Cat's Paw

by Nick Green

  Even as Tiffany braced herself, her mind was elsewhere. Ben needed her, she knew it. Every moment she wasted here, she was not helping him. She hardly saw the screwdriver that slashed at her face – she flinched not a millisecond too soon.

  ‘Made ya blink!’ the boy snarled, raising his blade to strike.

  Tiffany’s jaw clenched, fear lodging as a lump in her throat. A lump, a copper-gold blend of catras, a bullet of energy… Ptah. It wasn’t quite the thunderclap that Mrs Powell had mustered, but it caught her attacker smack between the eyes. He looked as if he’d walked into a glass door – or, as her dad might have said, like you could knock him down with a feather. She stepped forward and, experimentally, pushed him over.

  Which felt worst? His battered bones, his face squashed against the concrete floor, or his arms twisted behind his back to be tied up yet again? None of them beat the feeling of being so badly let down.

  ‘This is for the rips in my jacket,’ said Jeep, pulling at a knot till Ben yelped in pain. ‘This one is for breaking my knife, this is for the cut on my ear, and this is because I hate you.’

  ‘Do some for me.’ Kevin scowled, flexing his scratched hand.

  ‘And for us,’ chirped Thomas and Hannah together.

  Jeep eyed them. ‘Right.’

  If they had offered the slightest help, Ben was sure he could have won the fight. If they had merely sat by and watched, he would still have had a chance, for neither Jeep nor Kevin could match his agility in an open space. But Hannah and Thomas had watched only until Kevin saw them and yelled. From that moment Ben was fighting four, and the end was swift and inevitable. The bruise that hurt most of all was where Thomas had kicked him on the shin.

  He lay face down, his tongue exploring a broken tooth. A draft made him shiver. His captors had stopped talking and he sensed clear space around him. Kevin’s trainers nervously scuffed the dust as a new footstep settled. Ben tensed – was it Geoff, come to save him? Then a musty smell stung his nostrils.

  ‘Kevin. Tell me about this.’

  ‘He attacked us. Said he had to stop you. It’s okay now.’

  ‘Why?’ Fisher spoke in an incredulous whisper. ‘I never did him any harm.’

  ‘Maybe he’s some kind of spy.’

  ‘I know! I know!’ Thomas piped up. ‘He’s working for the White Cat. He told us everything. The White Cat’s coming here tonight to try–’

  ‘–to try and stop us,’ Hannah chimed in, ‘and he sent Ben, and Ben tried to make us obey him but we wouldn’t, but the White Cat’s coming anyway and–’

  ‘The White Cat. Geoff… Geoff… GEOFF.’ Fisher gnashed the words, groping at the rag stuffed inside his tunic. ‘I understand you, Martin. I can help you, Martin. I won’t ever leave you, Martin. Trust me. Gaaaaaaaarggh!’ His fist crashed into the wall. As Fisher’s gangling height swooped down at him, Ben tried to curl up. Hands hooked into the loops of his bonds and hoisted him up level with the stony eyes.

  ‘He is coming here? Don’t fib. Don’t fib. He is coming here?’

  With the last of his courage Ben shook his head.

  ‘He is,’ cried Hannah. ‘He told us.’

  Ben hit the floor like a sack of china. Through ringing ears he heard Kevin say: ‘I’ll get them ready to leave.’

  ‘No leaving!’ Fisher breathed deeply through his nose. ‘He is here. I want him.’

  ‘Ex-cell-ent.’ Jeep unfolded his pocket crossbow. Kevin drew his knife.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Fisher seized Kevin’s red hair.

  ‘He is not alone. He has other cat-people. You must be cunning. Bait them.’

  ‘M-Martin, I don’t under–’

  ‘They are hunters,’ said Fisher. ‘Hunters chase. Don’t try to fight him. Lure him to me.’

  Kevin stumbled free, rubbing his scalp. Fisher stretched a hand towards Thomas and Hannah.

  ‘Bring the cat-boy.’

  Stumbling between them towards the stairs, Ben blinked at the cords that bound his arms, legs and chest. Where, in this stripped building, had they found so much rope? He fingered its plastic texture and felt as if a sword had gone through him. This stuff wasn’t rope. Jeep had tied him up with shock tube.

  PLAN B

  ‘Snappy little devils, aren’t they?’ Through a torn window board Geoff cheerily waved off the five polecat kids fleeing down Griffin Road into the night. ‘Good job, everyone.’

