Chapter 1 Nearly everyone at the Merrytrails Orphanage for Girls agreed: Abraxas was not a good cat. He was stubborn and hateful, which wasn''t itself unusual in cats, and didn''t even necessarily preclude a cat from goodness. Plenty of the girls'' favorite stories featured cats who were notorious grumps, and yet they maintained a certain charisma. But Abraxas was also unsightly. Again, ugly cats were commonplace in the streets of Crossport, and the girls loved them all the same. Some were rakish toms, riddled with the scars of their many cat duels. Some were misshapen but sweet, with smooshed-in faces and warbling cries that softened even the most callous hearts. Abraxas was neither.
Where he had fur, it was a vague sort of gray. His stomach was completely bald, and one white eye had a milky quality to it. And he stunk , noxious from the pearly globs of wetness Mrs. Harbargain fed him twice a day. All of this might have been perfectly fine if Abraxas had at least been entertaining. But the orphanage''s pet cat was sedentary during the day, hissing at any of the girls who came too close. Little Mariana Porch had once dared to bring a broom handle within a few inches of his face, dangling a feather in the manner she''d seen two rich children in town do, playing with their gorgeous Siamese. She''d hoped to entice Abraxas into doing something silly.
Both broom and Mariana still bore the scars from that unfortunate day. But what made the cat truly not good was what happened after lights-out. Because at night, Abraxas finally came alive. He stalked the halls of the orphanage like a wraith, yowling and scratching ceaselessly at every door and window he could reach. Mrs. Harbargain slept like a stone. Her room was nestled all the way at the bottom of the tall house, while Abraxas was locked into the upper floor hallway. She never heard the cat''s nightly pandemoniums, and waved away the girls'' complaints as whining--even as the upstairs doors were thinned away one claw-size notch at a time.
It was on just one such a night that Melanie Gate decided she''d had enough. "Where are you going?" whispered Jane Alley. Melanie could just see her friend''s light brown face hovering from the top bunk beside her own, her large eyes wide and worried. Jane was agonizingly shy--the sort of girl who hid away from her own nameday parties. That she''d spoken up at all meant she''d sensed Melanie was about to do something particularly audacious. Jane always seemed to know. Sometimes even before Melanie herself. Outside the dormitory, Abraxas yowled.
He was rattling the hall window with his paws, as if playing a glass drum. "I can''t stand it anymore," Melanie said, shuffling to the edge of her bed and lowering herself gently to the floor below. Her face was pale and irritated as she glimpsed it in the room''s small mirror. "I haven''t slept more than ten hours all week." Sun-mi Churchyard''s bunk was just below Melanie''s. She pushed a lock of dark hair from her eyes. "But what are you going to do?" she asked, sitting up as Melanie slid her feet into her slippers. They were donations from the wealthy families during the last Night of Gold festival, addressed: To the Poor, Sweet Orphans.
With Affection & Heartache. "He wants out so badly," Melanie said primly. "I''m going to give him what he wants." Across the room, Agatha Chickencoop laughed. She brushed a tangle of russet curls from her tawny freckled face to better smirk at Melanie. "Mrs. Harbargain locked all the doors and windows. If they''re open, she''ll know it was you, lock-eater.
You''ll get punished." By now, all the girls were sitting up in their beds and watching Melanie as she marched toward the dormitory door in her nightgown and slippers. "There''s more than one way to open a window," Melanie declared. "One of these days, Abraxas is bound to rattle the glass just a bit too hard." She revealed the weighty fire iron that she''d smuggled beneath her bedspread, and a chorus of gasps filled the room. "Don''t!" little Mariana squeaked. "Oh, Mrs. Harbargain will be so mad," said Baruti Harbor.
She pulled her favorite blue blanket around her until it nearly covered her dark brown face and eyes. Melanie reached the door and whirled around, brandishing the iron. Just outside, Abraxas had broken into a wailing aria. His voice was like a mournful young soprano with a rock in her mouth, trapped inside a bucket. "Mad is what we''ll be if we don''t get some sleep," Melanie said. "They''ll have to rename this place the Merrytrails Asylum for Cat Killers. Listen to him," she added, "he wants out as much as we want him gone. I''m striking a blow for liberty.
