Felidae on the Road - Special U.S. Edition (19 page)

'You've got me quite wrong, Ambrosius,' I said, rather subdued by this moral battering. Of course I'd suggested the Wild Ones as suspects only as a hypothesis, although Alcina's hostility to her domesticated cousins, and the disconcerting understanding she showed for the Black Knight's dreadful deeds, did give me food for thought. 'You can spare us both any clichés about townies who see creatures of the wild as either dolts or dangerous monsters but haven't a clue about the ecological disaster going on here. I've been deeply concerned about the sad fate of the Wild Ones myself, although in a theoretical way. It's only because we're busy examining a theory for weak spots that I had to mention this dubious point, so do be fair!'

'O-O-OK, I'll take you at your word and he-he-help you.'

He put the Wild Ones down on his list too, but this time, to my surprise, he drew a circle round all the groups named on the paper.

'Although you're an excellent th-th-theoretician, or perhaps
because
you are, of course you haven't thought of the simplest so-so-solution of all. Perhaps the m-m-murders aren't being committed by a single group but by
all
of them!'

I frowned. What was that supposed to mean? 'I don't really get you.'

'S-s-sorry, I put it mystifyingly on purpose. What I mean is, if you don't fancy ma-ma-making the Black Knight your prime suspect, why suspect only those you've already met? There are pl-pl-plenty of other creatures in the forest who m-m-might have committed such crimes. Be-be-because of course we do have natural enemies, whatever people say. For instance the stoat or ermine, thought of by human females only as a soft luxury fur. Stoats are generally believed to attack our li-li-litters; the mother sometimes has to leave them alone in the n-n-nest. They say no litter would survive long in forest areas where there are m-m-many stoats. And they like to eat our livers and suck our bl-bl-blood. Our brothers and s-s-sisters on the farms aren't great on taking precautions any more, so it's easy to imagine a st-st-stoat commando getting at them.

'B-b-but that's not the only possibility. We all know the golden eagle will attack our kind, particularly when the su-su-supply of rabbits and rodents is low as a result of so-so-so-called civilisation. Bones and remains of the Wi-Wi-Wild Ones are found more and more often in the eyries of the lords of the air, but eight times as many remains of our d-d-domesticated kind are found. The list of possible ki-ki-killers goes on indefinitely. Just off the cuff, I can think of hounds gone off their h-h-heads, or lone foxes - they still roam the forest. So I make you a pro-pro-proposition, Francis: we s-s-sleep till sunrise and then set out to make professional inquiries together. We can visit those fo-fo-forest-dwellers who are well-disposed to us - ask them what they th-th-think about the case and if they've ever witnessed any of the crimes.'

'Sounds like a good idea, Ambrosius, but with the best will in the world I can't see how it could work. I don't speak Elkish or Grouse.'

'I do, though.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'You heard m-m-me. I'll interpret for you. Don't g-g-gawp at me like that, Francis! Do you think an old forest gnome like me would have been ki-ki-kicking his heels in this wilderness so long without learning the language of the other gn-gn-gnomes?'

He opened his mouth wide and let out a shrill croak. I couldn't say for sure whether the demonstration was meant to sound like a constipated baboon or Tarzan in a state of post-coital depression, but I mimed surprised appreciation all the same.

'Terrific, Ambrosius! If I had hands I'd clap you. May I ask what language that proof of your abilities was in?'

'You'll s-s-soon find out, my friend. Let's rest now, so as to be fi-fi-fit for tomorrow's investigations.'

'Not before you've explained two things which have been puzzling me since we first met. First, how you learnt to write, and second, why you said you were a seeker after knowledge in the field of ESP.'

'The t-t-two are closely connected. But it's easier to explain the wr-wr-writing than you may think. There came a point when I had to 1-1-learn to record what I knew, because of the extent my studies of ESP were assuming. So I looked over Diana's sh-sh-shoulder and practised on the quiet, until one day it worked. Of course she doesn't know. I hide my ma-ma-manuscripts in a hurry as soon as d-d-day dawns and she gets sick of her own artistic efforts.'

'ESP. Extra-sensory perception. Forms of perception other than by the normal senses, such as telepathy, clairvoyance and prophecy, the subject of parapsychological research, right?'

