Lionboy Part 10

CHAPTER 12.

After Rouen they had to slow down even more: The river was narrower and the water shallower, with islands and sandbars to negotiate. From time to time the Circe Circe had to cross from one side of the river to the other to find the deep channel. Crossing was quite a palaver because all the other boats around had to know what the big s.h.i.+p was going to do, so the skipper would hang a large blue board out to starboard, with a flas.h.i.+ng white light at its center, to warn them. When boats were planning to overtake one another they had to communicate that too. Charlie hung over the deck railings next to the figurehead trying to figure out if there was a pattern in all the hooting and tooting, but just when he thought he was getting it, Maccomo would call him in to do some job, or a sailor would tell him to get out of the way. had to cross from one side of the river to the other to find the deep channel. Crossing was quite a palaver because all the other boats around had to know what the big s.h.i.+p was going to do, so the skipper would hang a large blue board out to starboard, with a flas.h.i.+ng white light at its center, to warn them. When boats were planning to overtake one another they had to communicate that too. Charlie hung over the deck railings next to the figurehead trying to figure out if there was a pattern in all the hooting and tooting, but just when he thought he was getting it, Maccomo would call him in to do some job, or a sailor would tell him to get out of the way.

Charlie had never been to France before and, between fretting, planning, stealing conversations with the lions, and all the extra jobs involved as Paris and the Show grew closer, he had time to admire it. A pale path followed much of the bank of the river, for horses to tow barges, with every now and then an emergency recharging point for electro-barges that hadn't charged up properly overnight at the electric berths. The towpath was lined by tall straight trees, set as regular as soldiers, and beyond them lay wide, flat green fields, and occasionally a golden-gray farmhouse, with black-and-white cows, and apple trees. In the distance, Charlie could see the silvery towers of faraway towns, and the occasional gleaming line of a main road. The river itself was quite isolated and quiet and beautiful. From time to time he could sit and enjoy the calm movement of the s.h.i.+p after the b.u.mpy sea pa.s.sage and the speed of the race to Rouen, and feel the warmth of the sun on his cheek. All the while, he watched out for any cat who might be able to give him any information.

The day they left Rouen, the locks started: Amfreville was the first, and it took two hours to maneuver Circe Circe into the great chamber on the river, close the gates behind her, wait for the box to fill up with water beneath her, bringing her up to the level of the section of river they were moving on to. Charlie had seen locks on ca.n.a.ls before, small ones taking in the whole ca.n.a.l and operated by hand. This was something else: For a start, it only occupied a small amount of the river, which was busy erupting in rapids and little waterfalls all around. It was as if a section of ca.n.a.l had been built in the middle of the river, and when the into the great chamber on the river, close the gates behind her, wait for the box to fill up with water beneath her, bringing her up to the level of the section of river they were moving on to. Charlie had seen locks on ca.n.a.ls before, small ones taking in the whole ca.n.a.l and operated by hand. This was something else: For a start, it only occupied a small amount of the river, which was busy erupting in rapids and little waterfalls all around. It was as if a section of ca.n.a.l had been built in the middle of the river, and when the Circe Circe came out the other end of it she was higher up, beyond the rapids and waterfalls, and sailing along smoothly again, leaving all peril behind. came out the other end of it she was higher up, beyond the rapids and waterfalls, and sailing along smoothly again, leaving all peril behind.

"You'd never get a big boat up here without all this," he observed.

"Ah," said Julius. "But the Seine was never as bad as the Ourcq."

"The what?" asked Charlie, intrigued. He liked to hear Julius explain things. He was amazed that such a young boy knew so much. Sometimes Julius gave him a look that seemed to say "I hope I'm not boring you." Julius knew that not everybody was interested. It made him shy sometimes. But not with Charlie.

"On the Ourcq-" began Julius.

"Sorry, what is the Ourcq?" interrupted Charlie.

