Carbonel and Calidor (New York Review Children's Collection)

by Barbara Sleigh

  ‘What a grand name!’ said Rosemary.

  ‘Not really. Born and bred in a Wellington boot I was, that’s why. Wellingtonia for best, but Dumpsie for ordinary, because the boot was on Fallowhithe Rubbish Dump. There’s some as turns up their grand noses at anywhere so low, but snug and warm it was, and handy for haddock heads, and the licking of sardine tins and such.’

  ‘Dumpsie,’ said Rosemary thoughtfully. ‘Where have I heard that name ...?’ But John interrupted.

  ‘Of course, I remember! This seeking and searching,’ he said to Dumpsie. ‘It wouldn’t be for a cat called Calidor?’

  She lifted a startled face. ‘Ssh!’ she said, looking nervously over her shoulder. ‘Don’t you go for to call him by that name! Crumpet he’s called in these parts. He told me all about it, but he didn’t say a word to anyone else. How in the world do the likes of you know who he really is, when he was so set on it being a secret?’

  ‘We know because we talked to him only yesterday,’ said John.

  ‘Now I remember,’ said Rosemary. ‘He told us that his dear little Dumpsie was the only cat he could ever marry!’

  ‘And there can’t be two cats with such a sil ... I mean, unusual name,’ went on John. (Rosemary’s nudge had been nearly too late, but Dumpsie did not seem to have noticed.)

  ‘Did he really say that?’ she said softly, and she lifted her chin and purred such a purr as John and Rosemary had never heard before; but not for long. She stopped abruptly, and rose unsteadily on her three sou‘And while I’ve been guzzling and gossiping here the bad trouble may be getting worse. I must go. Where can I find him as calls himself Crumpet?’

  Rosemary looked at John. ‘Couldn’t we take her to the station on our way to Tucket Towers? We must get on and do it. That’s if you’d like that, Dumpsie?’

  ‘That I would! You can carry me there just as soon as your great clumping feet can take you. Must be awkward, only having two paws apiece to walk on.’

  They met Mrs Bodkin as they were about to set out.

  ‘Going for a walk?’ she said. ‘You’d better wear your macs and gum-boots. It poured in the night, and it looks like rain again.’

  They hurried off, taking it in turns to carry Dumpsie, and rather uncomfortably linked together by the magic ring, so that they could listen to the little cat’s stories of life on the Dump, where there never seemed to be a dull moment. They were halfway down Sheepshank Lane when Rosemary said: ‘Half a minute. I’ve got a stone in my shoe.’

  She slipped her finger from the Golden Gew-Gaw, and sat down on the grass by the side of the road, while she wrestled with the knot in her shoe-lace. John sat down beside her, and Dumpsie wandered towards the hedge.

  ‘What are you looking like that for?’ said Rosemary when, the stone removed, she had tied up her shoe-lace again. Both John and Dumpsie were leaning towards the hedge with a listening expression on their faces. ‘I can’t hear anything.’

  ‘Ssh! Of course you can’t,’ whispered John. ‘Cats! Talking! The other side of the hedge.’ And at the same time he held out his hand so that Rosemary could slip her finger through the golden band of the magic ring. And at once she heard a high-and-mighty cat voice say in surprise:

  ‘Calidor! Here alone in Broomhurst country?’ And although it was a purring voice, it had a cold and cruel undertone. ‘My faithful Mattins!’ John and Rosemary exchanged glances. ‘This Calidor, who refuses to marry my daughter, has the impertinence to wander into my country as though it belongs to him! What do you think of that, my darling child?’

  ‘Grisana! It must be!’ whispered John, and Dumpsie nodded.

  ‘What do I think, Mama?’ drawled a second voice. ‘Calidor is nothing to me. I was resigned to becoming his wife only because our two united countries would have made a single kingdom worth my ruling later on.’

  ‘Dear child, always so ambitious!’ purred Grisana.

  ‘Of course, I should see to it that Fallowhithe cats would be taught their place. Best fish bits for Broomhurst beasts, and so on.’

  ‘Always thinking of other people!’ said Grisana, but the purr left her voice when she went on: ‘All the same, think of the insult to the Royal house of Castrum, when the marriage was planned so long ago. It must be avenged!’

  ‘Of course, I never bear a grudge,’ replied the second voice, ‘but perhaps he should be ... well ... punished!’ And the lingering hiss with which it said ‘punished’ made Dumpsie’s fur bristle.

  ‘That must be Melissa. The one Crumpet called Slypaws,’ whispered Rosemary.