'My t-t-turn to applaud you! But whereas the abbreviation usually stands for the extra-sensory abilities of the human psyche, my research goes the other way, s-s-so to speak: ma-ma-manifestations of ESP in animals, also known as animal psi re-re-research. Animals have often behaved strangely in the pr-pr-presence of ghosts, or when their owners die, and there are well do-do-documented cases of "psi-trailing", the phenomenon of an animal left be-be-behind by its master who travels great distances to find him, through districts it has never seen before.'(
10
)

Well, well, well! I couldn't wait to hear what came next. Probably a UFO to take Diana and her psi-pussy off on a shuttle flight to Andromeda. To be honest, I was getting thoroughly fed up with all this hocus-pocus. Had I landed up in some course on esotericism for burnt-out managers? And yet ... my mind, now working at furious speed, was gradually beginning to entertain the uncomfortable feeling that all these bizarre pieces of the jigsaw belonged together in a way I still didn't understand and that some time, when they were all fitted into each other, they'd show a picture which explained everything. I also suspected that Ambrosius would play no small part in this final jelling process. Perhaps, I said to myself, perhaps he should have put his own name at the top of the list and added an exclamation mark.

'You leave me speechless with amazement again, Ambrosius. In the course of my life I've met many extraordinary members of our species, but you outshine them all with your remarkable abilities. Just why have you gone in for such a way-out branch of science?'

Ambrosius smiled proudly and began an extended stretching and back-arching exercise. In the process, his sharp claws perforated the paper under them and crumpled it. I was suddenly dazzled by the beauty and flexibility of his body, which was still very vigorous. The shimmering sorrel of his coat, a warm and lustrous apricot-pink spreading like a ghostly shadow to cloak him from back to feet, did in fact make him look rather like some wise old scholar. In mild contrast to his almost flesh-coloured back, his front was a dull creamy white from his lower jaw down to his belly, so that all things considered he looked like some improbable optical illusion. His eyes, half closed as he stretched and as if illuminated from within, were the eyes of a magician with a mysterious smile doing his very best trick. But my vague feeling that he'd sold his soul to the devil for something unspeakable was growing stronger and stronger.

'W-w-way-out? Depends on your point of view. But your surprise shows how r-r-ready we are to adopt humanity's in-in-infatuation with cold reason, Francis. We've ab-ab-absorbed a mechanistic view of the world as seen by unimaginative idiots, with the brain regarded as a kind of pocket cal-cal-calculator and the body as coachwork that can always be repaired. A pity, a pity. But even d-d-dry science now admits how little it really knows. In-in-instinct's the magic word that's supposed to explain our behaviour. In co-co-connection with our kind, they mention it sometimes with a smile of acknowledgement, sometimes with b-b-barely veiled arrogance. We're supposed to have the instinct, the hu-hu-humans have the clear intellect. How simple their co-co-complicated world really is, though! Just occasionally, when they hear a few n-n-nasty facts about their species, for instance how there'll soon be ten billion of them on this fragile little pl-pl-planet and no appeal to reason can stop this urge to se-se-self-destruction, just occasionally they get a vague feeling that even their intellect can't be any great shakes. Now I see instinct as a direct hot line to an almighty be-be-being permeating all creation with a glowing current of power. Call it nature, the spirit of the earth, even Go-Go-God if you like. I discovered this aspect of our na-na-nature through close contact with the other forest dwellers. I was struck by the se-se-sensitive, in fact clairvoyant way their internal antennae responded to danger, finding food, the approach of death. So I studied the lit-lit-literature on the subject until it all made sense. Did you know that in the d-d-days of classical antiquity the Greeks and Romans drew conclusions about the future from observing birds, their flight, their feeding ha-ha-habits and their calls, and by examining the entrails of sacrificed animals? Our own kind has more intensive access to p-p-paranormal abilities than any other creature. We are all ou-ou-outstanding mediums. It's been shown that we can foresee volcanic eruptions, severe thunderstorms and earthqu-qu-quakes. When the city of Pompeii perished, buried in a stream of lava, not a single classical member of our species was found in the ruins - but any number of do-do-dogs! We were per-per-persecuted in the Middle Ages for our prophetic talents, and burnt alive by superstitious Christians who thought we had supernatural knowledge. And my word, those ba-ba-barbarians came pretty close to the truth. Be that as it may, my own field is the future, Francis, and I'm experimenting with various ways of mama-making it visible.'

