The tortoiseshell cat Tigger-Maria was especially delighted to find a first cousin in one of the cages. She told Talina, ‘We thought Luigi was lost for ever. It was a good day for us when you first took an interest in the case, girl.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Talina pointed to the horizon, ‘the news isn’t all good. Look. We have to find our way out through that.’
‘No!’ the humans shouted, gazing at the black fog that ringed the island. One boy crashed to the ground, mid-somersault.
‘How do we even know Venice is out there?’ cried Tigger-Maria.
‘She is, I promise.’
‘If she’s not burnt to the ground, from what you told us,’ said one man, ‘with that blue fire which cannot be put out.’
‘Not by water-pumps or human firemen, it’s true,’ mused Talina. ‘But I know who could help us. We have to liberate the female Ravageurs. Anyway, we can’t leave them here imprisoned and possibly starving. I don’t know when the males will wake up.’
‘We don’t want any Ravageurs! No! No!’ chorused the humans and the cats, their screams and miaows intertwining rather melodiously.
‘And you said they have rabies!’
‘No! The female Ravageurs have been just as much prisoners and slaves as you have,’ Talina admonished them. ‘Isolated too. So they could not contract Furious Rabies from their captors. They are victims, don’t you understand? They have been treated like dirt, told they are dirt – and shut up in darkness. Just like you. Would you begrudge them their freedom?’
‘Yes!’ shouted one large man, his hands all wrinkled from washing up. ‘We don’t want to escape from the kitchen just to be eaten. Who cares if it’s a male or a female Ravageur who eats us? They’re all the same at core. Vile.’
‘The females have been fed on sugar. They have never tasted meat,’ Talina told them. ‘And remember, you adults won’t be able to see them anyway, so they won’t be very frightening at all.’
‘They just haven’t had an opportunity to eat people. It’s in their nature to kill and eat flesh.’
‘Well,’ Talina shouted right back. ‘We may need the female Ravageurs in Venice. According to the Vizier, Ravageur dribble is one of the few things that will put out the blue fire they started.’
A short silence fell. A couple of children giggled. Gianni Nanon asked, ‘What are the other things that stop blue fire?’
‘There’s only one. Runic Rain. Any of you got any Runic Rain, or know how to make it?’
More silence, broken only by a small girl sobbing and the waxy seaweed jostling around the legs of the jetty.
‘And anyone got any ideas about how to get two hundred of us, and at least ten dozen cats, across a whole lagoon?’ Talina pointed to the jetty. ‘With just two gondolas and only twenty-four miniature oars? No? I thought not. Wait here, and behave yourselves until I come back! And have a good think.’
She stormed off towards the harem enclosures.
‘Told you so. That Talina Molin always was the most impudent girl in Venice,’ complained the washer-up. ‘Known for it, she is.’
‘What a flouncer!’ muttered his wife, pointing at Talina’s stiff retreating back.
outside the harem, the Ravageur island,
May 19th, 1867, Saint Ivo’s Day
LIKE THE HUMANS before them, the female Ravageurs blinked at the unaccustomed light. Talina had prised open the lock to their enclosure with a fork and opened the door, first dragging down a tapestry to cover the spikes that edged the feeding trough.
The creatures’ eyes sparkled with excitement as they took their first steps into the world.
‘It eez so beautiful!’ breathed Bidet. ‘Is zat what zey call a … tree?’
Talina hugged her. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘Verr’ naiss. I should like to meet anozzer one some time,’ smiled Bidet.
‘There are lots of nice things for you to meet from now on. First of all, some cats and some humans. Mind, be very gentle with them, as they are absolutely terrified of you.’
‘Of moi!’ laughed Bidet and all her sisters. ‘As if anyone could be frightened of us! Pathetic and dim-witted as we are!’
‘And ugly to die for!’ added Ripopette.
Talina said, ‘Remember what I told you – you are not to think of yourselves in that way. You are marvellous. Well, I think so.’
The female Ravageurs dipped their heads shyly at the sight of the humans, who stood sternly with their arms folded. The adults could hear but not see the Ravageurs. The children, who could both see and hear, were struck silent with fear. Clara Massaniello cried, ‘They are huge! Look at those claws! Those teeth!’
