The Kingdom of Carbonel

by Barbara Sleigh

  ‘This is most unusual,’ he said. ‘I have never been asked for it before. However, it is not for me to question a prescription.’

  He turned to the young man. ‘You’d better fetch the steps from the back, Mr Flackett.’

  ‘What is he going to do?’ Rosemary asked John anxiously.

  ‘Ask me another! I only hope Mrs Cantrip hasn’t double-crossed us!’ said John.

  The young man put the steps against the mahogany partition that divided the window from the shop, and mounted them gingerly, while the older man held them steady. Then he put both arms round the huge glass bottle of red liquid that they had seen from the other side of the road, and breathing heavily with the effort, tottered dangerously down the steps with it into the dispensary.

  John and Rosemary stood and listened to the fair-haired young lady serving a customer until the young man returned with a small medicine bottle full of red liquid. There was a pink mark down the front of his white jacket which he was rubbing with his handkerchief.

  ‘Such an awkward thing to pour from,’ he said to Rosemary, who noticed that his fingers were stained with the liquid. He wrapped up the bottle in white paper which he fastened at each end with a little blob of sealing wax.

  ‘Excuse me while I look it up in the price list,’ he said, flicking over the leaves of a catalogue. He licked his pink-stained thumb several times the better to turn the pages.

  Now this is a horrible habit as everyone knows, but what followed may have cured him forever. He turned to speak to John and Rosemary, and suddenly started. His mouth fell open and all the pink ebbed from his face, leaving it a curious greenish white.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Rosemary sympathetically.

  The young man swallowed hard.

  ‘It’s a funny thing,’ he said faintly, ‘but I distinctly thought I heard that black cat beside you speak! There is a black cat, isn’t there?’ he asked anxiously.

  John and Rosemary looked down. There was indeed. It was Carbonel. Tired of waiting outside, he had followed an old lady through the swinging door into the shop. The children looked at each other.

  ‘What did you think he said?’ John asked tactfully.

  The now pale young man swallowed hard again.

  ‘He said, in a cross voice, “Royalty, and left outside to wait like an old umbrella!” It doesn’t even make sense,’ said the young man unhappily.

  ‘That sounds like Carbonel all right!’ said John to Rosemary. The black cat stood between them, his ears slightly flattened and his tail twitching. The young man stared fascinated at the cat, and his colour began to come back, but he started violently once more.

  ‘He’s done it again!’ he said miserably. ‘He says – the cat I mean – to tell you not to take all day about it. Couldn’t you hear him, too?’ he pleaded.

  ‘No!’ said John and Rosemary. ‘We couldn’t, truthfully.’

  ‘But a cat talking! Whatever does it mean?’ asked the young man anxiously.

  ‘I expect it means that you’ve eaten something that has disagreed with you,’ said Rosemary truthfully.

  ‘I should take some Peterson’s Pink Pills,’ said John. They were the first thing that caught his eye. ‘And go to bed early. Good afternoon! Come on, Rosie!’

  He picked up the bottle from the counter and hurried Rosemary from the shop, Carbonel trotting at their heels.

  ‘But the poor young man! Shouldn’t we try to do something for him?’ Rosemary said.

  ‘My good girl, what can we do?’ said John. ‘I expect it will wear off in time, and if Carbonel had gone on talking in there, the poor man might have gone completely off his rocker. I suggest we don’t open this bottle till we get back to the Green Cave. We don’t want any more complications. Come on, let’s run!’

  5

  The Red Mixture

  It was long past teatime when John and Rosemary reached home. Mrs Brown was not there. In her place was a plate with some crumbs on it, and a note propped against the sugar basin which said, COULDN’T WAIT. WON’T HANG. GET YOUR OWN.

  Rosemary explained that this meant her mother had gone back to the sewing-room because the dress she was making would not fall in the folds she wanted, and that they were to see about tea for themselves.

  ‘I’m terribly hungry,’ said John. ‘Let’s take it with us to the Green Cave.’

  They put a plate of buns and two pieces of cake on a tray. Rosemary added cups of tea, and a saucer of milk for Carbonel; then they carried it into the garden.

