Zizou Corder Read online

  There were six lions: the young one, whom Charlie had already met; three lionesses, one very yellow, one silvery, and one bronze-colored, all three calm and silent. There was a younger girl, not much more than a cub, who was restless and bounced around, climbing on her mother’s yellow back and nibbling her ears. The leader of the group, father of the youngsters, was an older male with a magnificent mane who sat in silence in his own cage at the back of the chamber, ignoring everyone and everything. The adults were all too quiet and still. As he moved around the cabin, cleaning and tidying under Maccomo’s stern eyes, Charlie worried about these poor beasts, stuck in the dark, at sea, when they should be bounding around the plains of Africa, leaping and hunting, or basking under trees among grasses as golden as themselves.

  Each morning Charlie went for his pre-breakfast acrobatics session with Sigi. Sigi taught him how to balance, and how to make himself larger or smaller with his breath and his muscles. “If anyone ever ties you up,” he said, “make your muscles tense and big, and fill your chest and belly with air. Then when you relax and breathe out, the ropes will be looser around you.”

  After breakfast the lions were taken down to the ring to exercise and practice. Charlie went with them.

  “Pull this handle,” said Maccomo to Charlie, gesturing to a shiny, well-used brass pull attached to the chamber wall. As Charlie did so, the bars between the cages lifted, and in the back wall of the middle one a doorway appeared, which opened to a companionway leading down into the heart of the ship. Maccomo watched as the lions quietly and obediently ambled down the companionway. Maccomo pulled the handle again and the door closed behind the lions, and the cage walls fell back into place. Maccomo took a large brass key that was hanging from his belt, and locked the handle into place.

  “Come,” said Maccomo with his insincere smile. Charlie followed him out onto the deck, down the main stairs, through a hallway lined with mirrors and a doorway hung with crimson, white and gold striped curtains, and into—the most amazing chamber he had ever seen. It was round, as high as three stories; with seats in circles around the edges and galleries of seating rising up around the sides. The roof was like a tent, crimson and white and gold, swooping up to a high point in the middle, from which hung a glorious chandelier, rippling and tinkling with dangling glass prisms and crystals. The seats in the first galleries were of crimson velvet, with gold curved legs; others were long benches of wood. In one or two special boxes among the galleries, Charlie could see what looked like thrones, surrounded by crimson velvet curtains held back by golden cherubs. And in the middle was the circus ring, clean and open and promising, forty-two feet wide, sprinkled all over with clean fresh sawdust. There was a faint and particular circus smell: of animal, sawdust, greasepaint, and the faint leftover aroma of audience—beer and perfume and fish and chips.

  Charlie gasped at the size and beauty of it. How could this be on board a ship? He almost laughed, it was so lovely.

  Maccomo directed him to another brass handle, one that needed winding. Charlie began to wind it—it was quite heavy, though obviously well-used—and as he did so something extraordinary began to happen. With a shiver and a tinkle high up in the roof of the tent, the chandelier began to divide into sections and pull apart like curtains, and from the center of it began to descend a great silvery-gray mass, a shivering, rustling metal sheet, but metal like chains. It reminded Charlie of something, though he couldn’t think what for a moment. Then as it fell it began to billow slowly, and Charlie realized that it was like chain mail—a massive sheet of chain mail with holes the size of ducks’ eggs, and it was big enough to cover the entire ring. No, bigger. As the sheet descended it became apparent that it was circular, and the center of the circle was attached to the center of the chandelier. It was hanging like a great awning, or a mosquito net that hasn’t been fixed around the edges yet.

  Then Maccomo was instructing him again: He was to enter the ring (this alone gave Charlie a shudder of excitement), pick up the edge of the chain-mail curtain, find a hole in the rim, take it to the ring’s edge, find the matching hole and tent peg there, and pin the curtain solidly into place; and then do the same again until all holes were pegged and the curtain was spread out, an inner tent of metal, between the audience and the ring.

  “And do it carefully, Sharlie,” said Maccomo, “for if the lions break out, the world will not be a pretty place for you or me.”