Julius gave him a pitying look. "It's one of the other rivers that goes to Paris," he said. "And in the old days, the old, old days"-by which Charlie knew he meant not just before the gasoline ran out, but before the gasoline was discovered in the first place-"they brought wood and stone down it, from the countryside into Paris for building. It was a really quick wild river, and the boats just came hurtling down on the current, which was very, very fast, and then when they got to a weir they would just shoot over the top and plunge down into the waters below. So loads of people drowned, and half the boats were broken and wrecked, and even if they weren't, when they got to Paris they were destroyed anyway, because there was no way back up."

Charlie gave a little s.h.i.+ver. Half of him found it quite exciting. The other half thought it sounded extremely scary.

Each time they pa.s.sed an electro-barge, tooting as they went (one long, one short definitely meant "I am going to overtake," but one long and two short seemed to mean it too-he couldn't get the hang of it), Charlie scoured the decks for a cat. No luck. Why were there so few? He saw one asleep under the trees, and one in the basket of a bicycle being ridden along the pale path under the trees, but none he could talk to. Then, approaching the lock at Notre Dame de la Garenne, they came upon a barge going their own way, towed by horse in the old-fas.h.i.+oned way. In the flurry of communications and negotiations involved in locking in and out, Charlie spotted the barge's cat, a fat cheerful-looking tabby, coiled like a rope on the barge roof.

"Excuse me, Monsieur Cat!" he called.

"Mademoiselle Chatte, if you please," replied the tabby, sticking her leg out and stretching it a bit, lazily. if you please," replied the tabby, sticking her leg out and stretching it a bit, lazily.

"Sorry, mademoiselle," cried Charlie. "Look, could you come and talk to me a moment?"

The cat, opening her sleepy eyes, realized she was being addressed by a human, and was so surprised that she rolled right off the roof and started to hiss.

"Yes, I know, I'm very unusual, sorry," said Charlie. "But please. Just for a moment, then we can drop you on the bank and you can regain your own boat later when it comes up. Please, come now, please."

The tabby gave him a very baleful stare, but her curiosity overcame her (cats are very curious, as you may know), and she was not too proud to leap from the roof to one of the circuss.h.i.+p's fenders, which she caught with her claws before easing herself elegantly over the side, with a grace that suggested it had been no effort whatsoever, and whoever thought it had been was simply rude.

"And your point is?" she said.

Charlie, with great courtesy and some charming compliments (because he had read somewhere that French people are gallant) explained that he desperately needed to hear if there was any talk or gossip on the ca.n.a.l about a pair of English humans, one black, one white, one male, one female, who had been stolen away and taken to Paris, in a submarine.

"You look like a lady who would know everything that was worth knowing, mademoiselle," he said suavely.

"I look like a monsieur," she replied. "You said so yourself."

"I was momentarily blinded," he replied, which was a phrase he had heard his father use once when he mistook a cardinal in his fine scarlet robes for a beautiful lady in a red dress. "Confused by your glamour." He seriously hoped that it was all right to say this sort of thing to a French ca.n.a.l cat. It had gone down fine with the cardinal, but you never can tell how those people you don't know are going to take things.

The cat laughed. (A cat's laugh is quite something-especially a French one.) "It doesn't matter," she said. "I do know everything. Are you the boy?"

Charlie looked around. "I'm a a boy," he agreed cautiously. boy," he agreed cautiously.

"But are you the the boy?" the tabby asked again. boy?" the tabby asked again.

"In what sense?" asked Charlie. He really didn't know if he was the the boy, from the cat's point of view, and he didn't want to claim to be some boy that he wasn't. boy, from the cat's point of view, and he didn't want to claim to be some boy that he wasn't.

"The boy who has lost his parents and is following in search of them."

Ah. That That boy. boy.

"Yes," said Charlie, "I think I must be. I mean, I have lost my parents and I am following in search of them."

The cat looked at him with sympathy.

"They are way ahead. They'll be there tomorrow morning easily, I heard."

