by Zizou Corder
He went back inside.
Ninu looked at Claudio. He wasn’t a very brave creature, but he was curious. He knew the boy had been in Venice – Sergei had mentioned it. This guy sounded Italian to him. Slowly, Ninu approached down a long grey branch.
‘Hello,’ he said gently, in English. His accent was coming out like the man’s.
‘Scusi?’ said the man, surprised.
A response! Ninu was delighted. A sensitive person! And definitely Italian.
Ninu spoke to him in Italian this time. ‘You’re asking about the boy,’ he said. ‘Who are you?’
The Italian stared at him. He looked a bit ill, suddenly.
Here we go, thought Ninu. ‘Yes, I can talk,’ he said. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Claudio. ‘Amazing. But many things are amazing.’
Well, that’s true, thought Ninu. Perhaps this man had some sense, even if he was an adult. He was about to proceed with the conversation, when suddenly a hurtling blur of fur leapt on to the terrace. It was Sergei, his hair all on end, screeching, ‘Ninu! Oh, my fat aunt – Claudio! What the bliddy crike are you doin’ ’ere?’
The Italian jumped up. ‘Sergei!’ he cried out, then: ‘Oh – little reptile, can you speak Cat? Quick, what is he saying?’
‘He’s saying why is Claudio here and that we must go to the hotel,’ said Ninu, alarmed and fascinated.
‘Tell him –’ said Claudio, but Sergei was still talking, quickly and urgently.
‘Ninu – tell him that Charlie has been pushed into a trolley by the Lioncatcher and is being taken on board a ship down by the harbour. Tell him to go and stop them – fight them. You come with me to the hotel – you must tell his parents.’
‘They’re not there,’ said Ninu. ‘They went to get papers for their travel.’
‘No, no, no!’ cried Sergei.
Ninu swiftly translated for Claudio, who turned even paler and said, ‘Who is the Lioncatcher?’
Even before it had been explained that he was a crony of Maccomo’s, Claudio was on his feet, with Ninu on his arm, running down to the harbour.
‘Which ship?’ he shouted wildly, looking at the small fishing boats and the little tugs and the barge that took tourists round the old prison island where the falcons nest now. ‘Which ship, Sergei?’ People were looking at him strangely.
In the excitement, Ninu fell off his arm. Sergei was right there beside him, staring about, trying to identify which of the boats had their precious friend aboard.
Ninu was scared down on the ground. Cats are quick, and people expect them. Chameleons are just vulnerable. He scurried up on to Sergei’s back.
‘Down there!’ yelled Claudio, and sure enough at the very end of the harbour an old barque, junk-rigged, had its sail up and was beginning to manoeuvre away from the dock.
They hurtled down.
Claudio swore.
Sergei leapt.
Ninu clung on.
Claudio swore again.
The ship moved off.
Now, Claudio could have grabbed a nearby boat and tried to follow, he could have called for the police and explained the situation, he could have done many things, but he was in a difficult situation. For a start, there was King Boris, plus there was Primo, and above all somebody had to tell the boy’s parents what was going on.
Claudio strode back to the café. The caféguy looked up as he marched in.
‘The boy has been stolen,’ Claudio said, without preamble. ‘Where was he staying? Where are his parents?’
The caféguy saw the desperation in Claudio’s eyes, and trusted him. ‘Riad el Amira,’ he said. ‘Right, left, right, right, cut behind the fountain, left and right again.’
Claudio was there in minutes. They weren’t back yet.
He caught up with them in the queue at the Consulate.
‘Signora? Signore?’ he said, politely but urgently.
They looked at him, at each other and back at him.
‘I am Claudio, friend of Charlie from Venice. Gondolier. At your service.’
Magdalen smiled. ‘He’s spoken of you!’ she said. ‘How wonderful that you’re here. Come on back to the hotel – he’ll be so pleased to see you …’
Something in Claudio’s face made Aneba put his hand on her arm.
‘He has been taken on a boat, Signori, heading out to sea now. The cat Sergei and the little chameleon are with him. It is Maccomo the Liontrainer, and the local Lioncatcher, I believe. The boat is called Old Yeller. I couldn’t follow. But they just left. Only ten minutes ago.’