  The black cat was waiting for them on the path by the currant bushes. As soon as he saw them, he disappeared among the leaves, and when John and Rosemary wriggled after him, with some difficulty because of the tea tray, they found him in the Green Cave sitting serenely on the rusty biscuit tin which had held the brandy snaps. Looking up at him from the kneeling position that was necessary in the cramped space between the bushes, they were a little awed by his quiet dignity. He was looking fixedly at the bottle which they had put on the tray.

  ‘Come on! Let’s see what the directions say,’ said John, as he tore off the wrapping paper. ‘It has an ordinary chemist’s label. “The Mixture,”’ he read. ‘“Half a teaspoon to be taken after meals as required.” Well, I’m always requiring meals. I’m requiring my tea like billy-oh!’

  ‘I don’t think it means “meals as required”,’ said Rosemary, ‘but “the mixture as required – after meals”.’

  ‘Oh,’ said John. ‘Well, let’s hurry up and have our tea now. I’m starving!’

  They each took a currant bun which they polished off with not much politeness but with great speed. Carbonel ignored the saucer of milk which Rosemary had poured for him. He sat staring expectantly at the children with wide, golden eyes.

  ‘We’d better eat the cake, too, to make it a meal,’ said John. ‘One bun is just a snack.’

  They finished the cake and drank the tea. What had not slopped in the saucers was cold and rather nasty, but Rosemary swallowed every drop of hers very slowly, because she found herself wanting to put off the moment of drinking the strange, red mixture. John was clearly feeling the same way.

  ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘There can’t be anything to be afraid of. The chemist’s assistant could hear Carbonel talking, when he licked his thumb with the red liquid on it, so we know it does what we want it to do. Let’s drink at exactly the same minute, then whatever it is will happen to us both at the same time.’

  Rosemary nodded, Carbonel came down from the tin, and purring encouragement, rubbed his head against her shoulder. They took their teaspoons and half filled them with the liquid, which fell sluggishly from the bottle. It had a strange, heady smell, rather like crushed chrysanthemum leaves. They knelt together with spoons raised.

  ‘I’ll say “One, two, three, go!”’ said John.

  Rosemary nodded again. She became aware that, except for John’s voice, it was very still in the Green Cave. Even the canopy of leaves above them had ceased its restless stirring. The only moving things were two fat caterpillars with tufted backs, making their way slowly along a twig on a level with Rosemary’s nose. She stared at them unheedingly while John said, ‘One! Two! Three! Go!’

  Rosemary took a deep breath, swallowed the spoonful quickly, and shut her eyes.

  Behind the red darkness of her tightly closed lids, she felt the liquid fizzing slightly on her tongue. It tasted sharp, but not unpleasant, and glowed comfortingly as it slipped down her throat. There was a tickling in her nose and a tight, uncomfortable feeling in her ears. She felt an enormous sneeze welling up inside her, the father and mother of all sneezes. She tried to fight it down, but it was no good. Suddenly she shattered the silence with three violent sneezes, each one echoed closely by another from John. The two children looked at each other with startled eyes.

  The silence was gone. They were surrounded by what at first sounded like a humming noise. Then the hum seemed to break up into innumerable little voices, some high and shrill, some sof
t and purring, some abrupt as the plucking of a violin string. Rosemary was startled to distinguish a small, singsong voice quite close to her ear saying over and over again, ‘Up we go! Up we go!’

  She looked around, and saw with astonishment that it was the second of the two caterpillars.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

  The second caterpillar halted for a moment, waved its front half about uncertainly, and then hurried after its companion.

  ‘Don’t look round now,’ it said breathlessly, ‘but I think we’re being spoken to – by a human! What a mercy the great blundering things can’t hear us talking!’

  ‘But I can hear you talking!’ said Rosemary, a little nettled at being called ‘blundering’.

  Both the caterpillars turned around in astonishment, lost their balance and fell off the twig on to the grass below in two tightly rolled coils from which they refused to budge.