"Tomorrow morning!" Charlie wanted to swear, but he remembered his father telling him that one reason you shouldn't swear is because then when you really really needed a strong word to express a strong feeling, you would have none strong enough left. But tomorrow morning! If they were that far ahead, how could he ever find them in Paris? He was days behind them! Would the cats there know to keep track of them? How would he get any more news? needed a strong word to express a strong feeling, you would have none strong enough left. But tomorrow morning! If they were that far ahead, how could he ever find them in Paris? He was days behind them! Would the cats there know to keep track of them? How would he get any more news?

Charlie was a brave boy and quite a tough one, tougher than he thought he was, but when he heard this bad news he sat down on a coil of rope and tears sprang to his eyes. In this moment of disappointment, thoughts that so far he had managed to keep away from himself began to sneak into his mind. Thoughts like "How are they feeling?" And "Are they worrying about me?" And "How could anyone ever have overpowered my great strong dad in the first place?" And "When will I see them again?" And even-"Will I see them again?" I see them again?"

The deck was quiet because most people had gone in to eat, but even so he was not, not, not not going to cry anywhere anyone might see him. He jumped up to rush into the ropelocker, but as he did so Mademoiselle Cat, in a sudden burst of pity, said: "Don't worry-everybody is looking for them. Everybody will help you. Everyone knows the story." going to cry anywhere anyone might see him. He jumped up to rush into the ropelocker, but as he did so Mademoiselle Cat, in a sudden burst of pity, said: "Don't worry-everybody is looking for them. Everybody will help you. Everyone knows the story."

Charlie looked up, blinking. "What story?" he asked.

Mademoiselle Cat twitched her whiskers and said, "The story of your parents. Who they are."

"What is their story?" said Charlie. He had a sudden very strong feeling that this story might fill in the gaps for him-why they had been taken, by whom, maybe even where to. "Tell me," he said urgently. "Tell me!"

"If you don't know," said Mademoiselle Cat, "then maybe you are not the boy . . ." She looked doubtful rather than suspicious, but even so Charlie was now filled with a burning need to hear this story immediately. How could he find and rescue them if he didn't know everything there was to know?

"Tell me," he said furiously. "I have to know. They're my parents. What's the story?"

"I can't say," she said, quietly. "Just because . . . in case . . . but if you are you, don't be afraid." Before Charlie could stop her, she leaped swiftly from the deck of the circuss.h.i.+p into the water.

"Come back!" shouted Charlie, not caring now who saw him yelling in Cat from the deck. "Come back! Cats don't swim! Come back!"

But she didn't. Charlie stared furiously after her, then furiously kicked a pile of coiled ropes, knocking them over and earning himself an earful from the sailor who had just coiled them up. Charlie didn't even hear him. He was livid.

If you're you, don't be afraid.

Well, of course he was he, and of course he was afraid: He'd just been told his parents would be in Paris long before him and he'd probably lose them, and there was some great mystery going on, about his his mum and dad, which he, apparently, was the only person not to know, and now some blooming cat was suggesting that he wasn't even himself. mum and dad, which he, apparently, was the only person not to know, and now some blooming cat was suggesting that he wasn't even himself.

"Rats!" he shouted-which gave the cross sailor a shock, and sent him scurrying off, saying: "Where? Where? I'll get my gun; I must tell the cook . . ."

Charlie leaned over the side, scratching his head-it seemed ages ago that his mum had cut his hair, and his beautiful crocodiles were growing out already-and staring out over France. Gradually his anger slipped away, leaving only one question in his mind: Should he try to leave the circusboat and get to Paris quicker by some other means?

It didn't take long to realize that this idea was not a keeper. For a start, what other means? Unless he was intending to ride a tall silvery tree into Paris, he'd be walking, because the floating circus was the fastest craft on the ca.n.a.l, and there was n.o.body using the path at all-let alone anybody in a nice quick gas-powered car. And then-he had promised the lions, and he didn't break promises, and even if he were the kind of person who did, he didn't think breaking promises to lions could ever be a good idea. No, he'd just have to bite his lip and continue gliding up this wide and windy river.

Charlie knew that worrying about something you can't change is pointless, but he couldn't stop himself. He was miserable about his parents. He didn't think he could bear this delay.

