Lionboy: the Chase

by Zizou Corder

  Would the King be angry with him?

  For locking up his friends and tricking them and trying to give them away as if they were things, not living, thinking beings let alone friends of King Boris …

  Well, when you put it that way … Friends …

  Oh, lord.

  King Boris would be furious.

  Edward was a sensible person. He didn’t try to blame anybody else. As soon as he got in he put a call through to King Boris.

  ‘I’m glad you called,’ said the King, who had just half an hour earlier received Charlie’s letter, and was deep in thought about the situation. ‘I was about to ring you. Now what on earth is going on?’

  ‘The Doge has been overthrown!’ said Edward.

  ‘Oh, good,’ said King Boris. ‘Dreadful man. Never liked him. Will they have a republic now? I do hope so. I was thinking of getting one here … only if I can be president … But that’s not what I was talking about. What’s going on with Charlie and those wonderful beasts? Have they left yet? Did you find them a boat? What did you do about food? I was very worried about meat storage for the Lions, because they wouldn’t want to be going ashore the whole time for supplies … What route are they taking? I’d hate there to be any delay …’

  Edward gulped, blushed, and thanked his lucky stars that he could say, in all honesty, that the Lions and Charlie were on their way.

  ‘Excellent,’ said the King. ‘Well done.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ said Edward palely.

  ‘Credit where it’s due, eh?’ said King Boris.

  There was a small pause, before Edward sort of coughed and said, ‘Er, yes, Your Majesty.’ Even he couldn’t barefacedly claim the credit for something he had tried so hard to sabotage.

  ‘And not where it’s not,’ said the King, a slight sternness in his voice.

  ‘Er, no, Your Majesty,’ said Edward.

  The King remained silent long enough for Edward to realize that he had to speak.

  ‘Sorry, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘I thought … I thought I had thought of a better plan … I thought I knew better …’

  ‘Yes, well, you don’t want to go thinking that, Edward. Not while you’re working for me.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Edward.

  And you will realize, from this, that the King preferred to solve the problem without having to accuse Edward or be angry with him. This is called diplomacy, and it’s a very good way of getting exactly what you want.

  ‘Good,’ said King Boris.

  The Lions were happy: completely happy to be in the open air, to be going home, to be free. The Oldest Lion stood at the prow of the boat, much like the golden lion on the prow of the Bucintoro, gazing south towards Africa, with a poetical look on his face and the salt spray foaming up beneath him. The Lionesses, much to Charlie’s amazement, made a circle by taking each other’s tails in their mouths, and did a stately dance, round and round, on the foredeck. The Young Lion stretched and rolled and somersaulted, and then ran up and down the deck, and up and down again, and up and down again. Elsina made herself into a ball and rolled all over the place, tripping the others up.

  Sergei positioned himself in a safe place in the cockpit, and shook his head. He considered them all completely mad.

  Charlie smiled. The sun was shining and they were heading south, his parents were free, he was free, and this boat was a real gas – he could steer it and make it go faster and slower, but the whizzo computer navigation system meant that it wouldn’t bump into anything. He’d keyed in ‘Essaouira’, and now it would take them there itself, avoiding all the pitfalls and recommending good restaurants along the way. Except unfortunately he couldn’t key in ‘avoiding any likelihood of bumping into other human beings’.

  So they bounced along, fully charged up, laden with food and water, as cheerful as they could be.

  ‘I propose a toast!’ cried the Oldest Lion, turning from his vantage point in the bow. He looked unusually playful, and his mane was curling and flouncing in the wind. ‘To us! To how magnificently we have achieved what we set out to achieve! To our bravery and patience, long may they stay with us, to our brothers and sisters, and to our true friend Charlie, without whom we could not have done this.’

  Charlie blushed.

  Sergei snorted.

  ‘And to our new friend Sergei,’ said the Oldest Lion, ‘to whom I gather we also owe some thanks for the assistance he has rendered to the parents of Charlie.’

  ‘Honoured,’ said Sergei.

  The Young Lion raised one eyebrow.

  Charlie kicked Sergei gently.

  Sergei stood up. ‘The pleasure is entirely mine,’ he said. ‘Erm – yeah. Honoured.’ And he sat down again.