‘Be amicable!’ urged Bidet, marshalling her girls behind her. ‘Smile, look pleasing.’
The female Ravageurs approached the unseeing human adults with their fronts lowered, as if bowing. Their tails were raised and wagging. Bidet nuzzled Talina’s knee affectionately. The children took a step backwards, dragging their parents with them. But Sargano Alicamoussa held out his hand to Ripopette, who licked it enthusiastically.
Then Sargano cried, ‘Well, actually, they’re just like great big friendly dogs, really.’
The washer-up said, ‘So there’s even more weight to drag to Venice.’
‘But I ’ave an idea for you,’ said Bidet. ‘I understand, though it has not been tried, that our species is good at swimming. We ’ave ze webs between our toes, lak ze ducks!’
Talina clapped her hands as Bidet flexed a huge paw up towards the light, revealing translucent flaps of fur-less flesh between her claws.
‘Et moi! Et moi!’ chorused the other female Ravageurs, holding up their paws.
‘À l’eau, mes enfants!’ Bidet urged.
A dozen of the female Ravageurs splashed into the azure water, howling and giggling. They soon settled into a brisk and powerful dogpaddle. Sargano Alicamoussa plunged into the water to join them. Ripopette squatted down in the water so he could climb on her back. He whooped for joy as she carried him through the waves.
‘Voilà! I reckon,’ said Bidet, ‘that each of us grown females could carry three humans to Venice. And even the girl cubs could handle one human and a cat.’
‘Yes!’ cried Talina and all the children, watching Sargano enjoying himself with more than a touch of envy.
But the faces of the adult Venetians contorted with fear and disbelief.
‘So, Talina Molin,’ said the washer-up, ‘you want us to climb on the backs of monsters we can’t see and swim off into a deep black fog?’
‘Come on!’ Talina urged, splashing over to Bidet, and climbing on her back. Bidet’s fur was as rough as it looked – it felt rather like sitting in a dense field of arrows.
‘Very comfortable up here!’ she lied to the humans, who were slowly making their way through the shallows, led by the children, towards the waiting Ravageur females. The adults’ faces bore a curious mixture of fear and excitement as they reached out blindly and felt the wet fur under their fingers.
Talina’s head lolled backwards, and she woke with a start. Anxiously, she scanned the horizon. Venice seemed as far away as ever.
The female Ravageurs had taken on the fog with courage. It was Bidet’s idea to form a chain like a pendulum, and to let the head of the line – led by Bique and Ripopette – swing backwards and forwards until the opening was finally found. Then it took many hours of patient dogpaddle to cross the lagoon.
All day, they had swum through the shining water, and yet the horizon seemed further than ever. The waves rolled around them like marbles in a jar, jostling the tired, waterlogged humans. But the female Ravageurs never faltered.
‘Are you not exhausted?’ Talina asked Bidet.
‘We shall never tire of freedom, and light, and high skies above us,’ replied Bidet. ‘Even ze water is beautiful.’
‘I thought Ravageurs need to eat constantly, or they die?’ worried Talina.
‘Not us! The males ’ave frequently forgot to feed us. We are used to
doing wizzout food.’
‘But I’d kill for a soufflé au chocolat right now,’ muttered Gonzesse, causing the young woman on her back to faint.
‘How do we even know we’re going the right way?’ demanded the washer-up. ‘There’s no sign of Venice.’
‘Except the smoke,’ said Talina, pointing to the blue-tinged smudge on the distant horizon.
Still they swam, the paws of the lady Ravageurs dipping tirelessly in and out of the water. But cold, hunger and fear gnawed at the spirits of the Venetians.
‘We’re never going to make it,’ muttered the washer-up. Children started whining; women wept quietly.
Talina shouted, ‘Anyone got a birthday coming up?’
A small boy sniffed, ‘Yes, me. Tomorrow.’
‘If there is a tomorrow,’ said the washer-up, at which the boy muffled a sob.
‘What’s your name?’ Talina asked the boy.
‘Riccardo.’
