‘To set up this museum,’ I said. ‘It’s all he cares about.’
‘And presumably he doesn’t know that he’s part of an unfinished story himself,’ said Ramone. ‘Interesting. How about you, Gypsy? And Piper? What is it that you two want? What will finish your stories?’
Gypsy mouthed two words. My voice.
‘I want to help Gypsy,’ said Piper. ‘And for her to forgive me – it’s my fault she lost it.’
‘Guilt is a heavy burden,’ Ramone murmured, taking Alice’s hand again. ‘That leaves Dolly Weaver and the cat here.’ He looked at Tabitha expectantly. ‘Well?’
‘Yeah,’ said Piper. ‘What about you, puss?’
‘To be human again,’ the cat replied huffily. She narrowed her eyes until all that was visible were two golden slits the size of a couple of grains of rice. ‘And not to be called “puss”, if you don’t mind.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Ramone. ‘And Dolly?’
‘We don’t know,’ I said. ‘Whatever’s written about her is in the section she has. She told us she’s the villain, and that the ending Alice was planning for her wasn’t one she was going to let happen. She said she didn’t want Alice to finish the story, that she’d be better off here. In our world.’ I stopped, noticing that Ramone’s grip on Alice’s hand had tightened. ‘Dolly wants to kill Alice.’
Ramone swallowed noisily. ‘Then she must think Alice still has some control over the story.’
‘You just said she doesn’t,’ I said. ‘That the characters are in control now.’
‘They are.’ Ramone’s voice was quiet, but I could hear the fear bubbling beneath the surface. ‘For as long as Alice is in this dream state. If she wakes up and starts writing the story where she left off, then it becomes hers again. She takes control. Dolly knows our aim will be to save Alice. She won’t want to risk that.’
‘So, if Alice never wakes up, that’d suit Dolly, too,’ I said.
‘It seems that way,’ said Ramone. ‘Which means that, if Dolly can’t get to Alice to kill her, then she may try to kill us instead.’
20
Cat Burglar
A SHOCKED SILENCE FILLED THE air, so still that the water lapping at the sides of the boat was the only thing that could be heard. Then everyone began talking at once.
How do we keep Alice safe? Gypsy wrote.
‘How do we stop Dolly?’ said Piper.
‘And get Twitch back?’ I asked.
Ramone held his hand up for silence. ‘I’m thinking,’ he said. ‘But one thing’s for sure. Alice isn’t safe on this boat, or even mine, with it having the same name.’
‘We can’t take her home, either,’ I said. ‘Dolly’s already been there once. She could come back.’
‘We need to take Alice somewhere that Dolly can’t get to her. Where could we take her? Who do you trust that wouldn’t ask questions?’
I stared at him helplessly. ‘There isn’t anywhere.’
‘We’ll keep her on my boat then, and at least one of us must stay with her.’ He rubbed his chin, brooding. ‘You know, it’s odd that Dolly has offered you the notebook, plus the return of your cat, in exchange for such a small section. It’s too . . . generous.’
‘You think she’s planning something?’ I asked.
‘Why would she be decent enough to do a swap on the one hand, and on the other openly admit to wanting to kill Alice?’ Ramone’s expression darkened. ‘It makes no sense.’
‘She must be plotting something else,’ said Piper.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Tabitha, ‘but is anyone else hungry?’
‘No,’ I snapped. ‘Do you ever think of anything but your tummy?’
‘Ouch,’ said Tabitha. ‘That was . . . catty.’
Piper rounded on her. ‘Why don’t you keep quiet unless you’ve got anything useful to say?’
‘That doesn’t usually stop her,’ I said. ‘But, thinking about it, you haven’t said much.’
Yes, Gypsy added. Why is that?
‘Because I’ve been listening,’ Tabitha answered. ‘Besides, it would have been almost impossible to get a word in between all your yapping.’ She yawned. ‘But, now you ask, I do have something to say.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t involve tea,’ I muttered.
Tabitha ignored me. ‘I was going to say that if you no longer need the notebook, then there’s no need to meet Dolly as planned.’
‘Yes, there is,’ I said at once. ‘She has our cat, and she said she’d kill her, too, if we don’t show up. Or had you forgotten that?’
Tabitha sighed. ‘No.’
