‘Looks a most pleasant chappie,’ said Brolo approvingly.
Albicocco growled, ‘Generous wid da fat of the milk and plates of sliced steak, both, I’d wager.’
Professor Marìn was saying to Signorina Tiozzo, ‘I’d like one to train up as a writer’s cat. A female, I suppose. Must be clever and affectionate, supportive, you know the sort of thing? A lap-sitter and an encouraging purrer.’
‘The professor could help me!’ whispered Talina. ‘In fact, he’s probably the only person in the world who can help me. It was his magic book that got me turned into a cat,’ she explained to Brolo. ‘We’ve got to get adopted by him, Drusilla. You too, Brolo.’
But all the cats of the Ostello delle Gattemiagole had the same idea. They had already taken to their winning ways. None more so than the Contessa, who minced backwards and forwards in front of the professor, pluming her tail in curlicues and purring tunefully.
Talina took a deep breath and leapt from the box. But Bestard-Belou was too quick for her. He tripped her with his paw, rolled her over on her side and sat on her. ‘No ye don’t, not-quite-cat. I’m fly to your game and I ain’t ’avin’ none of it. Wot makes ye think it’s your turn for a looxurious ’ome? There’s many cats wot has been here months. And many cats wot is far more deserving than yew.’
Under his hefty haunches, Talina struggled to breathe. The musty fragrance of Bestard’s coat flooded into her nose. She nipped his flank till he squawked and shifted. But he did not let her go.
‘This one is a graceful creature,’ said Professor Marìn, picking up the Contessa, who snuggled into the crook of his arm and licked his hand.
From under Bestard’s haunch, Talina watched helplessly.
Giuseppe Tassini looked dubious. ‘There’s something not quite honest about that cat.’
‘And there’s generally something not quite honest about writers,’ laughed Professor Marìn. ‘At least, the interesting ones. It would be nice to have something beautiful in my house.’
‘And clean,’ agreed his friend, stroking his goatee. ‘And not crooked. Or scribbled on. You really should get a housekeeper, Ridolfo.’
‘Someone to disturb all my papers in the name of dusting? I don’t think so.’
Signorina Tiozzo was chattering, ‘Why don’t you take another one or two, Professor? You know how it is with cats. You get one, and you really love it. Then you want another one. And mayhap another. And they could be company for one another when you are off in the Archives, researching. And three cats is a nice round number, I always think … and as for four, well, I—’
‘This one will be quite enough,’ said Professor Marìn firmly. ‘But here’s a little something for the other furry fellows.’
He handed Signorina Tiozzo a banknote. It must have been a large one, as she gasped, curtseyed and held it to her chest.
‘Are you sure, Professor? This’ll keep my pretties in milk and kidneys and Manitoba Gargling Oil for a month!’
‘Do cats gargle?’ wondered Talina, while the professor shook Signorina Tiozzo’s hand warmly, saying, ‘You do a great thing for Venice, dear madam. Where would Venice be without her cats?’
Choked with emotion, Signorina Tiozzo lifted the Contessa into a basket and handed it to the professor.
Then he and Tassini were gone.
Bestard-Belou rose unceremoniously, leaving Talina flattened on the floor. Her spirits were even flatter.
‘My one chance,’ she moaned. ‘So close.’
at the ostello, after school, May 3rd, 1867,
Saint Filippo’s Day
‘I’D JUST LIKE to visit them,’ the boy was pleading outside the door. ‘You know my mother won’t let us take one of these poor cats home. We’ve got a stupid fat Persian kitten now, with a punched-in face and no sense of humour.’
‘As I suspected,’ said Signorina Tiozzo with crisp disapproval.
Ambrogio persisted, ‘But you said these cats need love. I can give them that. And my pocket-money.’
Signorina Tiozzo’s silhouette blocked the light of the doorway. She stood with her arms folded over her chest.
‘And I have an idea,’ continued the boy’s voice, nervously. ‘You see, I am really quite good at drawing. I could draw pictures of your cats and we could—’
‘We?’
‘You could sell them to raise more money for their food.’
‘You’re a strange one, laddie. Why aren’t you out kicking over rubbish bins and throwing sticks to dogs, and teasing girls – all the things that boys normally do?’
