Talina in the Tower

by Michelle Lovric

  ‘“Ravageurs”?’ said Professor Marìn finally. ‘So that’s what they’re called. That’s not a name I’ve come across. But if they come from so deep in the past – perhaps that’s not surprising? Surely there’s a book, or a manuscript in my attic …’

  He was already heading for the door. Talina bounded in front of him and put her paw on his foot.

  ‘But first you can turn me back into myself, can’t you, Professor Marìn?’ entreated Talina. Without realizing it, she began licking her paw and washing behind her ears in a supplicating way.

  ‘Actually, you are rather sweet as a cat,’ teased the professor. ‘From what I can recall, you were remarkably impudent when you were a human girl. Don’t I remember that you were known as “The Terror of the Neighbourhood”?’

  ‘If in doubt can’t turn me back into a girl?’ asked Talina.

  ‘No, we need something stronger,’ the professor murmured distractedly, running his fingers along the spines of volumes on his shelves. ‘Something, frankly, that I haven’t tried before. It hasn’t come up. Something a bit riskier, I’m afraid. Side-effects, you know …’

  Talina blurted, ‘And even if you can turn me back into a girl, what will happen to me?’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to take you back to your Guardian. Legally speaking.’

  ‘My Guardian who tried to drown me?’

  ‘But can you be sure that he knew who you were? Really, really sure?’

  ‘No,’ Talina mumbled defensively, ‘but he certainly likes dead children better than live ones.’

  ‘Well,’ said the professor, ‘those are just his stories. All that’s certain is that Uberto Flangini, like a few misguided souls, simply dislikes cats.’

  ‘Loathes us,’ said Drusilla bitterly.

  ‘I don’t know your Guardian, Talina. I don’t believe anyone truly does. I certainly find his books disturbing. But I’m more worried that they sell so well, which means that people want to terrorize their own children with such horrors. But truly, I sometimes wonder whether Uberto Flangini is not evil, but in fact dreadfully unhappy.’

  ‘You’re sorry for him?’ spat Talina, arching her back and sticking her tail up in a straight line.

  Ambrogio growled, ‘That nasty old man should be unhappy, or at least ashamed of himself!’

  ‘Make me into a girl again anyway, please, Professor Marìn,’ Talina begged. ‘And then, won’t you let me stay with you? He must think I’m dead or run away to sea, or something. He wouldn’t want me back anyway. So I don’t need to go back to his tower, ever, do I? Do I? And please don’t say, “Wait and see”, Professor. Show me that you are better than that.’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ said Professor Marìn regretfully, ‘that “wait and see” appears to be the optimum and only answer to that question at this moment.’

  It was deep in the middle of the night, in the professor’s cosy, crooked kitchen. Outside, thick coils of fog wound themselves around the bell-towers of Venice, wrapping the whole town in softness. Even the howls of the Ravageurs were muffled. Ambrogio had gone home hours before, promising to return before school in the morning. The three cats sat in a semi-circle at the professor’s feet, nibbling on a Golosi’s Potato Pie with Anchovies. (Except Talina, who tore the anchovies out of her portion and laid them in a line for Drusilla, who particularly relished them.)

  Professor Marìn leant over an iron saucepan, folding flour and some fur gently snipped from Talina’s tail into a mixture of vanilla essence, milk, water and a drop of something from a bottle labelled ‘Desperate Measures’. He muttered to himself, adding drops of liquid from various small bottles in his pockets. The reversal spell was clearly much more complicated than the tongue-loosener.

  Professor Marìn’s kitchen was more of a laboratory than a place to make supper. Instead of sacks of flour and canisters of tea, coffee and biscuits, there were shelves lined with bottles bearing labels inscribed in copperplate with such names as Hedgehog Gall, Lockspittle, Birds’ Tears Amber and Bat Brains. Everything was just a little askew. Even the teapot and the sugar basin lurched on their metal stands. There was a bottle of Manitoba Gargling Oil upended in the sink.

  ‘Good stuff, this! It cleans the drains famously,’ said the professor, removing it so he could fill a jug with water. Enjoying her human voice, Talina was reading aloud more labels. ‘Foul Philtre, Middling Sprite (“More Mischief than Malice”), Parboiled Brigand Toes … Oh dear! How do you use Vampire Vomit?’

  ‘Sparingly,’ said the professor, smiling. ‘Far too many people overuse vampire matter.’

