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"Master?" The cat peeked into the window of the mage’s study. Her lips did not move, but the mage could hear her just the same. He looked at her with astonishment, as if a creature from the fairy tales had suddenly come to life and knocked on his door -- which was exactly what had just happened.

The cat had a hopeful, almost desperate look in its eyes, and seemed quite unaware of the effect she was having on the young man.

"A story for some supper, master?" Bolder now, the cat sat on the window sill and licked her lips. She could be mistaken for any common calico, but if one looked closely, one could see that the blacks of her coat were deeper than night, the whites, purer than snow and the reds, richer than blood.

"A saucer of milk would do."

"A cat ‘o nine tales!" was all the mage could murmur.

"Soon-to-be-late cat ‘o nine tales, if I don’t get anything to eat!" the cat sniffed. "Besides, my kind knows more than just nine tales. I personally know over nine thousand."

The mage had to smile at that. Cats, be they fantastic or mundane, were never very good at begging. He got up and poured her a saucer of milk.

"Let it not be said that anyone left the home of Darius Laconis hungry -- tale or no tale," the mage said as he set the saucer on the sill before the cat. "I am called Darius," he said, "and what are you called?"

The cat lapped at the milk hungrily and it was a while before she raised her head. When she did, Darius poured more milk. "You can call me anything you like, considering that once I tell you my tale, I shall be off." She licked her lips again, "Excellent milk."

"There is plenty where that came from," Darius said, "as well as a warm, dry place to sleep and some salmon now and again."

The cat looked up at the mention of salmon. "Are you offering me board and lodging?" she asked, leaping onto the mage’s study. She absently looked at the book he was reading. It was A Thousand and One Arabian Nights. "And what shall my rent be?"

"Oh, nothing," said Darius as he moved the saucer to where the cat was, "except, maybe company, conversation, a tale now and then..."

"And I suppose you shall put a collar around my neck and lead me around on a leash."

"Oh no!" the mage exclaimed with distress, "nothing like that at all! It's just that Deeping Manor is so huge and I have been all by myself ever since my master Leto passed away..."

He sat down heavily. "There is just me, and Bessie and..."

"Bessie?"

"The cow. She gives good milk, but is absolutely no good for conversation."

"Of course," the cat murmured in sympathy.

"And the books."

The cat’s eyes lit up. "Did you say books?"

"Why, yes. Deeping Manor has tons of them...."

"I love reading..." there was a dreamy look in her eyes now.

"Then you’ll stay?"

The cat snapped out of her reverie, "Only if I get to come and go as I please and I do not have to fetch and carry for you," but she was smiling (as only a cat can smile) when she said that.

Darius smiled too, "So, what do I call you?"

The cat looked again at the book the mage was reading. "Scheherazade. I’ve always liked her."

"You’ve read the Arabian Nights?"

"My grandmother knew her personally. Gave her the idea of telling stories to the sultan." She puffed out her chest proudly, "it worked too. Now, which way to my room?"

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