Varjak Paw

by S. F. Said

  Holly couldn't control herself any longer. Her whiskers started to twitch, her body began to shake, and then she cracked up completely. Laughter streamed out of her and flew around the alley like a flock of birds. It was everywhere, it was contagious. Cludge rolled about on the ground, yelping and panting helplessly, and then Varjak found himself laughing too. He couldn't help it; he had to join in with them. It was a good feeling, light and free. He saw it all now, how he'd got it wrong. Of course cars weren't dogs: Cludge was a dog!

  Cludge was a dog?

  Varjak stopped laughing. Cludge was a dog. With a dog, he could still save his family from the Gentleman and his cats – if only there was time. ‘Cludge, I need your help. I need you to scare a man. Can you do that?’

  Cludge stopped yelping and became very serious. He drew himself up to his full height and bared his yellow teeth. Holly's laughter tailed away at the sight. ‘Cludge scare everyone,’ the great dog said in his deep voice. ‘Except Varjak.’

  ‘Then let's go. There's no time to waste.’ Varjak turned to Holly. ‘Coming?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Up the hill. The three of us. We're going to save my family.’

  ‘This is mad,’ said Holly. ‘But no one messes with Sally Bones and gets away with it – we're not safe in this city any more.’ She stood up. ‘So all right, Mr Paw, lead the way. Where you go, I go.’

  Something in Varjak soared at that moment.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘my friends.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The three friends headed for the hill at top speed. Varjak explained about the Gentleman and his black cats on the way.

  He hoped he wasn't too late. With the Elder Paw gone and Father in charge, what would the family do when they faced the Gentleman's cats? What would the Gentleman's cats do to them? Anything could have happened. After all the time he'd been away, the house would surely be different.

  Those pictures in his head – the red velvet armchair, the china feeding bowls – might not even exist any more.

  He was sure of only one thing. They'd have to climb the wall to get in, and Varjak remembered it as the hardest climb of his life.

  Thunder growled above the city as they reached the foot of the hill. The sky was violet with the threat of another storm.

  ‘It's up here,’ said Varjak, leading the way as lightning flashed overhead.

  They climbed the hill as fast as they could. Rain began to fall. It came in stinging whips which lashed into Varjak's nose, his eyes, his ears. He tried to snatch a breath; water filled his mouth, surged down his throat. He choked on it, but kept going, up the hill, one step, two steps, a hundred, a thousand: whatever it took.

  The moon stared down at them, a sullen one-eyed sentry in the sky. Give up, it seemed to say. Give up and go away.

  Soaking, straining, panting for breath, they reached the top of the hill as the sky shattered in white light.

  What Varjak saw there made his fur prickle. A little stone wall stood before them, half the height of any in the city. It looked old and crumbling, as if it had been neglected for a very long time. Another blast of thunder rocked the earth. Varjak shivered. Could this really be the same wall which enclosed the world he grew up in? The wall that once seemed so high and impossible to climb? Was this the place he had left? Or had everything changed while he was away?

  There was a door in the wall. He pushed at it. It wouldn't budge; it was locked. He circled the wall, seeking some familiar sight. A lightning flash revealed the cracks and fissures in the stone where the wild moss grew. At the top of the wall he could see the gnarled upper branches of some stunted, old trees – and there was that single tree which he'd fallen down the night he left home.

  Varjak touched its wet bark, and smiled with relief. He recognized it now. Of course it was the same. The place would never change: it was him who had changed.

  ‘This is it!’ he shouted happily above the thunder. ‘There are trees inside, we can climb down. I'll go first, and… Cludge, what's wrong?’

  Cludge was shaking. His eyes were cloudy with fear again. ‘C-can't climb,’ he stammered. ‘Cludge can't climb.’

  Varjak stared at the huge, powerful dog in disbelief. ‘You can't?’

  ‘Of course he can't,’ snapped Holly. ‘Everyone knows dogs can't climb – we'd be in big trouble if they could. Isn't there another way in?’

  ‘Dogs can't climb?’

  ‘No, they can't,’ said Holly. She frowned. ‘This is the only way in, isn't it? I can tell from your face.’

  It felt like falling through the air and never landing. They were so near. But that wall, that old stone wall, stood in the way once again.