  On the range, three small cauldrons boiled merrily, emitting steam of rainbow hues into some very large tea towels draped over a rack suspended from the ceiling. From time to time, the professor sniffed, adding drops of Birds’ Tears Amber. He checked the tea towels, turning them to make sure they absorbed the rainbow vapour into every stitch. Then he returned to the saucepan, frowning at its bubbling contents.

  ‘It’s not working,’ he whispered, his mouth pulled down at the corners. ‘I begin to suspect that to reverse the spell we may need to re-stage the whole accident using the actual books that turned you into a cat, Talina.’

  ‘But they’re at the tower,’ mourned Drusilla, ‘guarded by three unspeakably vicious dogs.’

  ‘Wouldn’t copies of the same books do just as a well?’ asked Talina.

  ‘Worth a try. Magical Means on a Budget? I must have ten editions of that. Can you remember which one it was?’

  ‘The first edition, of course,’ said Talina proudly. ‘But what about Substantial Cakes for the Working Classes?’

  Professor Marìn shook his head. ‘I’m not your man for cooking – more for concocting, you know.’

  ‘Ambrogio’s parents have a bookshop,’ said Drusilla, jumping to the window-sill. ‘Let me out, Professor.’

  When Drusilla reappeared at the window-sill an hour later, her tail was bushed up like a birch-broom.

  ‘Ravageurs,’ she hissed to Talina and Brolo. ‘All over the place. Thank goodness for the mist. Being moonlit-night-coloured has its advantages, too. Then I used an old rat escape tunnel. Peugh!’ Drusilla wrinkled her nose fastidiously. ‘Now I know what fear smells like, and it isn’t pretty.’

  ‘But does Ambrogio know he’s to bring Substantial Cakes?’ Talina asked anxiously.

  ‘Of course. Can’t say I’m impressed with his sister’s Persian kitten, by the way. It caught us whispering, and I was obliged to … oh dear. I’d hate to think I was turning into a bully-girl.’

  ‘Never!’ Brolo and Talina welcomed her into a basket Professor Marìn had thoughtfully set in front of the embers of a cosy fire. They groomed Drusilla until she stopped trembling. Then all three wrapped their paws around one another and fell into a deep-breathing sleep.

  At dawn, they were roused by Ambrogio beating on the door with Substantial Cakes clumsily wrapped in brown paper under his arm and a pair of his sister’s boots looped over his elbow by the laces.

  ‘Wonderful!’ Talina purred and went to weave around his legs. ‘I knew you’d bring the book.’

  Then she looked up and saw that Ambrogio’s smile was in fact a twisted grin of pain. His cheeks were chalky white. His right ear was in the custody of Mademoiselle Chouette, their martinet of a French mistress.

  Her mouth was set in an angry grimace.

  a misty dawn, May 4th, 1867, Saint Ada’s Day

  ‘A GARÇON WHO steals from ’is own parents’ shop is a criminal in the bud,’ Mademoiselle Chouette announced, her turquoise earrings quivering. ‘As for a garçon who robs ’is sister’s boots! I was on my early morning promenade, for my ’ealth, and I caught ’im in the act. Mon Dieu! Then ’e argued and argued with me and promised that ’e would explain everything if I would only come with ’im. In the end, I was so fatiguée that I said, ‘Ah! Zut, alors! Bien!’ Then we ’ad to hurry because we thought we heard growling behind us. And suddenly, voila! We are at your door, mon cher Professor Marìn! Quele
surprise!’

  Her face suddenly softened into an unexpected smile.

  Professor Marìn, in his dressing-gown, gently extracted Ambrogio from the French mistress’s grip. ‘What a pleasure to see you, Emilie! Come in out of that fog! Careful of the step – mind the lurch! Pardonne mon pyjama!’ Using the lighted candle in his hand, he indicated his shabby paisley robe – tied with an old curtain cord. Mademoiselle Chouette blushed and cast down eyelashes that were surprisingly long.

  Talina thought, ‘It must be the candlelight. She almost looks … pretty! Who’d have thought it possible?’

  Even in sepia cat sight, Talina had to admit, there was something undeniably attractive about Mademoiselle Chouette’s silk dress, her jacket of velvet and the soft, glossy curls escaping from two tortoiseshell combs.

  The professor too turned scarlet, and stammered, ‘B-b-but as you are here, dear Emilie, why not come in for breakfast? And to see a most interesting experiment involving two of your livelier pupils?’