  The lions! Of course—this metal curtain was nothing but a giant cage to protect the audience, and it was made of chain mail so the audience could see through it.

  “During the performance, this will be your job,” said Maccomo. “Also to unpin afterward. Now, this one—” He unlocked yet another handle, which Charlie then pulled. As he did so, he heard a sleek rattle on the other side of the ring as a gate went up in the small low wall around the edge, and from it came the lions.

  “Yalla!” cried Maccomo, and they loped around the ring. “Shwoyya!” he called, and they slowed down to a gentle pace. Then he called another word, which you or I would not be able to make out as anything more than a noise, but which Charlie recognized immediately. It was a Cat word, meaning jump. And sure enough the lions began to leap as they ran around the ring.

  This set Charlie to thinking furiously. He knew that Maccomo didn’t speak Cat, because if he had been able to, the lions would not have been so amazed by Charlie. But he knew this word . . . how? Did he know it was a Cat word? Or had he just picked it up from some other trainer, who had picked it up from another . . . ? Well, however it had come to pass, to Charlie it meant one extraordinary thing.

  He was not the only human being to speak Cat. Somebody else, somewhere, at some time, shared his peculiar ability. Once he got used to the idea, he found it rather comforting. As long as it’s not Maccomo, he thought, and his mind was brought back to the beauty of the lions. They leaped and frolicked, playing with one another and seeming to enjoy their moments of liberation and light and space, but their tread was too heavy, and every now and then they stopped and stood, staring dumbly as if they didn’t know what to do.

  Then Maccomo started to order them around again. He had a big nasty-looking whip made (Charlie knew because Maccomo had told him so) of rhinoceros hide. But he didn’t use it, he just held it in a way that suggested he might. Charlie could see it wasn’t fear of being whipped that made these lions so obedient. What was it?

  The lions and Maccomo started a game that truly astonished Charlie. Maccomo strode into the middle of the ring, turned his back on the pride of lions, flung out his arms, and uttered a loud, strong call. The six creatures lined up behind him, hunched their backs, and sprang at him, one by one, from behind. They wrestled him to the floor, and then they let him fight them off. All six of them. They didn’t hurt him one little bit—Maccomo must have trained them to keep their claws in, because one slash from those claws would tear the flesh from your back easily. But they landed on him, landing on his bent shoulders with their footpads spread, sometimes balancing delicately, sometimes—by plan—knocking him down. It was a tremendously dangerous act. They could kill him just like that, thought Charlie. Or they could start fighting among themselves. You don’t have to talk Cat to notice how swiftly cats can turn on each other in a temper, yowling and scrowling and scratching at each other’s faces. Charlie had seen it hundreds of times with the Ruins Cats. Pretending to fight with lions—wow. Was it brave? Or stupid? Charlie didn’t think Maccomo was stupid . . . No, there was a reason why the lions were so unnatural, so obedient and calm, and Charlie was going to find out what it was.

  Rafi was still angry—especially at himself for letting Charlie get away. And now he was even angrier for having left those silly messages on his phone. He hadn’t a clue where the boy had gone. Not a clue. Troy’s nose had been addled by the fishstink, and the trail ended at the riverside. So which way had he gone? Inland? Or downriver? Across the river? On a boat?

  Was there any chance that Charlie had found out his par
ents were heading downriver? Rafi couldn’t think of a way. No, Charlie must have jumped a waterbus or hitched a ride, and he could be anywhere in the city, or anywhere on the waterways.

  This made Rafi very angry indeed. Having Charlie would have made it much easier to deal with those ridiculous scientists: He’d just have to say “I’m going to pinch your little baby now,” and they’d have done what they were told soon enough. Plus he’d promised the Chief Executive . . . So now he’d have to spend money on hiring people to go out and find him—people who would keep their mouths shut, which always costs more. Rafi hated spending money on anything except himself. He really didn’t want to spend any on this. It was upsetting his budget. And his pride.

  But Rafi was a realist, so he called the best research villain he knew: a young guy he’d met when he was in reform school for stealing phones. He told him: There’s a brown boy, in the city or on the waterways. Gave him the name, the description, the details. “He’s young and wimpy,” said Rafi. “He’ll probably just go back home. I want him. Soon.”