  ‘Rosie!’ said John. ‘There’s a super beetle here, all green and blue, and he says –’

  ‘John and Rosemary, will you kindly pay attention!’

  They turned to where Carbonel sat enthroned on the biscuit tin, the end of his tail twitching in irritation.

  ‘That is, of course, unless you find the conversation of beetles and caterpillars more worth while than mine!’

  ‘Carbonel! How glorious!’ said Rosemary happily. ‘We can hear you talking, too!’

  ‘Which is not much use unless you’re prepared to listen. After all the trouble I’ve taken with you!’

  ‘The trouble you’ve taken with us!’ said John.

  But Carbonel swept on. ‘I thought I should never get you to understand what I wanted, and when at last you did realize you had to find Mrs Cantrip, and I tried to stop you from wasting your time by going off to the Copper Kettle, would you take any notice? Oh, dear me, no!’

  ‘Don’t let’s waste time now by being cross!’ said Rosemary. ‘We did the best we could, and we never expected to be able to hear beetles and caterpillars talking as well as you. It is rather exciting, you know!’

  She put out her hand, and laid it gently over the angry, twitching end of Carbonel’s tail. For a moment she could feel it stirring beneath her palm. Then, gradually, the furry movement slowed down and ceased altogether.

  ‘Oh, come off it, Carbonel!’ said John affectionately.

  The black cat took him at his word and stepped down from the box.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I have no doubt you did do your best, and I am grateful. And I must say, you were very quick witted to bargain with her for the prescription. Now, pay attention, both of you, because I don’t have much time. I have not gone to all this trouble for the pleasure of a mere chat, though I won’t deny I am pleased to see you both again. Very pleased. I need your help.’

  ‘Of course we’ll help you! Won’t we, John?’ said Rosemary.

  ‘Tomorrow I must go away,’ Carbonel said.

  ‘Go away!’ said Rosemary in dismay. ‘Where to?’

  ‘And when we’ve just found out how to talk to you!’ said John.

  ‘There you go again! Listen, and I will explain. You know that I am a royal cat, and that my people have their own laws and customs. After dark, the wall tops are our highways and the roofs our mountains and our plains. The Town Hall has been the royal seat of my ancestors for two hundred years, and there I hope my descendants will rule after me. Now that is where I need your help. My royal children –’

  ‘Kittens! Your kittens!’ said Rosemary excitedly. ‘Carbonel, how lovely! How many have you got? And why didn’t you tell us? We should –’

  ‘I am trying to tell you now!’ said Carbonel severely.

  ‘But –’

  ‘Shut up, Rosie!’ said John under his breath.

  ‘You may not know,’ went on Carbonel, ‘that it is our custom for each cat to select a human family to look after.’

  ‘Don’t you mean the humans choose a cat?’ said John.

  ‘Certainly not!’ said Carbonel coldly. ‘The humans, of course, repay a little of their debt to us with a place by the fire, a saucer of milk, little offerings of fish and meat according to their humble means.’

  ‘But besides catching mice, what –’ began John. It was Rosemary’s turn to give a warning nudge.

  ‘Our great gift to the human race is our example.’

  ‘Example?’

  ‘That is what I said. You fuss and flurry and rush about all day, and for what? In the midst of it all, we sit calm and unruffled, meditating on the mystery of Life and Eternity.’

  ‘But your kittens,’ said Rosemary. ‘Do tell us about them! How many are there? And are they like you? Oh, I must see them!’

  ‘There are two of them, a boy and a girl,’ said Carbonel. ‘They are said to be remarkably handsome – but whether they are like me you must judge for yourselves,’ he added modestly.

  ‘Then we can see them?’

  ‘Certainly. I have chosen you to look after them while I am away.’

  ‘Of course we’ll look after them for you! We’d love to, wouldn’t we, John? I shall have to ask Mother, of course, but I’m sure she will say yes.’

  ‘Guard them faithfully till I come back.’

  ‘When will that be?’ asked John.

  ‘Three days? Three weeks? Three months? Who can tell?’

  ‘But why must you go?’ persisted John.

  ‘Once every seven years I and my royal brothers are summoned to the presence of the Great Cat.’

