Under the title KATZERS: CLAWS OF FURY, my YA novel was one of the first books published by Bloomsbury’s children’s division.
PROLOGUE
As he approached the foothills, the young Katzer warrior reined in his mount and turned to look back over the plain.
It was a day’s ride away now, but in his mind’s eye he could still see the battlefield: the scattered dead, the wounded supporting each other as they staggered from the scene of slaughter, Mangies to their tented camp, Katzers to their walled city.
He shook his head as if the gesture would rid him of the pain, the dull ache that had been his companion for every step of the ride. He felt the place where his right ear had once been. Now there was nothing but a ragged stump, the fur around it caked with dried blood. It was the legacy of a wild stroke from a Mangy shortsword – and the beginning of the legend of One-Ear Tom.
It had been a great victory for the Katzers. The Mangies outnumbered them, and they were savage fighters, giving no quarter. But they were disorganised and undisciplined. In the end, they were beaten by the subtle strategies of the Katzers, led by three warrior chiefs – Tom, his brother Tamm and Fleekolla.
Yet for Tom, it was a hollow victory. He had seen many friends killed or wounded. He had also seen Tamm die, going down under a howling, snarling pack of Mangies. Pity his poor young widow, and the kit she was expecting!
Tom wanted no more of it. His taste for fighting had been dulled by years of war. Now he just wanted peace, quiet and, above all, solitude.
He turned away from the plain. He flicked the reins, and the big dappled war rat snorted once and moved off, picking its way carefully over the loose rocks.
Above him, in the distance, he could see the snow-covered peaks of the Stony Mountains…
CHAPTER 1
With all the fluid grace of his cat forebears, Ninelives padded down the dark alleyway, his smoky grey fur blending with the shadows. He scanned the grimy, peeling walls for an escape route – a door, a window, anything. He was only seconds in front of his pursuers, and – spit and screech, it was a dead end! No, wait. There, in the wall, a gate.
He wrenched it open and found himself in a courtyard, a green, shady place walled in on all sides. He looked around. Which way? Not much choice – back the way he had come, or through an archway that led to some steps. There was no cover, just a few shrubs and plants, nothing that would hide even his slim frame. So if he didn’t hit the steps they’d got him for sure.
Ninelives sprinted for the archway and leaped up the steps, taking them three at a time. Moments later, his pursuers arrived in the courtyard.
There were two of them; a girl with salmon-pink fur, a boy with a glossy black coat and white hind-paws. The girl pointed at the archway. ‘He must have gone that way. There’s no other choice.’
The boy grinned. ‘Ha! I know this building. My uncle used to live here. There’s only a couple of flats up there, and then the roof. We’ve got him!’
Whooping excitedly, the pair rushed for the archway and up the stairs.
Ninelives had already reached the roof. Kattin’ hell! A sheer drop on all sides! The nearest building was twenty feet away, across a side street. He looked down at the street, which was thronged with Katzers, rushing to finish their shopping for the coming Katerwaul Festival. It was at least thirty feet down, a risky drop even for a young, fit Katzer like Ninelives.
There was no way, and yet… Ninelives could hear the stairway echoing with footsteps as his pursuers closed in on him. He made a fast decision. As the boy and the girl burst through the door onto the roof, they saw Ninelives dashing for the edge.
The girl put her forepaw out in a warning gesture. ‘Hey, don’t…’ she shouted, her cry dying in her throat as Ninelives launched himself into the void, hind-paws pumping like a long-jumper’s.
He nearly made it. If the rooftop on the other side had been a few feet lower, he would have. But instead of hitting the roof hind-paws first, Ninelives slammed awkwardly into the wall, his claws scrabbling at the edge of the roof.
For a moment, Ninelives hung. But his strength had been knocked out of him by the impact, and his grip quickly began to falter. He looked down. Some of the Katzers in the street below had spotted him and were pointing upwards. On the opposite rooftop, the girl and the boy were shouting and waving their arms.