  ‘No! No! No!’ whispered Ambrogio. ‘Get rid of her, Professor! She’s a fire-breathing dragon! A horrible hag!’

  Talina nudged the professor’s ankle in agreement.

  Professor Marìn laughed, ‘Emilie? A hag? Then you can’t ever have seen a real hag, my boy. Actually – and I don’t mind who hears it – the fact is that Emilie’s a bit of a sweetheart. She’s been giving me private French lessons for years. I still can’t seem to get the hang of French magic. It might be something to do with Emilie’s face. Makes it hard for a chap to concentrate.’

  And indeed Mademoiselle’s face had shed all the stony sternness of the classroom. She looked like a young girl, as she said eagerly, ‘Two pupils, you say? Can you mean that you ’ave the Terror of the Neighbourhood in safe custody! I ’ave been so worried for ’er. I miss ’er! I thought I would die laughing about ’er egret dance! Pure magie, it was. Though I could never tell ’er that, of course. Mais bon, can we persuade la charmante Talina to come back to school? It is so very boring without ’er.’

  ‘She’s at your feet,’ said Professor Marìn.

  ‘Zis little cat is Talina?’

  ‘Mais oui,’ miaowed Talina.

  ‘I’d recognize that Venetian accent anywhere,’ laughed Mademoiselle. She swept Talina up in her arms, scratching her deliciously behind her ears and under her chin. ‘To what ’ave you been up, ma petite fille?’

  In the kitchen, Mademoiselle made exquisite coffee in a special French way while Professor Marìn reheated his magic mixture, adding an extra drop of Desperate Measures to liquefy it. A plume of smoke curled out of it, forming the words ‘More Hedgehog Gall please!’ which the professor obediently added before spooning a small quantity into Talina’s mouth. She forced herself not to spit the bitter mixture out.

  Propping up the books against two saucepans, Professor Marìn quickly taught Talina to say – backwards – the words of the spell she’d tried to perform with such disastrous results. Slowly, she recited the unfamiliar sounds, finally whispering, ‘anilef anu immaf’.

  Immediately Talina felt her tail twitch and begin to retract inside her body like a fishing line being rewound. Her insides churned horribly.

  ‘Wait!’ she blurted. ‘When I turned into a cat, all my clothes fell off me. So if, I mean when I turn back into a girl—’

  Ambrogio blushed a ferocious shade of red.

  Professor Marìn lifted a painted screen away from the fire. ‘Stand behind that, dear girl.’

  Mademoiselle Chouette whipped one of the tea towels from the rack above the range, saying, ‘You can use this, if ze medicine works.’

  ‘Be careful!’ sputtered the professor. ‘There’s marinated magic in that towel! I’ve been infusing them with Thaumaturgic Steam for another experim—’

  ‘If the medicine works?’ Talina mewed. Then she couldn’t speak any more because her pointed cat’s teeth were pushing up painfully inside her jaw, which was rounding and turning bald. She held her paw against her head for comfort, only to see her pretty furry cat toes bloom into five human fingers, still with scimitar nails attached. Then her back legs began to shoot up. She fell and rolled onto her side, overcome with agony. The moist tea towel wrapped itself around her like a pair of large hands.

  ‘Are you all right, Talina?’ Professor Marìn called over the fire-screen. ‘Oh, you poor little thing. Of course that’s going to be excruciating. Ambrogio, get a stool and go to the shelf above the sink. Find the Venetian Treacle.’

  ‘Venetian Treacle really exists? I thought it was a myth. But where would you get the vipers?’

  Talina screamed, ‘Stop arguing!’ in strangulated Felish. Ambrogio hastened up the stool. Professor Marìn, stirring furiously, called, ‘In the old days, we called Venetian Treacle by its original name, theriaca …’

  Ambrogio lifted down the heavy majolica pot and raised the lid. A beautiful perfume wafted out, along with a quiff of violet-coloured smoke.

  ‘Put your hand in and scoop up a portion.’

  Ambrogio looked into the jar. ‘It’s all black and gooey. Are the vipers … ?’

  ‘Not in a state to bite any more. They’ve been ground to bits with sixty-four other ingredients.’

  Talina cried out again, in no language but that of pure pain. Mademoiselle Chouette clasped her hands in despair while Ambrogio thrust his fingers into the jar. They came up coated in a thick syrup that smelt of caramel-chocolate-lime-strawberry. Holding his hand carefully aloft, he rushed over to the screen. Keeping his back to whatever was happening to Talina, he reached around, his hand questing for a piece of her to which he might apply the ointment. His hand met with tufts of writhing fur, and he groaned, ‘It’s not working, Professor. She’s suffering so much, and she’s still a cat.’

