The Outlaw Varjak Paw

by S. F. Said

He silenced the pack. They stared at Varjak and Cludge, their eyes and jaws wide open.

  Absolute silence in the Storm Drain.

  ‘Cludge?’ whispered the biggest, baddest-looking dog – a vast old silver hound, twice Cludge’s size.

  Cludge nodded. ‘Cludge,’ he said again.

  Varjak stayed stock still as the silver hound lumbered out of the circle, and approached the two of them. The hound sniffed at Cludge, sniffed some more, and then sniffed again. His black eyes flickered. He turned to the pack, and nodded gravely.

  ‘Cludge!’ he declared, in a voice that rumbled like thunder, charged with a simple but immensely deep joy. ‘Little Cludge!’

  The dogs went wild. They rushed up to Cludge – sniffing, licking, yelping – all their anger gone. ‘Cludge come back!’ they barked. ‘Cludge come back to dogs!’

  Varjak blinked. ‘You know these dogs?’ he whispered.

  ‘Cludge’s family!’ Cludge whispered back.

  ‘But you said your family was angry with you—’

  Cludge looked shyly up at the silver hound. ‘Not angry, Pappa Dog?’

  ‘Angry?’ boomed the hound. ‘With little Cludge? Dogs miss Cludge! Miss Cludge so much!’

  And now Varjak understood what had happened. This was Cludge’s family. This was his home. They’d had a quarrel, and he’d run away, believing he could never go back. But whatever the quarrel was about, it was long forgotten. The dogs were so happy to see him. They surrounded him with their warm bodies and wagging tails, and slowly, their happiness spread into Cludge himself, until it shone out of his clear black eyes, and lit him up with a pleasure Varjak had never seen before.

  For the first time, he thought, Cludge looked like he really belonged somewhere. A dog alone in a world of cats was so much less than a dog surrounded by his pack of hounds. Holly was right to wonder about Cludge’s family. Wasn’t she always right?

  Holly. The thought of her cut through him like winter wind. Would he ever get used to her not being there?

  Cludge was flanked by a pair of magnificent black hounds now. They looked a lot like him – only they were bigger, older and stronger, like he might be one day. ‘Varjak, look!’ he yelped. ‘Cludge’s brothers! Buster and Bomballooloo!’

  ‘Who the cat, Cludge?’ said Buster, the dog on his left.

  ‘Cats not come for years,’ said Bomballooloo, the dog on his right.

  ‘Varjak Paw,’ Cludge told them. ‘Cludge’s friend. Helped Cludge when Cludge alone.’

  ‘Cludge’s friend?’ they said. Varjak stood very still as they sniffed him all over – and then covered him with warm, wet, friendly licks.

  ‘Welcome, friend!’ barked Buster.

  ‘Friend brought Cludge back home!’ barked Bomballooloo.

  ‘How we thank you, Varjak Paw?’ said Pappa Dog. ‘What we do for you?’

  Varjak smiled up at them. ‘Well, there is something you can help us with,’ he said. ‘Is it true there’s a city under the city, through that tunnel?’

  ‘True,’ said Pappa Dog. He pressed his face up to the bars of the gateway. ‘Dark, empty place. Smells luvverly – but dogs too big to pass through.’

  ‘Me and my friends, we need a place to hide,’ said Varjak. ‘Will you let us through, so we can hide in there?’

  ‘Hide?’ rumbled the huge hound. ‘From who?’

  ‘Sally Bones, the thin white cat,’ said Varjak. He shivered. ‘Our enemy.’

  Pappa Dog drew himself up to his full height. ‘Twenty dogs here,’ he said. ‘No one – no one! – get past twenty dogs. You, Varjak Paw, you and your friends, you get past. Thin white cat – never.’ He spoke with great solemnity, in a voice that seemed as old and strong as the earth itself.

  ‘Thank you, Pappa Dog,’ said Varjak. He turned to the top of the Storm Drain, and nodded at his friends to come down. The mist was parting. Through it, he could see a clear night sky up above, and a full moon shining bright.

  One by one, they came out into the open and joined him. The dogs stood back to let them through. If only Holly could see this, he thought. A gang of cats, walking past a pack of dogs, with nothing but friendship and respect on either side.