Ninelives didn’t hear them, nor the Katzers in the street. He relaxed his limbs, letting the key muscle groups fall into place. Then, as the crowd below gasped, he dropped, feet first.
The moment stretched out, dreamlike… then suddenly, halfway down the wall, Ninelives seemed to stop in mid-air, as if he’d hit an invisible safety net. Actually, as he dropped, he’d seen a waste pipe that ran across the side of the building, and had instinctively grabbed it.
For a moment, it held… then sheared away. Again, the crowd below gasped. But instead of breaking away completely, the pipe buckled. Under Ninelives’ weight, it bent towards the ground, creaking and cracking, until, a yard from street level, the young Katzer was able to drop lightly down onto the pads of his feet.
The crowd heaved a sigh, a mixture of relief and disapproval. One of them, a well-dressed, middle-aged Katzer with long, waxed whiskers, shouted at Ninelives. ‘Hey, kit, you want to watch yourself, larking about like that! You might have fallen on someone!’
But Ninelives was already away, his body singing with adrenaline. He was used to being lucky. ‘Sorry! Gotta go!’ he called back over his shoulder as he sprinted off.
By the time his pursuers dashed out into the street, Ninelives had disappeared and the crowd had dispersed. Hands on hips, the girl glared up and down the street. ‘Spit!’ she exclaimed. ‘Kat Hunt is supposed to be a game! How dare he take risks like that! Wait till I get hold of him! I’ll kill him myself! I don’t care if he is my brother!’
oOo
Twenty miles from Katzburgh, out on the plain, Warrod the Cur paced up and down the tent of skins and furs that was his headquarters, twirling the gnarled hardwood ‘war rod’ that had made him famous. Part wolf, part dobermann, six feet of solid muscle, Warrod looked every bit the ruthless warrior he was.
He was attended by his two deputies, Rottler the rottweiler and Gizzard, known as the Merciless, a pit-bull crossbreed whose compact build belied his legendary ferocity. They both knew better than to interrupt their chief when he was thinking.
Warrod spoke, the sudden harshness of his voice making his deputies flinch. ‘A festival, you say?’ ‘That’s right guv. They call it the Katerwaul Festival,’ said Rottler. ‘Once a year they hold it. Quite an occasion, they reckon.’
Warrod sneered. ‘An occasion, eh? It sounds as though you’d like to go and join in the fun. You wouldn’t be a Katzer-lover, would you, Rottler?’
Rottler shifted his feet uneasily. ‘Hey, not me, guv. I’m no Katzer-lover. I just meant…’
Gizzard continued for the tongue-tied deputy. ‘He just meant that it’s quite an event, sire. It starts off with this big race in the main square, then there are circuses, sideshows, all sorts of things. It usually goes on for days.’
‘Well, it won’t this year!’ said Warrod, his eyes glittering. ‘Because this year those fun-loving fish-gobblers are going to entertain some special guests: Warrod the Cur and the hordes of the Mangies!’
Rottler looked dubious. ‘With respect guv, it seems a bit unfair. I mean, attacking them when they’re having a knees-up. Know what I mean?’
Warrod exploded, smashing his rod down onto the table with tremendous force. ‘By the fangs of the Cur! We’re talking about the enemy here Rottler!’
A spasm of fear passed across the deputy’s battle-scarred face. ‘Well, yeah, course, but…’
Without warning, Warrod reached out and grasped Rottler by the throat, lifting his heavy bulk effortlessly off the floor. As Rottler gagged helplessly, Warrod thrust his face close to his deputy’s muzzle. ‘The Katzers are the enemy,’ he hissed, ‘and don’t you forget it. It’s them or us Rottler! Katzers or Mangies!’
Rottler’s eyes were bulging, but he managed to croak: ‘Y-yes guv, them or us. I know, I know!’ As suddenly as he had grabbed it, Warrod released Rottler’s throat, pushing his coughing, choking deputy away from him in disgust.
