‘You cowards!’ yelled Rosemary.
‘Yes, by gum you are!’ shouted John. ‘Carbonel won his battle, and he is leader by right of conquest!’
‘He can’t fight all those Alley Cats single-pawed,’ said Malkin. ‘Look where the ginger tyrant is egging them on!’
But Carbonel was not alone. Pandemonium had broken loose as more and more animals hurled themselves into the battle, on one side or the other, while from the vantage point of the far ridge the ginger cat urged them on. Carbonel had disappeared under an avalanche of struggling cats.
‘Can nobody remove that ginger fiend?’ wailed Malkin.
‘John,’ said Rosemary. ‘Do you think the broom could take us all three to Tussocks? If only we could manage it, of course.’
‘It’s worth trying,’ said John.
‘Darling broom!’ said Rosemary. ‘I simply can’t say it all in rhyme this time, but when this is all over I will make it into a real poem, a saga, the sort of thing that is told to your children and their children’s children, I promise faithfully. But we must do something quickly to save Carbonel, or it will be too late. Please take us up, John and me, and circle over the battle…’John interrupted:
‘You had better give me your dressing gown, Rosie.’
‘And when I say “Down”, drop like a stone, and John will throw the dressing gown over the ginger cat and scoop him up.’
‘And when she says “Up!” rise at once and circle again.’
And then we had better see what happens next. If you will do all this I will never ask you to do anything again!’
‘Hurry!’ said Malkin. ‘My poor young master!’
Below them was a swaying mass of cats. Only a few, too old or too infirm, or too young, were not engaged in the battle. Rosemary was pulling off her dressing gown. Then she straddled the broom with John behind her. It was not easy to mount because the broom hopped so impatiently up and down.
‘Heaven prosper you!’ said Malkin, as they rose slowly from the roof.
‘Goodbye!’ called Rosemary. ‘Look after Carbonel! Now, Broom, circle round where the battle is fiercest. I can’t see the ginger cat anywhere, John, and it’s all very well to talk about “scooping” him up, but I don’t see how it’s to be done!’
The children peered anxiously into the writhing mass beneath them, made even more indistinct by a haze of flying fur. There was no sign of either Carbonel or the ginger cat.
‘Look there!’ said John, and he pointed to the little temple; and there, by the side of it, sat the ginger tyrant, licking his hurts and grinning at the boiling mass of fighting animals below. John gripped the broom handle with his knees and held the dressing gown with both hands.
‘I’m ready, Rosie! Look out for the lurch when we pick him up!’
Rosemary nodded.
‘One, two, three, down!’ she said, and swiftly and silently the broom swooped. John dropped the thick folds of the dressing gown over the unsuspecting cat. Caught entirely unawares, it fought and struggled in the hampering folds, but John held grimly on.
‘I’ve got him, Rosie. We had better get away as quickly as possible. I’ll tie him up with the dressing gown cord as we go along, for safety’
‘Up, Broom!’ called Rosemary, and nearly shot over the handle as, with a sickening lurch, the overloaded broom rose heavily into the sky.
‘Look up, you Alley Cats!’ called John. ‘Look at your proud leader now!’
The moon had gone behind a cloud again, and as first one and then another pair of jewelled eyes peered up at them from the darkness, the sound of fighting faltered and died. And when the moon came out again there was not a sound to be heard, and every animal in that great assembly was staring up at them, where John held up the ginger cat for them to see, trussed like a chicken with the dressing gown cord.
‘Who is your Leader by right of birth and conquest?’ And the cats below cried, ‘Carbonel, Carbonel is our leader!’
‘That’s all very well,’ whispered Rosemary, ‘but where is Carbonel?’
‘Don’t worry, Rosie, I saw him throw off a pile of cats just now. He looked shaky but determined. I say, look at the temple!’
Rosemary looked. Underneath the golden dome, sitting on the throne of his fathers, was Carbonel. The broom circled round the temple, and he gazed up.
‘Goodbye, Carbonel! We are taking him back where he belongs!’ called Rosemary.
‘He could never hold up his head here again in any case, and Aunt Amabel will be thrilled to have him back again!’
Carbonel gazed up at them with his great golden eyes.
‘Farewell! Farewell, my faithful friends! And the gratitude of a king go with you!’
And as the broom turned and headed towards the country, they heard a triumphant cry which grew fainter and fainter as the Town Hall faded into the distance.
‘Long live King Carbonel! Long live King Carbonel!’
25
The End
[????????: _3.jpg]
The broom skimmed off obediently at Rosemary’s request.
‘Oh, no you don’t, my Popsey Dinkum!’ said John, as the ginger cat renewed his struggles. ‘And that is not at all the sort of language that Aunt Amabel likes to hear!’
At the mention of Mrs Pendlebury Parker the animal mewed pitifully.
‘Well, thank goodness he is able to struggle so hard,’ said Rosemary. ‘It shows that he can’t be very badly hurt. I say, John, we’re flying awfully low.’
John had been so busy with his bundle of cat and dressing gown that he had had no time for anything else. They were flying over the new building estate at the edge of the town now, barely skimming the chimney pots. Once Rosemary banged her leg on a lightning conductor.
‘I’ve noticed that when the moon is shining clearly, it seems to gain height.’
‘I should think that the poor thing is completely worn out. It has been tremendously plucky all evening, and now it has got this hefty great weight to carry’
Rosemary patted the broom gently. It was warm and damp beneath her fingers like an over-ridden horse.
‘Please do your best, dear Broom! You have been so splendid, but I know the last bus has gone, and we couldn’t walk all these miles, not with bare feet we couldn’t.’
The broom seemed to shake itself; then it rose a little higher. Luckily the moon came out again, and it seemed to take fresh heart. They made steady progress for some distance, but by the time they had reached the Lodge of Tussocks the broom had barely strength enough to clear the gate. The trees on either side of the drive were thick and tall and very little moonlight found its way beneath them. It struggled bravely on, but beneath her anxious fingers Rosemary could feel its pulse beat uncertainly, and several times John, who was fully occupied with his bundle, felt his bare feet drag painfully on the gravelled drive. When they came to a bend in the drive the broom seemed uncertain of its direction and went blindly on towards the rhododendrons. If it had not been for Rosemary’s guiding hand it would have blundered into the shrubbery.
‘Shall we get off and walk?’ asked Rosemary. ‘We’re nearly there.’
Indeed, Tussocks was in sight, huge and dark except for one single light. But the gallant broom shook itself once more. They could feel it gather itself together for one last effort. Steadily it sped on over the final hundred yards, head up and its few remaining twigs only occasionally dragging on the ground, to fall with a clatter on the top step of the broad flight that led to the front door.
‘Good old Broom!’ said John, and stooped to pat it as it lay panting on the ground.
‘I say, Rosie,’ said John suddenly. ‘What on earth are we going to say to Aunt Amabel?’
But Rosemary was already hanging on to the great wrought-iron doorbell and ringing with all her might. Not until she heard it clanging in the distance did she realize that arriving in the middle of the night in their night things with the missing cat rolled up in a dressing gown, would need a great deal of explaining.