Carbonel and Calidor

by Barbara Sleigh

  ‘There’s an even bigger pile of dirty washing-up than before,’ said Rosemary. ‘So look out!’

  When John, too, was safely inside, they crept down the passage and through the green baize door, which made a ghostly ‘whooshing’ as it swung to behind them. Across the hall they tiptoed, avoiding the shaft of light which shone through the half-open door of the music room, through which the sound of the piano still surged, and up the thickly carpeted stairs to the gallery.

  The wavering circle of light from John’s torch steadied on the door leading to the turret. It was propped open, and on the bottom step was a bedroom candlestick with a box of matches in the saucer. As they climbed the spiral staircase, the sound of the piano grew fainter. When they reached the little landing at the top, they no longer found a jumble of junk, but an orderly pile of trunks and suitcases, with a dressmaker’s dummy seeming to stand guard beside the doorway to Carbonel’s prison. Rosemary ran across, and fell on her knees.

  ‘Carbonel! Are you there? It’s us, John and Rosemary!’ she called through the keyhole.

  ‘I am here,’ said a faint voice inside. ‘Where else should I be?’ it added bitterly.

  ‘But not for long. You’ll soon be free,’ said John. At this there was a chorus of squeaks from the Scrabbles. ‘Listen,’ went on John. ‘There isn’t much time. It’s nearly moonrise. This is important. When Mrs Witherspoon opens the door to let you go, slip out of the prison room as quickly as you can, but come to us. We shall be hiding behind the suitcases. It will be dark, so she won’t see you. Whatever you do, don’t go down the stairs till we give the signal.’

  ‘But the Cat’s Eye creatures?’ said Carbonel.

  ‘They can’t see in the dark either, whatever Mrs Witherspoon thinks,’ said John.

  ‘I knew that from the beginning,’ said Carbonel scornfully. ‘But their iron paws are sharp, and they can run, as I know to my cost.’ The Scrabbles burst into another bout of squeaking at this, and from the tapping of their claws on the wooden floor John and Rosemary could imagine them jumping excitedly up and down.

  ‘Whatever you do ...’ began John. ‘What’s the matter?’ he went on. Rosemary was pulling his sleeve.

  ‘The piano has stopped,’ she whispered. ‘Mrs Witherspoon must be coming. Quickly, hide!’

  They both ducked down behind the suitcases. There was complete silence except for the beating of their hearts. Even the Scrabbles were still. In the dim light that heralded the rising of the moon, they could just make out the darker shape that was the opening at the top of the spiral staircase. Suddenly, very faintly, they heard the striking of a match, and as the sound of mounting footsteps grew nearer, the opening became lighter, until Mrs Witherspoon stepped out on to the landing, holding the lighted candle above her head. For a moment, she stood there, framed against the darkness, the flickering candle-light glinting on her long crimson dress, on the braids of her black hair, and on Gullion, who sat perched upon her shoulder.

  ‘Wait, my little warty one!’ she croodled, at the same time stroking his head with one finger. ‘When we have dealt with this obstinate animal, you shall have your bath in a silver bowl, with a scent of your very own choosing. Patience!’

  With a whispering of silken skirts she strode across to the locked door.

  ‘Cat!’ she cried. ‘This is your last chance. Do you promise to be my servant, to do my bidding in all things? Answer, once and for all!’

  ‘And once and for all,’ replied Carbonel, and his voice was strong and clear, ‘as I have answered a hundred times before, NEVER!’

  ‘Think well, cat! Think well. Such magic wonders you would witness! Such wild, wicked adventures you would share, mounted on the swiftest broom, and you so black and handsome up behind!’ Her voice softened and became almost wheedling. ‘Obedience is not much to pay for all this glory! What do you say, cat?’

  ‘What do I say? Just this,’ cried Carbonel. ‘I want no share in your wicked triumphs, and your magic conjuring tricks! Never, never, never will I become slave to a common witch!’

  ‘A common witch?’ repeated Mrs Witherspoon, and her voice trembled with anger. ‘How dare you! For that insult, I would not keep you in my house one moment longer, for all of Solomon’s gold. Out! Out with you! And not a finger will I stir for the fate that may be waiting you outside these walls!’

  As she spoke, Mrs Witherspoon lifted Gullion from her shoulder. John and Rosemary shrank back while she placed him carefully on the floor beside her.