  ‘Messy, I thought.’ Mrs Powell stretched as if to ease backache.

  ‘She’s a sourpuss. Pay no attention.’

  ‘We were lucky, Geoffrey. If they had got upstairs they’d have warned their master.’

  ‘Lucky I’m lucky, then.’ Geoff had a final nose around. ‘Okay. This floor’s clear. Let’s do the fourth.’

  ‘Same plan?’ asked Yusuf.

  ‘You bet. Get above the polecats, then rush them so fast they don’t know what’s hit ’em. Break them up, flush ’em down to the exit. Simple.’

  ‘Simple can mean daft, of course.’

  ‘See what I used to put up with?’

  Prickly as pincushions, thought Tiffany, amused. It was like her and Ben multiplied by ten. Geoff and Mrs Powell must have had some famous quarrels in their years of working together. On the other hand, they seemed able to communicate with barely a word. Was it telepathy, or merely that they knew each other so well? She saw it happen on the third floor landing.

  Geoff said, ‘Best if we–?’ Mrs Powell merely glanced at the window. To that fleeting gesture, Geoff replied, ‘Then I’ll take–’ and Mrs Powell said, ‘And Tiffany, you come with me.’

  The confused Cat Kin followed Geoff to the lift shafts, except for Tiffany who climbed after Mrs Powell out of the window to cling to the tower’s sheer cliff face. This was hell on the fingers until Mrs Powell led her to an easier way up. A vast tarpaulin hung down the building’s flank, made of a glossy fabric that clung easily to their Mau claws. Looking up, Tiffany saw a surreal sight: tomorrow’s date in huge white letters. Sunday 6 April. Hang on a mo. It was early morning already. It was today.

  ‘We climb to the fifth floor,’ Mrs Powell whispered down. ‘The others will attack from the lifts. A pincer movement. Oldest trick in the,’ she missed a beat, ‘book.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Tiffany.

  A headshake. ‘Nothing I can put my finger on.’

  They slipped inside through another empty frame. Mrs Powell held up a hand. ‘I’ll let you get your breath back.’

  Tiffany was grateful, though she noticed Mrs Powell still panting after she herself had stopped.

  ‘You are all right?’

  ‘Twinges.’ Mrs Powell grimaced, flexed her right shoulder. ‘Don’t nag. I’m over sixty. And I don’t recover from gunshot wounds as well as I used to. Ready now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Once again they swooped down the stairs. On the blast floors Tiffany could see better, for the darkness was diluted by the wads of pale padding that wrapped many walls. She swept the landing with ears and eyes. Empty. Then a figure rushed her and she arched into a Ten Hooks defensive stance. She caught the glint of Daniel’s glasses.

  ‘Oi!’ she cried. ‘No hitting! It’s us.’

  Daniel swerved round her, skidding backwards on his toes as he turned. ‘Whoa. Sorry. Any luck back there?’

  ‘What’s that mean?’

  Cecile appeared with Olly in a doorway.

  ‘Find anyone, Dan?’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘Nah. It’s like the Mary Rose up here.’

  ‘The Mary Celeste,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘You mean it’s deserted?’

  Three more approaching shades turned into Susie, Yusuf and Geoff.

  ‘Zip,’ said Geoff. ‘I smell um but I no see um. Just tools on the floor. Must have left in a hurry.’

  ‘They ran away?’ Olly said hopefully.

  ‘Not down,’ said Yusuf. ‘We’d have seen them. They must have retreated up the stairs.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs Powe
ll, ‘they heard someone coming.’

  Geoff bristled. ‘They never heard me. Nor my team. Whereas I heard you two talking–’

  Tiffany cut in.

  ‘You stay here and argue over who they heard. I’m going to catch them before they reach their friends. They’ve still got five floors to climb.’

  The others stared. Mrs Powell smiled. ‘Listen to that girl.’ Then she was off, springing up the stairs in enormous bounds as if thirty of her years had melted away. Tiffany barely saw which way she went and even Geoff seemed hard-pressed to keep up. They took a scrambling corner on the seventh-floor landing and Cecile gave a cry, pointing upwards. Loose flakes of darkness – human shapes diving out of sight.

  ‘Got ’em,’ panted Geoff. ‘End of the road.’

  At the next break in the stairs he crouched.

  ‘They’re on this floor, I’m sure–’

  The air zinged. A blur crossed the corner of Tiffany’s eye and Mrs Powell spun past her, one arm cutting like a propeller. The zinging sound broke with a crack and two bits of stick fell to the floor.

