Lionboy: the Chase

by Zizou Corder

  Primo raised his head, and shook out his magnificent mane.

  Charlie pressed the button on the remote control and the broad creamy wings rose up. Primo shivered his muscles, and the wings quivered as if they were alive. He wrinkled his great black lip in a proud grimace, and as he did so his long, strong, sharp teeth, curving from his pink gums over his furry golden jaw, shone in the sunlight.

  People looked.

  People gasped.

  Venice, home through centuries of all that is rich and strange, had never seen anything like Primo.

  And then Primo roared.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Who’s Mabel?’ Aneba had just said.

  ‘Mabel Stark,’ said Julius. ‘She’s Maccomo’s girlfriend. She’s pretty cool.’

  ‘Why do you just say, “She’s Maccomo’s girlfriend”?’ asked Madame Barbue. ‘She’s also only the best tigertrainer of them all. That’s more important than who is her boyfriend …’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Julius.

  Magdalen had gone quiet.

  ‘Is she here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Julius. ‘Her tigers have replaced the Lions in the show.’

  ‘Don’t her tigers want to go back to their home?’ asked Aneba.

  ‘No – they’re Circus-bred. They wouldn’t know what to do in the wild. Maccomo’s adult Lions were caught.’ Julius looked a bit disgusted.

  ‘So where is she?’ said Magdalen. There was something urgent in her voice.

  ‘Mabel? She’ll be – I’ll go and find her,’ said Julius. ‘You stay here out of sight.’

  ‘I’ll take them to my cabin,’ said Madame Barbue. ‘Major Tib is doing his exercises in the Ring. He won’t see them. It’ll be safe.’

  So Aneba and Magdalen found themselves in Madame Barbue’s neat little cabin, meeting Pirouette the Flying Trapeze artiste, and drinking lime-leaf tea while they waited for the tigertrainer to arrive.

  And when she did, tough and beautiful in her scarlet leather practice suit, which was scarred with tiger scratches and tiger bite marks, with her flaming red hair held back in a tight plait and her whip and gloves in her pale, muscular hand, which was almost as scarred as her suit, the famous tigertrainer took one look at Magdalen and fainted.

  When she came around she almost fainted again. ‘You!’ she cried. ‘You! That boy – that thieving boy – is your son!’

  ‘Yes, darling,’ said Magdalen.

  The others, as you can imagine, stared.

  ‘Well, I’m not helping you,’ said Mabel. ‘I’m not helping him. He’s ruined Maccomo. He’s – I’m not helping even if I could. I don’t care.’

  ‘Mabel?’ said Aneba.

  Mabel looked at him.

  ‘You are Mabel?’ he said.

  ‘Yes!’ she almost shouted.

  Julius, Madame Barbue and Pirouette were agog.

  Aneba turned to them, but Magdalen cut in.

  ‘She’s my sister,’ she said. ‘She ran away from home to join the Circus. We – we haven’t seen each other for a while.’

  When Primo had roared before, the whole of Paris had shuddered in it boots. When he roared now, Venice stopped breathing.

  The sad and haunting beautiful sound rolled across the waters, filling the ears and bellies and hearts of all who heard it – and they all heard it.

  The Doge, who was close by, and could see the teeth clearly, passed out clean on the deck. The Dogepolice on either side tried to catch him, but they were too stunned by the roar to move fast enough.

  The other Lions leapt to their feet and encircled their father, their brother, their cousin from long ago.

  The people in boats stared and gasped. Some gripped the rails, some fell overboard.

  The people at the back cried, ‘What is it! What is it!’

  The people at the front said, in small voices, ‘The Lion! It’s the Lion …!’

  The oarsmen smiled brilliantly.

  Edward, in his special guest-of-honour gilded gondola, turned white, and picked up his phone.

  Rafi murmured, puzzled, ‘I don’t remember that Lion …’

  Claudio jumped up beside Primo, pulled out a megaphone and, as the last of the roar rolled away across the waters of the lagoon, cried out, ‘Citizens of Venice! The Lion has returned! The Lion of San Marco, our beautiful noble and sacred patron, has returned to us in our time of need to lift the curse and give Venice back to her people! See how the scurrilous Doge lies quivering on the Deck of History!’ (The Doge was indeed quivering.) ‘See how his treacherous soldiers quake in the Face of the Truth!’ (The Dogepolice looked around. Did he mean them?) ‘See how the Noble Lion shows his teeth in defence of Freedom, and raises his wondrous voice for Democracy and Justice! Doge! Present yourself before the Lion of the City of Venice! Prostrate yourself before the Will of the People!’