He started pacing again, for all the world as if nothing had happened. Finally, he turned and looked at Gizzard and Rottler. ‘Tell me, why do you think the Katzers live in comfort, while we Mangies have been reduced to eating lizard meat?’
Rottler and Gizzard had no answer.
‘Wham!’ The war rod smashed down again, this time onto a stout wooden chest. The lid of the chest splintered under the impact. Warrod’s eyes glittered as he hissed at his two deputies: ‘I’ll tell you why! It’s not because they’re cleverer or tougher than us. It’s because they’re better organised. That’s why they beat us forty years ago, and that’s why they’re better off than us now!’ Warrod emphasised his point by sweeping everything off the table with his rod, lamps and dishes smashing on the floor at the feet of Rottler and Gizzard.
Rottler licked his lips nervously. ‘Yeah, right, guv. I couldn’t agree more.’
Warrod turned his piercing gaze on Rottler. ‘I don’t want agreement Rottler, I want action! Finally, under my leadership, the Six Tribes of the Mangies are united. Now, for the first time in forty years, we can grind those milk-drinkers under our heels!’
Rottler nodded enthusiastically. ‘Under our heels! Right! We’ll fix those Katzers!’
‘We’re your men, Warrod,’ said Gizzard softly. ‘Just give us the word!’
Warrod’s cold stare swept over his two deputies. ‘I’ll give you the word, Gizzard. The word is kill! The word is burn! We’ll hit them right when they’ll feel it most - in the middle of their precious festival!’
Rottler looked dubious again. ‘But - with the greatest respect guv - we know that they double the guards, and they check out every traveller arriving at the town , and…’
Warrod interrupted him. ‘You’re forgetting something Rottler. The Mangies now have a leader – a leader who’s survived years of tribal war and four assassination attempts. So this time, Rottler, we’ll use our intelligence.’
Rottler tried, unsuccessfully, to look intelligent. ‘Intelligence, course, I’m with you.’
For a moment, it almost looked as though Warrod was going to smile, but he didn’t. Instead he turned to his other deputy. ‘Gizzard, I want you to infiltrate Katzburgh, find out
what’s going on, take hostages if you have to. I want an up-to-date report on the Katzers’ defences.’
‘I’m on my way.’ Gizzard left the tent, while Warrod continued to issue orders. ‘Rottler, I want you to call a meeting of the Top Dogs.’
Rottler was all business. ‘Right guv, no problem. Er, when do you want the meeting for, exactly?’ Warrod looked at his deputy as if he was talking gibberish.
Rottler continued quickly. ‘I mean, they’re all pretty busy, being Top Dogs and all. How about tomorrow at noon?’
Warrod drew himself up to his full height, his hackles rising as if electrified, his yellow eyes bulging with rage. ‘Now!‘ he screamed, swiping at Rottler with his rod. ‘You thick-necked excuse for a half-witted tripehound! When I say I want something done, I want it done now!’
Rottler scuttled towards the exit, warding off Warrod’s blows with his forepaws. ‘Right guv, got you. I’ll have them here right away, immediately, if not sooner !’
So saying, moving amazingly fast for such a heavily built Mangy, he escaped through the tasselled doorway of the tent.
oOo
Ninelives made straight for the main square of the city, the Katzerplace. He had a plan. He knew that, the day before Katerwaul, the square would be filling up with market stalls, all laden with festive delicacies – smoked carp and roach, eel fingers, starling kebabs, fragrant cream and yoghourt dishes. It would be filled with strong smells that would throw a cloak of confusion over his tracks.
Ninelives rounded a corner into a street which led to the Katzerplace, only to find his way blocked by dozens of colourful hand-painted wagons and trailers. Spit and screech! The circus! The street was closed and the only way ahead lay through an entrance with a turnstile, guarded by a tough-looking Katzer who was as wide as he was tall.
