‘Something’s moving!’ said John.
‘The enemy!’ said Merbeck.
It was as though the surface of the hollow was a giant cauldron, and someone was stirring it with a huge wooden spoon. Little eddies of cats ran up the surrounding slopes and joined the ones already there.
‘Hm,’ said Merbeck, ‘there were more of them already here than I imagined.’
He turned toward the Causeway. It was as though in the dark, out of sight, a bottle of ink had been spilled along its width, and had seeped along the top toward Fallowhithe.
‘Broomhurst cats,’ said Merbeck briefly.
‘Two hundred strong they must be!’ said one of the animals standing at Merbeck’s side.
‘Oh dear, can’t we do something?’ said Rosemary anxiously. ‘Before it’s too late!’
‘Have patience. Remember they do not know we have been warned!’ said Merbeck.
The Causeway cats had nearly reached the walls, or hills, of Fallowhithe. ‘Give the signal,’ he said sharply. ‘Now!’
The cat beside him threw back his head and gave a low bubbling cry which rose in the air, growing shrill and clear till it split the silence like a bugle call. Far away came an answering cry, then from different parts of the town, another and another.
‘You see we are not unprepared! That was the signal for the defenders to advance!’ said Merbeck. ‘Now watch. Their orders are to stop the animals on the Causeway from joining their friends on Skating Rink Hollow and Fire Station Heights, both of which are surrounded by picked Fallowhithe cats.’
Something was happening on the Causeway. At the sound of the bugle call the oncoming army of Broomhurst cats halted, then they moved on again more slowly. They kept closely together, but finding themselves unhindered, quickened their pace until they reached the slopes that were the first roof tops of Fallowhithe, and as they spread out and moved up the incline, the slope on the other side seemed to come alive and move up to meet them. It was the Fallowhithe cats who had been waiting, so still and silent that they had seemed part of the landscape itself. With bloodcurdling cries they surged up to the top and hurled themselves on the enemy, spitting their defiance.
From the lookout John and Rosemary could see the struggling mass swaying first one way and then another.
‘But we can’t tell what’s happening!’ said Rosemary in distress.
‘I think all is going well!’ said Merbeck. ‘We shall know more when the dispatches start coming in. I wish Her Majesty were here to watch. It is high time she returned,’ he said uneasily.
But John and Rosemary were looking towards Skating Rink Hollow. This was farther away, so that they could not see so clearly what was going on. But whereas it had looked like a cauldron stirred with a spoon when the enemy cats first began to move, it now looked as though the cauldron was boiling furiously, as more and more Fallowhithe animals hurled themselves into the hollow. From time to time a rallying cry would break the silence of the night with its shrill eerie note, while small skirmishes broke out all over the town as the Broomhurst animals scattered, spitting and swearing.
The clocks chimed the quarter, and the half hour, and a messenger cat came panting up to Merbeck.
‘The Causeway fight is going well, sir. A number of the enemy have turned tail!’
‘The Fire Station Heights affair is satisfactory, sir!’ said another cat breathlessly. ‘But there is trouble at Skating Rink Hollow. We’re outnumbered!’
‘Bring up some of the reserves,’ snapped Merbeck. ‘Better use the Garbage Foragers – scum of the town, but magnificent fighters!’ he added for John’s benefit. ‘Why does not Her Majesty come?’
‘Councillor! Sir!’ said a voice. ‘It’s Leadbitter! He’s wounded.’
They turned. Leadbitter stood panting behind them. One ear was torn, and there was a gash in his side.
‘Terrible news!’ he said. ‘The Queen! She’s gone!’
29
Minuscule Magic
‘The Queen gone?’ repeated Merbeck. ‘When? How did it happen?’
‘She was returning after her speech. Things were getting pretty hot, and the Captain of the Queen’s Guard enrolled a few cats who were passing – in case of trouble – and I was one. Well, we were in a solid ring around her, nose to tail, and one minute she was there… and the next… she was nowhere to be seen!’
‘Does anyone else know this besides the bodyguard?’ asked Merbeck anxiously.
‘I’m afraid they do. The Captain called to every cat in Fairfax Market to search.’
‘Fairfax Market!’ said John and Rosemary together.
‘Can you tell us exactly where it happened?’ asked John.