‘Actually, everyone says I am a strange one. But they also say that there’s no harm in me,’ Ambrogio Gasperin said truthfully. ‘And they also say I could argue the legs off a millipede.’
Talina thought, ‘That’s very true. He definitely could. Two millipedes, even.’
‘I’m going to be a barrister, you see,’ explained Ambrogio. ‘I have to hone my skills.’
‘So I’ve noticed,’ said Signorina Tiozzo crustily. ‘You’re a mighty boy for the words. And I see you’ve brought a drawing block. Come in and let’s see what you can do.’
Ambrogio crouched eagerly on the floor. ‘Now where’s that little tabby?’
It was agony for Talina to stay still while Ambrogio sketched her portrait. But Bestard-Belou had fixed his orange eyes on her. And Albicocco stood behind his friend, miming a good cuffing.
So Talina sat like an Egyptian statue of a cat, listening to the scratch of Ambrogio’s pencil on paper.
‘Is Ambrogio drawing me like myself, but in cat form?’ Talina wondered. ‘Might he recognize me, somehow?’
The two children had been friends. Not close friends, because at their school boys and girls did not do such a thing in public, for fear of teasing. But there had been a quiet understanding between them, a tendency to sit together in the classroom and to pass notes to one another that always ended ‘Private, mind!’ There had also been a few discreet exchanges of books on magic, and of course Ambrogio had secretly lent Talina volumes from his parents’ shop. And once, just once, he had defended her from the scorn of the whole classroom. She felt herself blushing through her fur just remembering that day.
Mademoiselle Chouette, provoked by some impudence of Talina’s, had sent her to stand in the corner.
‘But that’s how you punish tiny little children!’ Talina had erupted.
‘It is as a tiny little child you behave,’ answered Mademoiselle grimly, shaking the pale head around which a gleaming chestnut plait was wrapped three times. And the whole class had burst into giggles and guffaws as Talina slowly made her way to the corner, where she stood, barely holding back tears of humiliation. It was then that Ambrogio had leapt from his seat and thrust himself into the opposite corner.
‘But you are not naughty, Ambrogio!’ Mademoiselle had protested. ‘Not today, anyway.’
‘He’s not naughty, he’s touched in the head!’ sniggered one of the boys.
And the malicious whisperers of the class had completely forgotten about Talina in their rush to taunt Ambrogio. She’d never really thanked him properly, she was sorry to admit.
‘Do you know, kitty,’ Ambrogio smiled at Talina now, ‘you remind me of someone? There was this lovely girl at our school. She was brilliant. She looked all soft and dreamy-sweet like a cream-fed kitten, but she was the Terror of the Neighbourhood! She was a girl everyone took notice of. I really was very keen on her. I couldn’t tell her so, of course – she’d never look at a dolt like me.’
‘I liked you very well!’ Talina ached to tell him. ‘Even though you would keep staring at me. That was a bit disconcerting.’
Ambrogio continued sadly, ‘I’m only good at drawing. And arguing. But that special girl—’ he gulped back a sob, ‘was taken by those … those things that come in the night. Even though all the grown-ups pretend that the monsters don’t exist.’
Talina could not stop a little mew from rushing out of her mouth.
‘That’s it,
kitty, you know they exist, don’t you? If what they say about Pastry-Bandits from Rovigo is true, that they’re also taking humans and cats, then where are the ransom notes? I’ve seen one of the monsters. On a tower. I am sure they took Talina, and her parents too.’
Talina shook her head violently. She nuzzled his hand, making his pencil drop. She seized the pencil in her mouth. The wood and lead were bitter on her tongue.
‘Kitty, you don’t want to eat a pencil,’ said Ambrogio gently. ‘I’ll get you some food.’
He rose and went to the sack where Signorina Tiozzo kept a mixture of grain and fish-powder for skinny days when there was nothing better.
The pencil was hard to hold. Twice, Talina dropped it. It hurt, stabbing into the inside of her cheek as she tried to guide it over the paper.
‘Eh? Wot you at, not-quite-cat?’ Bestard-Belou rose from his mouldy cushion and trotted towards her.
But she managed an approximation of ‘I AM Talina’ at the bottom of Ambrogio’s sketch before Bestard-Belou pounced, knocking the pencil out of her mouth.
Ambrogio came back to her, carrying a smelly handful of fishmeal.
Then he dropped fishmeal all over the floor.
