Lionboy: the Chase

by Zizou Corder

  It took a lot of chat and reassurance to convince him that Charlie was not a ghost, a spook, a goblin, a werewolf, a phantasm, a zombie, a leprechaun, a sprite, a boy witch, a vampire or any other kind of bad creature – merely a young boy who could speak Cat. Even then, after the cat had dragged himself out of the canal, he preferred to sit on the next window ledge along, partly because there was sun there for him to dry off in, but mostly, Charlie suspected, because he felt safer out of reach.

  Charlie was actually quite pleased not to be greeted yet again as ‘That boy’ by a cat who seemed to know more about him than he did about himself.

  ‘So tell me,’ said Charlie, once they had settled down, and once it was apparent that this cat hadn’t a clue who he was and didn’t know anything about his parents. ‘What was that this afternoon? What happened?’

  ‘Again a pigging asthma attack,’ said the cat, whose name was Enzo.

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ said Charlie. ‘Last time that girl was playing with the cats she was fine. Why should she have an attack now?’

  Enzo looked at him sideways. ‘You notice that, eh?’

  ‘Yes, and I also noticed the way that gang of cats, the healthy-looking ones who hang out by the fountain, were after him. And how they’d been ganging up on all the skinnier cats. I don’t understand.’

  ‘Humans usually they don’t notice these things,’ said Enzo after a pause.

  ‘Humans usually don’t speak Cat,’ said Charlie, not unreasonably.

  Enzo licked a paw, rubbed his ear, and stared at the canal.

  ‘Humans don’t even like cats now,’ he said quietly and bitterly.

  ‘Yes, we do!’ cried Charlie. ‘What do you mean? That’s a horrible thing to say. Why do you say that?’

  Enzo turned to him and narrowed his eyes. ‘Humans don’t want to keep cats now. They can’t know who is Allergenie and who is not, and the medicine is too expensive and they can’t afford. So we are all out on our ears.’

  Ah.

  Now they were getting somewhere.

  This time, Charlie was not going to blow it. He was going to get to the bottom of this Allergenie thing.

  ‘So,’ he said slowly, ‘do you suppose that girl used to have medicine, but stopped taking it because her parents couldn’t afford it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose,’ said Enzo firmly.

  ‘And …’ Charlie was taking a big risk with what he said next. But he had heard enough, and thought enough about it, and he had to know. ‘Do you suppose,’ he said, ‘that cat is an Allergenie?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Enzo. ‘Even without immediate and very strong asthma attack of the small girl, which show he is much more allergenic than a normal cat even if the normal cat is normally allergenic, you can know because he – well, the thinness, and the thinness of fur. General bad health.’

  Allergenic. Charlie was not familiar with the word but it was pretty obvious what it meant. Being allergenic meant you made allergic people have attacks. He knew that some cats were more allergenic than others because he’d seen it with his friends and the Ruins cats. And now he knew that Allergenies were specially highly allergenic.

  And humans couldn’t tell which cats were Allergenies, and so treated all cats as if they were, and they couldn’t afford the asthma medicine for their children so lots of cats were getting chucked out of their homes … It all fell into place.

  No wonder the cats were so desperate for Mum and Dad to find their asthma cure. If the children could just stop being allergic, then it wouldn’t matter how allergenic the cats were …

  And meanwhile the cats were ganging up on the Allergenies because they blamed them for the trouble.

  Poor Allergenies. Poor cats as well! What a terrible situation.

  ‘But Enzo,’ said Charlie. ‘Where do the Allergenies come from? Were there always Allergenies?’

  Enzo was silent a moment before speaking. Then: ‘No one really knows,’ he said. ‘Some of them just arrive, newcomers. One day they weren’t there, the next day they were. But … there is a story. Five years ago, there was a strange thing happened. Lots of girl cats disappear. Not just here in Venice. We hear about it from all over. They disappear, then a few days later they come back. Later, they have kittens. No one knows who is the papa. A lot of the kittens they look the same – not so healthy little black and white guys. Skinny. Some people say these girl cats had Allergenie babies put in them, someone want Allergenies put all over the world. I say, why? Who need to do this? It’s not a easy thing to do – Oh, I’ll just make lots of Allergenic babies now before I have my lunch. You know Latin?’