Magdalen turned whiter than ever. Aneba’s face darkened with anger. ‘We’ll get a boat,’ he said. ‘Follow them.’
‘We’ll just get everything together,’ said Magdalen. ‘I’ll get all our money from the cash machine. Get our clothes. Food. Fishing rod. You get a boat, Aneba – see you on the quay as soon as possible.’
‘Can you sail?’ asked Claudio. ‘Can you navigate? Do you know where they are going? How far?’
‘We must leave while they’re still in sight, and not lose them,’ said Aneba. ‘We must leave immediately.’
Claudio was torn. He wanted to offer to go too – but there was King Boris and Primo!
‘I am sailor,’ he said. ‘I can come if you can wait – but you can’t wait …’
‘Why can’t you come now?’ said Aneba.
‘I have something to take to the Lions,’ said Claudio desperately. ‘I won’t be long.’ But how was he going to get Primo to the Lions without Charlie’s help? It was all going horribly wrong.
The distress was dreadful.
‘Bloody Lions,’ said Aneba. ‘Bloody, bloody, bloody.’ He looked as if he wanted to bash his head against the wall.
Chapter Five
Charlie lay in the darkness, in the bag, scared. That was all. Shivery, sick feeling. Itchy skin. Just scared.
This is my fault, he thought. I shouldn’t have gone out, they told me not to, and I did, and it happened. I am stupid, stupid, stupid and I deserve whatever happens to me now. Just because I was with Mum and Dad I thought everything was all right again. I forgot. I was stupid.
He wasn’t being trundled any more. There had been a lot of urgent movement, and he’d felt himself hoisted and lifted. Now there was, what? Not stillness, but comparative calm. It felt not that he was being moved, but that he was in something bigger that was itself moving. What? Train? Wagon?
He couldn’t tell.
His nose was itching and running. His eyes were dusty. Any minute now his breathing was going to start tightening, he could tell.
He wriggled around a bit and felt for his asthma puffer in his pocket. At least it was a new one. He didn’t know how long he’d be … away.
He took a puff, held it, felt his lungs relax again, breathed out.
And that was it. There was nothing else. He lay there, uncomfortable, scared, stupid.
‘I must go,’ Claudio said. ‘Leave a message, when you leave. I follow. I help. I promise you this. Your boy is important. I help.’
Even through her distress, Magdalen looked surprised and pleased by his declaration. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘We’ll leave word.’ And she raced upstairs to pack up, before paying the bill. Aneba was going to clean out the cash machine.
‘Though we’ll hardly need cash at sea,’ Magdalen observed.
‘You need cash to get to sea,’ said Claudio.
By the time she got down to the dock fifteen minutes later, Aneba was deep in discussion with a tall, lugubrious fisherman.
‘He says they were going to America!’ he cried as she ran up.
‘America! What kind of boat was it?’
‘Like that one, but bigger,’ said the fisherman, gesturing to a medium-sized oldish-looking fishing vessel, solar-powered and with sails.
‘How could that make it to America?’ cried Magdalen.
‘Thor Heyerdahl went in a raft,’ said the fisherman’s companion, but Aneba and Magdalen were
not interested in that now.
‘Can you take us – follow them?’ asked Magdalen urgently.
‘Madame,’ said the lugubrious fisherman, ‘Capitaine Drutzel is a crazy man. I would not wish to follow.’
‘We can pay,’ she said.
‘What use are riches if you are drowned?’ said the fisherman.
Aneba gritted his teeth.
Magdalen began to cry.
‘Please,’ said Aneba.
‘To follow them wherever they go?’ said the fisherman.
‘Yes, and not to lose sight of them now!’ said Aneba. ‘Look – there they are. Please. Please, catch this tide, take us. Please.’
The fisherman broke into a wide smile.
‘The power of the parent who seeks the child is very strong,’ he said. ‘My boat also is strong. Together we will cross the sea or whatever God has in mind for us.’ He peered towards the horizon. ‘We have one hour before they disappear – we can buy much food, much water, and then we leave and all will be good if God wills it. Please to go and purchase many dates, which are the food of God. My name is Suleiman. Fear not.’