  ‘Cludge want to come,’ said Cludge, ‘but – Cludge’s pack – been so long—’

  Varjak didn’t want to leave him either, after all they’d been through together; but Cludge looked so happy here at last, with Pappa Dog, and Buster and Bomballooloo, and all the rest of them.

  ‘It’s all right, my friend,’ said Varjak. ‘I think this is your place, with your pack. But thank you for saving us – again.’

  ‘Var . . . Jak,’ murmured Cludge, licking him gently. ‘You need dogs, you call. We come.’

  ‘Thank you, Cludge. And we’ll be there for you, too.’

  ‘Friend,’ said Cludge. ‘Cludge your friend for ever!’

  They parted then; and Varjak turned to Tam and Jess, to Omar and Ozzie and Old Buckley. He led them forwards through the gateway: into the tunnel, into the darkness, into the city under the city.

  Chapter Twenty

  THERE WAS A stream of sewage in the centre of the tunnel. There was no way round it. Varjak put a paw down into the thick, brown stream. It was sloppy and sticky. It stank to the skies.

  He pulled his paw out. It was covered in slime. He tried to close his nostrils and breathe through his mouth, but now he could taste it as well as smell it. He wanted to retch.

  ‘Keep going, Varjak,’ said Jess, behind him. ‘It won’t all be like this. Grandma used to say it was well hidden; you had to go a way to get there.’

  Varjak nodded. What was the choice, with Sally Bones and her gang at large? Compared to her ice-blue eye, even sewage seemed inviting. He plunged his paw back in again, and squelched forwards through the nauseating wetness.

  It was dark in there. It got darker with every step. The air grew closer, warmer, as they went further in. Soon it was so dark, Varjak couldn’t see any more. He could only feel the sewage, splashing his fur. It was oozing into his skin, bubbling around his legs, getting deeper all the time.

  He kept walking. It felt like he was going downhill, down into the bowels of the earth. The stream sloshed up around him, soaking the fur on his belly.

  ‘Stop!’ cried Old Buckley. ‘I can’t go no further! I’m going to be sick!’

  ‘It’ll change,’ said Jess.

  ‘Even if it does,’ grunted Omar, ‘Cludge was right. This is a bad place, Varjak.’

  Varjak kept going. He was thinking about a room with no light. What seems true at one moment may not be true the next.

  ‘We’ve come this far,’ he said aloud. ‘I hate it too, but we can’t stop now.’

  He tried to sound confident – for Jess, for them all – but he didn’t feel so certain. The river of sewage just seemed to be getting deeper. They were going further and further down, and it was hard to imagine how it could ever change.

  Every step brought the brown stream higher. Now the slime was crawling up his neck, its rancid stickiness reaching his throat, almost up to his mouth, and still there was no light, and Varjak began to imagine being swept away on a tide of stinking sewage, drowning in brown slime –

  – and then his paw came down short; and his next paw came down shorter. Steps! He’d found some steps! He climbed up them, fast as he could. With a sucking, squelching sound, his body came clear away from the sewage, and he was standing on another level, above the stream.

  It was still darker than the darkest city night, but far overhead, he could see faint shafts of amber light. With a jolt, he realized they came from street lights, filtering into the sewers through those grilles in the ground. They’d come so far underground, the street seemed as high above them as the sky.

  He looked down again. Below, he could see the stream of sewage flowing through the middle of the tunnel. Either side of it, there were elevated platforms, like pavements either side of a road. He was standing on one of these. It was warm and dry, and it stretched f
ar off into the distance. He could make out some kind of chamber up ahead, and more tunnels beyond, like passages or alleyways.

  His heart lightened at the sight. Mrs Moggs’s tales were true! It was a whole city under the city. A secret city. And no one would ever find them here.

  One by one, his friends squelched out of the sewage, up the stairs to join him. The platform was broad enough for them all. They were filthy and sopping wet. They stood there, shaking foul liquid from their fur.

  ‘Mudcats,’ muttered Tam. ‘We’ve turned into mudcats.’

  ‘Who cares?’ said Varjak. ‘Let’s explore!’

  They set off again. Soon the tunnel widened out, and they came to an underground cavern. It was made of elaborately glazed brickwork, shiny and beautiful even in the dimness. Its walls curved up smoothly, meeting in a dome. Many tunnels and streams crossed here. Varjak could see them radiating out in every direction. This was a whole world in itself – and they were the only ones in it.

