Jack of the Shadowed Eye

Day was drawing to a close as the long column of Campaigning Troopers approached the Great Manor of Tabbyshire. At the head of the column the Viscount Jack of Tabbyshire rode, not in triumph, but more as with quiet satisfaction. The campaign in the Northern Hills had been concluded. Long Claw was driven far from the Shires of the Cats, alone and abandoned by his former followers. Tranquility and domesticity were fast spreading among the Free Cats of the Hills. All throughout the Northern Hills the name and the fame of Jack of Tabbyshire were being established and revered. The march of these past days had been arduous. The Troopers and their ponies moved slowly. Seeing how their spirits seemed so low, Jack called to the Colour Sergeant, “Colour! The Troops need some cheer. Lead them in song!” “Right you are, M’Lord! Come on me Kits! Sing along!” At this the Troopers lifted their eyes from the road and began: Come fill your saucers, Troopers, and stand up in a row, To singing sentimentally, we're going for to go, In the Troop there is sobriety, promotion's very slow, So we'll sing our reminiscences of Tabby Havens, oh! Oh, Tabby Havens, oh! Oh, Tabby Havens, oh! So we'll sing our reminiscences of Tabby Havens, oh! Jack smiled and joined in with the chorus. He had heard this tune many times at the Troop Dinings-in. He had not been aware that it was as popular with the Troopers as it was with their Officers. He took comfort in the recognition of the camaraderie that bound his Officers, Sergeants, and Other Ranks into that one Troop. The Troop…. “Good to see those familiar towers….” Tootoo spoke to Jack, interrupting these thoughts, as the spires of the Great Manor first became discernable through the encircling woods. “Good to be home again.” “A sight that will never cease to thrill me. How I look forward to seeing my Mother, Aunt Teena, and—of course—His Lordship and Grandmama.” In his excitement Jack used his familiar address for Lady Wallingford, his Grandmother. “Come; let us hurry on—Captain! Take charge of the Troop and see to their needs!” “At your command, M’Lord.” Jack and Tootoo galloped forward along the finely graveled road. As they rounded the final bend before the Great Manor they were brought to a sudden stop. Sir Samuel, Commander of the Campaigning Troop, sat on his pony blocking the roadway. Immediately to his rear a coach was drawn to the side of the road. Jack saw, in an instant, the Ducal Crest on the door of the cab. “Sir Samuel…” Jack began. He stopped as the door to the coach was opened by a Pawcat and the Duke of Pussydom alighted. “Your Grace….” “My dear Jack…” the Duke began, as he approached Jack and Tootoo. Jack quickly dismounted and rushed forward to pay homage to His Grace, the Duke. Jack could now see, even in the dwindling light of evening that both Sir Samuel and His Grace were in tears. “Your Grace, what is wrong?” “Your Grandfather, Lord Wallingford….” “Grandfather! What is it? Sir Samuel, what is wrong?” “I must tell you that His Lordship is ill—very ill. He is abed as we speak here, and the Healers hold little hope for his recovery. Come quickly, M’Lord. He waits for you, but only the Great Cat knows for how long he will be able to wait….” His Grace beckoned Jack to join him in his coach. When he had done so, the coach moved off at a brisk pace towards the Great Manor. Sir Samuel and Tootoo followed close behind. Jack slumped deep into the cushioned seat. He looked at His Grace and started to speak, but found that he could not speak beyond uttering a low, primitive, and pitiful meow. His Grace leant close to Jack and laid his paw gently on his shoulder. “Be brave, my Jack. Be brave and—at your Grandfather’s side—show only your cheerful self.” Jack shook his head from side to side, wondering how he could possibly fulfill the Duke’s injunction. “I do not know how…” Jack started to respond. “Put first yourself in the paws of our Mother, the Great Cat, and then all things are possible.” Jack immediately felt shame. “Of course, Your Grace. After all that we have gone through in the Northern Hills in Her name, I—above all others—should know that.” The carriage of His Grace pulled up at the main entrance of the Great Manor. Blinky, Steward of the Great Manor, sprinted quickly out to the carriage and opened the door. “M’Lord, please, if you will… to His Lordship’s suite…!” His Grace gestured for Jack to ignore protocol and leave as quickly as he could. As Jack hurried into the Great Manor, Blinky assisted His Grace, the Duke, from his carriage and up into the Great Manor. Jack was quickly at the sad bedside of his Grandfather, Lord Wallingford. “Jack. My Jack. My dear Jack. Listen while I make to you my Testament.” “Oh, My Lord, please rest….” “When this day is over I will have plenty of time to rest. Now, I must use this time to speak. Jack, before you were brought to me I lived a truly shallow and empty life. Yes, it is so and I know it to be so. You have transformed me. How glibly did I once invoke the name of our Mother, the Great Cat, without any feeling of the awe and love that she should inspire. You must believe me that it is with true joy in my heart that I look forward to resting my cheek on her bosom.” With that, Lord Wallingford fell into a spell of silence. Jack leant closer and laid his paw on his Grandfather’s cheek. “Our Mother will receive your loving touch with the same pleasure that I receive as I touch your cheek.” Jack choked on silent sobs as his Grandfather struggled to raise his own paw to touch that of Jack’s as it lay on his Lordship’s cheek. Then Lord Wallingford resumed. “You know, I remembered your telling of your meeting with that wise old Mother in her hut by the swamp. I had her sought for and asked her to come and counsel me. We have met often while you campaigned in the Northern Hills. It is from her—and through her—that I have been reborn as a kitten of the Great Cat. “Oh Jack, I am so happy that you have done so much to bring Her message to the Free Cats of the Hills. But… but… oh Jack! There are so many forlorn cats out there—there, beyond our Shires of the Cats. Cats who are doomed to lives of pettage… or worse. Benighted cats! Cats bereft of knowledge of the Great Cat. Oh, how I now wish that I had done more while I was able….” Lord Wallingford fell back, exhausted by the growing excitement and remorse that he had given voice to. A resolve had begun to fill Jack’s heart. “Grandfather. I shall take your vision as my own! I swear to you that I shall make it my goal to bring the message of the Great Cat to all cats, wherever they may dwell and in whatsoever condition they may live!” “I could wish for no more. Jack, please ask Blinky to attend to me. And you… your Troopers must have need of you. Please attend to them. They are so….” Lord Wallingford shook his head slowly from side to side, unable to give further voice to his thoughts. Jack drew himself up from his Grandfather’s bedside and went to fetch the Steward Blinky. “Blinky.” Lord Wallingford labored to speak. “Blinky, remember I have spoke in the past of The Riddle?” “Yes, M’Lord.” “I must talk to my Grandson Jack of it tomorrow. But, if I… if I am unable… if I can not, you must tell the young Master (Lord Wallingford’s mind was wandering now, and he seemed to think he spoke of his lost son, Jefferson)… tell the young Master….” And here Lord Wallingford lapsed into unconsciousness. Blinky stood for a while—uncertain as to what to do. Then he went to the door and summoned the Healers to the bedside. As they entered and moved past him, Blinky searched his memory: What had His Lordship meant when he spoke of—a riddle? Try as he might, Blinky could recall only the most vague of memories of distant musings by His Lordship about some riddle—or such.