I t was both. Miarr, human but CatConnected many generations from the past, was fighting for his life.
Miarr was a small, slight man who weighed little - five Miarrs equaled the weight of Fat Crowe, and two Miarrs equaled the weight of Thin Crowe. Which meant that against the Crowe twins, Miarr was effectively outnumbered seven to one.
Miarr had been on the Watching platform when the Crowes and Jakey Fry had staggered in with their ropes and thrown them to the floor. Miarr had asked what the ropes were for and was told, "Nothin' fer yer to bother about - not where yer going."
One look at Jakey Fry's terrified face told Miarr all he needed to know. He had scuttled up the foot-pole (a pole with footrests placed on either side), thrown open a trapdoor and taken refuge in a place that normally no one would have dared to follow - the Arena of the Light.
The Arena of the Light was the circular space at the very top of the lighthouse. In the center of the circle burned the Sphere of Light - a large, round sphere of brilliant white light. The Light was encircled by a narrow white marble walkway. Behind the Light, on the island side of the lighthouse, was a huge, curved plate of gleaming silver, which Miarr polished every day. On the seaward side were two enormous glass lenses, which Miarr also polished every day. The lenses were set a few feet back from the two almond-shaped openings - the eyes - through which the Light was focused. The eyes were four times the height of Miarr and six times as long. They were open to the sky and, as Miarr slammed the trapdoor shut and fastened it down, a fresh summer breeze scented with sea blew in and made the cat-man feel sad. He wondered if this would be the very last morning he would ever smell the sea air.
The only hope that Miarr had was that the Crowes would be too scared to come up to the Arena of the Light. After many generations Miarr's family had adapted to the Light by growing secondary dark eyelids - LightLids - through which they could see without being blinded by the Light. But anyone without that protection who looked straight at the Light would find that its brilliance seared the eyes and left scars in the center of vision so that, forevermore, they would see the shape of the Sphere of Light in a black absence of vision.
But when a battering began on the underside of the trapdoor, Miarr knew his hope was in vain. He crouched beside the Light and listened to the thud s of Thin Crowe's fists on the flimsy metal of the trapdoor, which was made only to be Light-tight, not Crowe-proof. He knew it would not last long.
Suddenly the trapdoor flew off its hinges, and Miarr saw Thin Crowe's shaven head sticking through the hole in the walkway, wearing two dark blue ovals of glass over his eyes, looking like one of the giant insects that invaded his worst nightmares. Miarr was terrified - he realized that whatever it was the Crowes were about to do had been carefully planned. Thin Crowe pulled himself onto the walkway, and Miarr waited, determined that whichever way Thin Crowe came at him, he would go the other. They could go on a long time like that, he thought. But Miarr's hopes were suddenly dashed. Fat Crowe's head, complete with insect eyes, appeared through the trapdoor. With utter horror - and amazement - Miarr watched Thin Crowe heave his brother through the tiny hole and pull him out onto the walkway where he lay, winded, like a blubbery fish on a slab.
Miarr closed his eyes. This, he thought, is the end of Miarr. Now the Crowes began their party piece - the Pincer- Splat. It was something that they had practiced down many a dark alley in the Port. The Pincer began when, very slowly, they would approach a terrified victim from either side. The victim would watch one, then the other, trying desperately to figure out which way to run - then, at the very moment of decision, the Crowes would pounce. Splat. And so it was with Miarr. He shrank back against the wall opposite the trapdoor and, through his LightLids, he watched his nightmares come true: slowly, slowly, stepping carefully along the marble walkway, with tight little smiles and fingers flexing, the Crowes came at him from both sides, inexorably drawing closer. The Crowes herded Miarr toward the eyes of the lighthouse, as he had known they would. Finally he stood in the space between the eyes, his back to the wall, and he wondered which eye they would throw him out of. He cast a glance at the rocks far below. It was a long way down, he thought - a very long way down. He said a silent good-bye to his Light.
Splat! The Crowes pounced. Working in harmony - the only time they ever did - they grabbed Miarr and lifted him high. Miarr let out a yowl of terror and, way down the lighthouse, on the fourth platform, Lucy and Wolf Boy heard it and got goose bumps. The Crowes, surprised at the lightness of the cat-man, were caught off-balance. Twisting and spitting - more like a snake than a cat - Miarr flew out of their grasp, up in the air, out through the left eye and into the empty sky. For a fraction of a second - which felt like an eternity to Miarr - he hung poised between the Crowes' throw and gravity's pull. He saw four bizarre images of himself reflected in the Crowes' insect eyes: he was apparently flying and screaming at the same time. He saw his precious Sphere of Light for what he was sure would be the last time, and then he saw the rush of black as the wall of the lighthouse flashed past him at - literally - breakneck speed. Catlike, Miarr automatically turned so that he faced the ground and, as he fell, the rush of wind forced his arms and legs into a star shape, causing his sealskin cloak to spread out like a pair of bat's wings. Miarr's plummet turned to a gentle glide and - had a gust of wind not knocked him against the side of the lighthouse - he would very likely have landed on the Marauder, directly below.
And so it was that Miarr used up one more of his original nine lives - leaving six remaining (he had used one when he was a baby and had fallen in the harbor and another when his cousin had disappeared).
Lucy and Wolf Boy did not hear the sickening thud of Miarr hitting the lighthouse wall. It was masked by the clang of Theodophilus Fortitude Fry's approaching footsteps. Lucy and Wolf Boy had not moved from the landing. The terrible yowl from above had sent a chill through both of them and, as Skipper Fry's steps neared the final turn up to the landing, Wolf Boy whispered, "It will be us next."
Wide-eyed, Lucy nodded.
Wolf Boy pushed against the door behind them and, to his surprise, it opened. Quickly he and Lucy slipped inside and found themselves in a small room furnished with three sets of bare bunks and a locker-like cupboard. Silently Wolf Boy closed the door and began to bolt it, but once again Lucy stopped him.
"He'll know for sure that we're in here if you do that," she whispered. "Our only chance is for him to look and not find us. That way he'll think we've gone on ahead."