‘Did you write that, kitty?’
‘Miiiiaaaaaoooow!’ agreed Talina.
‘Go away, Ambrogio, there’s a good laddie. Don’t be coming back. I said that you were a strange one.’
‘Are you not a little strange yourself, Signorina Tiozzo? Therefore, does it not stand to reason that—’
‘Stop using that courtroom language on me! Never heard the like. You’re saying that poor little tabby is a human girl? My pretties are not safe around a madman, be he ever such a small one. Now shoo. You may have a kind heart but you’re touched in the head.’ She tapped her wrinkled forehead.
Ambrogio pleaded, ‘At least let me take Talina.’
‘She’s not Talina. She’s a poor stray cat someone tried to drown.’
Talina stood up on her back legs and snatched the pencil from Ambrogio’s pocket. She took it in her mouth. There was no paper, so she hurriedly scratched in the dust of the floor. ‘I AM A GRIL.’
‘Look! She can write with her mouth!’ Ambrogio gestured at the marks on the floor.
But Signorina Tiozzo’s eyesight was not good. And Talina’s mouthwriting was even more rune-ish and rumpled than her handwriting. And anyway the desperate scrawl was that minute obliterated by Bestard-Belou coming to thump his large hindquarters down on it. ‘That’s enough from yew,’ he glared at Talina. ‘I knew yew was trouble. Yew’s goin’ to be on litter-box duty tonight, innit, scrubbin’ out da trays wid dat Mannytobby Gagging Oil, innit.’
‘Excuse me,’ a man’s voice called through the door. ‘Signorina Tiozzo?’
Professor Marìn entered, carrying a basket in which crouched the Contessa, spitting and arching her back.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘but this cat is not acceptable. Why, hello there, Ambrogio! How are your parents? The bookshop? Is my latest selling well?’
Ambrogio nodded enthusiastically while Signorina Tiozzo protested, ‘The Contessa is the most beautiful cat we’ve ever had. The most feminine. You said—’
‘She has appalling manners and stole my dinner. She appears to have friends among the lowest of the catfolk of this town. There were six gentleman-callers on the window-sill from dusk till dawn, serenading her. No, thank you, Signorina Tiozzo. This fair temptress is the opposite of what a writer wants. I haven’t written a page since madam arrived. We writers crave tranquillity. I’ll have this one, dark and quiet and dignified as the night. And a real loner, I hope.’
He was pointing at Drusilla.
a few moments later
AMBROGIO TUGGED THE professor’s sleeve. ‘Professor Marìn. I agree that the black cat’s a beauty, and you should definitely take her. But this little tabby is a perfect writer’s cat. She can even write a bit herself with a pencil in her mouth. Look!’
He held out the sketching block on which Talina had written ‘I AM Talina’.
Professor Marìn started. ‘I’ll be—’
Signorina Tiozzo interrupted, ‘Don’t be listening to the boy. He’s not quite the thing.’ She tapped her head. ‘Yes, the black beauty is a good cat; she’ll not give you any trouble. Tch tch tch, here, little one.’
She emptied the Contessa unceremoniously out of the basket and held the door open invitingly for Drusilla. The Contessa strutted off to her bully-boys, her aristocratic nose in the air.
But Drusilla just stared. Then she looked at Brolo and Talina. And she nudged Talina, and pushed her, until she was in the basket. She did the same with Brolo, and then finally stepped inside herself, settling conclusively into her roast-chicken position in front of them, despite the lack of space.
‘Err, I wasn’t planning on three cats.’ But Professor Marìn was smiling. ‘But friendship is a beautiful thing among the beasts,’ he murmured. ‘Magical, even. I must write about it.’ He pulled out a notebook and scribbled a few lines.
‘But Talina!’ Ambrogio hopped up and down in frustration. ‘You don’t understand!’
‘I shall call the tabby Talina if you like, young chap,’ said the professor kindly. ‘My friends Marco and Lucia Molin had a daughter called Talina. She was very fond of my own magic books, as I recall. Such a tragedy – all three have—’
‘Been taken! I know that’s what people said. But it’s not true! I think Talina got turned into a cat.’
Signorina Tiozzo raised her eyebrows. ‘That Ambrogio’s talking shoeshine again!’