‘We were in Cat Country. We’d jumped down to the pavement to avoid a skirmish between half a dozen animals, and we were keeping well into the wall, when a window opened just above. A human looked out and laughed, not a nice noise it wasn’t, and then… the Queen was gone!’
‘Her white coat must have shown up as clearly as spilt milk,’ said Merbeck.
‘Quick,’ said John. ‘Can you remember anything about the house you were near?’
‘Not much,’ said Leadbitter. ‘I was too busy. Hold on though! There was a door that opened and closed very quickly while we were searching. I looked around when I heard a bang, and it was scarlet half way down.’
‘Mrs Cantrip!’ said Rosemary.
John nodded grimly.
Another messenger came up.
‘Sir Councillor, things are going against us! A fresh wave of the enemy has stormed the Causeway, and Fallowhithe cats are falling back. They’ve heard the Queen has disappeared, and it’s shaken ’em badly!’
‘Come on, Rosie!’ said John. ‘It looks as though we may be able to help after all.’ He turned to Merbeck. ‘If Mrs Cantrip has got her, we’ll get her back, somehow!’
‘Of course we will!’ said Rosemary stoutly. ‘Come on, John!’
‘Hurry!’ said Merbeck. ‘There is no time to lose!’
Together they scrambled down the rocky chasm, which they knew led to the belfry. Once their feet were on the wooden ladder the shadowy cat world disappeared, and although they neither of them stopped to say so, it was a relief to feel the solid firmness of the winding stairs, even though they had to feel their way down in the dark. The bank of cloud had mounted higher in the sky, and as they ran through the churchyard, there was a low rumble of distant thunder. They did not stop to look up at the swaying battle on the roofs of the houses opposite, but ran as fast as they could to Fairfax Market. Without stopping to think what they would do next, they hammered on the scarlet front door of Mrs Cantrip’s house.
It opened quickly.
‘It’s you, is it? I thought as much, for all your talk of backing out,’ said the old woman accusingly to Rosemary.
Rosemary had no time to point out that she had never talked about it at all, before John demanded fiercely. ‘Queen Blandamour! Where is she? You’ve got her hidden somewhere!’
‘If you’re so certain, you’d best come in and see for yourselves!’ said Mrs Cantrip, with a mocking curtsy.
They followed the old woman through the bare room inside the front door, which had nowhere to hide a fly, let alone a well-grown, white cat, and into the little kitchen beyond.
‘Where is she?’ repeated John.
Mrs Cantrip sat herself down in the rocking chair and began to rock herself to and fro.
‘If seeing’s believing, and you can’t see her, well, it proves she isn’t here, young man. So look as much as you’ve a mind to. Then perhaps you’ll leave a law-abiding old woman to her night’s rest.’
John and Rosemary stood in the middle of the floor. By the flickering light of a candle in a bottle they looked around. It was very quiet in the little room. There was no sound except the rhythmical rocking of the chair on the tiled floor. An occasional scuffle outside was the only sign of the battle that was raging above them. There was nothing behind the cloak that hung on a peg on
the door. Their hopes were raised by a tall thin cupboard by the fireplace, but when they looked inside there was nothing but Miss Dibdin’s flying besom, and an ordinary sweeping broom very upright in a corner, as though it did not much care for the other’s company. Mrs Cantrip chuckled at their disappointment.
On the table in the middle of the room were the remains of a meal. It was laid for two. John noticed that one plate and the cup and saucer beside it were empty, but the other had some cold meat and pickles on it, and only half of the cup of tea had been drunk, as though someone had left the table in a hurry.
‘Where is Miss Dibdin?’ asked Rosemary.
‘How should I know?’ said Mrs Cantrip, with her head on one side. ‘With your precious white cat, for all I know.’
‘Go and look upstairs, Rosie!’ said John.
Rosemary went, and while she was gone, Mrs Cantrip went on rocking and looking at John with a twisted smile. He began to wonder if they had made a mistake after all. Rosemary came down again and reported that there was no sign of Miss Dibdin and no trace of Blandamour. She had looked in every drawer and cupboard and corner.
‘I’ve had enough of your busybodying,’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘I’m going to sleep.’