King Boris sat on top of the balloon, his telescope to his eye and his shotgun on his knee. He had no intention of shooting anyone or anything if he could possibly help it, but he was an experienced fellow, and assassins of any kind could crop up anywhere.
He looked out over the forest, but he was thinking about Primo. The journey had been hard for him. Personally King Boris thought Primo should get out and soak up some sunshine, but he was so tired, and perhaps, King Boris thought, a little scared. He wouldn’t know in whose territory they had landed. He would feel vulnerable. Perhaps he should go down and try to give Primo some water, but he did not really want to get too close to him. But just then, a rustle came up through the long golden grasses outside, and a shadow skipped across the land.
Down in the basket Primo’s nose twitched. Danger.
Up on top, King Boris flicked his head round, looking, scanning.
Nothing – nothing he could see, anyway.
Behind him, ten or fifteen metres away, the grasses parted.
A golden shape streamed towards the balloon. King Boris sensed it and, turning to look, reaching for the telescope, he slipped and he slid and he fell.
King Boris screamed as he bounced down the side of the balloon, grabbing uselessly for something to catch on to. He flung himself forward as he hit the ground, calling out to God to be merciful. His mouth tasted dust. He closed his eyes.
Hot breath on his neck.
A hot tongue on his cheek.
‘Eat me quickly,’ he begged. ‘Bite me somewhere that matters. Make it quick.’
His whole self was clenched. Something rolled him over.
‘Yes, bite out my belly,’ he prayed. ‘Now, do it now.’
Something was stroking him, tickling him almost. It made little mewing noises.
‘No, no! Don’t play with me! Please!’ he cried.
If only he had spoken Cat he would have understood the mewing: ‘Hey look, guys – it’s King Boris! What’s he doing here? King Boris! Are you OK?’
It had not taken long for news of the giant crashed scarlet bird to reach the Lions. Most of the Wild Lions had twitched their ears and gone back to sleep, but a couple of the younger ones, and the Oldest Lion, the Lionesses, Elsina and the Young Lion, had all decided to slope over and have a look at it – and, in the case of Elsina, give King Boris the fright of his life.
The Oldest Lion ignored her. He was lifting himself slowly up into the basket, following the scent to where Primo lay.
When he saw him, he blinked and smiled a low leonine smile.
‘My old friend,’ he said. ‘My old friend. How have you come here? What is this?’ He was deeply, deeply moved. ‘Come, we will take you to our home. You are tired. Come, you will stay with us.’
The Wild Lions looked on in amazement as the huge ancient cat, with his sabre teeth, emerged. What were the returned Lions producing now?
The Lionesses, Elsina and the Young Lion swiftly moved to the basket.
‘Primo!’ they cried, except Elsina, who bounced around crying, ‘Grandpa! Grandpa’s come!’ Full of pleasure at seeing him again, they touched noses and twitched their tails. The Lionesses tried to help Primo out of the basket. ‘You are staying, aren’t you?’ they murmured in their furry golden voices.
‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Oh yes.’
Elsina was now sitting on King Boris, on whom, in her enthusiasm, she had landed mid-bounce. He was still moaning. She started giggling.
‘Open your eyes, silly!’ she said. ‘It’s only me! Come on! We met on the train, don’t you remember?’
She pushed him gently, and tickled him. He continued to moan. In the end she started to sing. Charlie had tried to teach them sea shanties on their way from Venice, and Elsina had more or less been able to hold a tune, in quite a caterwauling fashion. Now she remembered the tune that Claudio always used to sing: his gondolier song.
She started to sing it.
‘She’s lost her mind!’ cried one of the Wild Lions.
‘Oh dear,’ said the Oldest Lion.
‘Shut up, Elsina,’ said the Young Lion.
But it worked. King Boris stopped yelling, opened his eyes, and found himself staring at the pink-nosed, golden-furred face of Elsina, the beautiful girl Lion.
‘Good lord,’ he said. ‘You’re Charlie’s Lions!’ He cried out in delight, and flung his arms round her neck.
The Wild Lions hissed and took a step back. ‘How many human friends do you have? How much of this must we put up with?’ they cried.