  Then he amused himself by thinking of all the ways in which he would pay Charlie back for the trouble he was making.

  At first Maccomo would not leave Charlie alone with the lions. But when he saw that Charlie’s knack of calmness around them continued, and that the lions were calm with him too and seemed, if anything, to like him, Maccomo relaxed a little. He wouldn’t let Charlie open their cages or feed them, but he did allow him to pour water into their drinking bowls. It was while he was doing this early one morning that Charlie was able to catch the eye of the young lion whom he had led back from the deck. The lion gave a big, distinct, yellow wink, and jerked his head back in a significant fashion.

  Charlie made a “What do you mean?” face, and checked over his shoulder to make sure Maccomo wasn’t looking. (He wasn’t; he was rolling one of his thin black cigarettes.) He made another face that meant: “Come over here and whisper in my ear,” and bent his head down to the bars of the cage. The lion padded softly over to him and whispered in his ear with a swoosh of warm breath: “We need to talk to you. Got some news. Important.”

  Charlie looked up in astonishment.

  “What news?” he squeaked in Cat—too loudly, for Maccomo turned, holding the black cigarette now between his even white teeth, and gave him a peculiar look.

  Charlie put his finger in his mouth. “Ouch,” he said unconvincingly. “Hurt my finger. Sorry to disturb you.”

  Maccomo stared a little longer, then struck a match on the heel of his boot and lit the cigarette, which began to emit an evil smell. Its tip glowed as he stared at Charlie a little longer, and then he said: “I hope it isn’t severe.”

  Charlie smiled weakly. And then—oh, miracle—Maccomo strolled out of the lionchamber, out onto the deck.

  Charlie whirled around to the lions’ cage.

  “What is it?” he cried excitedly. “What’s the news?” Lions, after all, are cats. Cats had been putting the word out to see where his parents had been taken. He should have asked the lions right away.

  The young lion glared at him.

  “Shh,” he said shortly, and turned to face the cage at the back of the chamber, where the biggest, oldest lion lived, and addressed him in the most respectful way—by name. (I would write the name for you, but alas it’s not possible to write lion names in the English alphabet.) “Sir,” he called quietly—and Charlie noticed that all the lions were facing the oldest lion’s cage now—“Sir, may I present the lion-speaking boy.”

  The oldest lion raised his shaggy head. Charlie had never before had a chance to look into his eyes, and he was shocked by what he saw there. This lion was tired, and sick-looking, and old; his great yellow eyes were cloudy and his movements heavy. Though his mane was large and thick, still it lay flat without movement, and his whiskers hung limp. He looked like a creature without hope. Yet Charlie had seen him leaping about in the ring, healthy-seeming and energetic.

  “Hello, sir,” said Charlie, recognizing that he should be particularly polite here. He gave a little bow. The lion, with a quiet half-smile, inclined his head.

  “Hello, Boy who speaks Lion,” he said in a low and courteous voice. He blinked slowly. And again. Charlie thought he might be going back to sleep. It wasn’t clear whose turn it was to speak. Charlie sort of expected the lion to say something, but he didn’t—perhaps he was waiting for Charlie to speak. The young lion, in the meantime, was looking from one to the other urgently, almost quivering with his desire for them to get on with it. So Charlie spoke.

  “The cats at home,” he said, “my friends, told me that I should ask a cat, if in doubt . . . My parents, you see, have been stolen away, though I don’t know exactly why, or where they are being taken, but the river cats said they were on a ship going out to sea, to France, and I wonder—have you heard anything?”

  The oldest lion half-smiled again, in such a sad way that Charlie felt a tweak in his heart.

  “I hear nothing, boy,” said the lion. “I live in the dark, I go nowhere, I see no one. My wives live in the dark, they go nowhere, they see no one. We eat dead meat; we stay still. From time to time we are taken out by that human and made to do tricks, like a monkey begging for a nut. We are made to pretend to fight. We pretend to fight. We are made to pretend to beg. We pretend to beg. We don’t hear anything. Who would tell us anything? We used to be lions, boy. We used to know things. We know nothing now.” He gave a soft shivering snort at the end of this speech, and Charlie felt its sadness cold and deep within him. That so beautiful, powerful, and magnificent a creature could say such despondent things—it seemed so wrong. A lion should not be like this.