As he got closer, Ninelives recognised him. It was Sly Squat, a swaggering bully with whom he’d had a number of run-ins over the years. Ninelives hadn’t seen him around in a
while, and now he came to think of it, Spacer had mentioned something about his joining the circus.
Ninelives thought fast. He smiled to himself. Here was a chance to put distance between himself and the other two, and twist Sly’s whiskers at the same time. Ignoring the queue of kits waiting to get in, he dashed towards the entrance of the circus, and, right under Sly’s nose, vaulted over the turnstile.
‘Oy you!’ Sly called after him. For a moment, it looked as though he was going to desert his post and chase Ninelives, but there were too many excited young Katzers in the queue. He contented himself with snarling after Ninelives: ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get you later!’
Then he sullenly turned back to his customers, his hand already out for entrance money.
CHAPTER 2
Tethered to a tree by Gizzard’s tent, the chopper cycle glinted in the sun, the light bouncing off the deep metallic blue of the fuel tank.
Gizzard came out of his tent, his arms laden with equipment: a water bottle, a blanket, a brass telescope and a vicious-looking shortsword – a weapon known throughout the tribes of the Mangies as The Butcher. He opened the bike’s panniers and loaded all the equipment except for the sword, which he stuck in his belt.
All ready. Gizzard hit the kick-start, and the machine roared into life, settling down to a steady throb. He mounted, and checked the fuel gauge: three-quarters full of top grade bio-fuel. Good. At least he wouldn’t have to steal fuel before he even started.
Gizzard gunned the engine, slammed the bike into gear and accelerated forwards, out onto the dusty unmade road that led to Katzburgh.
oOo
Once away from the entrance area, Ninelives slowed to walking pace. All around, the circus folk hustled and bustled, preparing equipment, limbering up and carrying out last-minute rehearsals.
If he was going to win the bet, he had to put a spurt on. No one was taking any notice of him, so he broke into a trot, heading towards the far side of the circus enclosure, the side that led to the Katzerplace.
Arriving at the rough wooden wall, Nine-lives glanced quickly around him and took a jump at it, embedding his claws halfway up. He pulled himself up, his moleskin shoes providing purchase. Nearly there… gripping the top of the wall with both forepaws, he braced himself to swing one hindpaw over. But at that moment he was startled by a sharp whistling noise, followed by a ‘thunk!’
Suddenly Ninelives found that he couldn’t move one of his hindpaws. Looking down, he saw that one of his shoes was pinned to the wall by a large and deadly-looking knife.
‘Hey, whatcha doing?’ The speaker was a teenage girl who stood, hands on hips, about fifteen yards from the wall. A tortoiseshell, she wore a wide belt, into which several other knives were stuck. ‘Usually people try to sneak into the circus, not out of it.’
Tabith – for that was her name – folded her arms, drumming the claws of her right forepaw on her left arm.
‘Well,’ Ninelives started lamely, ‘I’m playing Kat Hunt, OK? I’m the quarry. I cut through here to get away from the hunters.’
‘Kat Hunt, eh? All right for some,’ said Tabith. ‘Some of us have got work to do.’ She produced another knife, and started cleaning it with a rag.
Ninelives was beginning to feel awkward. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘can you let me down? I don’t think I can hang on here much longer.’
The girl considered for a moment. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
She seemed to move at the speed of light. In a moment she was beneath him, pulling out the knife that held his shoe, and he dropped to the ground… just in time to see Sly Squat waddling towards him.
Tabith turned to see what had caught his attention.
‘Out of the way kitty, this isn’t your problem,’ said Sly, attempting to barge past her.
Tabith stood her ground. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be working? Cleaning out the stables or something?’
Sly sneered. ‘Listen smartypaws, just because you’re the big knife-throwing star doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do. Just stand aside and you won’t get hurt.’
Now there was a suggestion of steel in Tabith’s voice. ‘Hey, you’re not paid to attack members of the public. Forget it, OK?’