  ‘Wait there, my pet, my gorgeous Gullion,’ she crooned, ‘while I unlock the door and send this foolish animal to his doom!’

  She put the candlestick down beside him, and as she pulled up the key from the front of her crimson gown, John put out a careful hand and removed the box of matches. Still muttering angrily under her breath, she put the key in the lock. It turned with a grating sound, and the door began to move. ‘Now!’ whispered John. Both of them blew, and the candle went out. There was an exclamation of annoyance from Mrs Witherspoon.

  ‘Bother, the matches have gone!’ she said, and then she laughed.

  ‘What does it matter if I am in the dark? The rest lies with my little Cat’s Eye creatures.’ The Scrabbles were already squeaking and squealing with excitement. ‘Chase this rude ungrateful animal out! See him to the door of the hall, where Grisana will be waiting, and do not bother to treat him gently!’

  Now, the moment the door was unlocked, unnoticed by the Scrabbles, Carbonel had slipped silently from his prison to join John and Rosemary in their hiding place; and while the Scrabbles searched for him in the dark, with renewed squeakings, Dumpsie slipped from the safety of John’s jacket, and heading for the staircase let out a mocking challenge. ‘Miaowk!’

  ‘After him! After him, my little Cat’s Eyes!’ called Mrs Witherspoon, laughing wildly. Unable to tell one cat from another in the gloom, the Scrabbles streamed towards the sound of Dumpsie’s challenge.

  Under his restraining hand, John could feel the tightening of Carbonel’s muscles, and guessed his reluctance to let someone else attract the danger directed to himself.

  ‘Not yet,’ whispered John. ‘Dumpsie can look after herself.’

  As the tapping of the iron paws of pursuing Scrabbles faded into silence, a shaft of brilliant moonlight shone through the narrow window of the landing. By its light, they saw Mrs Witherspoon lift Gullion from the floor and place him on her shoulder once more.

  ‘The moon has risen. I have kept my word! Was that not well done, my treasure, my Gullion?’ she crooned. For a moment she stood perfectly still, while the toad lifted his warty head to her ear. Then she let out a cry. ‘What? You mean to say it is not Carbonel they are chasing to the door? And it is those children again! It was they who blew out the candle? Why didn’t you warn me?’ She paused again as though listening to the toad’s reply. ‘But I couldn’t help it. I had to put you down while I unlocked the door. I can’t see the children now,’ she went on, looking around the landing in the moonlight. ‘Are you sure Carbonel is not still here? He may be lurking inside.’ She took a few paces into the prison room and looked round.

  ‘Quick,’ whispered Carbonel. ‘Close the door!’

  John leapt out from his hiding place, closed the door with a clang, and turned the key.

  ‘Open the door!’ shouted Mrs Witherspoon from inside. ‘Let me out!’ She beat upon the unyielding wood with her fists.

  ‘Not yet!’ answered John. ‘Not until Carbonel is safely on his way back to Fallowhithe.’

  ‘You ... you odious boy, thwarting my plans yet again! But I shall be revenged, as I warned you, never fear; and beware! It will be in a way you least expect!’ She laughed again, and it was not a pleasant sound, but her laughter was cut short by the voice of Grisana calling from the foot of the spiral stairs.

  ‘Carbonel!’ she yowled. ‘Come out! I know quite well you are up there!’

  All this time he had been standing very straight and still, waiting for John to gi
ve him the signal that it was time for him to leave.

  ‘Not yet!’ replied John to his inquiring look. ‘Whatever you do, don’t go outside the house. It is surrounded by Broomhurst cats waiting to pounce and take you prisoner back to Broomhurst. We must play for time, until Calidor comes with a faithful army from Fallowhithe. He promised to be here by moonrise.’

  (I wonder why he isn’t here already, thought Rosemary uneasily.)

  ‘What, wait, and be branded as a coward? Not I!’ said Carbonel. ‘My thanks must wait till this matter is settled, and believe me I am grateful to you, and the noble animal who led the Cat’s Eye creatures away. But from now on, you must leave me to fight my own battle. Cat against cat, claw against claw. This is my war!’

  As he spoke Grisana yowled again: ‘Carbonel! Come out, I say! Or are you afraid? Must I come and fetch you?’

  ‘I am afraid of no one!’ called Carbonel. ‘But I come in my own time, not at your summons. You may do your wicked worst, Grisana!’

