by S. F. Said
Throat tightening, only just holding back the fear, Varjak followed his Awareness. And now he saw where the sensation came from. It wasn't one gaze he felt, but many.
There were other cats in the room, heaped up in a box. They didn't move; didn't talk; didn't breathe. He looked into their eyes. They were wide open, but they didn't blink. They weren't eyes at all. They were shiny, coloured glass, with a black slash through the middle.
Varjak's head began to spin. What was it Holly had said? ‘They're not alive.’ No. They were just like the toys in the city – but turned off.
The Gentleman came back into the room. He was carrying the tortoiseshell cat. But it wasn't quite the same any more. It had become totally still. It didn't move. Didn't breathe. Didn't blink its glassy eyes.
It had a new collar, tight around its neck. The Gentleman touched the collar. And as it opened its mouth to speak, Varjak knew with awful, sickening certainty what words it would say.
‘I am very well thank you please,’ said the tortoise-shell in a hollow little voice.
Its smiling head nodded up and down, up and down, until the Gentleman touched its collar again and it was still once more.
It was a toy cat now, like the others: a perfect, preserved, furry toy that seemed almost alive, because it once was. So were the rest of them, every last one. Not quite alive. Not quite dead. Not cats any more, but toys.
Varjak wanted to scream. This was wrong. He'd never seen anything so wrong.
The Gentleman placed the tortoiseshell carefully in the box, and riffled through it, counting up his toys. Varjak turned his eyes away from the sight. And the cats in the cage began to howl.
Chapter Thirty-three
The Gentleman's shoes clicked past Varjak as he flicked off the light, and headed downstairs. The black cat went with him.
Fury. Pure, white-hot fury seared through Varjak's body, surged through his muscles, scorched away his fear. There was nothing in his mind but what the Gentleman had done to these cats. It had to be stopped, now, while he still had the advantage of surprise. There was not a second to waste.
He came out of the shadows into the Contessa's room. The howling stopped at once. Everyone in the cage looked at him. A hundred cats' eyes, glowing in the dark. How to set them free?
He'd seen the Gentleman pull a lever to lock the cage. There it was, halfway up. One more climb for Varjak Paw.
The wire mesh cut into his pads as he scrambled up, but at least it had grips, more than the garden wall. Varjak hooked both paws round the lever. He pulled down with all his weight – and the lever clicked.
The metal door swung open. Cats began to stream out. They were pushing and shoving, fighting each other to get away first.
‘Wait!’ cried Varjak. ‘Everyone! We have to work together—’
No one was listening. They were running in a panic out of the darkness of the Contessa's room. Varjak leaped down off the cage. It was chaos on the ground. Paws and claws and tails like snakes writhed as a hundred cats fought for their freedom.
This wasn't going according to plan. Where were Tam and Holly? They could help him, if Holly would forgive him.
A howl of pain came from somewhere outside the room. Varjak clambered over the paws and claws, out of the door, onto the landing, into the light.
The black cats were at the top of the stairs. Both of them.
Together, they were terrifying. No one could get past them. Strewn beside them were the bodies of those from the cage who'd made it out first. They'd been swatted aside mercilessly, and were either out cold or dead; Varjak couldn't tell. The others were trying desperately to get back into the Contessa's room, where they thought they'd be safe.
It was carnage. But in the middle of it all, Varjak felt strangely calm. There was no way back for him. This wasn't going to be like fighting Julius, or even Razor. This was something else. It was life, or death. That simple.
Like a dancer, he picked his way through the chaos of cats. They made space for him. A profound silence settled on the top of the stairs.
Varjak looked at the two black cats, and started to breathe deeply, filling his lungs. He was getting stronger and better every time. The power was growing within him, like a living thing, and he could feel it again, rising up now. This was what he was born to do. This was it. This was the moment he'd been waiting for all his life.
Fourth Skill: Slow-Time. He sucked in the air, slowed himself down.
Fifth Skill: Moving Circles. Varjak came at the Gentleman's cats, powerful as a pulsing breath.