  ‘Never fear, my child,’ went on Grisana. ‘For his own good, of course, he shall be well and truly ... scrodged!’ Here her voice sank to a yowling spit.

  ‘He has run away from Fallowhithe to become a common witch’s cat, you say, Mattins? Wretched animal! But not so wretched as he will be when we have finished with him! But I am glad to hear that you, at least, have seen the error of your ways, and have decided to give up such an unworthy trade.’

  ‘My witch doesn’t want me any more,’ said Mattins sulkily. ‘Says she’s found another cat she thinks will look better on her broomstick than I should. Not that I’ve seen him, mind you. She says she’ll find me a few odd jobs to do instead. Me, doing odd jobs instead of magic! Grow ... ouch!’ he spat.

  ‘How very humbling for you,’ said Grisana sweetly. ‘So unreliable, witches! But do not leave your witch woman, for my sake. You may overhear something quite useful. Pretend to oblige her. Come, Melissa! We must go. And remember, my good Mattins, I should like to hear more about this cat who is to take your place. You shall be rewarded for what you have told us today.’ The voices faded as the three cats moved away.

  ‘That beastly sneaking Mattins!’ burst out John. ‘He must have been listening to every word when Calidor was talking to us yesterday at the station. No wonder he ran off when we called to him.’

  ‘But I thought he was Calidor’s friend?’ said Rosemary.

  ‘Well, he doesn’t seem to be now,’ said John shortly. ‘We must warn him!’

  ‘And about Grisana too,’ said Rosemary. ‘Come on. We must hurry. Hi! Dumpsie, wait for us!’

  The little cat was already limping ahead as fast as her three paws could carry her.

  ‘Oh, make haste! Make haste! Calidor is in danger!’

  John scooped her up from the road, and together they all three hurried towards the station.

  ‘I wish to goodness Carbonel was here,’ said Rosemary. ‘I wonder why he doesn’t come? I’m sure he’d know what to do about Calidor and Grisana.’

  ‘And the Golden Gew-Gaw. I don’t trust that ring,’ said John. ‘We still don’t know what has happened to the Scrabbles.’

  ‘I wonder if the instructions really were in the purple cracker, and we just didn’t find them,’ went on Rosemary.

  ‘It’s possible ...’ John, who was carrying Dumpsie, broke off. ‘Ow! That hurt. You scratched me!’

  ‘I know. I meant to,’ said Dumpsie coolly. ‘Because you won’t listen. Just go on yammer, yammer, you do. I’ve been trying to tell you. Carbonel has disappeared! Gone! And nobody don’t know where he be. That’s what I’ve come all the way from Fallowhithe to tell Calidor.’

  nd paws.

  10. Where is Carbonel?

  WHEN they reached the hole in the hedge, John and Rosemary slowed down.

  ‘After all, we’ve got as much right as Miss Dibdin to be in the station, though I suppose I’d better not go into the Ladies’ Waiting Room again,’ said John.

  ‘That’s Miss Dibdin’s special place,’ Rosemary explained to Dumpsie. ‘She’s Cal ... I mean Crumpet’s witch. I don’t think she likes us much, specially John. Let’s hope she isn’t there.’

  ‘S’pose I go first and find out?’ said Dumpsie. ‘She won’t mind the likes of me. I’ll give one yowl if there’s no one there, and two if there is. Just you wait round the corner.’

  She limped out of sight, and John and Rosemary waited ... and waited. But
there was not so much as a mew from Dumpsie.

  ‘Come on,’ said John at last. ‘We’d better go and see what’s happening.’

  They tiptoed cautiously up on to the platform. It all seemed much the same as before, except for a large pile of what looked like firewood, stacked by the door to the booking office. There was no sign of Miss Dibdin. Dumpsie and Calidor were sitting side by side on the battered station bench. Their two tails were intertwined, and they were gazing at one another with unblinking eyes. Dumpsie was making little croodling noises in her throat, and round the gentle sound Calidor wove a mighty purr. ‘As though they were singing a part-song together,’ as John said afterwards.

  ‘She’s forgotten all about us!’ said Rosemary.

  At the sound of her voice the two cats stopped singing abruptly, and turned quickly round.

  ‘Welcome, Hearing Humans!’ said Crumpet. ‘I am more grateful than I can say for your kindness to my friend Dumpsie. So Grisana and Sly-paws are on the war-path? You began explaining some further cause for alarm,’ he turned towards Dumpsie, ‘when we broke off on to ... well, more, personal matters. And I hear that Mattins — may his whiskers wilt! — has turned traitor!’