  ‘Cludge sorry,’ said a small, scared voice beside him. ‘Want to help, Varjak.’

  Lightning flared up above. Thunder cracked. Rain streamed down Varjak's face like tears. But it was strange; the storm didn't scare him as it had before. Instead, it seemed to enter him from whiskers to tail, filling him with its own wild power, so that he and the storm became one.

  There was no turning back now. With or without a dog, he was going to find his family.

  ‘It's all right, Cludge,’ he said. ‘You wait for us here. Come on, Holly. Let's go inside.’

  They left Cludge cowering under the tree. The two cats stormed to the top of the wall. They clambered over the edge and down the other side, through a tangled maze of twisted branches.

  Silently, they stole into the garden. They padded over the wet grass and up to the cat door.

  ‘This is it,’ whispered Varjak as they slipped through. ‘This is the Contessa's house.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  They emerged in the corridor. It was empty. The cat door clicked shut behind them. Holly turned to it at once, nudged it with a paw. It stayed shut.

  ‘Let me try,’ said Varjak. He pushed, but it wouldn't open. It had locked from the inside.

  ‘So you can come into this place,’ said Holly, ‘but you can't leave?’

  ‘The Gentleman must have changed it,’ said Varjak, a knot of tension growing in his stomach. This wasn't a good sign.

  He looked around the corridor. The thick green windows were closed, the lace curtains drawn. It looked normal – except that, like the garden wall, everything seemed much smaller and older than he remembered. The faded rugs, the stuffy furniture; compared to the city it was more like a display in a shop window than any real place. The silence made it stranger still: there were none of the city sounds here.

  There was no one about, either. Not the family, not the Gentleman, not those black cats of his. Yet it smelled strongly of cats, as if there were lots of them very near. His whiskers tingled. This wasn't right. Where were they all?

  Varjak and Holly shook the rainwater from their fur and moved stealthily along to the hallway. At the top of the stairs, above the musty carpet, the Contessa's door was closed. Varjak pricked up his ears. He could hear something up there – a long, low, mewling noise – but further down the corridor he thought he could hear cats talking.

  ‘I'll look upstairs,’ whispered Holly. ‘You check out down here. In case I find them, what do your family look like?’

  Varjak paused. ‘A bit like me,’ he said, ‘but different. Be careful. Run if you see a man, or two black cats. They're dangerous.’

  Holly headed up the stairs. Varjak edged along the corridor. He tried to empty his mind of thoughts, as Jalal had said, so he could Shadow-Walk. But it was no good. The thoughts kept coming. Where were the family? Were they all right? Would they be glad to see him, or had they forgotten about him already?

  He could clearly hear voices now, coming from the front room. The door was half open. He crept up to the edge, where he wouldn't be seen, and peered in.

  There they were – the Mesopotamian Blues, alive and well!

  Relief flooded through him. He wasn't too late. He hadn't let them down. There was no sign that they'd been hurt. No sign of the Gentleman, or his cats.
<
br />   It looked like a Family Council was in progress. But it was Julius who sat now on the Contessa's red velvet armchair. The others were clustered around, fiddling with their collars as they listened to him speak. What was going on?

  ‘I don't care,’ Julius was saying.

  ‘But things like this don't happen for no reason,’ said Father. ‘Shouldn't we try to find out what it means?’

  ‘I'm the head of this family now,’ said Julius, flexing his muscles. ‘Does anyone have a problem with that?’

  There were a few mutters around the room, but no one replied. Varjak couldn't believe his eyes. Things really had changed since he'd been away. Julius was acting like a gang boss. It looked like he'd done to Father what Father had done to the Elder Paw.

  ‘If we all agree,’ said Julius, ‘then the Council is over.’

  Varjak took a deep breath, and stepped into the room. They turned to stare at him as if he was a stranger.

  ‘Varjak?’ said Mother. ‘Is it really you, sweetheart? Look, everyone, he's back!’ At once, they cleared a space for him, surrounded him with silver-blue fur and green eyes.

  ‘Varjak Paw! We thought you were lost forever!’

  ‘He's grown, hasn't he?’

  ‘Welcome home, Varjak!’