Sixth Skill: Shadow-Walking. Varjak flickered out of sight. The black cats' whiskers twitched, as if they knew something was about to happen, but they didn't know what.
Varjak's Moving Circle lifted him up, flying, an arc of vengeance aimed at the enemy. For the Elder Paw. For Holly and Tam. For every cat who'd Vanished off the streets.
The power rose in Varjak's paws. Claws slid out, white knives of fury, and slashed! slashed! slashed! the Gentleman's cats.
Varjak was out of the shadows now. All the energy, all the darkness and light was flowing through him, going out in blow after blow after blow. Everyone who'd ever put him down, every time he'd walked away: all his anger and his pain went into that attack.
It felt overwhelming, a massive rush of power, almost more than he could control. He could win this fight. He could beat anyone, because he knew the Skills; he kept the Way alive. Inside him, everything Jalal had passed on was coming together. And around him, he could hear the street cats, no longer mewling in fear, but cheering as he lashed into their enemy. It couldn't be long before they joined in; and then the battle would be theirs.
He had one of the black cats backed against the wall. Varjak looked into its eyes. Even now, they showed no expression.
He launched another Circle, ripped right across its face. It didn't blink. No blood came out of the wound. Varjak was tearing it apart, but it didn't bleed. How could that be? He hit it with his best shots, shots he knew should knock out any normal cat – but it stayed standing. It didn't go down. And now he'd lost the element of surprise.
The black cat hit back. It was incredibly fast, even with Varjak in Slow-Time. He arced aside, and only just dodged.
The two black cats glanced at each other. And then they came for him, as they'd come for the Elder Paw in the garden, long ago.
Two bodies moving perfectly, one on each side. Varjak spun a Circle as wide as he could imagine. Moving quick as thought, he deflected one blow, then another, then another, turning them away.
The Circle held. He could feel the energy crackling through him. But the black cats kept coming, relentless, tireless, perfect. Two of them. They didn't give him a moment to think. Never an opening, never a chance. It took all his power, all his concentration, to fend them off. And slowly, they forced him back, back, back towards the Contessa's room.
SMASH!
One of the black cats broke through his Circle. His defences were down. He reeled, off balance. It leaped on him, wrestled him to the ground.
Varjak twisted away, but it was no good. His enemy had him now. It was beating him into the floor.
Hard to breathe. Where were the others? Why weren't they helping? Must break free. Varjak lashed out.
The weight pressed down on him, pinning his paws, crushing his lungs. Varjak gagged. No air. Black eyes filled his sight.
He'd used all the Skills, and they weren't enough. The Way wasn't enough.
But there had to be a way to win. There had to.
At the edge of his vision, he saw a flash of black-and-white fur. A gravelly voice. ‘The collars!’
The collars? Varjak looked at the black cat's neck. It wore a collar like the toy cats. He looked into its eyes. So strange. Not like cats' eyes. Glassy.
Glass. There were glass. Like the toys.
Not quite alive; not quite dead. If the Gentleman could make a toy cat, why not a fighting cat? A perfect machine: couldn't be killed, didn't bleed, never gave u
p. Could be turned on or off… from the collar.
Last chance.
He sucked in the air, sucked it all in, and let it out in one last blast, a desperate lunge for the throat. His teeth closed around the collar. Wrenched back. And ripped right through it.
The collar curled off the black cat's neck. Its eyes opened wide in surprise. It started to raise a paw, but it was slowing, slowing. And slowly, almost gracefully, it ground down to a stop.
Chapter Thirty-four
There was silence at the top of the stairs. The Gentleman's cat was finished. Its body lay stiff and crumpled on the floor. It wasn't terrifying any more. It looked like what it was: a broken toy.
Varjak stood up, shaking, exhausted. He couldn't believe he'd done it. With all his Skills, he was no match for the black cats. He'd fought the fight of his life, yet the truth was, they were better than real cats in almost every way. But they could never be alive like a real cat. That was their strength; it was also their weakness. Somehow, he'd made it count.