  ‘But there’s worse to tell,’ broke in Dumpsie. ‘That’s what I came all the way from Fallowhithe for. King Carbonel has disappeared! No one knows where.’

  ‘My father disappeared!’ said Crumpet in astonishment.

  ‘I thought you ought to know,’ went on Dumpsie. ‘And me being the only one as knowed where you were ... well, here I be ... Oh, I told no one else, trust me!’

  ‘And she came all that long way with a wounded paw!’ added Rosemary.

  ‘I hope I done right?’ said Dumpsie, looking anxiously at Crumpet.

  ‘Of course,’ he said gravely. ‘You are as brave as you are beautiful, my dear.’ She looked down modestly at her paws, and then went on:

  ‘Such a scurrying and hurrying there is, all over Fallowhithe, in search of His Majesty. Such mewking and miaowing in corners and on roof-tops! Them alley cats is getting out of hand, as you’d expect. Roving around the roof-tops at night singing rude songs. Queen Blandamour is at her wits’ end to know what’s to do for the best.’

  ‘My poor mama,’ said Crumpet soberly. ‘The alley cats are good enough creatures, but a bit wild. When did my father disappear?’

  ‘Three days after you left for Highdown,’ said Dumpsie.

  ‘That’s funny,’ said John. ‘When we talked to him at Rosie’s house, he said he could spend no more time away searching for you, and that he must get back to affairs of state.’

  Calidor jumped down from the seat. He stood with head up and tail erect.

  ‘This matter is serious,’ he said crisply, and there was no mistaking that it was Calidor, the royal son of Carbonel, who was speaking; no longer Crumpet, the witch’s cat.

  ‘I must return to Fallowhithe immediately and take matters in hand. Dumpsie, you will stay here with the Hearing Humans, until your paw is healed. I must make all the haste I can, and you could not keep up with me.’

  ‘But whatever has happened to Carbonel?’ said Rosemary. ‘We thought it was queer when he didn’t turn up at Highdown when he said he would.’

  ‘He said that, did he?’ went on Calidor. ‘Then I shall search in Fallowhithe, and you will keep your eyes and ears open here. I shall depend on you.’

  ‘Yes, but wait a minute ...’ began John. Calidor held up a restraining paw.

  ‘In the meantime, look out for Grisana and Sly-paws Melissa! Guard against the traitor Mattins, and keep a watch on the goings-on at Tucket Towers.’

  ‘That’s all very well!’ began John again.

  ‘I have no time to discuss things further,’ broke in Calidor impatiently. ‘I have a long way to go. Good-bye. I shall come back.’ And with a flick of his tail he turned and hurried away down the platform.

  ‘Well, of all the cheek!’ said John angrily. ‘Exactly like Carbonel again, ordering us about. Do this! Do that!’

  ‘Well, I think he’s rather splendid,’ said Rosemary. ‘After all, he’s doing exactly what Carbonel wanted him to, without any fussing from us. You ought to be pleased. I’m sure he’s done the right thing. What do you think, Dumpsie?’

  The little cat was not listening. She was gazing at the spot where Calidor had turned the corner out of sight, making the same little croodling noise, and kneading the hard boards of the platform with her front paws.

  ‘Eh? What’s that?’ she said, suddenly coming to. ‘Of course Calidor is right!’

  ‘Well, come on, Rosie,’ said John. ‘We must get going, and leave that leaflet at Tucket Towers. Hallo, it’s raining again.’

  ‘Then you’d best leave me behind here under the shelter,’ said Dumpsie. ‘You can’t dodge the rain-drops on three paws, and I don’t like to get my whiskers wet.’

  ‘But suppose Miss Dibdin comes back and finds you here?’ said Rosemary.

  ‘It’s easy for the likes of me to hide,’ said Dumpsie. ‘She won’t see me.’

  ‘If you’re sure,’ said Rosemary uncertainly.

  ‘We should be much quicker on our own, without wearing the ring between us,’ went on John. ‘We’re late as it is. We’ll pick you up on the way back‘All right,’ said Rosemary. ‘But keep on the look-out for us, Dumpsie. We don’t want to meet Miss Dibdin again if we can help it. And do take care.’

  As they hurried down the road Rosemary said: ‘I’d almost forgotten about the Scrabbles. We’ve got to see if they have gone back to their holes.’

  On reaching the spot where the cat’s eye studs should have started they stopped dead. The small square holes were still empty.