  ‘But who are your royal brothers?’ asked Rosemary.

  ‘You must not think that I am the only cat king,’ explained Carbonel. ‘Every city in the world where there are cats has a king to rule over them, just as I rule over the cats of Fallowhithe. When the Summons comes, we must all obey. There will be lean, blue-eyed cats from Siam, long-haired cats from Persia, great tawny jungle cats, and thin, big-boned cats from Egypt. Cats of every colour – black as coal, white as milk, grey as woodsmoke. Whatever the colour, whatever the kind, when the Summons comes we all must answer.’

  ‘But who will look after your kingdom for you while you are away?’ asked John.

  ‘My beautiful Queen, my lovely Blandamour, will rule with the help of my cousin Merbeck. Blandamour is wise and good, but I cannot answer for all the queens of the neighbouring towns. Queen Grisana of Broomhurst is ambitious, and her husband is old. Do not let my kittens stray.

  They are a little –’ There was a pause, as though Carbonel were searching for the right word. ‘High spirited,’ he concluded. ‘Early tomorrow morning, before I go, I shall visit you again and bring my royal children with me.’

  It was getting dark in the Green Cave, and the shadow that was Carbonel slipped silently down from the biscuit tin and rubbed against Rosemary, and his purring filled the little space under the currant bushes like an organ. A warm tongue licked her cheek.

  ‘Dear Carbonel!’ said Rosemary, putting her arms round him for a minute. ‘Of course we’ll do our best to take care of your kittens, but do you think –’

  She broke off. The black cat had slipped from her and melted into the other shadows.

  6

  The Royal Kittens

  They did not ask that night if they might have the kittens after all. Rosemary felt that her mother was not in a ‘yes-of-course-darling’ mood. She was still having trouble with a dress she was making, and only looked in to tell them to take the sausages on the cracked plate for supper.

  ‘Never mind,’ said John. ‘You can ask at breakfast tomorrow. Don’t forget, Carbonel said he was coming early.’

  But Carbonel’s idea of early was rather different from theirs.

  Rosemary was awakened next morning by a fly which buzzed persistently around her pillow. She brushed it away with a sleepy hand once or twice, and turned over; but the fly continued to buzz. Presently she became aware that it was not just buzzing. It was saying over and over again in a shrill, angry voice, ‘For goodness’ sake, wake up!’

/>   Rosemary opened one eye sleepily, and saw the fly a few inches away on the curve of her pillow. It was jumping up and down angrily on all of its six legs.

  ‘I am awake,’ said Rosemary sleepily, and gave a cavernous yawn.

  The fly made a noise that sounded like an outraged squeak, and braced itself.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ it said in an agitated voice. ‘I once knew a fly who was swallowed by a yawn!’

  ‘How horrible!’ said Rosemary, thinking more of the yawner than the fly. She was wide awake now and sitting up.

  ‘Here am I, simply come to deliver a message to oblige, and my very life is threatened! First you go flapping like a windmill, and then –’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rosemary humbly.

  ‘And you should be,’ said the fly a little more calmly. ‘Many people would just have flown off without delivering the message. But not me. I’m not that kind of fly. Luckily for you, I have a weakness for royalty.’

  ‘Royalty?’ interrupted Rosemary. ‘Is it from Carbonel? The message, I mean.’

  The fly nodded importantly.

  ‘I was just to tell you, “We are here.” Kings talk like that, you know,’ it added condescendingly.

  ‘But where is “here”?’ asked Rosemary.

  ‘The greenhouse at the bottom of the garden. Oh! There you go again!’

  Without warning, Rosemary had flung back the bedclothes and jumped out of bed. Buzzing angrily, the fly circled round her as she dressed.

  ‘I am sorry!’ she said again, ‘and of course I’m very grateful to you, but I must go and tell John at once. I think I’ve got some sugar somewhere.’

  She felt in the pocket of her school blazer and brought out a rather dusty sugar lump, which she put on the dressing table. Then, in one movement, she pushed her toes into her slippers and her arms into her dressing gown.