  Old Buckley was looking around, wonder in his eyes. ‘It’s incredible,’ he said. ‘Moggs’s tales was true!’

  ‘And there’s mice here!’ said Jess. ‘Can you hear ’em, Buckley? Can you?’

  She was right. Varjak sensed them: warm, fresh, juicy mice. Lots of them.

  So this was where they came in winter! Thanks to Cludge, thanks to Mrs Moggs and her tales, he’d found them at last. And they were free for any cat to hunt. No unfair laws down here. No Sally Bones. He smiled, and let out a low howl that echoed round the cavern, rippling the underground river that ran through it.

  ‘What now?’ said Omar.

  ‘Three guesses,’ said Tam. ‘Who wants mouse for supper? Fearless Tam’s going hunting!’

  ‘And I’m coming with you!’ laughed Omar.

  ‘Me too,’ said Ozzie, joining in. ‘The Orrible Twins—’

  ‘No, little brother,’ said Omar. ‘You wait here. We’ll bring you something good.’

  Ozzie blinked. ‘But – but I’m hungry too.’

  ‘You can stay with Varjak,’ said Omar. ‘Me and Tam, we’re a hunting team.’

  Varjak watched them with a pang in his heart. That was how he felt about Holly. They were a team. Who’d hunt with him now? He felt sorry for Ozzie, too. The big cat wanted to go with his brother; but it was clear that Omar and Tam wanted to be alone.

  ‘Come on, Ozzie,’ said Jess. ‘Come with me. Let’s explore – we might find something better than mice.’

  ‘Nothing’s better than mice,’ grumbled Ozzie, but he let Omar and Tam go.

  ‘You come too, Varjak,’ said Jess. ‘And you, Buckley.’

  Old Buckley shook his head. ‘I’m going to rest,’ he said. ‘And then I’m going back to find the Free Cats, and bring ’em down here.’

  Varjak, Jess and Ozzie headed further into the sewers, through caverns and along platforms lit only by those faint shafts of light. They travelled in a straight line westwards, going deeper all the time. It got warmer as they went. Varjak thought it was probably always warm down here. Why would the weather ever change? Up on the streets, it could be snowing, or windy, or storming, and he’d never know.

  He felt a glow of satisfaction. This was a fine place to hide.

  As they walked on westwards, the platform started to slope up again. Varjak guessed they were coming back towards the surface. He could hear the stream of sewage in the tunnel getting stronger, faster, gathering pace. Its level was rising, too.

  Before long, they came to the end of the platform. A series of steps led back into the frothy brown sewage. Far in the distance, Varjak thought he saw daylight, but couldn’t be sure.

  ‘We must be under Sally Bones’s territory,’ said Jess. ‘We been going west long enough.’

  Sally Bones’s territory. Varjak remembered it from the night they’d rescued Jess: the river and the railway bridge, and that churning brown froth on the water –

  Churning brown froth?

  ‘Maybe that’s where the sewers come out into the river!’ he said.

  ‘Yup,’ said Ozzie. ‘That brown stuff we saw.’

  Varjak nodded. Ozzie wasn’t as slow as he looked. He was a cat of few words, and Varjak had never thought too much about him, taking him for granted as a fighting machine. But now he wondered what else went on in Ozzie’s mind, what the big cat felt, what his dreams were like.

  ‘Well, this is as far as we can go without swimming in sewage again,’ Varjak said out loud. ‘Let’s get back and see how the hunting went.’

  They returned to the central cavern. Old Buckley was curled asleep, snoring loud as any dog. Omar and Tam were giggling. They were in high spirits. They had a heap of mice laid out before them.

  ‘Look what we found!’ boasted Tam.

  ‘Yum,’ said Jess as they settled down to eat.

  Varjak crunched into a mouse. Its juices squirted in his mouth. The rich flavours sang on his tongue. It was good. It was better than good: there was no taste like it. He ate it fast, and then a second one, and then a third.

  His face felt warm, and he was filled with the pleasure of food for the first time since . . . since . . . since he and Holly had feasted in the harbour yard. Black-and-white fur mixing into silver-blue. Starlight strong between them –

  No.

  There was no point thinking about that. It was a lifetime ago, and now it was gone. This was his life now. This underworld. This city under the city. This sewer.

