The Pirate’s Cat
Tracy Leonard Nakatani
Witches are merchants of misery. Why, then, did I let one onto my ship? Because no one listens to a cat.
I sat on the sill outside the captain’s window, balancing against the gentle sway of the boat and straining to hear as my human spoke to the beautiful hag over the crashing waves.
Inside the captain’s quarters, they basked in candlelight at the table set with a simple meal on silver plates and a spread of painted cards between them. My human, Bastian—young and dashing with night-black hair and a crooked grin hidden beneath his trim beard. And the witch—skin like moonlight with glittering barnacles crowning her silver hair.
The sky bled crimson and orange around me, like light leaking from an open wound.
Bastian, who always put effort into his appearance, had spent an extra hour in his various mirrors, dressing his hair, working strange tonics into his skin, smoothing his silk shirt and ruffled collar, which he had changed five times before settling on the rich green color he now wore.
He’d always spent more time looking in the mirror than over his shoulder.
So there I sat, the loyal cat, watching my human play a game of enchanted cards with a born-and-bred cheat while the salt sprayed my ginger fur and the cold wind brushed my whiskers.
A good witch never gives up—not unless she wants to, or until she gets what she wants. And while Bastian had invited the hag on the pretense that he was the one with desire—looking to add years to his youth—she wouldn’t have come if she wasn’t expecting something greater in return.
And now, I feared those cards meant Bastian could not escape her snare no matter how much he believed he could trap her.
I hunched closer to the window, ears flicking toward the crack that ran along the frame.
Bastian chuckled, flipped his final card, and slid it between them. The black surface glittered with a sheen of dark purple, different from the other painted cards.
His eyes lit up as they met hers. Triumphant. He said something, reaching across the table for her thin, delicate hand. The witch leaned forward, her smile a sigh of delight.
Something in that smile made me uneasy. A black mist twisted from Bastian’s winning card, spilling like ink through water. I stood on all fours, sticking my nose against the glass. Bastian’s face paled, yet he remained frozen as the mist swallowed him, the witch, the table—everything—until it reached the glass, meeting my face.
I jerked away, claws scraping against the sill to prevent myself from tumbling into the ocean. My heart pattered in my chest. Whatever had happened couldn’t be good. With the next lurch of the boat against waves, I sprang from my perch and jumped to the next ledge, viewing the room from a different angle. Bastian sputtered. Through the black haze, the witch grasped a handful of light and buried it in a sealskin pouch around her waist. I hurried along the window ledge and up the railing of the ship.
Bastian’s quarters remained closed, but candlelight glowed in the windows once again as the strange smoke cleared. I crept to the door, and Bastian came stumbling out. My tail puffed like a frayed rope.
Bastian, my once young and dashing captain, now wore a face that was pockmarked and used like an old leather shoe. And his hands had spots a Dalmatian would envy—as if the hand of time had fish-slapped him!
I scurried between his legs into his quarters, searching for the witch. The fire popping in the hearth was the only sign of life in an otherwise empty room. The scent of kelp and jasmine lingered on the air and coated the back of my tongue.
I fiercely licked my coat down, mostly out of habit, but the fear of lingering magic certainly encouraged a cleaning. Then I noticed the roughness of my own coat and almost choked on my own fur. I clawed my way up the captain’s chair and onto the table, stepping over the now-blank cards to peer at my ginger-striped face in the reflection of the silver plates.
I hadn’t aged. With a sigh of relief, I continued my cleaning until Bastian trudged back to his chair.
He seemed lost and in a daze. When he collapsed in his seat, he stared, unblinking, at the back of his liver-spotted hands, then buried his face in them and sobbed.
Cautiously, I placed a paw on his shoulder as I stood on my hind legs and licked his hand.
His blubbering stopped, and he peered at me for a moment, eyes softening. Then, with a wave of his hand, he shooed me off the table. “Go on, you. Get.”
I leapt down and scowled at him from the rug. The sobbing resumed, and I rolled my eyes. He wasn’t that ugly.
That night, I slept in the storeroom, unable to cope with his whimpering. All men were vain to some degree, but none as much as Bastian. He would have sold his firstborn—if he’d had one—for the secret of eternal youth, of that I had no doubt. What did he expect when dealing with a sea witch? They usually stole their youth from desperate mermaids, but Bastian’s vanity far exceeded any creature I’d ever encountered. I curled myself into a tight ball, nestled between the ropes and barrels, tail tucked over my nose to keep warm as I listened to the creaking ship. Humans never learned.