  As he spoke, he rubbed his hand clean of Treacle against whatever parts of Talina he could reach behind the screen. ‘There, there,’ he said awkwardly.

  ‘Is she well basted with Treacle?’ asked the professor.

  ‘Hmm.’ Ambrogio moved away from the screen and then turned around anxiously.

  Talina stopped sobbing and shrieking. There came the sound of a tongue rasping and a little burp, followed by, ‘That’s delicious!’ and an ‘Oh my goodness! My mother always said magic rubbed off on me.’

  Then Talina’s head emerged from behind the screen: Talina’s human head, followed by her human shoulders clad in a large tea towel, which she clutched with her human hands. She stretched her human legs, smiling broadly.

  ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘all the colours have come back! How good you all look! Nice and pink and healthy-looking!’

  She managed to stop herself from saying ‘Even you!’ to Mademoiselle Chouette.

  ‘Welcome back, Terror,’ said Professor Marìn.

  Ambrogio couldn’t speak. He was too busy staring and pointing.

  Mademoiselle Chouette rushed over to hug Talina, keening, ‘Quel dommage! Poor leetle thing!’

  ‘Oh dear,’ sighed Professor Marìn.

  a tense moment later

  ‘SO?’ ASKED DRUSILLA, shooting Ambrogio a disparaging look. ‘Why are you so horrified? Those are beautiful whiskers. Any cat would be proud to have them. And you try running through a narrow space in the dark without them!’

  Talina’s hands flew to her face. The spell had failed to transform one part of her. She still had long white whiskers sprouting from beneath her human nose. She buried her face in her hands and gave way to long, luxurious sobs. Damp, the wiry whiskers tickled even more.

  Professor Marìn said, ‘There’s been too much magic swilling around my kitchen today. I’m beginning to feel a bit bilious myself from the fumes. Your mother always told me, Talina, that magic was attracted to you. I think you may have somehow intensified the dose I gave you. And of course you’ve absorbed the magic I was infusing into the Thaumaturgic Tea Towel as well … so, child, I suppose you may be permeable now to the spirits of many beasts, not just cats. There may even be … other side-effects. Yo
ur state is restored – but I am afraid it is not quite fixed. You must stay sweet and serene and reasonable at all times. Anger is particularly risky.’

  ‘Talina? Sweet and serene and reasonable?’ Mademoiselle Chouette asked in disbelief.

  ‘Someone who is especially permeable to magic really runs a risk every time she departs from a calm sensible state,’ said the professor sternly.

  ‘But whiskers!’ Talina moaned.

  ‘There, there, child,’ said the professor. ‘Men have to deal with this issue on a daily basis. Ambrogio, please go up to my bathroom and fetch my razor, shaving brush and soap.’

  Talina’s tears mixed with scented foam as Mademoiselle carefully shaved the whiskers off. The professor said optimistically, ‘In fact, I doubt if they’ll re-grow. Your brain is no longer sending whisker-lengthening messages to your face. Perhaps they’ll grow back only were you to get into an emotional state, if a cat had provoked you.’

  ‘Which is unlikely,’ said Drusilla.

  ‘Do you ’ave a needle and thread, Ridolfo? And scissors?’

  Mademoiselle Chouette unceremoniously shimmied out of one of her petticoats. She snipped it in half, made a few more cuts and sewed some rapid seams. Suddenly, she was holding out an undershirt for Talina. Then she seized a paisley shawl from the sagging kitchen sofa and busied herself fashioning a dress. Two non-Thaumaturgic tea towels were deftly transformed into a pinafore with a generous bib pocket. Socks were whisked out of the clean laundry basket. The boots Ambrogio had borrowed from his sister were a near-perfect fit.

  Talina quickly donned her new outfit. She came out from behind the screen and curtseyed, ‘Merci, Mademoiselle.’

  ‘C’est chic,’ responded the French mistress, ‘though your accent remains atroce, ma petite. Now, a bonnet. Do you mind, professor? Bien!’ She seized the crimson velvet tea cosy from the kitchen table and began to remodel it.

  ‘Did you hear that?’ Brolo cocked an ear.

  ‘A sound … like growling outside the door,’ said Talina. Mademoiselle Chouette’s face stiffened into its teacher-like mask.