  Charlie did know some Latin.

  ‘Cui bono?’ said Enzo.

  ‘Who benefits?’ translated Charlie. ‘Who is it good for?’

  He had a little think.

  No one benefited. Not cats, not Allergenies, not humans …

  As he was thinking he looked up. Oh. There was Granny, hobbling back into the piazza. She was carrying a bunch of flowers and a cardboard sign and what looked very like a deckchair.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Charlie. ‘Gotta go. Come back later, would you? I’d like to talk to you some more.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Enzo civilly. ‘Ciao.’

  The lady was unfolding her chair right by the canalside opposite Charlie’s window. She set up her cardboard sign against a mooring post, and laid her bunch of flowers on the stone canal kerb.

  Oh dear.

  Now she was fishing in her pocket and getting something out.

  Ah. A candle – one of those little low ones you see in churches, or in coloured glasses on café tables. She put it by the flowers and, after a bit of fumbling, lit it. She looked up at the window and smiled and waved. Then she settled herself into her chair and took out her knitting.

  Charlie hid.

  Edward received a telephone call. A voice introduced itself.

  ‘Ah,’ said Edward. ‘Yes, I know who you are, Mr Sadler. I thought you were indisposed.’

  ‘Well, I was,’ said Rafi, miles away, leaning against the window in the public ward of the hospital. ‘But now I’m better.’ So much better, in fact, that he’d been on to the Railway Gentleman, the police and the doctor and pointed out that there was really no reason to keep him in hospital any more. He was no longer sick, he’d committed no crime, he was terribly sorry for having made such a fuss while he was in his fever, but they’d arrested no one whose crimes he had witnessed, so if it was all the same to them …

  They’d scratched their heads, and tried to think of a reason to keep him, as he was obviously up to no good. In the end, the policeguy said, ‘Well, if we need you as a witness to anything you’ll have to come back,’ and Rafi had said, ‘Oh, of course, sir, of course’, sniggering the moment the policeguy turned away.

  ‘Yeah, I’m much better now,’ said Rafi.

  ‘Should I care?’ asked Edward.

  ‘Yeah, you should,’ said Rafi. ‘And so should those Lions you’re hiding. You know, they’re pretty visible from here.’ There was a small brown cat snoozing on the window ledge. Rafi scratched behind its ears.

  Edward said nothing.

  ‘And if they’re visible from here, they’re likely visible from all over.’

  Edward said nothing.

  ‘And there’s some people, you can imagine, you wouldn’t want seeing them.’

  Edward wondered.

  ‘Their owner, for example. Not the Circus – you don’t worry about them, they’re straight decent people. I mean the other guy,’ said Rafi.

  At this, Edward wondered a bit more. He considered that he knew most things – but he didn’t necessarily know this.

  ‘That weird psycho African who’s disappeared,’ said Rafi. ‘You don’t want him turning up on your doorstep, do you?’

  Ah. The trainer, Maccomo. Yes, that would be a bore. Edward had plans for the Lions, and they didn’t involve any turning up on any doorsteps, especially not his.

  Edward thought for a s
econd. Rafi, smiling, left him to think.

  ‘So what do you want, boy?’ asked Edward.

  Rafi smiled. ‘Nothing,’ he said, and hung up. He had what he wanted – confirmation that the Lions and Charlie were at King Boris’s palace in Venice.

  ‘Off we go, then!’ said Rafi cheerfully, shrugging his leather coat on carefully over his delicate shoulder, and picking up the big box of painkillers he’d scrounged off the nurse. ‘Venice here I come!’

  It was only at that point that Rafi remembered he had a dog. Even as he said, ‘Off we go, then,’ he realized who it was he was addressing – Troy, his slavering hound. Troy, who wasn’t there.

  For a moment, a tiny pang went through his heart. Where was Troy? Then: ‘Well, he’s scarpered, hasn’t he?’ Rafi decided. ‘No such thing as loyalty in this wicked world. He’s just dumped me while I was down. Typical. Still, who cares about a stupid dog, anyway …’

  And with that he left. By the back, while the devoted Troy dozed in the shade under the bushes by the front door, where he had been ever since his master had entered the building, waiting for him to come out again.