  ‘Well, that proves it. The un-wishing didn’t work, and the Scrabbles must still be somewhere about,’ said John, as he poked a stick down one of the holes to make quite sure.

  ‘But if they aren’t here, wherever can they be?’ said Rosemary, looking uneasily over her shoulder.

  ‘It’s no good asking me,’ said John. ‘But if they’ve taken themselves off, it’s their look-out, not ours.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Rosemary agreed doubtfully.

  ‘And what’s more,’ went on John, ‘we fussed enough yesterday because we couldn’t get rid of them, so I’m blowed if I’m going to get fussed today because they’ve gone! Bother the Scrabbles! Race you to the drive of Tucket Towers.’

  .’

  11. ‘May The Best Witch Win!’

  ‘SUPPOSE we meet Miss Dibdin?’ said Rosemary, as they walked up the long weedy drive, which was dark with overhanging trees and jostling rhododendron bushes.

  ‘Even if we do, she can’t stop us shoving the leaflet in the letter-box and coming away again,’ said John.

  Presently they emerged from the gloom of the drive, on to what had once been a wide carriage sweep in front of the steps leading to the front door.

  ‘I say, what a grand house!’ said Rosemary, standing still to admire it. ‘All those rows of windows, and the tower, and the up-and-down edge to the roof. Just like a castle!’

  ‘It really was grand once, Uncle Zack says; but most of it’s shut up now.’

  ‘I suppose that’s why the curtains are drawn in nearly all the windows. It makes it look ... sort of blind and sad. Look, there’s Mrs Witherspoon’s tricycle!’

  It stood at the bottom of the flight of steps. They walked across the carriage sweep to look at it, rather wishing their feet didn’t scrunch so loudly on the gravel.

  ‘Gosh!’ said John. ‘Do you see what’s sitting in the basket on the handlebars? A great warty toad!’

  They peered at it in astonishment, and the toad, squat and unmoving, stared back with unblinking yellow eyes.

  ‘I suppose it is alive?’ said Rosemary. ‘It’s so still it might be stuffed.’

  ‘Must be alive. Look at that pulse thing beating in its throat,’ said John. And as if to prove it, the creature’s long tongue suddenly whipped out and caught an unwary fly that had s
ettled on the edge of the basket.

  ‘Ugh! What a horrid-looking creature!’ said Rosemary. ‘Not my idea of a cosy sort of pet. Come on, let’s get rid of the leaflets and go home.’

  When they reached the front door, which was large and heavy, and studded with nails, they found it was not quite closed, and the sound of arguing voices could be heard on the other side.

  ‘I keep telling you, Dulcie,’ said a voice they recognized as Miss Dibdin’s. ‘It must be black. A grey cat won’t do. You can’t use Mattins. Unless you keep to the rules, nothing will work properly.’

  ‘My dear Dorothy,’ replied a high commanding voice. ‘I no longer need your advice. I told you. Yesterday I discovered a treasure in Sprules’s book shop in Broomhurst, in the bargain tray. Half the cover is missing, and unfortunately some of the pages, but even so it will teach me far more than you are ever likely to know. What with Gullion sitting on my pillow every night. ...’

  ‘You mean to say you let that horrid toad sleep on your pillow?’ interrupted Miss Dibdin.

  ‘My precious Gullion, horrid? Rubbish! He is invaluable. All night long he whispers delicious wicked schemes in my ear. I can hear them in my dreams. As for Mattins, I dare say I shall use him to run a few simple errands now and then, but I have discovered the perfect cat. Black as ebony, and with dignity that would do credit to any broomstick turn-out!’

  ‘I’m sure I’m glad to hear it,’ said Miss Dibdin coldly, in the sort of voice that showed she was not really glad at all. ‘And where is this precious perfect animal, I should like to know? I haven’t seen him about the house.’

  ‘Well, there I must admit I am in a small difficulty. The ungrateful creature says that nothing will make it become a witch’s cat. On Gullion’s advice I have shut it up until it comes to its senses, and I keep the key of its prison on a string round my neck.’

  ‘You’ll need eyes back and front, to keep a cat prisoner that means to escape,’ said Miss Dibdin.

  ‘I might even manage that,’ said Mrs Witherspoon, and she laughed harshly. ‘At least, I have set a day-and-night guard over it who might have been made for the job. I met them wandering about in Sheepshank Lane. He won’t escape! And if the cat persists in disobliging me, Gullion has suggested a number of ways to ... shall we say ... persuade it; such as plaiting its whiskers, which are remarkably fine.’