  ‘Watch out,’ cried Mrs Powell.

  Geoff looked stunned. He picked up the sharp end of the crossbow bolt she had chopped in half, in mid-flight, on its way to his heart.

  Mrs Powell prodded him. ‘Over there!’

  Tiffany saw a figure with tattooed arms, leaning from the lift shaft aiming a weapon. Another hiss punctured the air and Geoff’s hand swept before his face. Suddenly an arrow was clasped in his fist. With lazy menace he advanced, twiddling the crossbow bolt through his fingers. Yet another bolt flew – whack, he caught that one too.

  ‘Do that again!’ he bellowed. ‘I dare you.’

  The shooter ducked back into the lift shaft. Geoff lunged across the landing, only to be swept aside by the torrent of polecats that poured without warning from the second shaft.

  Mrs Powell uttered a piercing howl. Many times Tiffany had woken to that sound when Rufus, patrolling among the chimney pots, sent warning to his rivals to steer clear of him, and even through layers of snug duvet it turned her nerves to tinkling icicles. Here, in this stark tower, it was electrifying. The time for stealth was over, it cried. This was war.

  The Cat Kin sprang like scalded cats. Tiffany watched herself as if from high above, flying in an arc, into the belly of the many-headed beast that rushed to meet them. Dreamily she thought We’re going to fight, and felt no fear, no emotion at all, just a huge rightness as the hours of practice and the wild force of Mau took over, and she was back in her body. Hands grabbed and knives whickered, all missing as she rebounded off invisible walls. Lashing down at her attackers with double-strikes, four claw jabs and a volley of sharp kicks, she felt as if she was doing the triple-jump over the tops of their heads.

  But the polecats came on. Forced to give ground in the face of their ferocity, she grasped a straw of wisdom that maybe saved her life. Cats were great warriors, but they weren’t soldiers. They were the air force. They fought like planes, striking from on high, lightning fast and untouchable. Comprehending the Ten Hooks dance as never before, she watched in fascination as her body became a whip and her leg a ball and chain, chopping her charging foe in mid-leap while twirling herself aloft, like a lethal version of the ballerina she’d once wished she could be.

  She felt the air shake from an impact nearby. Three masked figures reeled into three walls before Geoff’s falling feet touched on the floor. Tiffany knew it now by sight: jafri zafri, Geoffrey’s Affray, delivered by the maestro himself. He tipped her a wink.

  With that the polecat assault ran out of steam. In seconds they changed from a ravening mob to a bunch of unsettled teens. A tall boy with red hair was the first to flee. This broke the gang’s nerve and they scattered, some to the stairwell, some to the lift shafts. Most fled downwards but a handful seemed determined to reach their comrades on the floors above.

  ‘Stop them!’ Yusuf, his eyes white with battle fever, went charging with Daniel up the stairs.

  ‘Wait,’ called Mrs Powell, but Susie, Olly and Cecile were already in pursuit.

  ‘We can catch them,’ Susie cried, and was gone.

  ‘Stop this instant!’ Mrs Powell heaved a sigh. ‘I know, I’ll talk to this wall here.’

  ‘Never fear, I’ll head them off.’ Geoff climbed into the lift shaft. ‘You stay on the stairs.’

  Tiffany looked to Mrs Powell for a lead. All she got was an unreadable frown.

  ‘Mrs Powell? Do we go after them?’

  The brow stayed wrinkled.

  ‘Are you all right? It’s not your injury, is it–?’ Tiffany touched her. Mrs Powell twitched, as if waking up.

  ‘Oh. Tiffany.’

  ‘Mrs–?’ She was getting worried. ‘We still on the same page?’

  ‘You go.’ Mrs Powell was suddenly brisk. ‘I need to check something.’

  ‘Check what?’

  ‘A feeling. Probably nothing. I’ll join you in a minute. Now go. Chop-chop. You’re the only one I can trust to keep those silly kittens in line.’

  ‘But Mrs Powell!’

  ‘I said you’re in charge, Miss Maine. I trust that’s not a problem?’ She stepped into the lift that wasn’t there. When Tiffany stared down the empty shaft, her teacher was gone.

  ‘Thanks a bunch.’ She ran for the stairs.

  Ben recognised this feeling. He’d been placed centre stage. Being in the spotlight never normally bothered him, for at heart he was a show-off, usually first to volunteer for the school play. But if ever there was an excuse for stage fright, this was it.

