‘I hope that will not be necessary,’ said Merbeck. ‘From now on you shall be guarded night and day!’
‘Don’t you think –’ began Rosemary uneasily.
‘I think you’re fussing!’ said John.
‘I will be careful,’ said Blandamour, ‘I promise you that.’
‘And speaking of the royal kittens!’ went on Merbeck thoughtfully, ‘it seems to me that while they are here they may still be in danger. Would it not be better to hide them?’
‘But where?’
Promptly from under the bed came the voice of Tudge. ‘At Turley’s Farm for sure! Oh, leave me be, Woppit, you old busybody!’ he added in a hoarse whisper.
‘Come here, my faithful Tudge!’ said Blandamour.
Tudge heaved his ungainly form on to the bed, ducked awkwardly but respectfully at the white cat and said, ‘If you’ll pardon the liberty, not never before having even passed the time of day with royalty, but willing to serve you, ma’am, and them royal kits to the last whisker.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Now I was thinking, at Turley’s cats and kittens is as common as pebbles on a gravel path, and if so be I was to say my sister Woppit was come from the town with her two kitlings for a holiday, nobody wouldn’t think twice about it, if so be Your Majesty wouldn’t take it as a liberty…’ his voice trailed off.
‘My good Tudge, it is an excellent idea. With you and Woppit to guard them, I am sure they will come to no harm.’
‘But I want to defend Father’s kingdom, too!’ complained Calidor. ‘I’d give it ’em!’ He pounced violently on John’s toes which John had moved unwarily under the bedclothes. Pergamond did not seem pleased at this arrangement either.
‘Nasty, common, country cats!’ she complained with a toss of her tortoise-shell head.
Blandamour for once looked really angry and she gave her a cuff that sent her rolling. But the farm cat did not seem offended.
‘Common and country maybe, little royal ma’am, but nasty, no! Now come along with old Tudge, and perhaps he’ll tell you about some of the adventures he had when he were at sea aboard the Mary Jane.’
Calidor struggled down the trailing bedspread on to the floor. ‘Were you at sea?’ he said.
‘Ship’s cat, I were,’ said Tudge. ‘Together with my mate Wyb. High old times we had, what with the flying fish.’
‘Flying fish?’ said Pergamond, and scrambled down, too.
‘Ah, my pretty, like sardines with wings, but not so tasty. Now, there was one night when a storm blew up…’
The two kittens trotted off, one on either side of Tudge, listening eagerly. Before he went through the door, he turned and winked broadly.
Woppit tossed her head and bowed at the same time, hoping that this would show both respect for Queen Blandamour and disapproval of her brother’s low manners. Then she followed the kittens.
‘I suppose we couldn’t help when the attack comes?’ asked John.
Blandamour shook her head. ‘That would be very unwise. Grisana cheated by enrolling the help of Mrs Cantrip. You have done for us what we could never have done alone. If they must quarrel, cats against cats and humans against humans, that is the order of things.’
‘If we can arrange for you to be present we will send a message,’ said Merbeck. ‘But now we must go. There is so much to do!’
27
The Friendship Ceremony
Mrs Brown kept John in bed all the next day, but before breakfast on Friday, Rosemary went to fetch the milk. She ran quickly downstairs, and as she picked up the two bottles the milkman had left for Mrs Brown, a young cat with a glossy black coat and a white face trotted briskly up to her.
‘Name of Rosemary?’ he asked.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Message for you from Councillor Merbeck,’ he said importantly. Then he looked around cautiously and lowered his voice. ‘The attack is planned for midnight tonight. Be at the Green Cave at half past eleven.’
‘Yes, but…’ began Rosemary.
‘Can’t stop, too much to do!’ said the black cat and hurried away.
‘Good oh!’ said John when she told him. He was dressed and making the toast for breakfast in front of the gas fire in the sitting room. ‘I hoped they wouldn’t forget us. I do want to be in on the attack.’
‘I don’t think I want to be there much,’ said Rosemary. ‘But on the other hand I should be miserable at home not knowing what was happening.’
‘Anyway, we’ve got this Friendship affair this afternoon,’ said John.