It was none of my concern. It was my ship, sure, but my job was to catch and kill the rats, keep the men in line, and chase the gulls from our morning catch so our crew wouldn’t starve. When our journey was finished or the crew disbanded, I could easily find a new ship or new life. If Bastian wanted to chase beauty and court the favor of witches, that was for him to do or undo. Not me.
Yet the sounds of his sobs clouded my mind. I curled tighter, willing myself to rest, and eventually an uneasy sleep found me, one filled with dreams of fatty cream, a soft lap, and the hands of a beautiful man stroking my fur—my Bastian, vain, careless, and stupid, but he had been kind to me.
He’d rescued me from a burlap sack tossed into the ocean where my brothers and sisters had drowned, their tiny claws piercing my skin in the dark, wet panic. Only I had survived—just barely—eyes and nose gunked over, and fur wet and matted by the sea. Bastian had warmed me with those very hands that were now suddenly liver-spotted and worn. We’d always been together. It had always been us.
I climbed from between the barrels, stretching the kink in my spine, and stared at my twitching tail in the dark as it tapped the floor in front of my paws.
I had to lift this curse.
I owed that much to Bastian for sparing me from the sea. My debt to him could not go unpaid.
At dusk, when the ship finally docked, I would set out to find the witch and break the curse. Human essence could not survive outside the body for long. I had until sunrise.
The moment we reached the harbor, I set out on my own, unnoticed under the cloud of grief that hung over the ship.
Low clouds raked the distant hills. The seaside town was quiet and still. Candles warmed the windows of the cottages lining the dirt road. On a path leading away from the town center, I caught the scent of kelp and jasmine and followed it to where fields of grass and sand intertwined along the beach.
A small cottage sat among piles of driftwood and dried seaweed in the shadow of a single old tree, leafless and dying. Gull droppings splattered the sand, and water-washed pieces of fishbone gleamed in the moonlight. Strings of oyster shells hung above the door, tinkling in the light breeze, their pearlescent bellies shimmering.
I leapt to the nearest windowsill. Inside, the witch hummed an old seafarer’s song while twisting thin branches into a circular totem of a sort. On the center of the table lay the sealskin pouch containing my Bastian’s youth. She had yet to consume it, as the pouch was still fat with human arrogance. I could smell it from my perch.
The witch stood from her chair and disappeared into another room. I jumped down to the door and hooked my paw around the cold brass handle. Doors were tricky without thumbs, but it began to pull open with my weight. It was in that moment of pure concentration that I missed the stench of wet dog wafting from behind me.
A ferocious bark reverberated down my whiskers.
I leapt up the door, claws scraping for purchase against the wood. The large hound slammed against the door below me, snapping.
Turning in midair, I stretched out, and, upon my descent, my claws caught the hound’s face. I used the momentum to push off and jump over the railing. The hound snapped and snarled after me.
I ran around the corner of the house, toes squishing in the salt-soaked mud and sand. I could hear the snarling breath and feel the weight of the hound’s bark on the hairs down my back.
The old and sick-looking tree that towered over the cottage was my only hope. I ran for it, racing so fast I hardly needed my claws to fly up the trunk and onto the overhanging branches. The hound barked and howled below me, furious by my escape.
I hissed at the mongrel. Dogs were truly terrible creatures, using their mind control on the most susceptible humans in order to live a life of easy luxury. I spat at the mutt, which only infuriated him.
The dog paced below the tree, watching my every move. With each passing moment, the moon was rising, and soon the sun would come and take my chance.
There was no time.
I looked to the cottage, where the branches of my tree thinned so much even a bird would cause the branch to bow.
The hound growled below me, as if reading my mind.
If I fell in my attempt to make it to the cottage, there would be no avoiding my fate. I took a breath and began to inch my way to the thinning branches, closer to the cottage. Making it to the roof didn’t exactly solve my problem, but it was better than helplessly watching the sun rise and vaporize my chances to snag Bastian’s youth. Could I live with myself if I didn’t at least try? I mean, I could. But I didn’t want to.
As I slunk along the branch, it began to shake beneath my paws. This sent the dog into another fit of furious barking.
I slowed my steps to ease the quivering branches and dug my claws into the soft bark to hold on. The branch began to sag, jerking my weight forward.
The dog must have sensed my apprehension because he stood on his hind legs, baying. I hissed again.
The dog jumped, snapping, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight.
I had no choice.
With all my strength and the last of my nerve, I leapt for the thatched roof, pawing the air and hoping to catch anything with my claws. The wind raked my face and fur as gravity pulled me toward the waiting hound.
Just when I was certain my heart would burst and teeth would pierce my flesh, my claws hooked the thatching. The hound lunged, and I could feel his breath on my tail. Curling myself, I clasped the roof with all four of my feet and pulled myself around and up to safety.