‘Ambrogio,’ said Professor Marìn, looking at him with sudden comprehension, ‘would you care to come to my home for tea? Your parents won’t mind. Perhaps we can discuss this further.’
‘I’ll carry the cats!’ Ambrogio offered eagerly. ‘Santa Croce, isn’t it?’
Professor Marìn’s house was a lanky disreputable-looking confection of peeling Gothic and Renaissance windows, crooked chimneys, ten different kinds of rotting bricks from five diverse centuries and three sorts of plaster, all falling off. You would never have guessed that this ramshackle establishment hosted one of the best private libraries in Venice.
Inside, everything was crooked but cosy.
In his cavernous library, Professor Marìn drew the crimson and green velvet curtains and set the basket on the desk. The gas-lamps by the fireplace were already lit, and a fire glowed in the cast-iron grate, illuminating thousands of gilded volumes, many of which bore the professor’s own name on their spines.
When the professor opened the lid of the basket, the three cats emerged, gazing at him hopefully. Ambrogio clenched his fists, whispering, ‘Now’s your chance. Don’t let me down, Talina.’
‘Well then,’ said Professor Marìn, ‘where’s my book Speaking Creatures: How to Loosen Beastly Tongues? Been a long time since I wrote that one. Must refresh my memory. Otherwise … well, otherwise we’d need to wait till the Epiphany, on January 6th, when all beasts may speak for one day only.’
‘January 6th!’ wailed Ambrogio. ‘You mean we’ll have to wait nearly a year to see if this cat really is Talina?’
‘Let us hope not, dear boy. Now, in that spirit, see if you can find the kitchen – careful! The stairs lurch! And bring me a bowl of milk, an onion, a knife and the little black bottle that says ‘If in doubt’.
Twenty minutes later, Professor Marìn had diced the onion and mixed it with a few drops of the black liquid so that a pungent greenish vapour filled the room. He’d read out a long paragraph from the ‘Feline Foibles’ chapter in How to Loosen Beastly Tongues. And Talina – her tongue fully loosened – was already halfway through her account of her misadventures.
‘… so there I was, a cat, in a terrible fix, all because I’d mixed up a spell and a recipe. I guess I wasn’t concentrating properly.’ Talina paused for breath and another sip of milk, bedewing her whiskers with white droplets.
Brolo piped up, ‘Bad luck, or what? What a down-in-th
e-dumper!’
Professor Marìn said reprovingly, ‘Bad practice, actually. One of the first rules of magic is to concentrate, Talina. Terrible things have happened even to grown magicians who got distracted mid-spell.’
Drusilla sniffed, ‘It is not such a terrible thing to be a cat, actually.’
‘Sorry. Of course it isn’t,’ apologized Talina. ‘It’s been an honour. It is just that the rest of the story hasn’t been so good.’
‘Threatened by dogs, thrown in the canal to drown, then bullied by the Contessa and her gang! No, not really,’ agreed Professor Marìn. ‘Now what’s the matter with you, Ambrogio? Not like you to let a conversation go by without joining in with a bit of cross-examination! You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘The … cats … are talking,’ sputtered Ambrogio. ‘And … I can understand them.’
‘Ah, so you breathed in the If in doubt vapour too and the spell has worked both ways,’ said Professor Marìn. ‘I’ve got pretty good Felish myself, but it seems that the spell has given you that ability too, young man. It’s always been one of my theories that magic can be eavesdropped. I daresay you’ll be able to speak Egrete and Bearish, even Ratsch now, should it come to that. All cats, of course, speak human tongue. They just disdain to. I must write something about the Contagious Diffusion of Spell Steam …’ He rummaged unsuccessfully in his desk for an unscribbled-on piece of paper, and finally settled on a parchment lampshade, upon which he wrote a few swift notes in Latin.
‘And next time,’ he added, ‘I must hand out some of these, to avoid side-effects and accidental contagions.’ He rattled a jar labelled ‘artificial noses – iron, velvet-lined’.
‘Talking cats!’ mumbled Ambrogio, still dazed. ‘Like spelling bees?’
‘And talking rats, too!’ Talina remembered. Now she told them about the ill-fated visit of Dr Raruso, even reciting by heart the words of the song that named her. Next she explained the origin of the Ravageurs and their arrival in Venice. Ambrogio and the professor sat on the edge of their chairs, listening in shocked silence.
Talina in the Tower Page 6