Sly tried to shove past Tabith again… and suddenly found himself on the ground. The look of surprise on his face quickly turned to rage. He struggled to his feet and grabbed at Tabith, but the knife-thrower always seemed to be somewhere other than where she appeared to be. Ninelives, watching, was impressed. This girl was obviously a force to be reckoned with.
But now she seemed to lose interest. She stood to one side, casually fingering the tip of one of her knives.
Sly took his opportunity. With a sideways snarl at Tabith – ‘I’ll deal with you later’ – he advanced on Ninelives, his eyes filled with fury.
Normally Ninelives would have been happy to take Sly on, but not in the middle of a game of Kat Hunt. He wasn’t about to lose the game because he’d wasted time scrapping with this fool. So he turned and took off towards the wall.
Sly ran after him. But just as he reached the wall, Ninelives leaped upwards hindpaws first, hitting it a couple of yards from the ground, using his momentum to run up it, at the same time twisting his body so that he arched backwards over the startled thug. Sly whirled round, gaping, as Ninelives landed feet first behind him – and gave him a hard, open-handed slap across the face.
Ninelives padded swiftly away, weaving in and out of the crowd heading towards the circus tent, Sly’s furious shouts ringing in his ears.
oOo
‘Hey!’ shouted Mynx as the steam-powered sweeping machine swished slowly past, water pouring from its brass nozzles, its big circular brushes scrubbing at the gutters beneath it. ‘How can we follow a trail when you’re pouring water all over the place?’
Mynx and Spacer watched as the sweeper moved slowly off down the road. ‘Well, that’s the end of that,’ said Spacer. ‘We’ll never pick up Ninelives’ scent now.’
‘You’re not getting any ‘feelings’ about where he might be, then?’ Mynx asked hopefully. Sometimes Spacer got intuitions about things. Sometimes he could even make things happen. He hadn’t got much control over his abilities though, and no one could rely on them.
‘Nah, not a thing,’ he replied.
Mynx kicked at a loose paving stone. ‘So, what are we going to do then?’
‘What about going to see old Fleekolla?’ said Spacer.
Fleekolla was Katzburgh’s blacksmith, and his smithy was one of the gang’s favourite hang-outs. They’d spent many happy afternoons listening to his stories about the Mangy campaigns of his youth, especially the exploits of the legendary Katzer warrior One-Ear Tom.
‘Went there yesterday,’ replied Mynx. ‘He chased me out. He was working on floats for the festival. He was too busy to talk.’
‘How about going fishing then?’
‘Not in the mood.’
Without giving a thought to the direction in which they were going, Mynx and Spacer now found themselves in the street where the circus had set up. In the distance the brassy sound of the circus band could be heard.
Spacer’s eyes lit up. ‘Hey, the circus! Come on, we’ll be just in time!’
oOo
A mile outside Katzburgh, Gizzard brought the bike to a halt behind the Flat Rock - a huge, flat-topped rock that was a local landmark. He wheeled the bike into a crevice and covered it with branches and grass. If he was to get close to the city undetected by the rampart guards, he needed to go the rest of the way on foot.
Crouching low, Gizzard set off, moving from rock to stunted bush with smooth, crablike movements. Finally, secure behind a fat cactus, he pulled out his binoculars and surveyed the scene.
He checked out Katzburgh’s main gate, and discounted it as a means of gaining entrance. There must have been at least a dozen armed Katzers on guard. One way or another, he was going to have to go over the wall.
Gizzard fingered the rusty focus wheel of his telescope and inspected each section of the wall piece by piece. He spotted something about three-quarters of the way up, maybe thirty feet above the ground. It was some kind of outflow pipe.
Gizzard grinned silently, revealing his razor-sharp teeth. There weren’t many Mangies skilled enough to scale a sheer wall and small enough to squeeze into a drainage pipe, but he was one of them. He started to creep forwards again, pulling himself along with his forepaws, moving like a silent snake towards the shadows at the bottom of the wall.
oOo
Mynx and Spacer rocked with laughter as a tabby clown chased a clown with a collar and bell around the ring. The tabby was comically short and fat, and carried a bucket of water that slopped as he ran. Collar-and-bell kept looking behind him, rolling his eyes in a parody of fear.
