Alonzo settled into a casual position atop a rusty washing machine that stood roughly at the centre of the junkyard, and scanned his surroundings. Spring had kicked into third gear by now, and it was impossible to do anything without those thoughts forcing themselves into his mind. Not that he minded – times like these provided a wonderful boost to his confidence: in terms of female popularity, he was second only to the Rum Tum Tugger. And he enjoyed it while he could. If he was ever going to be a Jellicle Leader, he’d have to start behaving in a more responsible way sooner or later; self-control, keeping a clear mind and all that. But not just yet.
Once more, he scanned the scene before him, assessing each face critically. Etcetera? Cute, OK, but still way too young, really. Victoria? Oh, she’d have to be properly seduced; that would take far too long. Rumpelteazer? The Cockney Rebel – now that would be a challenge. Indeed, he’d given it a try a few days before, and if it hadn’t been for Mungojerrie, defending his sister’s honour with a vigour that was at times truly frightening, he might have got through to her, too. Ah well, more fishes in the sea. He continued his assessment. Demeter? She’d go for Munkustrap; perhaps later. Cassandra? He grinned. Again? Nah…
But why restrict himself to fellow Jellicles when out there was a whole city to choose from? He got down from the washer and gave the junkyard one last scrutinising look before trotting off into the night. Before long, within the olfactory kaleidoscope that was London by night, he could discern the scent of a lone female feline. Turning into a broad lane bound by ancient chestnut trees, he soon found her, sitting majestically on a wooden park bench, grooming her shiny grey coat with fastidious but immensely elegant gestures. Alonzo shuddered. She was perfect. He’d always had a weakness for unicoloured queens, and this young lady in particular exuded a kind of childish enthusiasm and mature sensibility intermingled that intrigued him. And she smelled divine.
Circling the bench, he tried to think of the best way to approach her. She must have noticed him by now, yet she appeared to be ignoring him. He stepped forward.
“My lady…” He bowed. She responded with a reserved nod. Going to play hard to get, was she? Well, she was going to be his one way or another. He always got what he wanted – most of the time, anyway. He crouched to leap onto the bench…
“Remember, Zebra: when a queen says no, she means no.”
Startled out of his fur and feeling extremely, well, caught, Alonzo turned to find Skimbleshanks – protector of the innocent – sitting at the roots of a chestnut tree. Now how could he have got there unnoticed? It was just plain unnerving – ever since his dis-, and subsequent reappearance about a fortnight before, a change seemed to have come over Skimble. Alonzo sneered. Old Jock goes suave. Well, well. Pouncival and the squirt would love this one.
He sniggered, then redirected his attention towards the grey queen. But before he could even flick his tail, Skimbleshanks had planted himself in front of him, and stated in a low, matter-of-fact voice, “I dae no want tae hurt ye, lad. Do no make me.”
Alonzo felt absolutely flabbergasted. For Heaviside’s sake, who did this cat think he was? The Rum Tum Tugger? It was just ridiculous! Hesitantly taking a step backwards, he looked up at the grey queen. She was watching the two tomcats with interest, her eyes half closed in an amused little smile. He looked back at the Railway Cat. The whole situation was as unfamiliar as it was bizarre. He wasn’t used to having to fight for mates, and as he stood there, gazing at Skimbleshanks’ stoic but determined expression, he remembered accounts of the latter’s actions on the Day of Dread, realising that he couldn’t be sure just what Skimble would turn out to be capable of.
“Come oan, Zebra, where are ye manners? Why doan’t ye let the lady choose?” Skimble bowed to the young queen, still perched high upon the park bench, and held out a paw in invitation. Alonzo looked on, his incredulity mounting. This couldn’t be happening. The cat had to be old enough to be her father – admittedly, in cats that meant an age difference of only about two years, but still…
The grey queen daintily stepped off the bench and sauntered over to Skimble, affectionately brushing past his flank. Skimbleshanks gave his fellow Jellicle one final nod before trotting off, the young queen following closely with long, elegant strides, and leaving behind a flustered and somewhat dazed Alonzo.
Once out of sight, the grey queen burst out laughing in a most unladylike manner. “Skimble, that was absolutely brilliant! The cat was just utterly shocked out of his fur!” Skimbleshanks grinned widely. It was glorious. He’d been dreaming about this for over a year now, a way of getting back at Alonzo for getting him ’nipped at last year’s spring celebration. He stifled a purr. “Ye weren’t sae bad yerself, Carrie.”
“What did you call him?” Carmelea inquired, tilting her head and frowning slightly – her usual signs of interest. “Zebra?”
“Alonzo, actually.” The Railway Cat gave her a knowing look. “Cute?”
“Weeeell…” Carmelea sat down thoughtfully and began grooming a front paw. “Let’s just say that he might’ve got through if he hadn’t looked so insufferably smug.”