  Fisher had dumped him by the concrete rail where the rooftop met the sheer drop. The tower’s roof was a flat, black yard, surrounding a central brick cabin that he guessed might have once held the water tanks. Anyone climbing to the top of the stairs would emerge from the cabin door and see Ben, trussed with explosive shock tube.

  Standing guard over him were Thomas and Hannah. Hannah held the end of the cord, tipped with a silver blasting cap and the last of Jeep’s bangers. Thomas held Jeep’s cigarette lighter. Every so often he tested it, striking a flame that veered wildly in the wind.

  ‘Would you mind?’ Ben jerked his head.

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’ Thomas moved so that the lighter wasn’t so close to Hannah’s fuse.

  ‘Hannah,’ Ben hissed. ‘Do you know what’ll happen if he lights that?’

  She looked away.

  Ben knew. At least, he could guess. In a slipknot of shock tube a pigeon had popped like a feathered balloon. The same cord was looped a dozen times around his body.

  Close overhead rolled earthy clods of cloud. Through the rail he could see the city of London, traced in lights and looking, to his sleep-starved brain, like a pinball table on standby. The bulbous Gherkin tower and its skinnier sisters could be the deflectors. The bonus multiplier was St Paul’s cathedral. Soon the sun’s shiny coin would slide through the horizon and it would all blaze into life… Oh no, please, he couldn’t die. Not if his final thoughts were going to be about pinball.

  What were Mum and Dad doing right now? Wandering around their separate homes, too distraught to go near their beds? In sudden horror he found he’d forgotten what they looked like. When he tried to picture their faces he saw two terrifying egg-like blanks.

  His tongue kept revisiting his agonising tooth, and his eyes kept returning to Fisher. Every time he saw the same still shadow, crouched atop the corner of the roof.

  A pounding headache competed with the cracked tooth. What exactly was concussion? He wriggled to scratch an itch on his back and noticed that his bonds felt looser. It struck him that the smooth shock tube was quite bad at holding knots. He blew out all his breath and fidgeted some more. One knot unravelled.

  ‘Stop doing that.’ Fisher was there beside him. Ben forgot how to breathe.

  ‘I count sixteen knots,’ said Fisher. ‘If any more come undone, Thomas will light you.’

  ‘Certainly, yes,’ said Thomas.

  Ben�
��s lungs stayed empty.

  ‘I can hear your mind speaking,’ said Fisher. ‘It is speaking, isn’t it? Thomas won’t do it. Thomas is my friend. He won’t let the cords crush me. I can hear your mind, Ben. And it fibs.’

  His chest began to pound.

  ‘He will do it. Hannah will do it. They pray to me for the chance to do it.’

  ‘Please, Martin.’ His guards spoke together. ‘Please let us do it.’

  ‘Hush.’ Fisher sniffed the air. He cocked his head and his huge bony hands clenched into fists. He emitted a chainsaw growl.

  ‘He is coming.’

  Ben breathed, like a drowning man pulled into the air.

  ‘Yusuf?’

  Tiffany tiptoed through the ninth floor. Her feet picked their way between discarded tools.

  ‘Cecile?’

  She pushed aside cables that dangled in her face, edging round corners packed with padding. Harsh drafts blew through every room, rinsing away the polecats’ scent.

  ‘Susie? Geoff?’

  Her Mau whiskers buzzed. Vibrations swarmed towards her through the air and floor. Fast feet, lots of them, rushing ever closer on a wave of raucous voices. She had to escape.

  ‘Here!’ someone hissed. Geoff’s face in a window made her jump.

  ‘Climb out, quick.’

  Geoff was clinging to the glossy banner that cloaked the outer wall, framed by the white D of Demolition. She swung herself out to join him as polecats stormed past the room where she’d been hiding.

  ‘That was a narrow squeak.’ He touched her shoulder. ‘You okay?’

  She nodded. The banner billowed in the wind, making the gleaming city sway.

  Geoff looked anxious. ‘Where’s Felicity?’

  ‘Oh, don’t ask. Did you catch the others?’

  He thinned his lips.

  ‘Well? Did you?’

  ‘They had the hunting frenzy. Nothing I could do. When a cat’s chasing prey you can’t just shout stop.’

  ‘But–’ Her hands slipped. She desperately scrabbled. Geoff grabbed the scruff of her pashki kit.

  ‘Whoa. Your claws can’t cope with all this hanging around. Let’s find a safer spot.’