their hackles, and their feet were set wide. And they were glaring at Pell.

The cat sat down. He curled his tail neatly around his feet. Hello, bigger dogs, Marmalade greeted them. He watched.

There was shouting, but the woman remained defiant. It reminded him very much of a queen in season. There was the yowling female and the circle of males who wanted to claim her. But a true queen would have been slapping and slashing at them, daring them to prove themselves worthy of possessing her. This woman merely shrieked and shouted and stood defiantly behind her very poor choice of a male. The cat rumbled low and waited for the bigger dogs to attack.

The oldest male seemed to be the leader of the three. They would not charge Pell and pull him down unless he gave the signal. Pell was clearly overmatched, and yet the old man did not take action. He appeared to be listening to what the female was yowling rather than merely subduing her with his strength. Foolishness.

Don’t let her defy you . He tried the thought carefully against the man’s mental boundaries. In the dim light of the tavern lanterns, he saw the man scowl. He narrowed his eyes as if he’d just remembered something.

She is yours, the cat reminded him. Not his. Don’t let him take her away with him. He has no right to her!

The old man suddenly stepped forward and grabbed the woman by the upper arm. She turned on him, claws raised to scratch, but the man blocked her with the ease of experience. “Come with me, Meddalee. For your own good. You’re drunk right now. I’m taking you back to the boat so you can sleep it off. And tomorrow, when the tide changes, we’ll be going home. And by the time we get there, maybe you will have decided which you want more: this ass who has no future other than making more bastards, or an inheritance from your father. Because I promise you this, girly. You can’t have both. Ever.”

His words took something out of the girl. Her fight faded and she pushed the hair back from her face, to stare at her father in blurry disbelief. “You wouldn’t,” she slurred out, but she did not sound certain.

“I would,” her father asserted. He lifted his stare to the intruder. Pell was standing with his fists lifted, as if he only waited a reason to attack. But with his seizure of the female, the moment had come and gone and Pell had not acted. “I assure you, Pell. You may lead my Meddalee away from me and down a garden path, but my money won’t follow her. Not now, not ever. You’ve abandoned one woman and one child. And that for me is your measure, forever. I’m done with you. And if my daughter has even a fraction of her mother’s good sense, she’s done with you, too. Come along, Meddalee.”

And that was it. The cat hissed low to himself in dismay. They hadn’t attacked the intruder male, hadn’t killed him or even struck him. He lashed his tail in frustration, then stilled. Provocation. That might be the key.

She thinks you’re a coward. They all think you are a coward. They’re walking away and you’re doing nothing. Nothing. They’re right. You are a coward. You’ve always been a coward .

“Meddalee!” Pell suddenly bellowed and stumbled forward in a drunkard’s charge. Her father kept his grip on her arm and pushed her to keep walking. She looked over her shoulder and cried dramatically, “Pell, oh, Pell!” But by then her father’s men had closed on the hapless man. They pushed him down easily. Marmalade watched them from the shadows, big blue eyes wide. But they toyed with him as if he were a mouse. When he stood, they pushed him down, talking and laughing as they did so. But there was less good play in him than there had been in the rats Marmalade had caught earlier. The fifth time he was shoved into the dirt, he still muttered oaths but crawled off into the darkness on his hands and knees. At the edge of the tavern porch, he collapsed and rolled himself into a ball. The two men looked at each other.

“No,” one said. “He’s done, Bell. Let him go. He ain’t worth killing.”

The cat did not share their assessment. He remained where he was for a time, pondering his own chances against the man now. But he remembered that the man had been faster than he had first thought. He recalled too well the savage clutch of the man’s hands around his body. No. There had to be a better way.

He moved out of the sheltering shadows. The men were vanishing up the street. He went to where Pell was curled and sat down just out of reach. He yowled loudly until the man uncovered his head and stared at him.

Coward.

The man just stared at him, eyes wide.

Get up. Go after her. Fight them.

“Go away. Damn Wit beast!”

The cat stared at him for a moment longer. Then he sprang at him with a sharp hiss and was pleased to see Pell cover his face with his arms. No, he thought as he trotted away. That one was too cowardly to start what needed to be started. He’d have to find another way.