The Young Lion, meanwhile, was bending and touching the ground before Primo. ‘I am glad you are here,’ he said. ‘What news?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said the Oldest Lion. ‘What news?’
The Wild Lions stepped back again. They did not approve.
They approved even less when King Boris’s phone rang, and he started up an urgent conversation with Claudio.
Luckily, King Boris was one of those people who, when they are surprised, repeat what is being said to them.
‘What?’ cried King Boris. ‘Charlie’s been kidnapped?’
At this the Young Lion leapt to his feet.
‘On a boat? His parents are going off after him?’
Beginning to snarl, the Young Lion pounded the ground beneath him.
‘The Lioncatcher?’ cried King Boris. ‘A friend of Maccomo’s?’
The Young Lion turned to his father.
‘You see, Father?’ he roared. ‘You see what has happened?’
All his cubbishness fell away from him – he was a young Lion in his prime; he was strong and fearsome and extremely angry.
King Boris dropped the phone in terror. Staring at the Young Lion, he tried to edge away.
‘Calm yourself,’ said the Oldest Lion sternly, but his face too had gone hard.
‘Why, Father? Why is this a moment for calm?’ He turned his intent stare to King Boris, willing him to say more.
King Boris bent gently to pick up the phone, not taking his eyes off the Young Lion. ‘Yes – yes, I’m still here … No, the Lions sound upset … Yes, of course, you must go … No, the balloon is damaged, we can’t take it … I shall come immediately … but the parents have already left, you say? Claudio, listen – I shall come with you. Yes. Wait for me. I shall come now. How are the tides …? Well, we can still catch it then if I am speedy … Yes, no time to lose. OK, at the harbour. Fine. Ci vediamo presto.’
‘We can be at the port within the hour,’ said the Young Lion. ‘King Boris walking will take too long.’
‘And what will you do there?’ said the Oldest Lion. ‘Boy, I know you want to help our helper, but what can you do? A Lion, at sea? What can you do?’
‘Father,’ said the Young Lion, and his voice was dangerous. ‘Maccomo escaped from here. We promised to keep him. Now Charlie is –’
‘And what can you do a
bout it? All of that is true, but what can you do about it?’
‘I will bite in half every human in Essaouira until they send a ship after them and bring Charlie home safe, and Maccomo in chains!’
‘And how will you tell every human in Essaouira that this is what you are doing? How are they to know the cause and solution to your righteous anger? How long before they shoot you, none the wiser as to your grief and guilt? Be wise, my son!’
The Young Lion looked to his father and said, quietly, firmly, ‘Goodbye, sir.’ He went and stood by King Boris, who flinched, but was watching carefully what was going on, and did not move away.
The Oldest Lion could not answer. He knew the Young Lion was doing what he had to. His face sank in a little as he said, ‘Goodbye, my son.’
But when Elsina quietly, cautiously moved closer to King Boris too, and looked up at her dad, the Oldest Lion cried out, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, child. Come over here.’ And the Young Lion gave a look so withering and scornful that she bit her lip.
‘Don’t even think about it, little girl,’ he said. ‘A little kid like you would only hold me back.’
She raised her head quickly, hot with indignation. Hold him back! What, him, the Great Hero! She knew what she thought of that. She remembered how brave and clever her mother and her aunts had been in the trek from Paris. Little girl indeed. But she stepped away from the King, back towards her father.
King Boris turned to the Lions, shaken and confused but exhilarated too by what had happened. ‘Goodbye,’ he said – only to find the Young Lion lowering his head and gesturing impatiently.
For a moment he didn’t believe it.
Then he couldn’t bring himself to believe it.
But when the Young Lion was still loping impatiently at his heels after ten minutes’ scrambling over the dusty terrain, nudging him gently as to which direction to take, and every now and then lowering his head and front legs again, King Boris took all his courage in his hands and climbed on board. Still clutching his shotgun and his telescope, holding on tight with his knees, the King of Bulgaria raced on Lionback to Charlie’s rescue.
Chapter Six
Sergei and Ninu had landed on the deck with a splat, and immediately hid under a coil of rope.