  The Doge was standing now, white as a sheet. Dogepolice surrounded him, their guns drawn, and a group of boatmen – the rowers – were facing them.

  ‘Never!’ cried the Doge, in a shaky voice. ‘Never! The Doge does not prostrate himself before dogs!’

  ‘Citizens of Venice, your so-called leader calls you dogs!’ cried Claudio.

  One or two of the Dogepolice were looking nervous, fingering their triggers – and then the Young Lion stepped forward. He stood straight before the group of Dogepolice, staring at them with a deep and baleful glare. Swiftly, the other Lions followed him. They began to growl, softly. The Young Lion unsheathed his claws, and scratched them gently on the deck. The Doge’s musicians had stopped playing. Their music faded away and the sound of the scratching claws carried.

  One of the Dogepolice raised his gun and aimed it at the Young Lion. A horrified silence hung over the scene – and then just as the Young Lion prepared to leap, a child’s voice rang out: ‘DON’T YOU DARE!’

  It was Lavinia, at the front of the crowd. ‘Don’t you dare hurt that Lion!’ she shrieked, and behind her a thousand voices joined in: Signora Battistuta’s, Alessandro’s mother’s, Donatella’s, the grandmothers’, the TV crew, the crumply guy – all the people of Venice.

  The Dogepoliceman quickly lowered his rifle. He was only eighteen. He didn’t at all want to kill the Lion and he thought the Doge a very rude old bloke anyway. Within moments the boatmen had surrounded the Doge’s group, and the Dogepolice had melted away.

  The crowd started to cheer.

  Charlie watched all this in amazement.

  And then Primo, still standing high and visible, lowered his head and called, ‘Charlie! I am staying here!’

  ‘But Primo –’ Charlie said, and Primo looked down at him and said, ‘Little boy, I am staying here.’

  Charlie gulped. Who was he to say ‘but’ to a prehistoric sabre-toothed Lion?

  ‘But Primo …’ said the Young Lion. And by the look on Primo’s face, he too said no more.

  The Silvery Lioness turned sadly to him.

  ‘Are you so sick?’ she asked.

  Primo looked down at her, and murmured, ‘Yes, I am so sick. And they like me. This city, like me, is out of time. I will stay with them and sink with them. It will make them happy.’

  Charlie realized there were big tears in his eyes. The Young Lion had wrapped his tail round Charlie’s leg.

  ‘Charlie,’ hissed Claudio. ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘Primo wants to stay here!’

  ‘Favoloso!’ cried Claudio.

  The crowd was getting louder, pushing and calling out.

  Charlie just stared at Claudio blankly.

  ‘Your boat is waiting,’ Claudio said. ‘Or are you staying too?’

  ‘We’re going,’ said Charlie. ‘We …’

  He had been about to say, ‘We go,’ when he realized. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay, to find his parents, to go home, to be safe.

  But how could he tell the Lions?

  Claudio would look after them on the journey, of course … but they’d come through so much together.
He didn’t want to let them down.

  Elsina was kissing Primo. The Oldest Lion was talking to him in a low voice. The crowd was jubilating: ‘LEONE! MARCIANO! LEONE! VENEZIA!’ They sounded like the biggest football crowd in the world.

  Claudio jumped up beside Primo again, with his megaphone. It took another snatch of a roar from Primo to shut the crowd up.

  Primo said, ‘Charlie, have your translator translate.’

  So as Primo spoke, Charlie translated it into English, and Claudio translated it into Venetian, and spoke to the citizens of Venice.

  ‘I, Primo, the Lion of St Mark, have returned to Venice. I am staying here with you. You, the people of Venice, are my protectors. My brothers and sisters are leaving. My human friend is leaving. My teeth are at your service’ – here Primo grinned, and many more people fainted.