  ‘I miss Claudio,’ said Elsina. ‘He was so polite. I don’t really miss Primo, though. He was nice but he was so … sad. I’m quite glad it’s just us again. Our gang.’

  The Yellow Lioness cuffed Elsina gently with her paw.

  ‘I’m just really really glad we’re on the move again,’ said the Young Lion. ‘Really really really glad.’

  Charlie grinned at him, because he felt exactly the same.

  ‘So tell us, Sergei,’ said the Oldest Lion. ‘What has been going on? Tell us all that we haven’t heard while locked up in circuses and palaces.’

  Sergei blinked at him and scratched his bottom.

  ‘Not much,’ he said. ‘The world’s been taken over by genetically modified felines who make kids sick with asthma, so that the Corporacy can make loads of money out of flogging medicine to their loving mamas and papas, and the two Profs have been kidnapped for daring to think up a cure, and were carted off to one of the Corporacy Communities to be brainwashed. But now they’ve escaped, largely thanks to Lionboy here and, of course, me, and we’re all going to meet up back at your gaff, and, erm, live happily ever after. Well, not me, obviously, because I’m a miserable depressive genetically-modified aberrance, but the rest of you. That’s about it.’

  ‘What’s happened to Rafi?’ said the Silvery Lioness, with a little smile. His blood had been the first fresh living blood she’d tasted in a long long time, and it had been sweet.

  ‘What, Mr Adolescent Fancypants? He’s out of the ’ospital that I believe you, madam, put ’im in, and no doubt is pursuing us as fast as his little legs’ll carry ’im, except that he’d probably not know where we’re going. But, er, the Corporacy will want yer parents back, Charlie, and as Rafi was meant to send you to ’em as well, they – he – might decide that you’d be a bit easier to catch. A good bait, if you pursue my drift. To get yer parents to go back.’

  ‘So Rafi was taking me to the same place?’ Charlie said. ‘All this time I’ve been chasing after my parents, and if I’d stayed with Rafi I’d have ended up with them anyway.’

  ‘Er – yeah,’ said Sergei.

  ‘Well, for –’ said Charlie.

  ‘Yeah, but,’ said Sergei, ‘yer’d’ve been drugged and brainwashed and a liability to ’em, if yer’d been in there with ’em. Whereas, being on the outside and running around all over everywhere being, you know, a boy hero, yer’ve been a challenge and an inspiration. It would’ve been harder for them to escape, with you there. And with you elsewhere, they had to escape.’

  Charlie could see the logic in that.

  ‘Listen,’ said Sergei. ‘The cats in Paris know you’re going to Morocco. They’ll find a way of getting it through to yer mum and dad. Yer mum and dad’ll find yer – they’ll track you down. Come on, they’re scientific geniuses! They’ll find yer!’

  ‘Yes, and Rafi might too,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Don’t you worry about him,’ said Sergei. ‘Look who yer mates are.’

  ‘No, don’t worry,’ said the Silvery Lioness. She looked as if she might lick her lips.

  The Oldest Lion gave a cautionary growl. Charlie knew what it implied. The Lions really weren’t meant to eat humans. At least not on human territory.

  Aneba was following Magdalen, who
was following Mabel across a railway station towards the ticket office.

  ‘Go away,’ said Mabel over her shoulder.

  ‘Make me,’ said Magdalen.

  ‘Sweetheart,’ said Aneba. ‘Is this really the best –’

  ‘Yes,’ said Magdalen. ‘Unless you can think of anything better.’

  ‘Well – your, er, sister –’

  ‘I know,’ said Magdalen. ‘It’s strange. But for now, we just have to find out where our son is or soon will be, and this bolshy redhead will lead us there whether she wants to or not.’

  ‘Go away,’ said Mabel.

  ‘No,’ said Magdalen.

  Mabel, reaching the ticket office, made a big show of talking very quietly and hiding her business from her sister. Magdalen lurked over her shoulder quite shamelessly, then when Mabel had finished and got her ticket, Magdalen barged straight up behind her and said, ‘Two more just like that one, please. Seats next to her,’ with a gorgeous smile for the ticketguy.