  Home. Finally, he was home. He looked round the family circle. They were purring and beaming at him – Mother, Father and Aunt Juni; Julius and Jasmine; Jay, Jethro and Jerome. They all seemed so glad to see him. It was good to be back.

  ‘Where have you been, son?’ said Father.

  ‘Outside.’

  ‘And the Elder Paw?’

  Varjak shook his head sadly. ‘Gone.’

  Julius stepped between Varjak and his parents. ‘Things have changed since you disappeared,’ he said. ‘I'm head of the family now. Father was for a while, but now it's me.’

  He stuck his chest out, to underline the point. He was bigger than Varjak remembered him. He'd grown taller; his body had thickened and become more powerful. His collar was tight around his neck. He looked extremely well-fed.

  Varjak glanced at Father. He seemed tired and old next to Julius. It was obvious who would win in a fight. Perhaps it had already happened.

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Varjak to his big brother.

  ‘That's not all that's changed—’ began Father.

  ‘No, things are better for us now than they've ever been,’ interrupted Julius. He pressed something down beneath his paw. It was the toy mouse. ‘The Gentleman's been very good to us.’

  ‘Him?’ said Varjak. ‘His cats killed the Elder Paw!’

  There was a gasp around the room, but Julius just looked annoyed. ‘You're lying,’ he said, raking his claws across the mouse. It had become ragged; its fur was wearing away. ‘The Gentleman loves us. His cats are our friends. Why would they do a thing like that?’

  ‘They wanted to stop us going Outside—’

  ‘Well, there's your answer,’ said Julius. ‘They were only trying to help. If you hadn't been doing something wrong…’

  Varjak bristled. It was Julius who was wrong. Varjak knew he was – but Julius could always make his lies so convincing, and Varjak couldn't find an answer fast enough.

  ‘Now, now,’ said Mother. ‘Julius is right, Varjak. The Gentleman still feeds us wonderful food every day. As for his cats—’ Julius shot her a look, and she coughed. ‘Well, that's enough of that,’ she said quickly. ‘But just look at you, sweetheart. Haven't you grown? And those scars on your face: you've changed so much I hardly recognize you!’

  ‘What scars?’ said Varjak – and remembered Ginger, and Razor, and Sally Bones. He smiled. The world Outside had left its mark on him. ‘Well, I've had a few fights.’

  A voice like milk in the morning purred in his ear. Cousin Jasmine. ‘Why Varjak, you're not a little kitten any more!’ Varjak's ears perked up. He'd always liked Jasmine more than the others.

  ‘He'll always be our kitten,’ said Mother. She licked Varjak's coat, smoothed his fur. He didn't object. He let her warm tongue wash away the rain from the storm and the city's grime, let her strip him of the smell of Outside.

  ‘That's right,’ said Julius, glowering at Jasmine. ‘He's still a kitten.’

  ‘So what's it like Outside?’ said Jay.

  ‘What happened to your collar?’ said Jethro.

  ‘And how'd you get those scars?’ said Jerome.

  ‘I'll tell you,’ said Varjak, though Julius was now glowering at them. ‘I'll tell you everything.’

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Varjak didn't tell the family about his dreams – he didn't think they'd understand that part – but he told them all about the city: the fights, the friends, the Vanishings. It felt strange to tell his tale at last; it didn't feel real. It was more like a dream or a fantasy. The Mesopotamian Blues, young and old, gazed at him, listening silently, captivated by his descriptions of life Outside the house. By the time he got to Cludge, even Julius seemed enthralled.

  ‘Varjak's brought glory to the family,’ said Father when it was over. Varjak did his best to look humble, but it wasn't easy.

  ‘I always said he'd turn out well if we brought him up right,’ beamed Mother. Jasmine purred at him. Jay, Jethro and Jerome looked at him with new respect.

  But Julius just snorted. ‘That's a good tale,’ he said, toying with the Gentleman's mouse. ‘Except it's only a tale, isn't it? I know you, Varjak Paw. I bet you were so scared you didn't do half those things.’ Julius's pupils narrowed. He puffed his fur out, making him look even bigger than he was.

  Varjak's throat tightened. A fight was the last thing he wanted at this moment of triumph. He looked into the fireplace. It was cold.

