She looked up, and there was Tussocks, apparently rising up to meet them with such speed that Rosemary had a queer feeling in her stomach. How on earth, of all those windows, could the broom be expected to know which was John’s? But it sped on without any hesitation, and as it seemed that they must crash head on into the great castellated wall that rose in front of her, she flung herself flat along the broom and shut her eyes. But it was only by the light touch of a curtain brushing against her cheek that she knew they had passed into the room. There she was, actually on John’s bed, with the broom beneath her. John shot up from the bedclothes, wide awake, with his hair standing up in spikes all over his head.
‘Quick!’ said Rosemary. ‘Mount the broom behind me. We’re going to the Law Giving to see Carbonel take possession of his kingdom!’ To John’s credit, he did not stop to ask questions. He tumbled out of bed, and all he said was:
‘Whacko, budge up!’
Rosemary budged. It was rather a squash, but he bundled up behind her.
‘Make haste!’ said Carbonel. ‘Now, the Town Hall roof, Rosemary.’
After a moment’s thought she said:
On the Town Hall roof put us gently down,
And oblige John, Carbonel, and Rosemary Brown.
She was rather pleased with this, as being both polite and businesslike.
‘Duck!’ shouted Carbonel.
And as they ducked the Broom swooshed through the window, and once more they were sailing through the night air back towards the town. They were not flying so high this time. John was bouncing up and down with excitement.
‘Boy, oh boy! This is terrific! There’s the Lodge and the gardener’s cottage! That must be the railway by Spinnaker’s wood!’
A train, like a jewelled snake, was threading its way through the darkness. A bat blundered into them and squeaked something.
‘Don’t mention it!’ said Carbonel. And the bat flew off again. Soon they were over the first huddle of houses, and as they flew above the town the broom rose heavily. It was travelling more slowly now. The extra weight of John was telling on it. It skirted a tower here and a block of flats there, as though it was conserving its energy. As they drew nearer to the Town Hall they could see the stream of cats below them, still silently crowding in the same direction.
‘It’s a funny thing,’ said Rosemary. ‘Sometimes it looks like slates and bricks and roofs and chimneys, and sometimes like hills with grass and flowers and trees. It’s difficult to see with the moon going behind the clouds every now and then.’
‘I noticed that,’ said John. ‘Queer. But how could it be grass and trees, when we know it isn’t?’
‘How do you know it isn’t?’ asked Carbonel.
‘Just look at the Town Hall roof!’ interrupted John. They looked. It was a strange sight. The roof of the building in which Queen Elizabeth I had slept was covered with a thatch, not of straw, but of cats, and still more were pushing their way on from the surrounding buildings. So intent were the animals that they did not see the dark shape above them which was the broom.
‘Where shall we land?’ said Rosemary.
‘What about behind that chimney?’ said John.
The moon had gone behind a cloud again, and in the dim light they could not quite make out if it was a chimney stack with half a dozen different cowls and chimney pots, or a tree stump, with gnarled and twisted branches. But tree or chimney, behind it they could see and not be seen. The Broom alighted gently, and they found they were standing with their bare feet, not on cold slates, but on short, soft grass. Rosemary had lost her slippers some time ago. Before them a grassy slope fell steeply down towards a small flat valley, and both slope and valley were covered with cats.
‘Look, they are all staring up at the clock!’
In the centre of the Town Hall roof was a four-sided clock. At each corner was a pillar which supported a small golden dome. Beneath the dome had once hung a bell which warned the town of fire and disaster and great happenings, both glad and sorry. The bell was now in the Fairfax Museum.
‘Ithought it was the clock,’ said Rosemary in a puzzled way, ‘but it can’t be. It is a sort of little temple.’
‘The throne of my fathers!’ said Carbonel with emotion.
‘Then you ought to be sitting there!’ said John. ‘Not that great cat that is there now!’
‘A usurper!’ hissed Carbonel. ‘But he shall not remain there much longer!’
Sitting proudly under the golden dome was a huge ginger cat with a rabble of disreputable animals behind him.
‘I say!’ said John excitedly. ‘I do believe…’
‘Hush, he’s talking!’ said Rosemary.
‘Listen to me!’ said the ginger cat.
There was a sighing murmur from the animals gazing up at him, and the rabble behind him pushed and jostled.
‘Have you all brought your offerings, every cat and kitten among you?’
There was a murmur from the assembled cats.
‘But sir,’ said a voice from the front rank below, ‘it is not possible for all cats to bring an offering. Many are poor and old…’
‘Silence!’ spat the ginger cat, in a voice that made half the listening animals step back. ‘If you are poor, others are not. There are larders and shop counters, are there not? Now, don’t tell me you are going to be so simple as to tell me that you have no money, as though you are merely humans. A pounce, a spring when their backs are turned and the herring, the chicken, or whatever it is is yours!
‘My Court,’ he turned and indicated the grinning animals behind him, ‘my Court and I shall not ask where you bring the offerings from, so long as they are there. But bring them you must!’
‘This is frightful!’ muttered Carbonel. ‘Far worse than I ever dreamed. Here at the Law Giving to incite them to rob and steal!’
‘But look here!’ said John again. ‘I am quite sure it is…’
But the ginger cat was speaking again, and Carbonel said,‘Hush!’
‘Come forward any animal who has been foolish enough to come without an offering!’ went on the ginger animal in a voice that was soft, but so wicked that it froze the marrow in their bones.
A dozen cats cringed forward. Most of them were very old or very young.
‘So many?’ went on their tormentor, with mock sympathy. ‘What a pity. Well, you know what to expect. Or is this perhaps a gesture of defiance? Is there anyone here foolish enough to dispute my right to be a leader among you?’ He was standing now, looking down on them, a magnificent animal.
There was a sound from the assembled cats, half sigh and half murmur, but not one of them spoke. For a brief second Carbonel waited. Then, mounting one of the gnarled branches of the tree… or was it a chimney cowl?… his challenge rang out over the rooftops.
‘I do!’
There was a pause and a stir while every animal turned to look towards the voice that had hurled defiance. Hundreds of pairs of yellow eyes gazed up at them.
‘And who are you?’ sneered the ginger cat when he had recovered from his surprise.
‘I am Carbonel X, your king by right of birth.’
There was an excited murmur among the assembled animals.
‘Silence, you rabble!’ hissed the ginger cat, and the murmur died.
‘So you are Carbonel X. You lie; seven years ago he disappeared into thin air, and has never been heard of since.’