The other black cat was staring at the broken toy, as if it couldn't believe what had happened either. It nudged the crumpled body. There was no response. No movement. No life.
It stood up, very slowly, and came towards Varjak. He knew what was coming. This one would never let him near its collar. It was going to avenge its twin. It was going to destroy him. And for all the world, he couldn't think how to stand against it.
But it stopped just before it reached him, and looked him in the eyes. For the first time, Varjak thought he saw a flicker of expression there. It looked sad, terribly, terribly sad.
It wasn't fighting any more. No, it was holding its neck out. It could beat him, it could beat anyone, but it was holding its neck out, as if it wanted him to cut its collar too.
Varjak hesitated. After all this time, fearing and hating the black cats, he'd never thought they might have feelings of their own. But the two of them had always been like one; and now, without its other half, even the perfect fighting machine was useless.
Varjak thought he understood. He leaned towards the black cat. It didn't move away, didn't resist. Very gently, he cut its collar. Its eyes widened for an instant – – and then it, too, ground down to a stop.
It was over.
‘He's done it!’
‘He's beaten them!’
Everyone was shouting now.
‘We're free !’
Where was Holly? At that moment, she was all he could think of. Where was she? She'd figured out how to stop the cats. She was the one who'd done it.
‘Kind of sad, those black cats,’ said a gravelly voice behind him. ‘One couldn't work without the other.’
Varjak turned to face her, his heart aching. Would she forgive him?
‘Holly, I'm sorry. I should've come with you—’
Her mustard eyes were smiling. ‘I know. But you made up for it. Because you're not the worst friend in the world, Mr Paw. Not by a long shot.’
They grinned at each other.
‘Varjak – you did it!’ said Tam. She was breathless and her eyes were shining. ‘I told her you'd do it. Didn't I tell you, Holly?’
‘Tam,’ he said, ‘it's good to see you again!’
Cheers were going up. Some of the cats from the cage were starting to head downstairs.
‘Wait!’ shouted Holly. Her gravelly voice stilled them instantly. ‘It's not over yet,’ she warned. ‘We have to find a way out. The house is all locked, all the windows, all the doors. So we've got to find another way. We're going down, but quietly. No one does anything unless we tell you to. We're not bossing you around; we just know what's going on here. Understand?’
There was a ripple of agreement. Varjak marvelled at the way she took control. He smiled to himself as they led the cats down the stairs, in a stealthy, silent column. He had his friends back, both of them. They'd beaten the black cats. They'd done the impossible.
After all he'd been through, maybe, just maybe, everything was going to come good at last.
‘Varjak! Varjak! Help!’
He looked down. It was Julius, howling.
Julius, in the Gentleman's grip.
The Gentleman, waiting for them at the foot of the stairs.
The column of cats froze in fear. Varjak could see his family on the edge of the front room, trembling, powerless. They were all powerless before the Gentleman. The black cats were gone, but they were nothing compared to the man who made them.
click CLACK
The Gentleman dropped Julius and stepped towards the stairs, shouting in a voice like thunder. The column of cats cracked and began to break.
‘Wait!’ cried Holly, but no one was listening now. The street cats panicked, turned tail, fled upstairs. Julius scurried back to his family. In the space of a heartbeat, Varjak, Holly and Tam stood alone as the Gentleman came for them.
His shadow stretched out before him. It covered the stairs, draping them in darkness even before he reached them. His shoes shone like black ice. As they clicked closer, step by step, Varjak could see his own reflection, looming larger in their blackness.
How could he let himself believe that everything would work out? He should have known better. He hated himself for having that moment of hope, because now the hope was gone, there was nothing left at all.
‘There's no way out, is there, Varjak?’ said Tam.
‘No.’
‘Looks like goodbye,’ said Holly. ‘We go down fighting?’
‘We go down fighting,’ said Varjak Paw.
The Gentleman's waxy white hand reached out for him. Huge enough to hold his whole body. Strong enough to break his neck.