  And with that he ran lightly down the stairs.

  ‘Open the door at once, and let me go!’ shouted Mrs Witherspoon. ‘I have an important appointment to keep at midnight.’ John and Rosemary looked at one another.

  ‘Who with?’ shouted John through the door.

  ‘With ...’ began Mrs Witherspoon. ‘As a matter of fact, with a cement mixer. But you children wouldn’t understand.’

  ‘We understand all right!’ cried John. ‘To stop the builders building. All the more reason not to unlock the door yet! Come on, Rosie. Let’s go.’

  The voice of Mrs Witherspoon followed them as they ran down the spiral stairs: ‘I shall have my revenge, never fear!’ But they had other things to think about.

  24. The Battle of Tucket Towers

  ‘WHY in the world doesn’t Calidor come?’ whispered Rosemary anxiously. ‘It’s after moonrise. But even if Carbonel won’t let us help, at least we can try to rescue Dumpsie from the Scrabbles. Come on.’

  Together they hurried down to the gallery, pausing at the bottom of the spiral staircase just long enough to take in that Carbonel stood alone at the top of the stairs leading down to the hall, and that Grisana crouched a few steps below, staring up at him through half-closed eyes with bristling back and flattened ears. The hall below was a shifting, jostling mass of Broomhurst cats.

  ‘There’s only one door open on the landing,’ whispered John, peering cautiously out. ‘Dumpsie must have dashed in there. Come on, quickly, while they are all staring at Carbonel. Keep in the shadow.’

  They slipped unnoticed out on to the gallery, and keeping close to the wall crept round to the open door. It led into a bedroom. By the light of the moon which flooded through the wide window, they saw the Scrabbles, massed in a semicircle at the foot of a four-post bed, gazing upwards. Peering down from the safety of the roof of the bed was a pair of shining green eyes.

  ‘Dumpsie?’ cried John. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Rosemary anxiously.

  ‘Give or take a handful of fur, as good as ever I were,’ replied Dumpsie. ‘I told you as Scrabbles can’t climb. But I don’t think I’ll come down till you’ve got rid of ’em.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but how?’ asked John.

  ‘I couldn’t say, I’m sure,’ said Dumpsie, in an off-hand way. ‘I’ve done my share.’

  ‘And super bravely too!’ said Rosemary.

  ‘If I got a chair I could lift you down,’ said John.

  The Scrabbles, twittering and squeaking among themselves, watched him suspiciously with their back eyes, while never ceasing to stare up at Dumpsie with their front eyes. As he turned to fetch a chair, with surprising speed a number of them detached themselves from the main body and quickly enclosed him in a circle, muttering angrily, and bouncing up and down on their bandy legs. When he tried to move, one of them nipped him sharply on his ankle.

  ‘Ow!’ said John. Not to be outdone, he tried to jump over the ring of Scrabbles. But even this did not work. Because they could see both ways, and move both ways with surprising speed, they had already judged exactly where he would land, and he came down in a circle of the creatures, already formed to receive him. They were squeaking now in a lighter key. Could it be with laughter, wondered Rosemary? But John was very far from laughing.

  ‘Now I suppose I’m as stuck here as Dumpsie is up there,’ he said. ‘You’re the only one left, Rosie. It was you tinkering about with magic that brought the things alive. Can’t you do something about them now?’ He knew this was unfair as he said it.

  ‘I might be able to,’ she replied thoughtfully. ‘Not with magic though.’ She turned to the creatures, who watched her with unwinking shining eyes. ‘Scrabbles, do you remember it was me who wished you out of your holes in the road?’ A chorus of squeaks greeted this. ‘Well, so far, the holes you came from are still empty, but tomorrow a man is coming to fill them up with new studs. If that happens, you will be homeless, with nowhere to go to when all this is over!’

  At this the Scrabbles forgot both their prisoners, and joined together in one agitated twittering, squeaking crowd. Shriller and shriller they grew, then, as though they had come to some agreement, suddenly fell silent, and without a sound, save the pattering of their paws, turned, and streamed out of the room. When John and Rosemary reached the door to peer after them, they had already disappeared.

  ‘Down the back stairs, I suppose,’ said John. ‘Phew! I’m glad that’s over. I’m sorry if I was beastly.’

  When they turned back into the bedroom, Dumpsie had already jumped down from the four-post bed.