‘No?’ I spluttered. ‘So you just don’t care!’
‘I do care,’ she said. ‘Which is why I’m offering to be your replacement cat.’
‘There’s an offer you can refuse,’ said Piper. ‘Although . . . she might have a point.’
‘About what?’
‘About not going to meet Dolly. Perhaps we could hide – follow her back to wherever she goes and see where she’s keeping your cat. Because you know something? Ramone’s right. She’s almost made it too easy. How do we know she isn’t planning something like that herself? She could follow us if she even thinks we know where Alice is.’
‘We could.’ Ramone shrugged. ‘Depends how much your cat means to you.’
‘I’m not letting Twitch die,’ I said. ‘And if we’re going to get rid of Dolly it’d work best if we don’t make her suspicious by not showing up.’
‘Get rid of her?’ Piper asked. ‘You mean . . . kill her?’
I nodded slowly, shocked at myself.
How? Gypsy wrote. None of us are killers.
‘I know that. So we’ve got two options. The first is to wake Alice up and get her to finish Dolly off.’
‘Tricky, seeing as we don’t know how to wake her,’ said Piper.
‘And, even if we manage to, there’s no way of knowing if she’ll have an ending to the story,’ Ramone added. ‘What’s option two?’
‘We get Dorothy Grimes to kill Dolly.’
‘The girl in the hospital?’ Ramone asked, bewildered. ‘But you said you hadn’t encountered her yet.’
‘She don’t sound like someone you wanna mess with,’ said Piper. ‘She sounds nuttier than Dolly.’
‘That’s why we need her,’ I said. ‘She’ll do our dirty work for us.’
What makes you so sure? Gypsy asked.
‘I’ve been wondering how Ramblebrook fits into all this,’ I said. ‘I’m convinced he has the story that Dorothy Grimes wrote. Dorothy wants it back badly. She’ll do anything for it. So, if we get to it first, we have something to offer her in return for getting Dolly out of the way.’
‘But Dorothy’s in a secure hospital,’ Piper said.
‘She was in the part I read,’ I said. ‘But who knows what could have happened in the part Dolly has? No matter how secure the hospital, Alice would have found a way to write Dorothy out of it. She’s here, I’m sure of it.’
‘Then we’ve gotta get the story from Ramblebrook,’ said Piper.
Saying what? Gypsy wrote. How do we get him to give us the story without telling him what’s going on?
‘Easy,’ said Piper. ‘Nick it.’
‘Is stealing your answer to everything?’ the cat asked.
He shrugged. ‘From the sounds of things, half the stories in the museum weren’t Ramblebrook’s to take. I ain’t got a problem with stealing it back.’
‘It’s not stealing if the story really belongs to Alice,’ I said. ‘Just like all the others in the museum.’ I felt pleased with myself until I caught sight of Gypsy’s face. She looked as though I’d slapped her.
What I’d said was true . . . but without meaning to I’d reminded her that all her stories were Alice’s, too.
We arrived back in Fiddler’s Hollow by late afternoon. The street lights were on now and the pavements were wet from a light rain, reflecting orange. Piper moored Gypsy’s boat and came inside, slicking his damp ha
ir off his face with one hand.
‘Ramone’s just behind us. There’s no one on the towpath. We should move Alice while it’s clear.’ He glanced at the sleeping figure on the bed, then his eyes went to Gypsy. ‘Unless . . .’
Gypsy looked at him questioningly.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘I think I know a way to hide her.’
‘How?’
‘By having her and Gypsy switch places.’
‘Switch? You mean—?’
‘Trade clothes, shoes, jewellery . . . the way they do their hair. Everything. All the while Alice is like this, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself against Dolly. She couldn’t run. But if Dolly thought she was Gypsy then she’d have no reason to attack her.’
‘But equally she would have reason to attack Gypsy,’ said Tabitha. ‘If she believed Gypsy was Alice.’
‘She’d have to get past me first.’ Piper looked to Gypsy. ‘And Gypsy’s in a better position to defend herself than Alice is at the moment. What do you reckon?’
Gypsy stared at Alice and nodded.
‘You’re forgetting something,’ I said. ‘If Gypsy does bump into Dolly, her cover could be blown if Dolly speaks to her. How would Gypsy answer?’