It was due to begin at half past two. At two o’clock, after a very merry lunch, for Mr Featherstone had joined them again, John carried down the picnic basket. They were going to make an outing of it.
‘Why, Mummy!’ said Rosemary, as her mother got into Mr Featherstone’s ancient car, ‘what a lovely new dress!’
‘I think you look gorgeous!’ said John.
‘I couldn’t put it better myself,’ said Mr Featherstone gravely. ‘Gorgeous is the word!’
Mrs Brown went quite pink, but she laughed and said she was sure it was time they started.
When they reached the new houses of Broomhurst Road, there was no doubt where the ceremony was to be held. A long row of cars was parked on either side, and a loud speaker van was playing ‘Land of Hope and Glory’. The completed houses stretched in an unbroken line. Nearly all of them had curtains at the windows, and the corner where John had hidden from Mrs Cantrip behind the half-built wall already housed a washing machine.
A crowd had collected round the one unfinished part, a short stretch of garden wall. Behind it stood the Mayors of Broomhurst and Fallowhithe in their mayoral robes, supported by a number of important local people. When the loud speaker had finished playing, the Mayor of Fallowhithe made a long speech about what an historic occasion it was for both towns and one which he hoped would bind them more firmly together in a bond of friendship and healthy rivalry. Then the Mayor of Broomhurst replied in much the same way. The speeches were rather long, and John, whose attention was wandering, suddenly nudged Rosemary.
‘Look! Over there in the front row!’
It was Mrs Cantrip. She was listening very solemnly and clapping from time to time rather more loudly than was necessary. At last the speeches were over and the Mayor of each town took a trowel and some mortar, and amidst some laughter, laid two bricks side by side in token of the cementing of the friendship between Broomhurst and Fallowhithe, and Mrs Cantrip clapped so loudly that people turned and stared.
‘Who is that extraordinary old woman?’ asked Mr Featherstone. Both John and Rosemary thought it better not to tell him. Then the Mayors shook hands and the loud speaker van played ‘Jerusalem’, followed by ‘God Save the Queen’, and the crowds began to move away.
‘There’s nothing more to wait for,’ said Mrs Brown.
‘Let’s wait a bit longer,’ said Rosemary, who felt unwilling to go.
‘There’s nothing more to see,’ said Mr Featherstone, ‘except the man who is finishing the wall.’
A bricklayer was skilfully and rapidly filling up the rest of the gap. Rosemary thought it was the same man to whom they had talked on the day they had found the rocking chair. Thinking of the rocking chair reminded her of Mrs Cantrip. She looked around, but the old woman was gone.
‘Just look at those two cats!’ said Mrs Brown.
They were sitting behind the workman, apparently half asleep, their eyes nearly closed. But there was an alertness about them that did not deceive Rosemary.
‘They look like Noggin and Swabber, those two cats we met on the high place!’ she whispered to John.
‘Will you finish the wall today?’ asked Mrs Brown.
‘Bless you, yes!’ said the man, skilfully scraping off a piece of unwanted mortar and slapping it into position.
The cats were wide awake now. They were staring at the bricklayer with unblinking eyes.
‘By five o’clock this afternoon it’ll all be done, and smooth on the t
op as your Ma’s tape measure!’ he said to Rosemary, and at the word ‘five’, Noggin and Swabber were off down the road to Broomhurst like greased lightning, as John put it.
‘And talking of lightning, I think there’s thunder about,’ said Mr Featherstone.
It was certainly very close. ‘I vote we have tea in Bagshott Wood. It may be cooler there.’
The tea was delicious, with ice cream and some late raspberries brought by Mr Featherstone as his share of the feast. Afterwards, John and Rosemary lay on their backs in the dry beech leaves, and looked up at the shifting chinks of sky between the branches above them. They had so much to think about that they were rather quiet. The grownups talked earnestly together, but the children lay there listening to the animal conversations going on around them.
A bird sang a song somewhere about the joys of bringing up a family. The song had a chorus of trills and tralas, and the last verse went on to say that perhaps the joy of being free again when the family had flown away was even better. Two spiders were arguing about the best way to start a web between two trees. A rabbit looked around a stump and said in disgust, ‘More humans!’ and disappeared again.