  Mabel was trying to race off to the platform, but Magdalen was right behind her, and Aneba was right behind Magdalen.

  ‘Go AWAY!’ shouted Mabel.

  ‘I’m not your kid sister any more, Mabel,’ Magdalen said. ‘You can’t just tell me to go away any more.’

  Mabel turned and stared at her.

  ‘Go away,’ she hissed.

  ‘Anyway, that’s your speciality, isn’t it?’ said Magdalen. ‘Going away? Just buzzing off and never telling anyone where you are, for nineteen years!’

  For a moment Aneba thought Mabel was going to hit Magdalen. But she didn’t. She took a breath, and looked down her haughty nose.

  ‘I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, grow up,’ sneered Magdalen.

  ‘Girls, girls,’ Aneba protested. He almost found himself telling them to play nicely or he would send them both to their rooms. ‘Come on. We’re travelling together.’

  ‘You do what you like,’ said Mabel. ‘I’m travelling alone.’

  Mabel was feeling very confused, and for a number of confusing reasons. There she was, quietly being a world-class tigertrainer, living in Paris, travelling around, happy enough. Then suddenly her old boyfriend appears, wanting to have dinner with her, but behaving actually quite oddly – affectionately, but more as if she had invited him. And then he’d produced this curious crony – boys that age always made her feel nervous, and this one had been no exception – and had to talk business with him in the middle of their date. Then that very night his Lions disappear – six Lions, into thin air, even though Maccomo was always fantastically careful with his Lions, as careful as she was with her beloved tigers. Then he disappears – without a word to her, despite all that he’d been saying during the evening about how he was happy to be with her again. And then … and then Magdalen turns up. Her kid sister Magdalen. Grown up, married, a professor, a mother. When Mabel had left, Magdalen had been thirteen, a plump little kid with her hair all over the place. Look at her now! And her kid was that Lionboy of Maccomo’s!

  Mabel hadn’t been home since she was fifteen years old. Hadn’t seen her mum, any of her friends, anyone. She had chopped her childhood off like a branch.

  And now, her sister, her sister’s kid … Mabel felt a pang in her belly.

  Maccomo had said the boy had a good bond with the animals, but how can a child run away with six Lions?

  And meanwhile, Major Tib had revealed to her that Maccomo had been drugging them. Traces had been found. Drugging them!

  If Maccomo had been anywhere in reach Mabel would have taken her rhinoskin whip and belted him. You don’t drug big cats. Even Lions, which of course aren’t as fine and magnificent as tigers. You just don’t. And Maccomo had been drugging them every day, for no one knew how long.

  The child wouldn’t necessarily know that. He would be off with a pride of Lions coming up from drugs: getting stronger and wilder and more independent by the day, and at the same time confused by the change in themselves, maybe panicking and needing the drug they’d become addicted to.

  Those poor Lions.

  And, yes, that poor boy.

  So what was Maccomo up to?

  Mabel had not been sleeping well. She’d been thinking a lot about where Maccomo would have gone. She’d worked out, late on those sleepless nights, that he could not be responsible for the Lions’ disappearance. Therefore, he would want to get them back. Therefore, he would work out where they’d gone, and go there.

  So where would they go?

  Home, of course.

  And where was home?

  She’d laughed, lying in her bed, and pulled her phone to her. Mrs Chan in Hong Kong would know. Mrs Chan knew where all the big cats in captivity came from. She had sold most of them in the first place. She was the biggest big-cat merchant in the world. Mabel bought all her tigers from her.

  Mrs Chan did not know.

  But that didn’t matter. There were very few independent big-cat suppliers. Maccomo Would have acquired the Lions either through Don Quiroga in Cochabamba, Bolivia, or through Sidi Khalil in Casablanca. And those were not Latin Lions. They were African. So she rang Sidi Khalil, and he confirmed that Maccomo had bought his Lions from Majid, Lioncatcher of the Argan Forests of Essaouira.

  Mabel did not like to leave her tigers. Not at all. If she had not had Major Tib to leave them with, and her own very reliable tigergirl, Sophie, she probably would not have gone. But she was very angry with Maccomo. She was still half in love with him, and she wasn’t about to let a man she was half in love with either leave without saying goodbye or, more importantly, drug his Lions. She wanted an explanation, so she was going to get one, and if she had to go to Morocco to get it, then to Morocco she would go.