  The roar that went up from the crowds was louder even than Primo’s, and it was full of love. Even the Doge realized it, as the boatmen gently wrapped him in his own red velvet robes and carried him down to the rowing deck. ‘Come on, sir,’ they murmured. ‘Don’t think you’re wanted any more …’

  Charlie was still thinking about the Lions. I’ll take them some of the way, he thought. Then I can explain to them why I have to return, and they’ll understand – I can’t change the plan now, I –

  ‘Primo,’ Charlie called.

  The great Lion turned to him.

  ‘Goodbye,’ Charlie said quietly.

  Primo looked at him a moment.

  ‘Thank you, Lionboy,’ he said.

  And so Charlie and the other Lions, bidding their swift but heartfelt farewells, slipped quietly down the back of the Bucintoro, on to the deck of the big, solar-powered speedboat that Claudio and his friends had brought, laden with food and supplies and money for their escape. If all had gone according to plan, Charlie’s bag would be there too.

  ‘Claudio, come on!’ hissed Charlie.

  A small gaggle of boats – gondolas and motor taxis, vaporetti and motorboats and a dairyboat that usually brought milk from the mainland, and a highly decorated icecream delivery barge belonging to Claudio’s brother-in-law – was hiding them from onlookers on the other side, bobbing about on the tide and the busy wakes from so many craft, circling and goggling. Even so they had to be quick.

  ‘Charlie – I’m not coming,’ Claudio hissed back, down from the deck of the Bucintoro. ‘I can’t now. Look at this! I have to stay. I’ll look after him. He is so fine!’

  Charlie and the Lions looked at each other.

  ‘Well,’ said the Oldest Lion.

  ‘That’s fair,’ said the Yellow Lioness.

  ‘But –’ cried Charlie.

  His dismay showed on his face. If Claudio stayed, how could he, Charlie, ever get away? The Lions weren’t safe alone – they couldn’t operate the boat! How could he desert the Lions and find his parents? By the time he had delivered the Lions to Morocco, his parents might be anywhere!

  Tears sprang to his eyes, and he turned away to hide them. He didn’t want to upset the Lions. He must be brave now. He blinked, then turned back and swiftly passed up Primo’s remote control up to Claudio. ‘Good luck!’ he called, his voice wobbling.

  The crowds were cheering for Primo. Claudio was calling out, fine noble words about freedom and redemption and the Glory of Venice.

  ‘Charlie?’ said a low voice. It was the Young Lion.

  ‘Do you need to stay?’ he asked gently. ‘If you need to stay, just say so. You have done enough for us.’ The others were behind him, tough and glorious, their Lion eyes full of understanding.

  Charlie burst into tears. How could he desert such kind and generous animals?

  ‘No, I –’ he said.

  ‘We’ll be all right, you know,’ said the Oldest Lion.

  One of the Lionesses offered her tail for him to wipe his tears on.

  ‘But decide quickly,’ said another, looking over her shoulder at the rippling, roiling crowd of boats around them.

  ‘I –’ said Charlie.

  ‘Yer goin’,’ said a low, rustly, scratchy voice. ‘Yer parents’ll locate yer. They’ve gone to the Circus and somebody’ll tell ’em yer going to Morocco. Me, if need be. Go on –’oppit. Go with yer mates. Yer can’t stay here, there’s a price on yer ’ead, remember?’

  ‘Sergei!’ yelled Charlie. ‘Sergei! I’m so sorry …’

  ‘Shut it,’ said Sergei. ‘I’m down off my haut cheval now. Forget it. Yer’ve to get a move on!’

  ‘Are you coming too?’ cried Charlie.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Sergei. ‘At least till you deign to send me back to bliddy Paris with some missive for your esteemed mum and dad.’

  Charlie grinned and grinned.

  ‘Give me one good reason why I should tell you where they’re going,’ said Mabel.

  ‘Because he’s my son and your nephew,’ said Magdalen.

  ‘He’s a thief and a troublemaker,’ said Mabel. ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just head off myself and get the Lions back.’

  ‘Because they want to be free,’ said Aneba.

  Mabel stared at him.

  ‘How very sentimental,’ she said, with a brilliant smile. ‘OK, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll all go after them. I think I deserve a head start, don’t you? I’ll let you know – later – where you’re going.’

  And she left.

  ‘Why – why does she hate you so much?’ asked Julius quietly.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Magdalen.

