Catopolis

Tara hesitates, sighing a little. “It is Norbu’s destiny to become an important figure among human lamas, perhaps eventually to lead the Order. If you fail, there will be disastrous consequences not only for the lamas, but also for the rest of the world. Norbu is a key element to a binding that prevents many horrors from freely roaming the Astral Plane. His foes will try to prevent his growth and also his accession into the Order when he’s ready.”

“So why don’t the lamas take on this duty themselves?” asks Tai Pan. “It sounds like something they’d relish.”

“They can’t act directly. If they did, it would surely reveal the place where he’s hidden. That place you know so well. So be on your guard, Titus-Tai Pan. Be discreet. You’ll need every claw and every wit you have to succeed.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Tai Pan hops to his feet as Tara vanishes. “How am I…?”

He is left alone in the ice-scented breeze, among the giant rhododendrons growing at the foot of the mountains under the crescent moon.

“This is not good for business,” Tai Pan mutters. “Not good at all. But what choice do I have?”

Sighing, he vanishes as well.

A split-second later, Tai Pan’s Astral form materializes in a small room. His white feet rest on a worn wooden chest at the foot of a bed that is little more than a thin mattress and blanket on raised slats. Tai Pan sits down, observing for a moment the common-looking Asian boy and the bedroom of the small house they’d called home for most of their lives.

No more than ten years old in human years, Norbu sleeps restfully on his back. He is dressed in soft striped cotton pajama pants that appear to have permanent wrinkles. The blanket lies twisted over one foot and ankle. Two large bookcases, crammed with dusty old prayer books and rolled-up scrolls, stand against the wall on both sides of the head of the bed. Wads of well-thumbed comic books stick out between some of the voluminous tomes.

Tai Pan scouts the room with his heightened senses, making sure no one else is hiding there, either physically or in Astral form.

Although it is difficult to conceal anything in this room, I’d better be sure, he tells himself. I love this child. I’ve been his accomplice in many adventures, both on the streets in this city and within the pages of books. We are good friends. How could I lose him now, or leave him, furthering my business my only excuse?

Still thinking, he leaps silently upon the small desk sitting against the wall opposite the bed, where bluish starlight filters through a gap in the curtains covering the single narrow window. The scarred wood holds a jumble of school-books, papers, pens, smudged trading cards, and toy dragons undisturbed by his weightless paws. The starlight shines through Tai Pan’s immaterial form and puddles upon torn jeans and a yellow T-shirt thrown on the chair next to the desk. Worn-out sneakers and dingy socks lie underneath.

“It looks as it always does in here,” says Tai Pan aloud to himself, relieved at finding nothing more obtrusive than dust and starshine.

Norbu mutters something unintelligible. Tai Pan stares back at the boy, whiskers aquiver.

“So, you hear someone speaking in the Astral Plane even in your sleep. That’s good. We won’t have to start from the very begi

Tai Pan jumps onto the bed and tiptoes along Norbu’s sleeping body, right up to the boy’s face. The faint golden glow of Tai Pan’s Astral form reveals the boy’s crooked nose and the faint shadows thrown by his thick eyelashes even in the dimness of his bedroom.

“Come on, boy,” mutters Tai Pan, his nose almost touching Norbu’s. “Time to come out and learn something new now.”

The child squirms in his sleep, opens his mouth, and lets out a small snore.

“Uh huh… there lies the future of a great order of lamas,” quips Tai Pan, amused. “Well, let’s try this.”

He pads downward a few steps along Norbu’s body. With his front paws, Tai Pan reaches through the boy’s physical ribcage and nudges his somnolent Astral essence. Norbu mutters more incomprehensible words and straightens his legs. Tai Pan purrs softly in encouragement and quirks his paws, pulling upward. His brow furrows and his ears stand erect as he concentrates.

A moment later, a ghostly duplicate of Norbu materializes just inches above his physical body. A silver cord links the Astral form to the boy’s solar plexus. The strong golden aura about Norbu’s immaterial shape, added to the pale glow from his silver cord and the starlight from the window, fills the room with a warm, pleasant light totally unlike the harsh brightness of human-made lamps.

“Hello, Houston, we’ve got liftoff!” Tai Pan feels smugly proud of himself and his pupil. “All right, Norbu, let’s keep going. Lesson two.”

The boy’s Astral form begins to waver and sway. Tai Pan scampers toward Norbu’s long feet. From there, he reaches up and grabs a hem of Norbu’s Astral pajamas with his teeth.

Tai Pan mumbles, pulling. “Thif’ way, ’orbu. Thif’ way!”

At last, Norbu’s essence slowly glides to the foot of the bed and stands upright, floating an inch or two above the wooden floor.

“Ataboy,” says Tai Pan proudly from the corner of the rumpled bed. “Lesson three.”

Norbu opens his Astral eyes.

“Good,” Tai Pan encourages.

But the boy sees nothing. He hovers, motionless, still in a dream state.

“Now, for the tough part: keeping you wide awake and making you conscious of the Astral Plane itself. Let’s try this…” Tai Pan pads forward and takes a quick nip at the boy’s immaterial backside.

That brings Norbu to consciousness. Confused, he looks around. He screams when he sees his physical body lying on the bed.

Tai Pan exudes every ounce of a cat’s extraordinary ability to calm. “No, easy there. Everything’s fine.” His purring fills the room.

It works. Curious now, Astral-Norbu examines his glowing hands and body. Seeing the silver cord attaching him to his corporeal self, he realizes his situation. He remembers reading about this in one of those old books. With a smile, Norbu observes his room.

He’s really looking at things, noticing every detail, thinks Tai Pan, proudly staring up at the boy. I remember the first time I saw through my Astral eyes-everything appears much more clearly.

Norbu’s eyes come to rest on Tai Pan. “Why can I see through you?” he asks.

Caught off guard, Tai Pan answers, “Um… Meow?”

“Weird,” says Norbu. Levitating upward, he adds with glee, “Hey, this is cool!”

Without warning, he vanishes through the ceiling.

“Whoa. Oh, wharf rats! Hang on there, boy!” shouts Tai Pan, launching himself after Norbu’s silver cord. “Stop!”

He sees Norbu’s Astral form in the distance, gliding above the city and turning cartwheels. Tai Pan does his best to catch up, thinking himself to where the child is. As soon as Tai Pan appears next to Norbu and opens his mouth to chastise him, the youngster spies a lamasery, and darts through an open window.

Not a good idea! Tai Pan instantly materializes inside the meditation hall, apprehension filling his mind. He looks for the boy’s silver cord. This is not a good idea at all!

Norbu’s unexpected visit is unwise-an enemy might be watching, even in a lamasery. And considering his minimal experience with the Astral Plane, Norbu is in grave danger.

Above large vats of smoking stick incense, the youngster aimlessly darts in and out of the shadows around the head of a large golden Buddha.

He’s returned to his dream state: there is no thought behind his motions, Tai Pan realizes.

One of the clairvoyant lamas interrupts his prayers when Norbu’s Astral form drifts overhead. He then turns and glares angrily at Tai Pan.

“Sorry about that,” says Tai Pan, bowing respect. “He is very young in knowledge.”