Anton and Cecil, Book 2 Read Free Page B

behind Cecil.
    â€œI don’t . . .” Cecil sprang backward as the thin man swung the broom at his head. “Hey!”
    The thin man sneezed again and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to blow his nose, still aiming the broom at Cecil like a sword. The men high above in the ratlines hooted down at the scene, laughing. “The poor mate,” one of them shouted. “Allergic to everything but the sea!”
    â€œI think he’s got a cold,” said Anton.
    â€œWell, that’s not
our
fault.” Cecil retreated a few steps and looked down. The dark seawater eddied far below the plank. If either of them fell . . . best not to think of that. “Now I see why the mice are so at home on this ship—no cats.”
    â€œWe can’t get past him,” said Anton, crouching low on the plank. “Let’s go back.”
    â€œWe can make it. We’ll just have to do this together.” Cecil eyed the mate. “Here’s the plan. Next time he sneezes, you slip past.”
    â€œMe?” Anton squeaked. “Why me?”
    â€œBecause you’re slimmer. Once you’re up, make him turn around, and then I’ll follow. Got it?”
    â€œThat plan is crazy. We’ll both end up drowned.”
    Cecil glanced at Anton. “Think about Hieronymus.”
    Anton looked past the thin man to the deck of the
Sea Song
. “It’s too far,” he said.
    â€œYou can do it, Ant Farm.” Cecil grinned at his brother.
    The man let out an enormous sneeze, raising the broom for a moment as he did so.
    â€œGo!” yelled Cecil.
    Anton bolted under the broom and between the thin man’s legs. In an instant he was through. He’d made it!

    The sailor opened his eyes and dabbed at his face with the handkerchief. Cecil stood before him on the plank, swishing his tail impishly. The man blinked at Cecil and stumbled backward. Anton let out a yowl from behind. The man cried out, turning sharply. The broom fell from his hand to the water below and he lunged to the side railing for balance as Cecil dashed past. More laughter rang out from the men on the masts as the two cats scrambled across the deck, darted into the first open hatch, and disappeared.

    â€œIt’s pretty dark down here,” whispered Anton.
    Cecil squirmed next to him and sighed. “But you can still see, right? You’re a cat.”
    â€œWell, yes,” Anton admitted. “Though there’s not much to see, really.”
    The hold was only half-full, mostly crates and a few barrels. A stack of wooden boards was secured with ropes against one wall of the hold, next to the ladder to the hatch.
    â€œI’m starving,” said Cecil, his nose working. “Nothing in here smells like food, except those berries.” He nodded toward some containers wrapped in burlap sacks in one corner.
    â€œThat’s why we stuffed ourselves with fish before we left, remember?” said Anton.
    â€œThat was ages ago. Who knows how long this trip will take? I’m heading up.” Cecil crept carefully to one end of the stack of boards and began to climb.
    Anton raised his voice. “You’ll be caught by that sickly mate,” he called to his brother.
    â€œNah,” said Cecil, peering up into the darkness from the top of the stack. “It’s probably nighttime now, when most of them sleep. I’ll just look around for a few scraps.” He tucked his front paws under his chest and settled in to wait for someone to open the hatch. When that happened, Anton knew, Cecil would dash up the ladder and blend in with the blanket of night on deck.
    â€œThat stomach of yours is nothing but trouble,” muttered Anton. He closed his eyes, but he waited as well, listening along with Cecil. At last a sailor, swinging a lantern before him, threw the hatch open and climbed down to retrieve a small cask. Anton opened his eyes just long enough to glimpse Cecil slipping up and