Eventually it seemed as though the tabby had him cornered. He approached him warily, holding his bucket at the ready. But collar-and-bell suddenly dived forwards, and upended the bucket of water over the tabby.
The audience howled with laughter and clapped wildly as, triumphant, collar-and-bell bowed theatrically. Finally he dashed from the ring, again pursued by tabby clown, who was apparently intent on throttling him.
oOo
Gizzard moved upwards an inch at a time, his claws scrabbling for purchase. The outflow pipe was now only a yard away. Slowly, he slid his right forepaw over the rough surface of the wall, searching for the tiniest gap between the stones… and felt himself begin to fall.
But one of his claws found a tiny fault in the mortar between two stones, clicking as it scrabbled for grip. Bracing himself, every muscle aching, Gizzard scratched at the crumbling mortar until he had excavated a tiny pawhold. Soon he was directly below the outflow pipe, hidden from the view of any guard casually looking down.
Then he heard a murmur of voices. He guessed that a new guard had arrived to relieve the old one. Now was the time to make his bid.
Gizzard reached up and gripped the edge of the pipe. For a moment he hung in space, nothing between him and the rocks below. Then, in a fluid acrobatic move, he swung his body up, over and into the darkness.
oOo
The next act was The Mighty Marmalados, a famous trapeze double act. Mynx and Spacer oohed and aahed along with the crowd, as the two marmalade-coloured daredevils executed a series of spectacular aerial manoeuvres.
The climax of their act involved the girl Marmalado flying upwards and forwards from the swinging trapeze bar, her arms outstretched like a diver to grab the other bar floating towards her. But it looked as though something had gone wrong – she missed the oncoming bar.
Mynx grabbed Spacer’s arm as the girl plummeted down, down in front of the shocked crowd until, seconds before she would crash into the sawdust floor, something shot into view from above and grabbed her.
It was the male Marmalado, plunging down from the roof attached to an elastic bungee rope! Now both Marmalados reached the bottom of the rope’s stretch… and zoomed upwards again, accelerating into the roof of the circus accompanied by gasps and screams from the crowd.
Then it was over. Both Marmalados slid gracefully down to the ground, and the crowd clapped wildly as the trapeze artists padded backstage, dodging the clowns as they rushed back into the ring.
The two buffoons had discarded their stage clothes for ordinary street gear. But one was still chasing the other, who immediately started to climb one of the tent poles, using the trapeze artists’ ladder.
The crowd roared with laughter, and, like everyone else, Mynx and Spacer leaned back to enjoy the fun. The first clown jumped onto one of the trapeze bars and started swinging back and forth, high above the ring, taunting his pursuer by making faces and catcalling.
Suddenly, he seemed to miss his footing, ending up hanging by one hand before hauling himself back up. Mynx and Spacer’s smiles froze on their faces.
‘Spit, he’s good,’ said Mynx. ‘He really looked as though he was going to fall then. Hey, look, now he’s going for the bungee rope!’
Now the hunted clown was shinning up the last couple of yards of the tent pole, which led to the platform where the bungee rope was coiled up. His pursuer was scrambling up after him. Clearly, he thought that he had him trapped.
Mynx and Spacer shaded their eyes, craning to see what was happening. But then they didn’t have to look upwards any more - because, dropping down out of the roof like a stone, came a plummeting body: the first clown, attached to the bungee rope.
Once more the audience oohed, as the clown plummeted downwards towards the sawdust covered ring; once more they aahed as he was whisked high up into the roof. But as the whirling body shot upwards again, Mynx sprang to her feet, her face a mask of amazement.
Convulsively, she grabbed for Spacer’s arm. ‘Spacer, that was no clown – that was Ninelives!’