  ‘Them Scrabbles!’ she said. ‘Useful it must be, having no backwards.’

  ‘Look out, Rosie!’ said John suddenly. A cloud had drifted over the moon, and in the momentary darkness she had nearly stepped backwards into a large bowl filled with water, carefully arranged on a towel in the middle of the floor.

  ‘What a dotty place to leave it!’ said John.

  ‘I believe it’s Gullion’s bath, it’s a silver bowl!’ said Rosemary. ‘Just look at all those scent bottles lined up behind! Lavender, Musk, Violet ...’ With a spurt of laughter she read the labels, picking up each bottle in turn.

  ‘What? No Toad of Cologne?’ said John, and they both began to giggle, but a blood-curdling ‘Miaowk!’ outside cut their giggling short. They dashed to the door again. Carbonel still stood at the top of the stairs, but Grisana, slinking low, had crept up another step.

  ‘My ancient enemy Carbonel!’ she hissed. ‘The Witch-Woman lied to me. She promised that when the moon rose, is she set you free, you would walk unsuspecting into my trap!’

  ‘It is no fault of hers I did not,’ said Carbonel, looking down at her disdainfully. ‘But we have changed places. She is now the prisoner, and I am free!’

  ‘Free?’ repeated Grisana, and she laughed an ugly, bubbling cat-laugh.

  ‘You are on enemy ground and alone, have you forgotten? With the fiercest of Broomhurst fighters surrounding Tucket Towers to cut off your escape.’

  ‘I challenge the fiercest fighter of them all to single combat!’ cried Carbonel. There was a stirring and a muttering among the cats below.

  ‘Splodger! Splodger!’ yowked Grisana. ‘Do your duty!’ And the animal with black and orange patches they had seen at the bookshop, came loping up the stairs. She drew back and he paused for a moment on the step below Carbonel, his powerful body wriggling low as he prepared to leap. Then he hurled himself on his enemy. Locked together, spitting and struggling, they rolled and tumbled about the gallery, fur flying everywhere; Grisana urging Splodger on, and the Broomhurst cats streaming up the stairs with wild cries of encouragement.

  ‘At him!’

  ‘Pull him down!’

  ‘Roll him over!’ they cried. The two fighting animals separated and closed again and again, but at last, with a swinging blow, Carbonel sent Splodger rolling, vanquished, down the stairs. There was a howl of fury from the Broomhurst cats.


  ‘Avenge your comrade!’ called Grisana. ‘Defend your Queen!’ And the crowd of cats, who needed no encouragement, surged up the stairs and hurled themselves on Carbonel. He disappeared under an avalanche of cats, who clawed and tore each other in their eagerness to get at their fallen enemy.

  ‘You cowards!’ yelled John. ‘He’s one against the lot of you! Carbonel won his single combat in fair fight!’

  ‘Oh, why doesn’t Calidor come?’ cried Rosemary desperately.

  ‘Hark!’ said Dumpsie, whose cat’s ears, so much sharper than those of humans, heard something in the distance.

  ‘Cease your fighting!’ yelled Grisana, who had heard it too. ‘Stop, I say!’

  And stop fighting they did, one by one, until Carbonel flung off the remaining half-dozen cats and rose to his feet, battered and torn, but with his old dignity undimmed.

  ‘Be quiet when I command, and listen!’ called Grisana.

  Complete silence fell on Tucket Towers, but far away, nearer and nearer, came the sound of what most humans would have thought nothing but the moonlight caterwauling of idle cats.

  ‘What is that?’ said Grisana uneasily.

  Carbonel stood alone, shaking each paw in turn to see they were all still in working order. Then he said lightly: ‘That? It is the Marching Song of the Fallowhithe Alley Cats.’

  ‘With Calidor at their head!’ added Dumpsie. And this is the song they sang:

  Who so quick with the unsheathed paw?

  With a miew and miawk and a yowl!

  With wits as sharp as each curving claw,

  With a miew and a miawk and a yowl!

  Who but the Alley Cats? Who but we?

  Wandering far and scavenging free,

  With a miew and a miawk and a yowl!

  Who so silent on padded feet?

  With a miew and a miawk and a yowl!

  Who so invisible, who so fleet?

  With a miew and miawk and a yowl!

  Lords of the dustbin and messy back-yard,

  A fig for the hearth-rug cat’s snooty regard!

  With a miew and a miawk and a yowl!