  He curled up in the darkness, on his own, and went to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  DOWN IN THE sewers, Varjak dreamed.

  He dreamed he was back in Mesopotamia. He was in the ruined temple, by the clear blue pool that was the river’s source. The whisker-thin window glowed with sunlight. The chamber smelled of mint.

  Jalal sat beside him, looking into the pool. ‘Think of a question,’ said Jalal. ‘Hold it in your mind. Keep looking at this pool long enough – and you will see the truth.’

  Varjak didn’t want to. What if the pool showed Jalal that he’d lost his power? What would his ancestor think of that? All Jalal’s teaching, his training: it had all been for nothing.

  But Jalal kept looking at the pool, so Varjak did too. He thought about Sally Bones. Was he really safe from her at last?

  At first, he could only see himself, reflected back in the mirror-clear pool. But then the water seemed to flicker. It seemed to blur at the edges and grow thin, and just below its surface, Varjak saw an image taking shape, coming closer.

  He saw a mountain. The white peak of a mountain. A narrow rock ledge, on that snow-capped peak. He recognized it now. It was the very mountain they were standing inside. He was looking at a peak he hadn’t yet climbed. He smiled. This was surely a good sign. Maybe it meant he was going to get his power back, and everything would be OK, after all.

  And then his blood froze. Because standing on top of the mountain peak was a thin white cat with an ice-blue eye.

  Sally Bones.

  Varjak gasped, and pulled away from the pool. ‘She’s here!’ he cried. ‘She’s on top of the mountain!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sally Bones! Can’t you see her?’

  Jalal looked into the pool. ‘We each see what is most important to us,’ he said. ‘I see my old enemy. Did I ever tell you about her? Saliya of the North. She was the perfect warrior. None could beat her. Many tried, but no one could lay a paw on her. It seemed she might live for ever. She gave me my greatest battle.’

  Varjak’s pulse sped up. He remembered, long ago, his grandfather once mentioned Jalal’s greatest battle – but Varjak had never heard the tale. Of course, Jalal would have won that battle. Jalal always won.

  But Varjak was no Jalal. And now he’d seen a vision of Sally Bones in Mesopotamia. Even in his dreams, there was no escape.

  ‘What do I do, Jalal?’ he said. ‘How do I beat my enemy?’

  ‘Sometimes, my son, you cannot beat your enemy.’ Varjak flinched at the words. He was certain now: Jal
al knew he’d lost to Sally Bones. Once again, he felt the shame of defeat, stinging him. ‘It depends where you fight, and when, and how,’ Jalal went on. ‘It depends on your strengths, and your enemy’s weaknesses.’

  ‘Weaknesses?’ said Varjak. ‘How can you know someone’s weaknesses?’

  ‘Like anything else. You see them. Face your enemy and see them truly, without fear, without hate. Only then can you know them.’

  Face Sally Bones, again? Varjak turned away from the pool, shaking his head. Thanks for nothing, Jalal, he thought. Sometimes I wish I’d never come to Mesopotamia.

  The light in the chamber started to fail. The window in the wall grew dimmer and dimmer, until once again, Varjak Paw stood in darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  IN THE DAYS and nights that followed, Old Buckley brought a trickle of Free Cats down to the sewers. Many had Sally Bones’s mark upon them. They were a pitiful sight, even in the underground half-light.

  ‘Don’t look at us,’ one of them said, covering his face. ‘They took everything what made us cats. Please don’t look.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ protested Jess, leading them to food and water. ‘We’re still Free Cats. They can never take that from us.’

  All the Free Cats who made it to the sewers told the same story. They said it was murder in the city. Sally Bones had returned to the centre at nightfall. The bloodshed was worse than before. Everyone was hiding, but one by one, they were being hunted down like prey and punished.

  Their tales made Varjak shudder with pity, and with fear of Sally Bones. He was gladder than ever that he’d found this safe place. It was so far underground, nothing could reach them here: not the wind or snow, not the thin white cat. It was safe and warm, and there was plenty to eat. Sometimes he could almost convince himself that he was getting used to the smell.

  But another part of him felt a smouldering anger rise. A sense of injustice burned within him. Sally Bones had to be stopped! Yet who could possibly stop her?

  He shook his head. There’s nothing I can do, he told himself. I tried, and I failed. I haven’t got the power any more. It’s gone.