" Abraxas had begun drumming against the windowpane again, providing Melanie''s revolution with a jangling anthem. "Can I at least count on you not to tell?" Melanie asked. "Harbargain can''t punish all of us." Melanie''s eyes slowly scanned the dormitory, falling on each of her friends in turn. "I''m doing this for everyone," she said. There was a long moment of not-quite silence. Then a timid voice called out. "I won''t tell," said Jane.
"Me neither," Agatha announced boldly. One by one, the girls agreed. Melanie beamed at them. She nodded, then turned and faced the locked dormitory door. She placed her hand on the knob and there was a genial, mechanical noise. Pins and springs slipped helpfully out of the way. Then Melanie twisted the knob, fire iron in hand, and the door creaked open. She stepped alone into the hall.
* * * Melanie Gate had always been good at opening things. Doors, windows--places of passage just welcomed her. Locks malfunctioned when she needed to get by in a hurry. In the springtime, windows that had been rusted shut for years would lurch open with clouds of auburn flakes. As a very young girl, Melanie would sometimes be found wandering the lower floors of the house, exploring after lights-out. Though Mrs. Harbargain had always carefully locked both the door to the girls'' dormitory and the one leading downstairs, she''d invariably discover them wide-open the next morning. After a few near escapes by Abraxas, Melanie was finally broken of this habit through a week of missed desserts.
But the strange skill went back as far as infancy. Like all the foundling girls at Merrytrails, Melanie had been named after the place she was discovered. As Mrs. Harbargain told it, a pair of city guards had been strolling past Crossport''s South Gate during their evening rounds. The gate was fastened shut and locked, as it was every night. Just when they''d passed by, however, the guards heard a horrific clamor behind them. They spun around to discover that the enormous South Gate was cracked open, as if it had never been bolted closed. Only the enchantments of the city''s aldermages kept the ponderous doors from swinging completely wide.
And there, wedged between them, was a very determined toddler with chestnut curls trying to pull herself through the gap and into the city. Melanie was promptly deposited at the orphanage. She had nothing but her first name, her clothes, and a single token--an embroidered cloth decorated with a field of flowers. Pointed rooftops protruded from the bulbs, and above it all looped the words: Kinderbloom! The Garden Village . Mrs. Harbargain sometimes called her uncanny , and Agatha said she was a "lock-eater." But Melanie didn''t eat anything. She simply asked doors to open and they agreed.
To her, opening doors seemed perfectly natural. After all, that''s what they were for , wasn''t it? It was really all very polite. None of the other girls minded. Not even Agatha, really. Every orphan at Merrytrails had her own traits and skills. Agatha was a brilliant actress. Well, she was dramatic, anyway. Little Mariana could charm the stripes off a bee.
Helen Stables claimed to have a way with horses, though the girls had never put this to a test. Each could be expected to help the others when needed, using their particular talents for the good of all. Now was simply one of those times. Melanie stared out into the hall, which had gone suddenly, shockingly quiet. She glanced to the window, where a keen yellow eye watched her back. "All right, cat," Melanie said. "The council of orphans has heard your demands. I''m here to set you free.
" " Maow ," Abraxas replied skeptically. "Well, you didn''t leave us much choice, did you?" Melanie waved the poker around as she approached the window at the end of the hallway, shooing the old cat. She knew better than to attempt this within striking distance of his claws. Abraxas hissed at her, but he slunk away, watching her with his gleaming good eye from a few feet down. Melanie turned her attention to the window. It was a large and cheerful casement, and very sunny in the morning. A wide sill lay beneath on which rested a small pretty vase full of small pretty flowers. She set these on the floor for now.
Outside, the moon was high: a shining fingernail. Much of the city was dark, though the magical toverlichts kept the wide avenues lit for the town watch. Melanie could just make out the empire''s three-eyed flag waving from the roofs of the nearby buildings. Beyond them were the harbor and the three city gates. The North Gate led to Ultrest, the empire''s capital city, where the king lived. The East Gate was sometimes called the Prisoner''s Gate because it fed out to the Donjon, a court and prison system so sprawling, it was a city in its own right. Melanie could actually see the South Gate now, towering in the distance. And beyond it .
? An ache.