Mrs Brown and Mr Featherstone went off for a walk, and as the flowered dress and the grey flannels disappeared between the trees, Rosemary said, ‘You know, the best part of all this magic has been the power to hear animals talk. I don’t think I could bear to have it taken away now!’
‘Nor me,’ said John, not bothering about his grammar. ‘You know, I think waiting is the hardest thing of all to do. I don’t think half past eleven tonight will ever come!’
28
The Attack
In spite of their doubt, half past eleven did come at last. Mrs Brown had gone to bed early.
‘That long walk with Mr Featherstone this afternoon must have made her tired,’ whispered John as they crept downstairs with their sandals in their hands. This time they were taking no chances and were fully dressed.
It was hot and very still in the darkened garden. In the Green Cave, not a leaf stirred above them. They took it in turns to sit on the biscuit tin to put on their sandals. Presently a darker shadow slipped between the bushes, and the brisk voice of the cat who had delivered the message that morning said, ‘Greetings to you, sir and miss!’
‘Greetings to you!’ said Rosemary politely.
‘I have been instructed to see you safely to headquarters, and I assure you, you will be perfectly safe in my charge.’
‘That’s very good of you,’ said John, who felt quite capable of looking after himself and Rosemary. ‘But all the same –’
‘Not at all!’ broke in the animal, as they crawled out of the Green Cave. ‘Not that it is for everybody I’d risk missing my place in the battle, no sir! But your fame has gone far and wide, as the gallant rescuers of the royal kittens, and I’d look on it as an honour,’ he said graciously. ‘Leadbitter is the name.’
They followed him out of the garden into the road.
‘Where are the headquarters?’ asked Rosemary.
‘Ssh!’ said Leadbitter hurriedly. ‘The very lampposts may have ears!’ he whispered. ‘Follow me!’
John and Rosemary followed. Leadbitter trotted on in the swift, effortless way of the cat with a purpose, and they had their work cut out to keep up with him. An occasional car sped by, and sometimes a late homecomer walked quickly past, and looked curiously at the two children. Several times they were overtaken by other cats hurrying in the same direction. To each one Leadbitter called softly, ‘Bittem?’ and the animal would answer, ‘Haddock heads!’ And apparently satisfied, Leadbitter would trot on again. Once they saw a large tabby cat accompanied by a very small one. ‘This is not a night for kittens to be abroad, ma’am!’ said Leadbitter firmly. ‘Better take him indoors as quickly as possible!’
‘Yes, sir, this very minute, sir. I’m taking him out of harm’s way to his auntie, sir!’ came the answer.
They hurried on, and as they neared the Old Town, John said, ‘Rosie, look at that wall!’
The pavement along which they were hurrying ran beside a wall which towered like a cliff above them. Rosemary looked up and saw along the top a steady stream of animals, trotting silently, purposefully along. Leadbitter turned to see why they had stopped, and looked up, too.
‘Ours,’ he said briefly. ‘Come on!’
When at last they turned the corner at the end of the street, they found themselves by a churchyard.
‘St Michael’s!’ said Rosemary.
‘It’s a ruin, isn’t it?’ asked John.
Rosemary nodded.
‘Only since the war. The tower is complete, though. People pay sixpence to go up and see the view from the top through the telescope. Is that where the headquarters are?’ she asked. ‘But how can we get inside? The keeper locks it every night.’
‘Well, tonight isn’t the first time he’s forgotten!’ said Leadbitter, and trotted across the road and up to the iron studded door. ‘Go on! Open it! We have other means of getting to the top, but you will have to use the stairs.’
John turned the handle. The door opened easily. It was dark inside the tower, but as their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they saw a winding stair up which they followed their guide, who was, of course, able to see perfectly well. As they stumbled up behind him, they passed three narrow windows, by which they paused to regain their breath. Through the first they saw they were level with the second floor windows of the houses opposite. Through the second window they were level with the roof tops. But when they plodded rather breathlessly past the third window, they could see nothing but the deep blue of the night sky. At last they reached the belfry where the three church bells hung, silent, above them. Rosemary put up her arm as something swooped and fluttered around their heads. It was a bat.