I took a deep breath while at the same time contemplating an extremely terrestrial phenomenon, to wit how much humans and their domestic pets resemble each other, and not just in point of physiognomy either. Or was it living together that made them turn out that way? With our chief rivals, dogs, the fact is so obvious that there's no need to argue about it. And now it was happening to us too! At least, after this sermon on psi powers I was having some difficulty in deciding which was the crazier, Diana or Ambrosius. Somehow or other, it seemed, the forest had turned them into pre-sent-day dervishes who thought more of the swing of a divining rod than of the collapse of Communism. Next moment it occurred to me that outsiders probably thought just the same of Gustav and me in the days of our happy life together, i.e. that we looked amazingly like each other. Not only did the notion instantly turn my stomach, it then made me feel like sinking into the ground for shame.

'I must admit there's something intriguing about your subject, Ambrosius. I just don't believe in it. OK, so I do get nasty presentiments quite often, and my instinct is practically infallible. But you couldn't say I had clairvoyant gifts. For instance, my home is miles away, and with the best will in the world I couldn't find my way back to it. So where does that leave your extra-sensory direction-finding magic?'

Ambrosius had come to the end of his stretching exercises, and extended himself fully one last time. This manoeuvre entailed raising his rump right up in the air while he pressed his chest flat to the desk top and stretched his paws out in front of him, so that his form resembled a question mark fallen over on its side. I saw his apricot tail winding in the air above his back like a fakir's dancing snake. It gradually attained an unusual stability. Then it began swinging steadily back and forth like the rod of a metronome. The movement was surprisingly fascinating - and paradoxically enough it made me feel very sleepy.

'V-v-very likely the failure of your homing instinct can be explained more simply than you think, my friend - by the way, do you like my tail, Francis? Sw-sw-swings nicely, doesn't it? To and fro, to and fro, to and fro ...'

'What? What do you mean by that?'

The pupils of his eyes, right in front of my nose, seemed to be swaying in a metronomic rhythm too - to and fro and to and fro and to and fro ...

'To and fro - now watch this carefully, Francis! To and fro - don't take your eyes off me, Francis! - to and fro - do you feel yourself getting heavier, Francis, feeling calmer? To and fro ... '

My eyelids did indeed feel very heavy, as if anvils were weighing them down. I half closed my eyes, though I couldn't take them off the swinging tail. The movement was just too fascinating. Like a good friend waving, like blades of grass blowing in the wind before a beautiful sunset sky. All the same, the last wakeful part of my mind uttered a criticism, if a very muted one, of all this overpowering harmony.

'What do you mean by that, you devil?' I almost whispered.

'I m-m-mean - to and fro - it m-m-may not be ordained -to and fro - for you to fi-fi-find your way home, Francis - to and fro ...'

Oh no? How sad. Perhaps it wasn't ordained for me to listen to any more of this drivel either. Perhaps it would be better just to lie down, close my eyes, and dream of nothing but the phenomenally harmonious movement of that tail. Why not? To and fro, to and fro, to and fro ...

...
and a bright light flashed across my field of vision. The glare faded only gradually, finally clearing to show the face of a particularly handsome specimen of my own kind. Obviously I was in a dream, because the picture swayed in an odd way, as if I were seeing it from a rocking boat. My opposite number had a remarkable coat colour; in fact it was hard to say which of the various colours peculiar to our kind was predominant. They mingled in chaotic waves all over his head, yet they were so capriciously broken by stripes and patches that it was difficult to make out any particular pattern. For instance, an arrow of bright white went up from the right-hand side of his nose to the forehead, but in its turn this light patch was blurred by marks like ink-blots from the root of the nose upwards. The pattern was the same but in reverse on the other side of his nose, like a negative. It looked as if every artistic technique ever known had been used on that face, from the broadbrush strokes of the modern Expressionist school to the soft pastels of the Romantics. The shape of his head was very fine too. His ears were handsomely pointed and had grey tufts of hair growing out of them, his mouth firmly set (with black whiskers to the right and white whiskers to the left) and his forehead high. In short, this was a very Adonis of a European Shorthair.