The dog barked with such renewed energy, I could hear it echoing to the sea. He ran circles beneath me, as I smirked to myself.
And then the back door burst open. With it, a gust of air so cold I’d have sworn it came from the north. The dog cowered into the earth, making himself so small and insignificant in the shadow that was cast by the golden light from the cottage.
I peered over the edge of the roof.
The witch gazed out into the darkness, and the youthful glow she enjoyed in the candlelight had fallen away in the silver strands of moonbeams. Her pale skin no longer glimmered, but was a chalky white, and her straw-like hair had thinned, revealing her scalp beneath. This was not the same promised beauty who had dined with my Bastian by candlelight.
Even though I was above and behind her, I froze, flattening myself as much as possible, trying to be invisible.
She stared at the dog for what felt like three of my nine lives. The dog remained curled against the earth, shivering. The witch screeched something in a language I didn’t know, yet the dog responded by wagging the very tip of his tail still tucked between his legs.
I saw my chance in that slice of golden light cutting across the yard and jumped down from the roof. The witch was so busy screaming at the dog, she didn’t even notice me slinking along the hut in the dim light. The dog, however, watched me while flinching from the witch’s shrill tone. I almost felt sorry for the poor mutt.
Except I didn’t.
I slipped through the cracked door and into the musty, warm cottage. My eyes watered, and my whiskers felt like they’d curled. Strange spices assaulted my nose. I coughed once, biting my tongue and glancing back at the door for the witch. I heard the dog yelp from the yard. I took the opportunity to scurry into the main room where the witch had been weaving her totems.
A fire burned away in the hearth, the crackling pops louder than the yelping from outside. Tails belonging to various animals hung in a bunch on the wall next to shelves of glass jars and clay bowls. I could smell strange herbs over the scent of kelp and jasmine. It made my hair stand on end. No amount of licking would clean away that feeling of dark magic, either.
As much as I wanted to dart out of there, I forced myself to remain, taking cover beneath the table. I carefully leapt on the seat of the nearest chair to survey the room from a more human angle.
The dog had gone quiet outside, but the hush of the distant waves told me the door remained open, and the witch was still outside.
The sealskin pouch lay in the center of the table. I stretched on my hind legs and reached with my front paw, claws unsheathed. I snagged the leather, causing it to pop out of reach, so I stretched further, trying to keep one ear pointed at the opened back door.
A massive boom pounded at the front door.
“Witch!” a deep voice thundered. “I know you’re in there!”
Bastian.
I abandoned my attempt on the bag and ducked under the table, watching between the legs of chairs.
The witch strode into the room, skirt brushing the ground with each wicked step. The smell of blood followed her. I crept closer to get a better look and saw her arms were drenched in blood up to her elbows. She reeked of wet dog. In her hands, she carried a bloody organ the size of my head, which she placed in a bowl above the fire.
I couldn’t peel my eyes from the glistening red that dripped from her forearms, nor the glob of flesh and fur stuck to her elbow. A better cat might have felt some guilt at the sight—all that racket we’d made had drawn the witch to the dog, which had allowed me to slip inside to grab Bastian’s youth. But what did I feel? Nothing but a fixed curiosity over the buzzing in my ears.
Bastian’s pounding at the door made my heart lurch, reminding me of my situation. I was trapped in a witch’s hut. With a witch who had just gutted a dog with her bare hands.
She unbolted the front door and faced Bastian with such calm it sent chills rolling down my spine. She was once again that shimmering youth he’d seen by candlelight.
“Bastian.” Her velvety voice melted those chills. More of that nasty magic. “A pleasant surprise.”
Bastian’s eyes lost that hardened, angry edge. I wanted to groan, but didn’t dare make a sound.
Bastian must have shaken the magic’s hold on his heart because the glare returned to his eyes, his new crow’s feet deepening with his scowl. “You cheated me!”
She laughed. “Did I? It seems you do not understand the rules.”
Rules or not, she had taken an unfair advantage of my Bastian with her enchantments. I slid from under the chair legs and hopped into the seat. Only my ears poked over the edge of the table. The sealskin pouch sat in the center, untouched and unattended.
Ever so silently, I pulled myself up onto the table and crept toward the bag. Bastian had fallen silent. I locked eyes with him as surprise washed over his face.
The witch turned, and when her eyes fell upon me, her beauty wavered in the candlelight, flickering like an excited flame. For a moment, I looked dead-on into the window of hell.
Before I could jump from the table, a blast of green light and heat filled the room. Bastian screamed, and the scent of spicy, wicked magic and blood erupted. I leapt for the sealskin pouch, but the witch snagged the scruff of my neck, her nails digging through my fur. I yowled, but the sound was as weak as a kitten’s mewl while I hung limply from her grip. The sealskin pouch dangled from the finger of her other hand.