  The moment Rafi had left the room, the small brown cat shot off the window ledge, all snooziness gone, and headed to the station, where her uncle was a traincat. If she made it there before the five-thirty left, the message would get south tonight.

  In the corridor outside Magdalen’s room in the Wellness Unit, Aneba, holding a bunch of too-bright, too-pretty flowers that had no scent and had certainly not grown in any earth, approached the nurse with a too-bright, too-cheerful smile. Like the Motivational Manager’s, Aneba’s smile was all mouth. His eyes looked cool and not very clever.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to see my poor old wife.’

  ‘Of course, Dr Ashanti,’ said the nurse, giving him a matching fake smile. ‘Lovely flowers. From the Floral Retail Unit? Come on in. I think she’s asleep still, but it’ll be wonderful for her to see you. Ooh, what have you done to your face? That looks nasty!’

  Aneba pushed his fake smile a little wider still. It was getting uncomfortable (which was nothing to do with the scratch) and he didn’t know how long he could hold it, but it seemed to be the badge of having given in, and so he wore it. He didn’t want anyone to think he was still having independent thoughts, and drag him off for another round of therapy and medicine. No, he wanted to look as if he completely agreed with everything everybody said.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ he said. ‘Just a scratch.’

  The nurse showed him into Magdalen’s room.

  ‘Do you think she might be ready for a gentle stroll in the garden?’ Aneba asked cheerfully.

  ‘Well,’ said the nurse doubtfully.

  ‘Such a lovely day,’ said Aneba with a grin. His cheeks were aching.

  ‘True,’ said the nurse.

  ‘She could lean on my arm,’ he purred, with a loving, husbandly look at his wife.

  The nurse liked to see couples together. So many families nowadays all fallen apart, divorces and whatnot. It was good to see a husband so devoted.

  She smiled him a smile that was almost genuine (for the nurse was, underneath, a decent woman, and it wasn’t her fault that she had been seduced by the Corporacy). ‘Oh, go on, then,’ she said. ‘Bit of fresh air. Do her good.’

  Aneba flashed her a smile that was absolutely genuine. The nurse was momentarily dazzled. Any genuine emotion would have dazzled her, because she had not seen any for years, but Aneba’s smile was legendary even among genuine smiles. And this was one of his best. Reeling from the strength of it, the nurse left the room.

  Aneba worked quickly. First, he pulled out the drip that was feeding medicine into Magdalen’s vein. Then he splashed cold water on her face. Then he rubbed her feet, then he kissed her. Like Sleeping Beauty, she opened her eyes. Even as they opened, his were there to meet them, to send a message of strength and awakeness.

  She looked shocked and scared.

  ‘Wake up,’ he said. ‘Really wake up. Fight it. Fight harder. Fight harder than you ever fought.’

  She blinked.

  He broke off some petals from one of the flowers. ‘Even this artificial version has some power,’ he murmured. ‘It’s not as strong as the wild flowers from the forest, but it can only help.’ He had recognized the flowers as one of the main ingredients in Magdalen’s Improve-Everything Lotion.

  He squeezed the petals so they were bruised and damp, and laid them on her tongue.

  ‘Suck them,’ he said.

  He wiped his hand on the still-bleeding scratch across his cheek.

  ‘Lick,’ he said. ‘Take strength from my blood.’

  She licked. She blinked again.

  ‘Water,’ she said.

  ‘Not their water,’ he replied. ‘Everything here is full of their power to stop us thinking. Their food, their medicine, their water, their air. It isn’t clean. Come.’

  ‘Not strong enough,’ she murmured.

  Aneba laughed. ‘Don’t give me that,’ he said. ‘You are the strongest woman I ever met.’

  She smiled at his laugh. She tasted his blood still on her lips. She felt stronger.

  ‘There’s a cat,’ he whispered. ‘He knows a way.’

  She felt stronger still.

  ‘And?’ she whispered.

  ‘And we’re going for a nice walk in the garden,’ he said.

  Later that afternoon, Edward went out.

  Forty-five seconds later he came in again.

  ‘Charlie,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’ said Charlie.