All the next few days, as he fetched and carried, swept and yanked, tipped out drugged water and filled it up with clean, he pondered the two questions: Lion Escape and Parental Mystery. Lion Escape was easier to think about, because it had some answers, and it didn't make him want to cry. So he chatted innocently to everyone about the Show, and who would be where, and what happened when; and he wandered the s.h.i.+p, looking for ways on and off, for gangplanks and hatches that would give easy access to the sh.o.r.e.

The public gangplank was on the starboard side of the s.h.i.+p: It was broad and open and led to the grand staircase down to the foyer and the big top. Could they make it along the public gangplank? Perhaps, if they ran during the show-say after the lions did their act but before the show was over-because n.o.body would be there. Perhaps they should go in the dead of night-but with Maccomo sleeping in the lionchamber, Charlie didn't like their chances. No, it seemed to Charlie that the time to run away was after after the show, when there would be a lot of people to-ing and fro-ing and everyone would be excited about how well it had gone, and n.o.body-except Maccomo-would notice that the lions weren't there. Perhaps he could persuade Maccomo to let him put the lions to bed after the show. Perhaps if someone were to invite Maccomo out after the show, then Charlie would be left in charge, and they would have some hours before they'd be missed. But whom would Maccomo want to go out with in Paris? the show, when there would be a lot of people to-ing and fro-ing and everyone would be excited about how well it had gone, and n.o.body-except Maccomo-would notice that the lions weren't there. Perhaps he could persuade Maccomo to let him put the lions to bed after the show. Perhaps if someone were to invite Maccomo out after the show, then Charlie would be left in charge, and they would have some hours before they'd be missed. But whom would Maccomo want to go out with in Paris?

Charlie thought and thought and thought and thought, and gradually his plan started to fall into shape-but he needed help.

Then at Andresy, when Maccomo went out to the Moroccan restaurant, a mangy, travel-stained, bald-bottomed black cat came aboard the Circe Circe, carrying a chewed and grubby bit of paper in his yellow teeth, and Charlie was knocked sideways with happiness.

CHAPTER 13.

The mangy cat leaped onto the arm of the beautiful figurehead, stalked straight down the deck, not caring who saw him, twitching his nose and following the smell of the lions. When he reached the lionchamber he lay down in the shade and waited for Charlie.

When Charlie saw the mangled piece of paper between his teeth, his heart skipped.

The cat opened one eye, and then opened his mouth hugely. His breath was horrible. Charlie delicately took the piece of paper, unskewering it from a sharp little cat tooth. He stared at the cat, and then they quietly slipped behind the lionchamber.

He unfolded the paper.

He read it.

His eyes filled with tears and his heart filled with joy. They were alive, they were okay, they were being fed, they had a clever cat looking out for them. They'd received his message. They'd understood his code, they knew he was looking for them, they didn't think he should have done it, but they accepted it, they were going to keep in touch with him.

Charlie stood up, his face almost breaking from the strength of his smile. His face was all twisted with joy, his eyes like diamonds stuck in. There behind the lionchamber he did a little dance, clenching his fists and jumping from foot to foot with joy, trying not to make any noise, bursting with happiness.

The mangy black cat was gazing at him patiently.

Charlie stopped jumping for a moment.

"Thank you," he said simply. "This is the best thing that has ever happened to me. You have done the kindest thing anybody has ever done for me."

"Good," said the cat. "So do I get a refres.h.i.+ng beverage as a demonstration of yer appreciation then, or what?"

"Oh-oh yes!" cried Charlie, and he tucked the letter into his pocket and raced to the galley to scrounge milk, fish, and a small piece of cake-on principle, because cake was a treat, though he didn't know if the cat would like it.

The cat wolfed down the cake, and a tin of anchovies, then looked up.

"Do you-do you want some more?" asked Charlie.

"Yeah," said the cat. Charlie fetched him more.

Then he said: "Can you wait? Can you take a reply? Can you find them in Paris?"

"No," said the cat.

"Oh," said Charlie, his face fallen. "Oh-I . . ." He couldn't think what to say. It was like being shown a bicycle on Christmas Day and then being told, "Oh, no, it's not for you you."