Bastian had fallen to his knees in the doorway, clutching his arm to his chest as bright red blood seeped into his silk shirt.
“Foolish man, but exquisite creature,” she said as she held me up to her face. I would have scratched at her eyes if I hadn’t been rendered useless by my damn scruff. Instead, I dangled in silence while Bastian gasped in pain. Foolish man indeed to run into a witch’s hut unprepared. At least I had stealth on my side. Or would have if Bastian’s stupid look hadn’t given me away.
“I needed a cat’s spleen,” she said with such delight it made my skin crawl. “I’m sure I could find a use for the rest of him.” She stepped over to Bastian’s crumpled form and sneered.
Bastian grabbed a flask from inside his coat and splashed a liquid on the witch’s face.
She dropped me and screamed. The sound and smell of sizzling flesh followed.
Bastian jumped for the sealskin pouch.
I took the opportunity to run for the half-open door, but a sharp pain stabbed at my rear and up my spine, jolting me back. Bony fingers clutched my tail. The witch’s raspy breath shuddered, wild and panicked in her pain. The holy water Bastian had splashed her with had washed at least a hundred years from her face, and now her sunken cheeks and gray skin matched her dark, hollow eyes. The sickly sweet stench of death rattled from her breath.
I shrieked and spat, but she grabbed me by the scruff again before I could wrap myself around her arm and bite. I caught a glimpse of Bastian’s back in the doorway. He had the sealskin pouch. My debt had been repaid. I couldn’t have asked for more. Well, actually, I could have asked to escape with my spleen, or that Bastian not invite nasty witches into his cabin or play games with wicked hags, but not only had I saved his life, I had also recaptured his youth, and that was worth more to him than all the treasure at sea.
That should have made me feel better, but I remembered the dog’s fate.
“Release the cat, witch!” Bastian boomed.
I wanted to groan. It was just like Bastian to mess up my efforts. He was going to die here, and worse, if he died here for me, my debt to him would double.
Leave, I wanted to hiss, but again, only a tiny kitten squeak came out.
Something had softened in Bastian’s eyes, but not for the witch. Her magic had dampened under the holy water and was no longer strong enough for enchantment. He looked at me, his old eyes fixed on mine, furrowed brow wrinkled like loose leather.
Bastian held up his flask of holy water again. It couldn’t have held much after his first attack, but the witch probably didn’t know that.
She grabbed a cleaver and pressed my head against the table’s surface. I could only see the fire crackling in the hearth, but when I tilted my head, I saw Bastian freeze, his white-knuckled hand gripping the flask.
“Drop it,” the witch rasped.
Bastian’s eyes darted between me and the witch.
She raised her cleaver, grip around my neck tightening, and the image of my head lopping off like a plump chicken ran through my mind several times before Bastian cried out, “Wait!”
The witch paused, but still held the blade unnervingly close my head. “Out of holy water?” she cooed.
I had the leverage to swing around and bite her thumb, but the probability that she’d drop the cleaver through my neck was still too high. I impatiently watched Bastian, wondering what he’d do.
The fool raised his empty flask higher as if to call her bluff on his bluff. His eyes gleamed with an unexpected sadness. “Don’t kill him,” he said, softly. “Please. H-he’s the only family I have.”
The witch stared at him for a second too long before her ugly face welled with a grin. “Why shouldn’t I? You backed out of our deal. And now you threaten my life with that empty flask?” She guffawed.
Bastian let the flask clatter to the floor and took out the sealskin pouch from his blood-covered sleeve.
I squirmed in the witch’s grasp—a move that I hoped felt innocent enough to not warrant a cleaver through my neck.
No, I tried to yowl. But even if I could, Bastian was too dense to understand me. What had I come here for? For that damned pouch. For Bastian’s glorious youth. So that my human could live out the rest of his life like a normal man, not riddled with arthritis and cataracts before they were due.
He’d saved me from drowning in that sack. Had been kind enough to invite me on the ship. To feed me. Give me shelter. Sure, I was damn good at keeping the ship in order, but I was still indebted to Bastian. Even if I had returned his youth, I still owed this man more than anything I could ever achieve in my nine, sorry lives.
And this stupid, selfish man was at it again. I had risked my skin—literally—for that pouch, and he was going to throw it away and get us both killed.
I would trip him a thousand times in the night for this.
“Take it,” Bastian said. “Just let my cat go.”