She took a large handkerchief out of her pocket, spread it over her face and linked her hands over her waist. But the vigorous rocking of the chair suggested someone very wide awake indeed.
‘If only we could see better. It’s so dark!’ said John.
‘I believe she keeps her candles in here,’ said Rosemary, and she went to the little hanging cupboard behind the door.
‘Top shelf, left-hand side,’ said Mrs Cantrip from under the handkerchief. John and Rosemary looked at each other in a puzzled way. They had never known Mrs Cantrip to be obliging before, and the very strangeness of it made them suspicious.
‘Light as many of ’em as you like,’ said the old woman. Rosemary took down three candles.
‘There’s a box of matches here,’ she said and picked it up from the bottom shelf. But Mrs Cantrip whipped the handkerchief from her face and said fiercely, ‘Don’t you touch it! Put it down!’
Now you will have noticed that everyone who picks up a box of matches gives it a little shake to see if there are any matches inside. Rosemary obediently put the box down, but she noticed that although it was not light enough to be empty, it did not make the little rattle that matches usually do. It had been lying on the bottom shelf of the cupboard where she remembered Mrs Cantrip had kept the few little bits of magic she had left. Only the glass pickle jar was there, but now it was empty, too. The label on it said MINUSCULE MAGIC.
‘Minuscule!’ said John. ‘I’ve seen that word somewhere, I wish I could think –’
‘I shouldn’t bother, dear!’ said Mrs Cantrip. ‘You light the pretty candles from the one in the bottle. It’s a pity to waste good matches!’ She was smiling once more.
John lit the candles and stuck them in a row on the mantelpiece, and as he lit the third one he suddenly said, ‘I’ve got it! We were playing that spelling game, and Daddy used it, and we all said there wasn’t such a word as minuscule, and Daddy said there was and it meant very, very tiny!’
Mrs Cantrip jumped up from her chair so violently that she knocked it over backwards. For a few seconds one could have heard a pin drop, and then from behind Rosemary, who was still standing in front of the open cupboard, came a faint, faint scrabbling noise together with a tiny shrill ‘meow’. At first she thought it was a mouse, but, as everybody knows, mice don’t mew.
‘The matchbox!’ she said.
Mrs Cantrip strode across the room, but Rosemary was too quick for her. She picked it up and gently slid it open. Fitting neatly, curled up inside, was a tiny, tiny white cat!
‘It’s Blandamour! You’ve made her small with the Minuscule Magic!’ said Rosemary.
30
The Return of the Kings
John and Rosemary peered at the minute white cat.
‘Oh, Blandamour, I’m so thankful we’ve found you!’ whispered Rosemary.
The tiny creature rubbed against her outstretched forefinger, and purred with a sound no louder than the ticking of the smallest watch.
‘Well, what are you going to do about it?’ asked Mrs Cantrip defiantly. ‘Say to them Fallowhithe animals, “Here’s your Queen back again. I’m sorry she’s no bigger than a ginger biscuit?” Do you think they’ll believe you? Well you needn’t bother, I shouldn’t think it matters much by now. Not that I care two pennyworth of pentagons who wins, the Fallowhithe cats or the Broomhurst ones. And it’s no use asking for the counter-spell,’ she went on fiercely. ‘I’ve done enough obliging of you for one night and I’m doing no more. Three candle ends I’ve given you, and that’s generous.’
‘Perhaps Miss Dibdin would help us,’ suggested Rosemary.
‘Yes, where is she?’ asked John, looking at the unfinished meal on the table.
‘Where she won’t be no help to you!’ snapped Mrs Cantrip.
‘What have you done to her?’ asked John sharply.
‘She shouldn’t have been so aggravating,’ said the old woman sullenly. ‘Serves her right!’
‘Miss Dibdin, where are you?’ called Rosemary anxiously.
As if in answer a small round object rolled off the top shelf of the cupboard behind her and fell with a plop on to the floor. It was a nutmeg. They looked at the top shelf, and struggling to push its way between a bag of sugar and a packet of rice was a tiny, doll-like figure, in a neat tweed jacket and skirt.
‘Miss Dibdin!’ said John.
‘How could you?’ said Rosemary accusingly to Mrs Cantrip.
The old woman tossed her head, but she seemed anxious not to look Rosemary in the eye.