‘Right. We’re all going to sing Happy Birthday to Riccardo!’ insisted Talina. And so they did. Then Sargano Alicamoussa admitted to a birthday the next week. So they sang again.
It was as evening fell that a Ravageur cub cried excitedly, ‘I see land!’
It was one of the outer islands of the lagoon. From there, they threaded their way back via Malamocco, Poveglia, Santo Spirito, San Clemente and San Servolo.
But their first sight of Venice herself was far from joyful. The blue flames rose higher and higher, as if a volcano made of copper sulphate was erupting under the city.
The washer-up murmured, ‘That would put fear in the hearts of grown men, that would.’
‘The trouble is, we had no grown men in Venice, did we?’ his wife answered bitterly. ‘If we’d had grown men to defend us, we’d never have got into this mess. If anyone in Venice had had any gumption – apart from this poor brave child Talina – we would never have come to this. Admit it, Giovanni – we were just like everyone else until we got took. We pretended there were no such things as Ravageurs. Only she would admit there was something wrong. And only she saw the difference between wanting something to stop, and doing something to stop it.’
Another woman took up where she left off. ‘We blamed those poor cake-cursed fellows in Rovigo for our troubles.’
A fourth voice added sorrowfully, ‘We called all this on ourselves. This is our judgement.’
Bidet asked Talina, ‘What are zey saying, the humans? Why do zey cry so? They are going home.’
‘They are being grown-up,’ said Talina. ‘They are judging themselves. They are admitting that they were wrong. And now they are looking at what they have lost.’ She pointed to the blazing horizon.
‘Ah, but zey ’ave not lost it yet! We shall ’elp zem!’ cried Bique.
‘In more ways than you might guess,’ said Talina. ‘I need to explain something to you. It’s about your dribble …’
After Talina’s explanation, the female Ravageurs paddled in thoughtful silence for half an hour.
Finally, Talina reassured them, ‘Professor Marìn will cook up something that will help you.’
As they drew closer to Venice, the tops of the bell-towers became visible through the smoke. Most had been decapitated. And the chimneys of the houses and palaces glowed like blue roses with torches inside them. As they approached, a series of chimneys in Castello burst into flames, as if in a relay race. Then another set of chimneys exploded on the other side of town.
‘Why?’ screamed Gianni Nanon. ‘How?’
‘It’s the gunpowder,’ said Talina, ‘that Grignan kept pouring down them.’
‘We won’t have anything left to go home to,’ wept the Venetians.
They made landfall at the Riva degli Schiavoni, empty of humans but swirling with black ashes. The grown-up Venetians leapt off the backs of the Ravageurs, without so much as a ‘thank you’ or a ‘goodbye’.
Sargano Alicamoussa shouted at them, ‘And what do you say to these lovely creatures who have helped you so much?’
The humans turned, shamefaced, and trudged back to the shore. Grudging thanks were given from under downcast eyelids.
‘You’re very welcome, I’m sure,’ said Bidet graciously.
The children hugged the Ravageurs and accepted friendly licks with pleasure.
The humans then dispersed to find what was left of their homes, making their way, coughing, through the smoke and flames that continually drew back, only to puff themselves up like dragons again. Talina herded her tribe of female Ravageurs to Professor Marìn’s lurching house. It was quicker to ride on Bidet’s back as they pounded over burning bridges and across smouldering squares. All the way to Santa Croce, the blue fire clawed at Talina’s ankles, strained to leap into her hair and sent shattered glass from burst window panes whistling into her path.
At his crooked door, Talina greeted the professor with a breathless ‘Can you make Runic Rain? And where’s Ambrogio?’
‘Talina! You are safe … ! Come in, come in! We’ll soon have you dry. Why are you looking behind you? Have you been followed?’
‘You won’t be able to see them, but I have about two hundred female Ravageurs with me. Yes, I’m quite sure they’re not rabid. They want to help. Now … Runic Rain! Can you make it?
‘Of course I can, nothing simpler. Though it’s not a quick process. Why do you ask?’
‘It puts out blue fire,’ she panted. ‘The Ravageurs told me, when they were under the influence of the Liquid Lullaby. And where’s Ambrogio?’