  Magdalen, sitting opposite Mabel on the train heading south, knew none of this. She just saw her big sister who she had adored – grown up now, a tigertrainer, beautiful, wonderful, with this shocking temper and dreadful-sounding boyfriend and no concern whatsoever for her old family or her new nephew. Magdalen felt like a little girl inside. She was very angry with Mabel, but she still desperately wanted her to be nice.

  Magdalen chewed her lip and felt about six.

  Mabel just put on a haughty expression and closed her eyes.

  Rafi was hustling through the crowd, trying to escape from it. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets, pulling his leather collar down hard against his shoulders until it almost hurt, and he jostled people, elbowing them in the ribs and treading on their feet on purpose. He wanted to kick them. He was in trouble and he needed a stroke of luck. Or a plan. Or an ally.

  He cut down an alley and found himself in a quiet square, with a bench. He sat, feeling the sun on his face.

  Now. What was it he had stolen from Charlie?

  He pulled the parchment from his pocket.

  ‘Ay, ay,’ he murmured. ‘What’s this, then?’

  He unfurled it on the stone bench beside him. It had been tightly rolled and kept trying to spring back again, so he fixed one end under his knee. It was upside down. He turned it round. It still looked upside down.

  Funny-looking brown ink.

  Rafi frowned.

  Either way up, it looked like science.

  He got to thinking.

  He didn’t know what it was. He didn’t need to. Charlie was carrying it around in a very small bag with very few things in it: he valued it.

  Rafi wondered how much he valued it. Enough to be tricked into trying to get it back? Enough for Rafi to blackmail and bribe him with it?

  Science, eh?

  Maybe Aneba and Magdalen would value it too. Maybe the Corporacy would value it.

  He smiled.

  ‘Hello, my stroke of luck, my plan, my ally,’ he murmured.

  A big grey cat with cobwebs in his whiskers gave him a distasteful look.

  Rafi smiled to himself, and took out his telephone. He wasn’t going to ring Charlie yet and torment him with the knowledge that he, Ra
fi, had the parchment. Not yet.

  Then Rafi took out the other thing he had pinched. It was a small blue stone ball.

  ‘Now what’s this, then?’ he wondered. ‘Why’s this so important that Charlie’s taking it everywhere with him?’

  He looked at it. Touched it. Stroked it. Peered closely at it. Sniffed it. Licked it even.

  A stone ball, blue, with marbly markings in it.

  ‘Dunno,’ he said to himself. ‘Dunno what that’s about.’

  Charlie could have told Rafi that it was just a ball of lapis lazuli that his mum had got on a trip somewhere, that she liked, and that he carried it for no other reason. His mum liked it. It reminded him of her.

  Rafi wouldn’t have understood that either.

  Edward’s telephone rang in his study at the Palazzo Bulgaria.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Who? Oh, you, Mr Sadler. Well, no. What? Lions? You seem obsessed with them. Who? Charlie Ashanti? Never heard of him. Well, how could I know where they are, if I don’t even know who they are?’

  He was looking at his fingernails and listening very carefully to everything Rafi said.

  ‘I think you’re mistaking me, Mr Sadler,’ Edward continued.

  Rafi’s voice on the line was casual but it had an undertone of urgency.

  ‘His Majesty?’ said Edward. ‘Certainly not. We have no interest in this nonsense. Parchment? Thank you, we have our own paper suppliers in Venice. Mr Sadler – no, be quiet a moment – Mr Sadler, this is the only piece of information I am going to give you. Listen carefully. Here is your information.’

  Rafi, sitting on his bench, listened, agog.

  ‘I do not give out information. I receive it. Goodbye.’

  Maccomo’s telephone rang on the small low café table in front of him. Ninu’s left eye swivelled towards it. His right eye stayed watching Maccomo. Their direction joined up again as Maccomo lifted the phone.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, reading the dial. ‘My little friend.’ Then: ‘Hello, Rafi. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m still in the market,’ said Rafi. ‘Just to let you know. The merchandise we were discussing in Paris. Nothing has changed for me.’