‘Well, I had to keep her out of mischief somehow,’ she said sullenly. ‘I couldn’t have her messing up my last crumb of magic with her silly ways.’
‘When did you do it?’ asked John.
‘It suddenly came over me in the middle of supper, so I blew a grain or two of Minuscule Magic on her just as she helped herself to pickles, and popped her in the cupboard in a potted meat jar to keep her safe. I can’t think how she got out. You can have her if you want to, she’s no use to me. And the cat, too, for that matter. The battle is over by now, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘The battle!’ said Rosemary. ‘I’d almost forgotten all about it.’
As if to remind them, there was a prolonged scuffle outside and far away a sharp cat call.
‘Come on, Rosie, let’s get back to headquarters. I’ll put Miss Dibdin in my pocket, and you take Blandamour.’
Very gently he picked up Miss Dibdin between his finger and thumb. She had been sitting in a dazed way on a pepper pot. He popped her back into the potted meat jar and put it in the top pocket of his blazer. Rosemary picked up the matchbox, and when the tiny cat had curled herself up inside, closed it softly. Together they hurried out into Fairfax Market. There they looked up anxiously at the roofs above them, expecting to see the struggling shapes that had swayed and fought there when they had made their way to Mrs Cantrip’s house. But there seemed nothing to be seen but deserted walls and roofs, and the sounds of battle sounded faint and far away. A solitary cat limped past them.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Rosemary. ‘Has the Fallowhithe army won?’
‘Won!’ said the cat bitterly. ‘It won’t be long now before the Broomhurst creatures are in full control. They have swept over half the town. Already this is enemy-held territory. There are pockets of our animals here and there, harrying where they get the chance, but our fellows are retreating to the other end of the town.’
‘Oh dear!’ said Rosemary.
‘Are the headquarters on the church tower still?’ asked John.
‘Bless you, no! The last time I saw Councillor Merbeck, he was defending Swimming Bath Slopes. He’d been joined by a company of fierce farm cats – terrible fighters they are. They call themselves Turley’s Terrors. But I ca
n’t stop gossiping here. I’m carrying dispatches.’
‘Come on, Rosie, let’s make for the swimming bath. Follow me!’ said John. ‘I think I know the way.’
‘Good luck to you, hearing humans!’ the cat called after them.
They ran up Green Man Lane, down Pottery Court, across the High Street where the traffic lights winked busily to an empty road. Then, cutting down Ponsonby Street, they turned into Bath Road. At first they came across an occasional tussling pair of cats above them, and then groups and companies, until, when they reached the swimming baths, the roof was a solid mass of struggling animals. A haze of flying fur made it difficult to see what was happening.
‘How can we get up there?’ said Rosemary anxiously.
‘Quick, the garages at the end!’ said John.
They dashed to the back of the building where a row of garages in a cobbled yard were built against the end wall of the swimming baths. Outside one of the garages, a lorry was parked, loaded with something under a tarpaulin which rose to within a few feet of the garage roof. They clambered on to the bonnet of the lorry, and from there to the roof. They scrambled over the tarpaulin, slipping and sliding on its uneven surface.
‘Here, I’ll give you a leg up on to the roof !’ said John.
An urgent, eerie cat call rose over the hissing and spitting just above them. Rosemary’s courage wavered for a moment, but she gritted her teeth and climbed on to John’s bowed back. From there she could easily reach the garage roof. She pulled herself up, the soft grass of Cat Country saving her from grazed knees and torn hands. Then, lying on her stomach, she stretched down to help John up after her.
They were on a narrow ledge with a high bank sloping steeply in front of them. Cautiously they scrambled up till they could see over the top. The bank of clouds that had lain on the horizon in a tumbled heap earlier in the evening had mounted and grown, until only here and there a gap showed serenely shining stars. It had become oppressively hot, and the spit and hiss of fighting cats was lost from time to time in the grumble of distant thunder. Dimly they could see below them a drop of several feet. Then the ground sloped gently away, but whether the surface was of grass or rock they could not see, for the whole surface heaved and tossed like a stormy sea, a sea not of waves but of fighting cats, and the air was full of strange, throaty cat taunts.
The Kingdom of Carbonel Page 17