‘She wouldn’t. She’d run.’ Piper held Gypsy’s gaze firmly. ‘Right?’
A conflicted look passed over Gypsy’s face, deepening the worry that was starting to build inside me.
‘I think it’s a brilliant idea.’
I turned at the sound of Ramone’s voice. He’d come on to the boat and was standing at the top of the steps, listening. ‘The best way to hide anything is in plain sight.’
Gypsy took off her necklace and moved towards Alice.
Piper nudged me. ‘Come on, Midge.’ He looked at Gypsy. ‘Meet you outside when you’re . . . when you’re Alice.’
We moved out into the cold: Ramone, Piper and me, stamping our feet to keep warm and not saying much. A low mist crept off the water and curled round our ankles. I was damp, tired and dirty. I hadn’t slept or washed properly since Alice went missing.
I turned at the sound of footsteps on the deck.
Gypsy stood awkwardly, like a child forced to put on an ugly school uniform. Her face was scrubbed clean of make-up and she’d brushed her hair out so that it hung round her face. It was only her eyes, green and more thickly lashed than my sister’s, that were different.
‘That’s the Alice I remember.’ Ramone held his hand out and helped her on to the path. She clambered down, unsteady in Alice’s shoes. Even the way she held herself was different. She no longer stood tall and proud. She huddled, slouching into herself. It had taken me a while to look at Gypsy without seeing Alice. Now all I saw was how different they were.
‘And Alice?’ Ramone said hoarsely.
Gypsy pointed to the window. One by one we peered in. A single lamp glowed inside the boat, falling on the figure on the bed. But the figure was no longer Alice. She lay on her side, resting her head on the inside of her bent arm. Her other hand was on the pages of an open book lying next to her. From this angle, it was impossible to see her eyes were closed, and that she wasn’t just reading.
‘I’ll stay with her,’ Ramone said.
Tabitha leaped on to the roof of the boat, startling us all. ‘Me, too.’
Piper stepped back from the window. ‘No, you’re coming with us.’
‘I’m tired!’ the cat complained.
‘How can you be tired?’ he demanded. ‘All you do is sleep!’
She yawned widely. ‘I’m awake now. Just about.’
‘Well, you can stay awake, because you’re coming with us. We might need you as a lookout. If anything happens and we need to get word to Ramone, you’d be the best person, sorry . . . cat, for the job.’
‘Fine,’ she snapped. ‘But tomorrow I sleep all day, and someone buys me a sardine from the fishmonger’s.’
Piper rolled his eyes. ‘Whatever. Let’s go.’ He turned to Gypsy. ‘Ready?’
She nodded, wrapping Alice’s baggy cardigan more tightly round herself. ‘I hate these clothes.’
‘Better get used to them,’ Piper replied. ‘Besides, they’re only . . . what did you say?!’
‘I . . . My voice . . .’ Gypsy’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘It doesn’t sound like . . . like me.’
‘It’s Alice’s voice!’ I said, dumbfounded.
The beacon in her eyes was quickly snuffed out. ‘Oh. I thought . . . I . . .’
‘It’s because you’re wearing Alice’s clothes,’ said Ramone. ‘And because she’s in yours.’
‘This happened just from trading clothes?’ I asked.
‘I wondered if it would,’ said Ramone. ‘It’s not just from the clothes. The story, the fortune cards: there’s magic all around us. Even without all that, clothes are powerful. We use them to express ourselves. They carry our scent. They become part of who we are. The old Romanies believed you should never wear the clothes of someone who’d died, that it would bring bad luck.’
Gypsy pulled a thread from the cardigan, wrapping it round the tip of her finger. ‘So, when we switch back, I won’t be able to speak again.’
He nodded. ‘Alice’s voice will return to her.’
‘We’ll find a way, Gyps,’ said Piper. ‘I’ll get your voice back somehow, I swear.’
She touched her fingers to her lips. ‘At least if we bump into Dolly I won’t need to run now. There’s nothing to tell her I’m not Alice.’
‘Don’t sound so happy about it,’ said Piper. ‘She wants Alice dead.’
We left Ramone on the boat and walked under the glowing street lamps, not speaking. The cat slunk along beside us in a huff, keeping to the shadows. Her mood lightened following a few quick pounces and the doomed squeaking of some small creature. As we neared Pike Street, she jumped on to a low wall beside me, humming a tune.