  ‘Why is there an old lady outside with candles and flowers and a sign saying, “In this palazzo lives an Angel of the Lord, he saved the life of my granddaughter Donatella, join with me in thanks for the miracle of the Young Brown Angel, pray for the Lord’s Mercy in these hard times”?

  Charlie gulped.

  Oh no.

  He was really embarrassed.

  ‘To what Young Brown Angel might she be referring, Charlie?’ Edward said.

  Charlie felt his mouth opening and shutting but he really couldn’t think what to say.

  ‘You know we are not meant to be attracting attention, Charlie, don’t you? In what way, exactly, does a woman with flowers and candles and talk of angels and miracles not attract attention to His Majesty’s household? Why is she here?’

  So Charlie told him. Just that a child had been having an asthma attack, and he’d thrown his medicine to her. Anyone would, he said. You don’t just sit there and watch a child …

  No, even Edward had to agree that you don’t just sit there.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Let’s hope nobody takes any notice of her.’

  By six o’clock there were three more women with the granny. One of them was on her knees, praying constantly. It seemed her daughter was asthmatic too. Another had a sign reading, ‘Doge of Venice, Hear your People! Banish the Cats from the City! Too Many Children are Falling Sick!’

  They had all brought flowers. And candles.

  Just before dinner, a young man rang the bell at the gate by the bridge.

  ‘I am from the Venezia Sera newspaper,’ he said to Signora Battistuta. ‘I wish to know about the miracle of the Brown Angel of the Children with Asthma. Do you believe in miracles? Do you think the Doge is doing enough to solve the problems of sick children?’

  Signora Battistuta said, ‘Go away.’ Looking out across the little bridge, she saw ten women, six children, three babies, fourteen bunches of flowers, twenty-two candles in a row along the canalside, four crucifixes, seven cards bearing pictures of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, some old asthma puffers tied with pink ribbons to the gate, and a teddy bear. In the early dusk, with the candles reflecting in the canal, it made a very pretty sight.

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ said Charlie. ‘I only threw them some medicine.’

  Later, some young people arrived with placards reading, ‘Doge, Oppressor of Venice, Stop Ignoring Us!’ They were selling m
agazines recommending getting rid of the Doge and finding a new government, and soon the Doge Guards arrived with truncheons and handcuffs, and took them away. The grannies booed and hissed at this, and one of the Doge Guards waved his truncheon at them too.

  Charlie, watching this covertly from his window, realized that the Venetians really didn’t like the Doge.

  After dinner, Charlie yawned loudly and said he was very tired and would retire to bed. Edward stopped him, saying, ‘Charlie, I’ve made a decision.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Charlie. He kept his face blank and friendly.

  ‘It isn’t really safe, Charlie, for the Lions to stay here. We might have been able to keep things quiet but – well. There is no chance now. There is too much attention on this house. The word may get out. The newspapers mentioned you, there’s the offer of the reward, and now all this miracle nonsense. If someone puts two and two together – the Brown Angel and the brown boy from the Circus – well, our best hope is to get some protection for them elsewhere. And the person who can protect them is the Doge.’

  Charlie could see his point about protection, though he thought the comment about him being brown was unnecessary. Loads of people are brown.

  Edward had a suspiciously innocent look on his face.

  ‘If we take the Lions to the Doge, and present them as his guests, he will look after them,’ Edward was saying. ‘He will adopt them, if you like, as his friends and friends of Venice, and then nobody will dare try to get them back for the Circus. Your circus friends need to perform in many places, including Venice, and if the Doge tells his friends to bar them, they could do it. No Circus would take on the might of Venice. The Lions would be safe.

  ‘So we will visit the Doge. He is expecting us – I have not said who I am bringing, but he is expecting something. You must come too. Of course. Lionboy. Claudio will be your translator. It will all be for the best.’

  Edward’s air of behaving as if everything was already arranged made it hard for Charlie to argue with him. But Charlie was worried. They didn’t need to be protected in Venice – they needed to leave Venice. But then visiting the Doge would mean leaving Palazzo Bulgaria, and that could only be good. Except that he’d lose contact with Enzo, and he hadn’t had a chance yet to ask Enzo to ask around about his parents.