  Charlie didn’t know how to drive a speedboat, but it scarcely mattered.

  By the time they had crossed the great greeny-grey lagoon, past the Lido, the last island of Venice, and into the Adriatic Sea, he had the hang of steering perfectly. Soon after that he discovered the onboard computer, with its navigation system and movable screen for using either in the cabin or in the cockpit. ‘Essaouira non-stop,’ he tapped in, and smiled as the screen responded: ‘Heading south Adriatic Barbary Coast Essaouira non-stop as per instructions.’

  ‘Great,’ he said, and now that his hands were free he started to pull off those ridiculous tights. But the jerkin he quite liked. Unlaced, with his old canvas trousers, it looked rather cool. His trousers though, he realized, were somewhat shorter on him than they had been. ‘Oh, well,’ he said, and rolled them up. He felt like a pirate.

  Sergei lay at his feet, complaining.

  Behind them, as they headed south towards Africa, Charlie and the Lions could still hear the bells ringing out, and if they had looked back later that evening they would have seen the sky above Venice alight with fireworks. But they didn’t look back. They were off. They were free.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On the marble pavement in front of the Doge’s Palace, Rafi was fighting his way through the jubilating crowds along the canalside, heading west towards the open lagoon. He’d fought his way to the front and seen that weird giant Lion with the teeth. He’d seen Charlie up there with the weird Lion and that gondolier making the speech. He’d seen the other Lions. And he’d seen, suddenly, that they were no longer there.

  The Venetians were too busy overthrowing the Doge to care, but Rafi had only one interest here, and what interested him seemed to have dissolved off the face of the earth. Now Rafi knew that this could not actually happen. He also knew that it is often easier to disappear in a crowd than in an empty place.

  First your prey are on a boat before your very eyes, then they are gone. Their boat, however, is surrounded by other boats.

  So they slipped on to another boat. Fair enough.

  Aha. Rafi remembered the boat from this morning, with Charlie’s bag aboard. So they had a plan. They were slipping on to a boat and scarpering.

  But where were they scarpering to?

  They’d be heading out to sea, or to some place down the coast, or perhaps back on the mainland to the north, or to one of the islands of the lagoon, or over to the Yugoslav lands. The fact they were on a boat meant nothing – yo
u could hardly leave Venice without being on a boat, unless you took the one road or the one railwaytrack. Boats led to a great many more places.

  All around him the people were jumping about, happy and excited, hugging each other and shouting and singing, in love with lions and deliriously glad to see the back of the Doge. On that glorious sunny day, Rafi was the only angry thing in Venice: a resentful, snapping packet of dark, burning anger.

  Actually that’s not quite true. Edward was angry too. But not in the way you might think. Edward was angry with himself.

  Edward, in the face of all the hoo-ha, had quickly, and with a certain amount of success, presented himself as being entirely on the Lions’ side. ‘Long live the Lion of San Marco!’ he had cried.

  Claudio had given him a funny look.

  ‘It’s marvellous, isn’t it?’ cried Edward, fairly convincingly.

  ‘What?’ replied Claudio.

  ‘His Majesty’s Lions!’ cried Edward. ‘Bringing such joy to the people of Venice! His Majesty will be so pleased! He loves the people of Venice! Marvellous! Marvellous! Meraviglioso!’ he cried in Italian, just for good measure, so the Venetians would know he was on their side, not the dreadful old Doge’s.

  Claudio looked quite disgusted, and just before being hauled off to the cathedral with Primo by the adoring crowd, he hissed to Edward, ‘If His Majesty knew what you have been doing with his Lion friends and his young friend Charlie, he would be VERY VERY ANGRY!’

  It was the word ‘friend’ that made Edward stop and think.

  He hurried back to the palazzo, out of the way of this crazy crowd, shouting ‘Viva il Leone!’ (Long live the Lion!) whenever he thought anyone was looking at him.

  The King would be angry!

  Would he?

  But Edward had done all of this for the King’s sake! To bring the King and the Doge to friendship again! Admittedly the timing turned out to be bad, with the Doge losing power, but even Edward couldn’t have known that was going to happen … All Edward wanted was for the King to be happy. Edward was devoted to the King. He would never do anything to upset him. He’d only not told him because he’d wanted to surprise him with the Doge being his friend again.