Birgitta the Nun

Part 51 - Voices of the Night

In another part of the land, the abbess and the merchant were trying to find their way towards clarity. Their route had brought them nowhere in particular and not even a hint of a cat had been offered. Sure, they had encountered hyperbolic 8-wheel forwarders, emptying the forests with economic precision, and a poor red fox, stuck in the circle of chasing its own tail. But apart from that, nothing but trees had made their acquaintance.

"Maybe if we set up a trap," the merchant suggested. "That might lure the cat to us?" She aimed her careful steps in a thought-out straight direction, considering the sun to her left and calculating its movement throughout the day.

"We're not supposed to catch the cat," the abbess replied, trudging behind the merchant without interfering with the navigation, "only to find it. It's not a wild beast we're dealing with, but a civilized house-cat. And a talking one at that."

"Is it valuable?" the merchant continued. "Do you think someone might have stolen it? Wanting to trade it?"

"No—I don't think so," the abbess hesitated. She didn't want the merchant to be right, but she couldn't deny she might be on to something. And turning the idea in her head, she asked, "What would you give for it? You, as a merchant I mean, what would you give for a talking cat?"

"It depends—" the merchant gave a professional turning of her hand, "you don't want to go and buy stolen goods—also, there's no point in buying a cat that will run away first thing. A cat is not a dog - you can't just put a collar on it and claim it."

"I know—I know," the abbess waved and impatient hand, "but a legitimate, talking cat—what would you give for it?"

"Does it know any tricks?"

"It talks."

"I know, but so do I—" the merchant pointed to her own esteemed person with a mighty finger against the chest. Then, "Can it fly?"

"Never mind," the abbess muttered. "I don't think it's been kidnapped." She let go of the idea. Business was a complicated matter and she really didn't want to know too much about it. Then she remembered, "Why not ask the trees? They can see a whole lot from up there—"

She asked the merchant to pause her navigation, then stomped off to grab the trunk of a tree. "Wait right here," she called over her shoulder. "Just wait a second, and I'll ask this pine—" Then, turning her attention to the treetops, she shouted, "Hey you—you up there, have you seen a cat? A talking one?" Silence ensued as she listened. Then, tilting her head to lend the treetops her ear, "What? If it knows any tricks? You want to know if a talking cat knows any tricks? But it's a bloody—"

The abbess cursed the tree as she returned to the merchant. She shook her head in dismay, "Nope, it saw nothing. The trees here are clueless."

A heavy cone fell on the head of the merchant. The abbess flinched. The merchant flinched.

"Well—I don't think it's hiding in the woods," the merchant said in a calm voice. She had twigs in her hair, and yellow spots hovered in front of her eyes from glaring at the sun. And now a swelling was forming on her brow. "Let's find civilization."

"And an inn?" the abbess suggested.

"A brilliant idea," the merchant cheered up. "Inns are great for finding things out."

The abbess was only joking about the inn, but joking wasn't her strong side. Brutal honesty - as was the custom at the monastery - had corrupted all her sense of irony forever. But she didn't object when she saw the eager face of the merchant. Why hinder someone with an idea if she hadn't got one herself? Inns were horrible, they really were, but one thing was sure: they kept the merchant's engine going. Some invisible spark, offered only to merchants and troublemakers, was to be claimed at every kind of rickety building choosing to call itself some sort of a public house.