Carbonel and Calidor (3 page)

‘Let's pull that silly old cracker while we're waiting,' said John. Rosemary took it from her pocket and held it up. ‘What a crumby, squashed-looking thing!' They both giggled. ‘Here give me an end. When I say “go” we both pull.'

The purple paper of the cracker was tough, and they had to tug really hard before it gave way at last, so suddenly, that Rosemary nearly fell over backwards, which set them off giggling once more.

‘What a great bang!' she said. ‘I don't think I've ever pulled such a noisy cracker. Did you see all those coloured sparks when it went off?'

John was peering down the torn end of the tube of paper.

‘Well, it looks as though coloured sparks is about all we're going to get. I can't see anything inside, though I expect there's a motto. What a rotten cracker!'

Rosemary watched as he tore open the crumpled paper and pulled out a small printed slip. ‘Go on! What does the motto say?'

He was peering at the tiny print, for it was beginning to grow dusk. He cleared his throat and began to read:

He broke off. ‘Boring old grammar.'

‘But what on earth does it mean?' said Rosemary.

‘Search me. Some silly grown-up joke, I suppose,' said John. He passed her the slip of paper. She shrugged her shoulders, and pushed it into her coat pocket.

‘What's that in the gutter?' said John.

Rosemary stooped and picked up a small, neat packet. ‘A paper hat, I expect,' she said, and breaking the band that held it together, undid the little roll of tissue paper inside, and smoothed it out.

‘What a funny-looking hat!' said John. ‘Black and pointed!'

Rosemary did her best to make the crumpled point stick up, and then she put it on. It was a good deal too big, and half extinguished her face.

‘Good heavens!' said John. ‘I believe it's a witch's hat! You do look a Charlie in it!' he said, and collapsed into giggles again. Suddenly Rosemary didn't want to laugh any more. She felt strangely solemn.

‘Let's look round and see if anything else fell out,' she said.

‘What was it Miss Dibdin said about crackers?' said John.

‘That they only had “rubbishy gew-gaws inside”. I remember thinking what a funny word it was. Gew-gaws I mean.'

‘What's that?' interrupted John.

Rosemary looked where he was pointing. In a crack between the paving stones something glittered, redly. The street lamp above had been suddenly switched on, and whatever it was lit up like an unwinking red eye. John stooped and picked it up.

‘It's a ring,' he said. They peered at it for a moment as it lay on the palm of his hand, then Rosemary slipped it on to her forefinger and admired it at arm's length. The broad gold band in which the stone was set was made for a much larger hand than hers.

‘What an enormous piece of glass for a stone!' said John.

‘P'raps it isn't glass,' said Rosemary. ‘It seems to ... well, smoulder inside. How queer. I don't think it's “rubbishy”, whatever Miss Dibdin says.' She looked at the shining band round her finger. ‘I think it's a
golden
gew-gaw!'

‘I say, what a long time this bus is being,' said John. ‘If I had a motor bike we shouldn't have to wait. Or better still, I wish I had my own private aeroplane.'

‘So do I,' said Rosemary, tapping her feet impatiently, and suddenly, she didn't know why, she began to sing.

As she sang, she began to dance in a circle. When she got to ‘over the town' she made a great soaring leap in the air ...

And then she came down, smack, so that the soles of her feet tingled. At the same time, the ring, which was far too big for her finger, fell off and bounced on to the pavement.

John looked at her with surprise.

‘Whatever made me do that?' said Rosemary in a puzzled voice.

‘I thought you were going to take off,' said John. ‘It made me feel quite queer!'

Rosemary had picked up the ring again. She pushed up the paper hat so that she could see it better.

‘John, why did you say that, when I was dancing about?' she asked suddenly.

‘Say what?'

‘Just before the ring fell off, you said “John and Rosemary, help”!'

‘I didn't!' said John indignantly.

‘You must have done!' said Rosemary. ‘I heard you say it, twice, quite distinctly, in a funny sort of voice. It must have been you. There was nobody else here.'

‘But why on earth should I say “John and Rosemary, help”? You must be off your nut! You'll be saying next it was that great black cat who's been staring at us from the alleyway there! But look out, here comes the bus. Better take that silly thing off your head.'

Rosemary clutched the paper hat and crammed it into her pocket with the ring, and together they ran to the bus stop. (Searching for things out of the cracker, they had moved quite a long way down the pavement.)

Rosemary was the first to jump on the bus. She heard an exclamation from John behind her, but she had no time to look round. It was a double-decker, so they went upstairs.

‘We've got the whole of the top to ourselves,' said John. ‘Super!'

With all the seats to choose from, of course they chose to sit in front.

‘Did you see that black cat?' he went on. ‘The one that was staring at us? It nearly tripped me up just as I was going to jump on the bus!'

‘I was thinking about black cats,' went on Rosemary thoughtfully. ‘You know, I believe last summer ... What are you poking me for?'

‘Shut up!' said John in a whisper. ‘Talking of black cats, look over your shoulder.'

Rosemary turned. Sitting on the seat behind was a magnificent cat. It was coal black, from the top of its sleek head to the tip of its tail, with a wide span of snow-white whiskers curving on either side of its disdainfully raised nose. It sat calmly on the seat, paws neatly together, gazing fixedly at the two children with large amber eyes, as self-possessed as though it were quite used to travelling by bus, and had already paid its fare. John and Rosemary stared back, and then with one voice they shouted :

‘Carbonel!'

The black cat jumped down from the seat. After wreathing round their ankles for a moment, he jumped up, first on to Rosemary's lap, and then on to John's, stepping from one to the other, kneading their thighs with his front paws, and thrusting the firm silkiness of his head beneath the chin of each of them in turn, and all the time purring so loudly that they could hear the small warm waves of sound even above the noises of the bus.