  ‘Yes, sometimes I was scared,’ he admitted. ‘But everything I said was true.’

  ‘You scrawny little insect,’ sneered Julius. ‘Who do you think you are, coming back here and lording it up like this? You think we care about your stupid tales?’

  ‘Julius!’ cooed Jasmine in her milky voice. ‘I do believe you're jealous.’

  Julius ignored her. ‘He's not even a proper Mesopotamian Blue,’ he hissed. ‘Never has been, never will be.’

  He flicked the toy mouse aside, and stared at Varjak with green eyes full of contempt.

  ‘That's not true, Julius,’ said Father. ‘Of course Varjak's a Mesopotamian Blue. Only a Blue could do those things.’

  ‘He's not one of us,’ growled Julius. ‘Eyes the colour of danger. Isn't that right, insect?’

  Something rose in Varjak's heart. His mind was catching fire. All those times Julius had made fun of him, made him miserable, made him feel small and weak.

  ‘Don't call me that,’ he said.

  ‘Insect,’ spat Julius.

  ‘I don't like it. I never liked it.’

  ‘It's what you are. Now come on, I'll squash you flat!’

  Something snapped in Varjak. ‘ALL RIGHT!’ he heard himself yell.

  ‘Don't, Varjak,’ said Jasmine. ‘He'll kill you—’

  Julius hissed at her. She shrank back and was silent like the rest.

  Varjak's face was burning. But he had no choice now. He had to go through with it.

  Varjak and Julius started to circle each other, stalking around the Contessa's empty armchair. The family made a ring around them. Everyone was watching, silent, with bated breath.

  Varjak breathed in–two–three–four, and dropped smoothly into Slow-Time. Julius glared at him with scornful green eyes, and bared his teeth. Varjak glared right back; bared his own teeth. Julius looked surprised.

  ‘Come on, Julius Paw,’ said Varjak. ‘Squash me flat.’

  Julius lunged in.

  He was quick for a cat of his size, but Varjak was quicker, more agile, a Moving Circle of pure energy. He stepped aside. Julius bit heavily into space. His teeth cracked together. It sounded painful.

  ‘Don't ever call me an insect again,’ said Varjak.

  Julius roared. He raked out with a strong,
silver-blue paw. Varjak was too fast once more. Julius missed, and lurched into the armchair.

  Jay, Jethro and Jerome giggled. Were they laughing at his Moving Circle? Varjak turned, to see them giggling at Julius instead. He smiled, but as he looked away, Julius came at him and cracked the side of his face with vicious strength.

  Varjak staggered back. He hadn't expected that. It hurt.

  ‘Insect!’ thundered Julius. ‘Now you've made me angry!’ He launched a flurry of claws. Senses reeling, Varjak dived away just in time. He had to keep breathing, keep the Moving Circle going, or Julius would finish him.

  He dodged the furious attacks that followed, becoming a shimmer that Julius couldn't quite hit. The attacks grew wilder, angrier. Varjak stayed a step ahead, just out of reach, as his big brother closed in – until Julius threw everything he had at him in one massive blow. There was no avoiding this one: Varjak had to meet it, head on.

  He breathed out–two–three–four. Went deep into his Circle. The power rose within him; and when Julius came, the Circle held true. Varjak turned the blow away, using his brother's own strength against him. Julius went stumbling to the ground.

  Varjak grinned. It felt good. Better than the time he'd fought Razor. It was better than anything, a hot, intoxicating glow that pulsed through every fibre of his being. He'd never felt so alive.

  Julius was off-balance now, weak and exposed.

  Finish him, thought Varjak. Right now. Let loose the energy. He'll never fight again.

  Do it!

  No.

  ‘Enough,’ said Varjak Paw. ‘Enough, and no more.’

  Julius shook his head. ‘I'm only just beginning,’ he panted. ‘Insect.’ Julius flung himself through the air, out of control, claws splayed. Varjak leaned away in Slow-Time.

  CRASH! Julius smashed head-first into the fireplace. Looked at Varjak with small green eyes, clouded by black ash. Tried to stand up. Couldn't.

  It was over.

  ‘Varjak Paw!’ cried Jasmine.