‘Cats aren’t supposed to hum,’ I reminded her.
‘Whoops. I keep forgetting.’
‘And stop talking.’
‘You stop talking,’ she replied. ‘I’m only answering you. There’s no one around but us anyway.’
It was true. The streets were empty. We’d passed a handful of shopkeepers closing up, but now there was no one to see or be seen by.
I stared up at Ramblebrook’s place. Every window was dark. For the first time, I saw that the ground-floor ones had bars over them, like many of the other nearby houses. ‘It looks like Ramblebrook has left for the night. How are we going to get in, though?’
‘There’s gotta be a back way.’ Piper beckoned us further up the street. ‘Look, here’s a cut-through.’
We followed him into a narrow alley next to the fishmonger’s and skulked along it until we got to the other side. We found ourselves in another wider alley that ran along the back of the buildings. Here the stink of fish crates was overpowering.
We clambered over boxes and crept past bins, disturbing a scavenging fox.
‘This one.’ Gypsy pointed. ‘This is Ramblebrook’s.’
Piper blew his fringe out of his eyes. He went to the door and rattled it, then knelt to look through the keyhole. Pulling a book of matches from his coat, he lit one and held it up. ‘The key’s in the lock on the other side.’ He surveyed the rest of the windows. ‘Up there. One of the fanlights is open. Bingo.’
Piper reached over and tickled the cat’s chin with his finger. ‘Be a dear and make yourself useful, would you, puss?’
Tabitha’s ears flattened. ‘Me?’ she yowled. ‘I’m no good at climbing.’
‘Then this is your chance to practise,’ said Piper. ‘That window is the only way in, and you’re the only one who’ll fit through it.’ He pointed to an old brick outhouse. ‘If you get on the roof, it’s only a bit of a climb up the ivy to the window.’
‘You mean the roof with the huge hole in it, which looks as if it could collapse at any minute?’ Tabitha asked. ‘No, thank you.’
‘I wasn’t asking,’ said
Piper. ‘You’ve lazed around, napping and demanding tea and not doing much in return—’
‘Except cough up hairballs,’ said Gypsy.
‘And get Twitch catnapped,’ I added. ‘And talk when you’re supposed to be keeping quiet.’
‘Yeah,’ said Piper. ‘It’s time you earned your keep.’
‘All right,’ Tabitha snapped. ‘Anything for a bit of peace!’ She glared at Piper. ‘Can you at least lift me on to the roof?’
He scooped her up, smirking, but it was wiped off his lips as she flicked her tail in his face. She skidded over the roof tiles clumsily, avoiding the hole. Within it, rotten beams sagged inwards like curled-up spiders’ legs. A slate slipped out from under her, smashing on the ground. She froze, then continued, each step a little steadier. Where the roof met the wall of the main building, ivy reached up it like the rigging of a ship. She stood on her hind legs, tail flicking from side to side, then hooked herself on to it, slithering through the stems.
Finally, she made it to the window ledge, shaking herself and spitting out an ivy leaf. ‘What do I do when I’m in?’
‘Go to the back door,’ said Piper. ‘See if you can get the key and if there are any other bolts.’
She hooked her paws over the lip of the window and scrabbled with her hind legs against the glass, her behind wiggling until she’d squeezed through and vanished. Something was knocked off the other side of the sill as she landed, smashing.
‘Useless,’ Piper muttered. ‘Worst cat burglar ever.’
We waited. Slow minutes passed, with no sign of movement from inside.
I started to pace. ‘What if she’s in trouble? There were so many boxes stacked up in there. What if one’s fallen on her?’
‘Death by unfinished stories,’ said Piper. ‘Now that’s a way to go. Doubtful, though. She’s probably come up against a door she can’t get through.’
‘What then?’ I asked.
Piper went to answer, but was stopped by the sound of scratching on the other side of the door.
He knelt by the keyhole. ‘Puss?’
‘Who else?’ came the muffled reply.
‘Are there any bolts? And can you get the key?’
‘One bolt, but it’s not across the door. I think I can get the key out.’ More scratches and scrabbling followed, then a metallic ping.
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