Catfantastic II

"Mine is not idle curiosity."

"Very well. It is a tale that has grown worn in the telling. One more time doesn't matter."

As long as she could remember, both she and her mother had had red, scaly patches that itched abominably at wrists, ankles and around their hairlines. During the time when she started to change from a girl to a woman, however, something even worse had happened to her skin. Her face, shoulders and back began to be disfigured by pustular eruptions and now she was seldom free of them. Both her parents had died; these days she wove fabric and embroidered fine garments for a living, and occasionally sold vegetables, when she had some to spare, on market day. She had no money to rent a stall but found a spot on the cobblestones where she could spread her wares.

"I am poor because people don't want to buy from me," she told him in conclusion. "I think they are afraid they will catch something, the way I caught it from my mother."

"Has this ever happened?"

She shook her head. "Not yet."

"And did your father catch it?"

"No. It was very strange. But he was a strong man." In the current fashion-or as close as she could come to it-she wore a shift serving as underdress and petticoat in one under a tightly laced bodice and had a fold of overskirt tucked up in her waistband. An empty purse dangled from her belt. She sighed, and absently fingered the tie of the threadbare shift. "How I would love to have a few coins to spare. And to be pretty."

"You are," he said. He almost stumbled over the words. "Believe me, you are. I think you are very pretty indeed."

But she remained unconvinced, shaking her head and sighing even more deeply. He found it difficult to concentrate, enthralled by the thought of the warm, soft bosom inside that bodice. And more than that, he found himself wanting to, well, to do things for her, to make life easier for her, to make her smile. With difficulty, he tried to think like a physician once more. "Have you sought medical help?"

"Magister Grinden could do nothing to help me," she said. "But he was old, and, I fear, somewhat behind the times. Whereas, you-"

She left the thought unspoken, but Ferdon could read the rest of it in her eyes, in the flattering way she looked at him, as if he were the most attractive, virile man in the universe, the one for whom she had been searching all her life…

"Ah, er, yes," he had said. He stopped and cleared his throat. "I will undertake your cure, Mistress-"

"Dala."

"Dala. I will undertake your cure, but you must realize it will take some time. I have never done anything like this before. I must study. We will be forced to meet often and, and perhaps experiment with several techniques. Methods of treatment."

"That would be wonderful." She stood up straight, arching her back and accidentally showing off the proud profile of her breasts through the thin shift she wore. "When shall we begin?"

"Oh, as soon as possible. You understand that it would be preferable if we can work out a cure by natural means, rather than magical. It is much easier on both the patient and the practitioner."

"You are the master."

But all the herbal remedies he had tried proved incapable of healing her. The scaly red patches, unvanquished, merely retreated into Dala's hairline along with the eruptions. This wen on her temple was only the latest in a long series of torments she endured. Ferdon was ready to resort to magical means of attempting a cure. The problem was that the ingredients were both rare and costly and he was far from being wealthy himself. Doing everything he wanted to do could ruin him financially.

Privately, Ferdon entertained the picture of Dala in his house, Dala preparing his meals and embroidering fine garments for him alone, Dala in his life and in his bed. He was a fine young mage-none better in his class at the academy. It could be argued that it was his responsibility to settle down while he was young and sire a new generation of magicians. No sense in letting them go unborn, the way too many did, until centuries and virility had passed and his talent died with him.

"Despite the cost, I will remove the wen on Data's left temple, using magic," Ferdon said aloud, "and you will help me do it. That is an act you should approve of, my stiff-necked Companion. And we will do it tomorrow morning!" Then he began to smile, thinking of how he would slip in at least one extra spell, the one he knew Dala wanted in her heart of hearts. Not that Dala had ever asked for such a thing. But he could afford it. During their conferences together he had become aware, when she caught sight of her reflection, of the faint sigh of disappointment every time she beheld herself. How much easier her life would be if she had the beautiful, clear skin she dreamed of. If another part of what he wanted to do for her also involved casting a certain aura over the goods she brought to market day, well, what harm was there in it? And how grateful she would be to him…

If only Ede could get over this ridiculous antipathy. The first time Dala had come into the workroom where Ede lay dozing, Dala had begun to sneeze. Rubbing her eyes, she stumbled and accidentally brushed the cat from the table. Startled and taken unaware, Ede had landed heavily on the floor. Then she jumped straight up, fur bristling, eyes ablaze, and dashed from the room.

"I'm sorry," Dala said. "I always sneeze when I'm around a cat. Poor little thing."

Though Ferdon had tried to coax her back, Ede wouldn't return to the workroom that day. However, on subsequent occasions when Dala came in, Ede stayed put in her favorite spot on the worktable, refusing to leave and watching with great interest as Dala sneezed with progressively greater violence. Ferdon had been forced to put Ede out of the room each time so he could complete the treatment. At first, Ede stalked back and forth outside, yowling and scratching at the door; later, she simply hid when Dala was due for an appointment. Now, every time anything even remotely co

No use in dwelling on that subject. It fogged the mind, when clear thinking was required. He went to the window. " Ede," he called. "Eeeeeede!"

The cat materialized on the window ledge and rubbed the entire length of her body against him. He gathered her into his arms and she responded with a full-throated purr that made both of them vibrate. Despite everything, they loved each other dearly.

" Ede, Ede, whatever am I going to do with you?" He rubbed her silken chin; she nuzzled his fingers. "Can't you see that I am only trying to heal someone who is ill? Will you help me? Please?"

Ede tensed in his arms and the purring ceased. He wondered if she could sense his very small, well-intentioned deception. But she didn't struggle to get down, nor did she jangle her earrings. Instead, she closed her eyes and pushed her head against Ferdon's chest.

"Thank you, Ede. I knew I could count on you."

Treatment day was also market day; but even though Dala was likely to miss getting her favorite spot where she put out her wares for sale, she came to Ferdon's house in answer to his summons. Ferdon habitually left the kitchen door unlatched, so that any who needed his servicer might enter. He heard her when she came in, dropping the bundle of embroidery and the basket of early summer squash just inside before going directly to the magician's workroom which he had left unlocked for her.

Today, however, there was no scent of herbs or goose fat in the air, no concoction of bark or roots simmering over the fire. He had neatly put away all the medicines and heal-craft implements, and in their place on the table had laid out the emblems of magery. Dala's eyes widened. She looked up at Ferdon. She put her fingers to her chapped lips.