“I wouldn’t count on it, if I were you,” someone replied.

He started and looked quickly in the direction of the speaker. There was no one there but the cat.

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “I heard you that time!” he snapped, irritated enough that he didn’t care how foolish he sounded. “You can speak, can’t you?”

The cat blinked and answered. “I can when it pleases me.”

Ben fought to regain his composure. “I see. Well, you might at least have the courtesy to announce the fact instead of playing games with people.”

“Courtesy has nothing to do with the matter, High Lord Ben Holiday. Playing games is a way of life with cats. We tease, we taunt, and we do exactly as we please, not as others would have us do. Playing games is an integral part of our personae. Those who wish to have any sort of relationship with us must expect as much. They must understand that participation in our games is necessary if they wish communication on any level.”

Ben stared at the cat. “How do you know who I am?” he asked finally.

“Who else would you be but who you are?” the cat replied.

Ben had to stop and think that one through a minute. “Well, no one,” he said finally. “But how is it that you can recognize me when no one else can? Don’t I look like someone else to you?”

The cat lifted one dainty paw and washed it lovingly. “Who you look like counts for little with me,” the cat said. “Appearances are deceiving, and who you look like might not be who you really are. I never rely on appearances. Cats can appear as they choose. Cats are masters of deception and masters of an art cannot be deceived by anyone. I see you for who you really are, not who you appear to be. I have no idea if how you appear just now is how you really are.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

“Whatever you say. I do know that however you might appear, you are in any case Ben Holiday, High Lord of Landover.”

Ben was silent a moment, trying to decide just what it was he was dealing with here, wondering where on earth this creature had come from.

“So you know who I am in spite of the magic that disguises me?” he concluded. “The magic doesn’t fool you?”

The cat studied him a moment, then cocked its head, reflecting. “The magic wouldn’t fool you either, if you didn’t let it.”

Ben frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“Much and little. Deception is mostly a game we play with ourselves.”

The conversation was turning a bit oblique. Ben sat back wearily. “Who are you, Mr. Cat?” he asked.

The cat stood up and came forward a few feet, then sat back down again, prim and sleek. “I am a great many things, my dear High Lord. I am what you see and what you don’t. I am real and imagined. I am something from the life you have known and something from dreams of life you have not yet enjoyed. I am quite an anomaly, really.”