  The young lion hung his head, but there was an angry energy coming off him that he seemed to be trying to squash. The lionesses licked their paws quietly, perhaps pretending not to hear, perhaps too sad to do anything else. The young girl cub had her mouth folded tight, as if she were trying hard not to say anything.

  “I’m sorry,” said Charlie. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Oh, we’re not upset,” said the oldest lion. “That’s the problem. We should be—we should be very upset indeed. We should be raging and roaring and plotting and scheming and escaping. But we’re not. We’re just lying about . . .” And at this he rolled over, hiding his face, and the other lions all looked away in shame and embarrassment. Charlie too felt embarrassed.

  The sound of Maccomo humming one of his tuneless tunes flickered from the doorway. The lions looked up, and away. The oldest lion turned his back, and went to lie by the wall.

  The young lion leaned forward and touched his nose to Charlie’s hand. “Come back later,” he whispered, just as Maccomo’s shadow fell across the doorway. The young lion looked as if he had made up his mind about something. “Come back later and I’ll tell you everything.”

  CHAPTER 10

  For the rest of that morning Maccomo kept Charlie busy explaining to him the workings of the equipment in the ring, the ring cage (as the chain-mail tent was called), the lionpassage from the cages to the ring, and the various other bits and pieces involved in the act.

  “It is an act en férocité,” he explained, smoking another of his smelly little cigarettes and looking at Charlie out of the corners of his eyes as he demonstrated the workings of the lionpassage gate. “The lions appear to be ferocious with me, and I with them. But in fact we love each other.”

  Love? thought Charlie. Hmmm. Not sure about that.

  Then it was time to feed them. The meat was kept in the enormous galley fridge, as big as a room, along with the food for the sailors and circus people, and Charlie had to fetch it every couple of days. The lions didn’t eat every day. In addition, they had their water, which had to be kept fresh and clean, and their medicine, which they took every day in their water. This Maccomo saw to himself. After they had their medicine, Maccomo went and lay on the floor in the lionchamber, outside the cages, wrapped in his crimson cloth against the cold, and smoked a
nd sang in a peculiar language that Charlie had never heard before.

  Every now and then during the morning Charlie and the young lion looked meaningfully at each other, but with Maccomo having his rest, there was no chance to talk. It would have to be later. Charlie was desperately impatient.

  The singing put Charlie in mind of the strange, exciting music he had heard the first time he saw the circus ship. As Maccomo was settled in the lionchamber, giving Charlie no opportunity to be alone with the young lion, Charlie decided to go and find Pirouette or Madame Barbue and ask them about the music to take his mind off it. But Madame Barbue was shaving her legs, and told him, from behind the bathroom door, that Pirouette was rehearsing in the big top and mustn’t be disturbed. So Charlie wandered back to the ropelocker in search of Julius, but Julius’s father had fallen off a stepladder practicing one of the clowns’ knockabout scenes with the monkeys, and Julius had to hold ice on his father’s leg, otherwise it would never be better by the time they got to Paris.

  “So when are we getting there?” asked Charlie, surprised, because as far as he could tell they were miles from land and hadn’t even seen France yet. Which was, come to think of it, odd, after three days at sea.

  “Oh, that’s because we strike a course down the middle of the channel,” said Julius. “If we go too close to shore, people yell for us to come in and do the show, and then the monkeys get overexcited and make so much noise whooping and chattering that all the other animals get worked up, so the skipper keeps out to sea. France is just over there to port. We’ll be coming in this afternoon, in time to restock in Le Havre and then head up the Seine with the tide tomorrow. We’ll make Rouen by tomorrow night, probably. You should talk to the sailorguys, then you’d know what’s going on.”

  As Julius was stuck with his dad’s ice pack, he was not available to show Charlie where the music had come from. “Ask Hans,” he said. “He’ll take you down there.”