Varjak bared his teeth. Ready to bite. To fight to the death. And it would be death. How else could it end?
The hand closed around his neck, and –
CRASH! The smash of breaking glass. A roar like the sky ripping open: ‘LEAVE MY FRIENDS ALONE!’
– and the hand let go. Varjak looked up to see the biggest, blackest monster in the world.
Cludge, it was Cludge! The great dog had come through! He'd shattered the windows of the Contessa's house!
Cludge was ferocious. Even Varjak shook at the sight of him.
Cludge roared. The Gentleman cowered. He backed away from the stairs, hands in the air, shaking with terror.
It was something Varjak never expected to see. This almighty man, so vast, so powerful; he'd made the toy cats, the black cats. He was responsible for the Vanishings. He could do anything. And yet even he, with all his power, had something he was scared of, something he couldn't face. And faced with Cludge, the Gentleman became like a little boy, lost and frightened and all alone.
Cludge circled around him, growling and snarling and snapping his teeth. He forced the Gentleman over to the broken green window, and then he came at him with big blunt claws.
The Gentleman screamed. He turned and ran, out of the window, out of the house. With a wink at the cats, Cludge leaped after him – and chased him screaming into the night.
Chapter Thirty-five
The Gentleman was gone. A great cheer went up. The cats from the cage came charging downstairs.
Varjak Paw slumped to the floor. He should have felt like cheering too, but he didn't. All he wanted was a quiet place to rest.
Some chance.
‘Varjak Paw! You did it!’ said Julius. ‘Varjak and his friends!’ They were swamped by admiring green eyes. The Mesopotamian Blues swept them up and carried them on their shoulders. Around them, the street cats were taking over the Contessa's house. They were everywhere, celebrating their release, enjoying their freedom.
‘Thank Jalal that's over,’ said Mother, above the racket. ‘Now how are we going to get back to normal?’
‘Good thing there's all that dry food,’ said Father. ‘It's not caviare, but it'll do.’
Varjak stared at them, shocked. ‘You don't want to stay here, after everything that's happened?’
‘We can't go Outside,’ said Fath
er.
‘This is our home,’ said Jasmine, ‘the Contessa's house.’
‘But there's no Contessa any more,’ said Varjak. ‘No more Gentleman. It's just us. We're on our own in the world.’ He heard a snuffling noise. It was Jay, Jethro and Jerome. ‘Don't be scared,’ he said. ‘We'll start again. We'll find a new home somewhere. Just like Jalal, when he left Mesopotamia. Except this time it'll be ours, because we'll make it ourselves.’
‘Var! Jak! Paw!’
‘Cludge!’ The family scurried aside as the colossal dog leaped back through the window. Tam turned to Holly, her eyes wide open with wonder.
‘I don't believe it,’ she whispered. ‘He actually talked to a dog? A real, proper dog?’
‘He's called Cludge,’ said Holly. ‘He's a friend.’
Cludge's tail wagged merrily. That cloudy look was completely gone from his eyes. They were the clearest black now, and they sparkled with a new life. ‘Man gone now,’ he panted. ‘Won't come back.’
Varjak grinned. ‘You saved us all, Cludge. But how did you climb the wall?’
Cludge drew himself up to his full height. ‘Wall scare Cludge. But friends need Cludge.’ He shrugged. ‘So Cludge climb wall.’
More cheers were going up. Some of the cats from the cage had found the Gentleman's caviare. They were feasting like they'd never feasted before. Others were streaming through the shattered green window, returning to their lives Outside, as the sun began to rise after the long, dark night.
Varjak turned to his family. ‘That's where I'm going,’ he said. ‘That's where I belong.’
‘But – you and your friends, you saved us,’ said Julius. ‘You're head of the family. You can't go now.’
Varjak smiled at his brother. ‘I think maybe it's time there wasn't a head of the family any more,’ he said. ‘There must be a better way of doing things.’
‘Show us, Varjak,’ said Jasmine.
