Catland - a humorous fantasy

Chapter Thirteen: Fishland

Chapter Thirteen: Fishland

They were lighting the lamps now, along the streets of Catland-lamps that were little more than tar-soaked torches set in brackets along the outer walls of the city's shops and dwellings. Here and there an iron lamppost reared up, with a merry fire blazing at the top of it, but for the most part the buildings were packed too tightly to admit of such an extravagance. In some places, the torches burned dangerously close to the thatching of a low-slung roof, and Greg wondered how often this whole city had simply burned to the ground. He thought of asking one of the cats that question, but he decided it wouldn't be polite.

The street they were on curved and twisted like an anxious snake, running roughly uphill, with the out-leaning second stories of the adjacent buildings looming over it on both sides like mountain crags. Under their feet, the cobbles were worn smooth-treacherously smooth-and Greg found himself wondering how old this city was. How many footsteps did it take to wear down a stone to nearly the slickness of ice? A hundred thousand? A million? How long had the cats had their own city down here? It certainly seemed far older than the human city that lurked unseen somewhere far, far above them.

Ragged kittens darted past them as they made their way, and carts rumbled down the cobbled street with an ominous, ponderous movement, bearing loads of fire-twigs and massive strawberries and, above all, fish. Greg had expected their little troupe to arouse some curiosity, but the city was intent on its own affairs, and it hardly spared them a glance. Up above, the last rays of the sun were slanting through the tangled timbers and looming hills of Catland, gilding the-

Wait a minute. The rays of the sun?

They were underground-perhaps miles below the surface. There couldn't be any sunlight down here. So what was that big, bright blinding thing whose light was now fading way up there over their heads?

Septimus had appointed himself their host and guide, so Greg put the question to him. The big cat smiled. "My lord Thumbledramp has apparently heard few tales of our magnificent city. That light you see is the Great Crystal, set there in the rock many centuries ago. The chamber above it is open to the sky, and the crystal catches the sun's light and refracts it downward, to illuminate the joys and toils of the city beneath. We live and die in its light."

Greg nodded, impressed in spite of himself. The cats seemed to have things worked out pretty nicely down here.

They turned now, into a dim, narrow alley that plunged downward into darkness, and the stench almost knocked Greg off his feet.

"Herring Alley," proclaimed Septimus proudly. "My humble home."

Herring Alley was well named. The stink of fish clung to it like a thick mist, breathing out from the stone walls and up from the cobbles, saturating the air, permeating the brain, assaulting the nostrils and bludgeoning the soul into abject submission. Fish had been dragged here over the centuries, to feed the gaping maws of Catland's hungry citizens, and though they were long since gone, they still haunted the place, in the form of an acrid smell that pulverized all thought. Greg reeled and almost fell as they entered the alley. The other cats-the actual cats-were faring much better, but they, too, showed some reluctance, their progress slowing as they moved forward. Even Millicent wrinkled her nose.

Septimus beamed at them.

"Friends," he purred, "you have entered a sacred place. From here, the catch of a hundred ponds and streams pours forth into the city and keeps her people healthy and satisfied. This is the secret heart of Catland, my friends-the source of all her strength, the engine of all her industry. And the Cordials have hung their sign over the Alley for a hundred generations."