‘A disgraceful intrusion!’ it complained in a high, peevish voice. ‘Bats in the belfry I always understood it was, not dozens of cats, and now two great lumbering humans as well!’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Rosemary. ‘We didn’t mean to disturb you, and we will try not to lumber.’
‘Hearing humans, eh?’ twittered the bat. ‘Well, I suppose that’s different,’ and he darted through the open trap door above them.
Leadbitter, followed by John and Rosemary, climbed up the wooden ladder that led to the square of star-studded sky. He paused as a cat’s head was outlined against the stars, and a pair of green eyes looked down on them. ‘Halt, and give the password!’ said the head.
‘Haddock heads!’ said Leadbitter. ‘I’ve brought the sir and miss.’
‘The Councillor is waiting for you. Look lively and come up.’
They came out into the night air. Many times Rosemary had paid her sixpence and climbed the tall church tower to look through the telescope which stood at the top. You could see the roofs of Fallowhithe spread beneath. Away in the distance to the south, across the fields, you could see the smudge of houses that was Broomhurst. But that, of course, was in daylight. With John she came out, not on to the leaded roof she had expected, but on to an uneven rocky hollow, surrounded, not by the carved pinnacles of the church tower, but by strangely formed jagged rocks. There was no telescope. Where Rosemary thought it stood was a little, stunted tree. But they had no time to examine anything as Merbeck trotted up.
‘My dear John and Rosemary, you are just in time! From here you will be able to watch the progress of the attack in safety. What are you fidgeting for, Leadbitter? Yes, yes, of course you may go now!’
Leadbitter gave a quick bow to Rosemary.
‘Good luck, my boy!’ called Merbeck. ‘For Queen and country! I only wish I were ten years younger!’ But Leadbitter had already disappeared.
‘But where is Queen Blandamour?’ asked John.
‘She insisted on addressing our faithful Fallowhithe animals before the attack.’
‘Like Queen Elizabeth the First at Tilbury before the Spanish Armada,’ whispered Rosemary.
‘Sh
e is surrounded by a powerful bodyguard, and already she should be on her way back here. But come and see.’
He led them to the rocky parapet where several cats, who were gazing down, made room for them. From their dizzy pinnacle of rock they could see Fallowhithe spread out beneath, but just as the roof of the high place had seemed not a roof but a grassy plateau, so it seemed in the clear starlit night that they were looking down, not on the roofs and chimneys of a town, but on a mountainous, craggy country, scored with valleys and canyons. It stretched away to the north till it was lost in the darkness. To the south, a low range of hills narrowed to what looked like a spur of land, which dwindled in its turn into a ribbon which pointed straight as a ruler into the darkness where they knew Broomhurst must be.
‘Is that the Causeway?’ asked John.
Merbeck nodded.
There was a low mist over the fields on either side which might well have been the sea.
‘It all looks so peaceful!’ said Rosemary.
‘Maybe,’ said Merbeck. ‘But wait until the clocks strike midnight! My spies discovered that that is when the attack is planned. Do you remember the old skating rink?’
Rosemary nodded. She remembered the rink as a low building enclosed by a jumble of tall shops and offices. The Councillor waved with his paw toward a low lying hollow surrounded by rocky hills.
‘That is one of the places where the Broomhurst cats plan to gather, when they have crept in secretly by the Causeway, and there they expect to be joined by their friends who have already wormed their way into the town. There is a second meeting place to the north on Fire Station Heights.’
‘But I can’t see any cats!’ said John.
‘There is nothing so still as a cat that does not wish to be seen,’ said Merbeck. ‘Wait!’
As he spoke, behind them the Cathedral clock struck twelve, with its deep, booming voice, to be joined by the quick eager chimes of the clock of the Market Hall. Hard on its heels came the station clock, and like distant echoes sounded the clocks of St Anne’s Church and Fallowhithe High School. When there was nothing left of the chimes but a faint vibration in the air, Merbeck said, ‘Now look at Skating Rink Hollow!’
The Kingdom of Carbonel Page 16