The cat looked up.

"Well, maybe I could," he said. "I wasn't planning it. But if it's entirely necessary for your intellectual and emotional peace of mind, I suppose I could. Seeing as it's you. And them." The cat was, to be honest, thinking about all the restaurants in Paris, all the fish heads and half-eaten lobster sh.e.l.ls and bags full of bits of deliciousness that would be waiting for him in the compost heaps behind those restaurants.

"If you insist," he said. "If you twist my forelimb. I don't suppose I've much choice." His mouth was watering already.

"Fantastic," said Charlie. "Fantastic. Because I'll need to know where they are, and where they're heading, and if you can take messages between us . . . then have you seen my mum and dad?"

"No," said the cat. "I got the message off some bliddy posh girl at Le Havre, and she got it off a marmalade." Charlie smiled. That would be the one they mentioned. It seemed to bring his parents closer: This cat knew a cat who knew a cat who'd been with his parents.

"But, yeah, I'm acquainted with the history of who they are, yeah, and you being their appendage. 'Course I am," the cat was saying.

Charlie jerked his head up. He was about to say "Who are they, then?" when he remembered how he had scared off the French ca.n.a.l-boat cat, who had become worried that he might not be himself. Take it easy, Charlie, he told himself.

"I was wondering," he said casually, "why they seem to be so famous here. Of course at home everybody knows them, but I didn't realize cats in France would know them too . . ."

"Because what they've done, they've done for all cats," said the cat, dropping his slightly sneery, half-joking tone, and becoming suddenly quite serious. Charlie was genuinely surprised, because this cat was so mangy and bald-bottomed, and had so far shown no manners to speak of. "They're not proud. They're not saying this kind of cat's better than that kind. Ever since the Allergenies started apparating, your parents have been on their side an' all. What they've done, their work, has been the best thing any humans have ever done for us. Obviously they've not succeeded yet, but their professional enterprises-well, it could be the saving of us. All of us. We don't want humans to hate us. Your parents are single-handedly-mono-digitally-saving the whole relations.h.i.+p between cats and humans. And between cats and Allergenies, if it goes right. Of course cats all over the world know about 'em. And honor 'em. Plus there's you, of course."

Charlie was dumbstruck.

Allergenies? Work to save the cat/human relations.h.i.+p? "You, of course"?

This was the mystery, no doubt about it.

How to find out more without giving away that he knew so little?

"Ah, yes," he said, trying to sound intelligent and well-informed.

"There's been very few humans capable and willing to talk Cat, and I'm very honored to meet you," said the black cat in quite a humble way. "Very honored to be of service. Any cat would be. Even, um, the Allergenies. I know a lot of cats hate 'em, but it's not their fault, is it?" He looked a little embarra.s.sed. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of reaction from Charlie, and a little as if he wasn't sure what that reaction would be, or indeed if he really wanted a reaction at all. In fact, he looked as if he now realized that of course it would be a bad reaction, so he was off down the pub and forget he ever asked. All this in about five seconds.

"Er, no," said Charlie, hoping this was the answer that the cat wanted. His mind was racing.

"Allergenies are not all bad," the cat continued. "I know some who've gone off to live wild in the country, so as not to do any harm. Some of 'em are miserable about what they've to do. And about what's been done to them. Miserable." He spoke with pa.s.sion, but then he seemed to notice that Charlie was having trouble following. He sighed. "Anyway, look," he said. "You better appraise your reply so I can get on my bicyclette bicyclette."

Charlie liked the way he talked.

"Give me a few minutes," he said, and went into the ropelocker.

He thought very hard about what to say to his parents. He had a lot of questions to ask, and he thought it better to ask his parents directly than to question the cat. But he couldn't phrase it directly. directly. He had to ask in their special code. He had to ask in their special code.

"Darling Mummy and Daddy," he started.

"It was really good to get your letter. Everything's going okay for me. Brother Jerome is going to take me to Paris, which is I think where you are going too . . ."