‘Now I remember,' said Rosemary. ‘It was Carbonel we had adventures with last year!'

‘Of course it was!' said John, as he stroked the black cat, running his hand from head to tail, feeling the firm body beneath the soft fur. ‘Good old Carbonel!'

At that moment the bus stopped, and several passengers came clambering up the stairs. Carbonel jumped to the floor, and disappeared discreetly under the seat, until it was time for John and Rosemary to get off, when he slipped down behind them, a silent black shadow, padding beside them along the darkening street.

‘I wonder why he's following us?' said Rosemary.

‘If only he could tell us ...' began John. ‘Look out, Carbonel!' he went on. ‘That's twice you've nearly tripped me up!'

‘Let's take him home and give him a saucer of milk,' said Rosemary. ‘That is, if he comes with us that far.'

S
URE
enough, the black cat was close on their heels when they reached home. He trotted straight into the kitchen, sat down in the middle of the floor and looked up at them expectantly.

Rosemary took off her jacket and dropped it on a chair; then she fetched some milk and poured it into a saucer and put it on the floor. Carbonel flashed a long look at them before settling down to a steady lap-lap, lap-lap, from the china rim. They watched the white circle of milk grow smaller and smaller.

‘He might have understood every word we said as we walked from the bus, the way he kept looking at us,' said John.

‘I know,' answered Rosemary. ‘Though I wouldn't have thought all that talk about Highdown and Uncle Zack would have interested him. How funny that Miss Dibdin should be going there just when we are — even if she didn't seem very pleased about it.'

‘And funnier still that she's going to take that cat with her,' went on John. ‘What was its name? Crumpet, wasn't it?'

Rosemary laughed and nodded. ‘Whoever heard of a cat ...' she began, and stopped abruptly as John nudged her sharply.

‘Look at Carbonel,' he whispered.

There was still a small white disc of milk at the bottom of the saucer, but at the word ‘Crumpet', he had raised his head with a jerk. He stood with splayed legs and flattened ears, the sleek fur along his back bristling as they watched. Suddenly he spat, viciously.

‘Hi! Steady on. Whatever is the matter?' asked John.

‘It was the creamy top of the milk, and one of the best saucers with the flowery pattern!' said Rosemary reproachfully. ‘What more do you want?'

For answer, Carbonel turned his back on them disdainfully, and with tail erect, padded towards the chair on which lay Rosemary's coat. He began to pat a hanging sleeve, first on one side and then on the other, leaping and pouncing on its dangling end so that it swung from side to side.

‘Here! Look out!' said Rosemary, as an extra-vigorous cuff brought it slithering to the ground.

As it fell, something red and glittering spun across the floor, till it came to rest against the table leg.

‘The Golden Gew-Gaw!' said Rosemary, and picked up the ring. Carbonel watched her eagerly. ‘What a pity it's too big to wear. I believe we could both put our little fingers through it at the same time. Here, hold your hand up, John.'

‘You silly twit!' said John, but he grinned, and did as she asked. Sure enough, the ring slipped easily over both his little finger and Rosemary's when they held them up-raised, side by side. They both laughed, but stopped abruptly when Carbonel said loudly and distinctly: ‘You always were slow on the uptake, the pair of you!'

Both the children's heads whipped round.

‘Carbonel!' they said with one voice.

‘Making me caper round like a silly kitten!' said the black cat. ‘Not that you don't do your best, but I've been trying to make you understand for hours.'

‘Understand what?' said John.

‘That I wanted you to put the ring on again, so that you can hear me talk. As soon as I saw it fall from the purple cracker, and young Rosemary here beginning to spout poetry, and acting so daft, when she'd got it on her finger, I
guessed
it was magic. And I
knew
it was, when I called for help and she heard me. But you wouldn't believe her,' he added, flashing a golden reproachful look at John.

‘Do you mean at the bus stop?' said John. ‘Then it was you lurking in the alleyway?'

‘I happened to be there,' said Carbonel coldly. ‘I
never
lurk. You forget, I am a royal cat.'

‘Sorry,' said John. ‘But the ring. Is it really magic?'

‘It must be,' said Carbonel. ‘But what sort I don't know. For there are many kinds of magic.'

Rosemary hurriedly slipped her finger from the golden band, then, realizing that without it she could not hear Carbonel, as hurriedly poked it back again.

‘Both Rosie and I seem to remember getting mixed up in some sort of magic business last summer,' went on John. ‘But it's all smudged and misty, as though someone has tried to rub it out. All we can remember is that you were there too.'

‘Maybe I was,' said Carbonel. ‘But I remember no more than you. There's magic in that too. If it wants to be forgot, best let it lie. The trouble is that once magic is in your blood it attracts more magic, as sure as a magnet attracts a packet of pins. You're likely to have another go of it.'

‘Like malaria,' said John. ‘That's a sort of fever. Uncle Zack had it in India when he was quite young, ages ago, and it still comes back sometimes.'

‘Oh, bother Uncle Zack's malaria!' said Rosemary. ‘Carbonel said he wanted us to help him. Dear Carbonel, what's the matter?'

‘Sit down on the floor, and I will tell you,' he said. ‘I'm getting a crick in my neck with all this squinneying up at you. Grown like a couple of runner-beans you have, since I saw you last.'

John and Rosemary sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor with Carbonel facing them, sitting very upright in the middle of the folds of Rosemary's coat, his tail curled neatly round his paws. She noticed that his muzzle was flecked with grey.