‘Well, well, well, I never knew that. But I am afraid it takes three hours to conjure even a light fall of Runic Rain. The town is burning fast. Even my own Incombustible Incantation needs renewing every half-hour. We need to do something in the meantime.’
‘I was coming to that. Professor, can you concoct something that will make these lady Ravageurs … well, slobber? A lot! You see, Ravageur dribble is the best cure for blue fire.’
‘A salivant? Of course. A mixture of liquid extract of cinnamon, fenugreek, black pepper, ginger. And we’ll need some jaborandi leaves from Brazil, which, fortunately, I have in quantity …’
‘What will it taste like? ’orribly bitter?’ worried Bidet.
Talina urged, ‘Professor, can you make it very sweet? They’ll drink it faster and dribble more if it’s delicious.’
‘Well, yes, I can add plentiful honey and sugar. We must make great quantities – they will need to drink continuously, both to manufacture the saliva and to keep themselves hydrated. Fortunately, everyone’s here to help.’
He called over his shoulder, ‘Amazingly good news! Emilie! Ambrogio! Giuseppe!’
‘Hello, Talina,’ said Ambrogio quietly, looking past her left shoulder. ‘Pleased to meet you, ladies!’ he smiled at the female Ravageurs.
Soon the humans were busy adding honey, sugar and pomegranate syrup to barrels of cinnamon, fenugreek, black pepper and ginger juice that the female Ravageurs were downing as fast as they could before leaping out into the streets and spreading themselves to every quarter of the city.
For hours, deep into the smoke-choked night, they ran, squatted, dribbled, drank some more salivant from the hot-water bottles strapped to their backs, and dribbled some more. Everywhere they went, the blue flames subsided in savage hisses, their faces and fists vicious to the last. In Cannaregio, Santa Croce, Dorsoduro, Castello, female Ravageurs patiently plodded and irrigated the angry flames with steady streams of drool. At Quintavalle, the grannies surprised everyone by being able to see the lady Ravageurs, and by feeling no fear of them at all.
‘We’re all old girls together,’ chuckled Nonna Meghin.
An immediate bond was formed over cups (and buckets) of sweet tea. The cubs even made friends with the grannies’ cats. But outside the grannies’ houses, the blue flames continued to raise their jagged heads and thrusting arms. The female Ravageurs were exhausted, their jaws aching, their heads throbbing.
‘We can do no more,’ cried Bidet, fainting.
<
br /> And it was then that a subtle, soft rain began to fall. At first no one exactly noticed it. All they felt was a sense of well-being and happiness.
Mademoiselle Chouette, smothering the spitting flames at the schoolhouse with sacks soaked in dribble, thought, ‘But it is my favourite jasmine perfume from Houbigant in the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, Paris!’
She spun around to see who might be wearing it. But all she saw was Signorina Tatti, valiantly beating the nasty tongues of fire climbing the steps to the library door. The librarian’s face, however, suddenly lit up with a smile. Gripped by some private, happy memory, she paused in her work, not noticing that the flames were slinking back into the ground.
Nearby, in the stazione of the Carabinieri, Bestard-Belou stopped worrying the lock to the cell that held six choking prisoners. The cat rolled about on the dirty floor, purring as raindrops leaked through the ceiling.
‘Carry me out and bury me decent! Two-day-old liver ’n’ kidney,’ he said. ‘Can’t you smell it?’
Albicocco, at the next cell door, answered, ‘Your nose is cracked. I can snoof somefing all right. It’s chicken hearts, fresh and warm.’
Talina, dampening a sack with a flask of dribble in the prison yard, wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘Why am I crying like this?’ she sobbed. The scent of her mother’s freshly ironed linen apron wafted around her. She ran out into the middle of the square, trying to absorb as much of the delicious rain as she could into her already-drenched clothes. Almost without realizing it, and for pure joy, she started dancing the Fascinating Stoat.
‘I don’t understand,’ she wept happily as she rippled and wove around the yard.
‘Doan fret yer gizzard so, not-quite-girlie,’ urged Bestard-Belou, skirting between her dancing feet. ‘There’s good wet and bad wet. I reckon this is the best wet I ever smelt.’
Talina in the Tower Page 22