The hunger in the witch’s eyes grew. She wanted that bag—needed it—or else, according to old pirate lore, she would be sucked back into the depths of the hell she’d crawled from. Her grip tightened around my neck, and my eyes bulged. She reached for the pouch.
Bastian took a step back. “The cat first.”
“And let you steal what’s rightfully mine?” She growled and lifted the blade again.
I clenched my eyes shut.
“Wait!” Bastian held up the sealskin pouch. “You need my youth to live past this night.”
She scowled, but did not wring my neck any tighter. “It is not a fair trade if you only give back what is mine in the first place.”
“If I don’t give it back, you’ll be swallowed into oblivion. You gain nothing if you kill the cat.”
“Your suffering is plenty to enjoy. After all, I have no guarantee I will not be killed by your hand if I agree to your terms.”
“Release my cat,” Bastian said, “and with my youth, I’ll also give half of my time. Or what’s left of it now that I’m old and spent.”
The witch relaxed a little and tilted her head.
I began to yowl, deep and piercing. What was the point of trading my life for half of what remained of his? He’d already saved me once, at no risk to his life, but now … I couldn’t let him do such a thing.
I sank my teeth into the witch’s thumb. The salty and metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
She screamed, and her cleaver came swinging down. Right for my face. I used all of my strength to squeeze through her grip.
My poor tail was not fast enough.
A blinding, burning pain exploded through my body. I staggered across the table and rolled to see a long ginger-striped appendage, limp and bloody, next to the blade that was buried in the wooden tabletop.
I staggered, too woozy to move. White spots danced at the edge of my vision, and the burning pain at my backside buzzed in my thoughts. Did pain have a sound? And was it always this loud?
I felt that cold, bony hand clasp around my neck again.
“I offer you my youth and years,” Bastian shouted. “Let the cat go! I won’t ask again, and you will not have this offer again. You might watch me suffer, but I’ll watch you vanish into dust, and it is I who will laugh last, witch.”
She tensed, her wild breath gasping from her chest.
Bastian held out the pouch.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally stepped forward, swinging me by my scruff like a doll. She snatched the pouch and tossed me to the floor at his feet. I heard the thump of my body more than felt it. My tail stump dulled any other pain I could have possibly felt.
Bastian’s heavy old hands stroked my fur. I glanced up to see the witch a few paces away on her hands and knees, her long, pale hair cascading over her shoulders and obscuring her face. The gray had vanished from her skin, replaced by a youthful glow, and her bony, knotted fingers were once again elegant and graceful.
She looked up, mischief in the corners of her eyes and on the edge of her full, rosy lips. She crawled forward, shimmering as if a fantastical aura surrounded her. When she reached for the lapel of Bastian’s silk collar and pulled him forward, both still on their knees, he did not fight her.
I struggled to stand, but it was too late.
The witch parted her lips and leaned in, capturing his mouth with hers.
The air around us came alive with a crackling sensation as my fur stood, reacting to the magic being conjured. A vibrancy seemed to drain from Bastian and spill into the witch as they remained locked in a kiss there on the floor.
When she finally pulled away, eyes half-lidded, I caught a glimpse of Bastian as a dashing young pirate once more, but it was only for a moment before he melted back into a withered old man.
The witch wiped the corner of her mouth as she stood. Bastian remained on his knees, the tremble in his hands more noticeable than before.
“I could kill you both,” she said, “but I’d rather watch you pay for your foolishness for the rest of the years you have left. You have tied your sails, Bastian. Now suffer the journey.”
Another crackle of energy pulsed through the room, and she vanished. Everything in the cottage withered and died; surfaces were suddenly coated in dust, and the fire was gone from the hearth.
I looked up at Bastian. My Bastian. My foolish human who was once young and strong—the most accomplished pirate on the seas, destined for riches and greatness—was now reduced to an old man with his cat.
Bastian cradled me in his arthritic arms, removed a silk handkerchief from his pocket, and carefully wrapped my bleeding stump.
I couldn’t help but notice how his spine curled forward, and he seemed to hobble more to the left, but somehow, lying in his old, leathery hands, I hurt less.
I closed my eyes and purred. This was fine, I thought, as he limped out into the waking dawn. The sun breathed pink into every edge of the horizon as it started its ascent. This was fine. We would be fine.
I licked his salty hand, my tongue scratching against his dry skin.
His good hand stroked the fur behind my ears, and I sank further into its warmth. All was right enough in the world in that moment.
Just an old man and his cat.
An old pirate and his cat.
About the Author
Tracy Leonard Nakatani dwells in the deserts of Arizona, but travels and writes fantasy to escape reality as often as possible. She has an unhealthy obsession with nachos and wears too much black. She looks grumpy, but it’s really just her face.