Skimbleshanks nodded. He understood fully. Nobody could blame a queen for feeling attracted to someone like Alonzo. “Ye ought tae thank me, then,” he remarked dryly. “Ye kin be sure he’ll come after ye, noo.” Carmelea let out a chuckle, then looked up mischievously.
“Not tonight, though…” She got up and took a few steps before halting to see what was keeping him. “Are you coming along or what?”
“You’ll ne’er cease tae amaze me, Carrie…” Skimbleshanks sighed as he darted after her.
She’d had it. With everything. Oh yes, she’d played along with them for ages, biting her pouty little lip, shrugging and ignoring them whenever they treated her as nothing more than a kitten. She’d even pretended she didn’t notice whenever Rina and Tugger slunk off together. But not anymore. No way. Tonight, things were going to change. She’d thought it over and over. And over. But she couldn’t think of any course to take but to leave. To leave it all behind, the junkyard, her kitty friends, Skimble. Leaving Tugger. That would be the hardest of all. But she had no choice. She couldn’t possibly stay, here in this, well, dump. With this name.
Etcetera sighed inwardly. How could anyone ever have any true respect for someone named “And So On”? Oh yeah, right, in some fancy foreign language, OK, but come on! She could just imagine her mother during the naming of her litter: “Right, so we have… James, Flint, Katiana, Pagliacci… and so on.” It was so ridiculous! No – things would have to change. Drastically.
Little tingles of exhilaration ran up and down her spine as she pushed aside the cat flap and stepped out into the dark. No going left along the rail to check on Skimble tonight. No crossing Hyde Park on her way to the junkyard. Tonight, she’d go straight on, along Adventure Street, down Independence Lane, to a place where they’d let her be who she wanted to be. She halted. Not without supper, though, she added as she hurried back to the kitchen.
As she popped her head out through the cat flap once more, she was greeted by a cheery mew from a dark brown kitten. Electra. Bummer. Not that she disliked seeing who she usually considered to be her best friend; it was just that right now, she had other things to do. Although…
“Cetra? Hey, where are you going?” Electra’s tail formed a furry question mark as she skipped after her kitty friend, who had trotted off in a direction roughly opposite that which they usually went. Etcetera halted and crinkled her nose into what she hoped was an expression of general weightiness. “I’m going off to find myself,” she stated haughtily. Electra opened her mouth, but closed it again as she tried to digest this. “You mean like Skimble did?” she finally suggested. Skimble’s disappearance had been the talk of the junkyard for weeks now, and Etcetera played a considerable part in the whole matter, having been the one to find the body everyone had assumed to be his. Perhaps some of the mystery had now rubbed off onto her. “When are you coming back?”
Etcetera crinkled her nose some more. “How am I supposed to know? Maybe I won’t find myself till I’m in…” She paused, searching her mind for someplace sounding sufficiently remote. “… Bodmin. Or Dundee. And that could take a while. Maybe,” she added dreamily, “Maybe I’ll have to go as far as America…”
Electra’s shocked features screwed up into a grimace of panic. Cetra wasn’t going to leave the Jellicles, was she? Just like that? She could get cast out!
“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself,” Etcetera declared, slightly misreading her friend’s expression. “But you can come along if you like.” She got up and trotted off once more. “You don’t have to, of course, but don’t tell anyone, OK? They wouldn’t understand.”
Electra had to admit that she herself wasn’t entirely sure she understood. Nevertheless, she darted after her kitty friend. She couldn’t let her go out there all on her own – not Etcetera. Knowing her, she’d grow tired of this whole thing soon enough, and then they’d think of a way to sneak back together without reprimand or loss of face, and everything would be alright.
“Where do we start?” she panted as she caught up. Etcetera slowed her pace.
"Hampstead.”
Last night’s flowers had been scattered – by the wind, perhaps, or in the wake of passing trains. Jennyanydots forced tonight’s stems into the sand, and heaped some more around them. That should do it. She stood back. Munkustrap stepped forward and rearranged the pebbles around the central boulder. “To the Unknown Tomcat.” Jenny nodded as he joined her at the foot of the grave. For a minute or two, the two cats stood in respectful silence that was finally broken by Jenny.
“How’s the investigation coming along?”
“We haven’t made any real progress since last week.” Munkustrap frowned. “If we don’t get a break real soon, we might have to let the whole thing go unresolved.” He turned away. He knew he couldn’t blame himself, and everybody kept telling him. But he’d put himself in charge of the investigations, taken it upon him to unravel the mystery of this cat’s unfortunate death. He didn’t know what would be worse, should he fail – leaving the matter unresolved, having to let go of the victim and watch him sink into a mire of anonymity, or the question whether the investigation might have succeeded, had he delegated it to another cat. Because there was no way he could have done any better himself. He’d made full use of his knowledge regarding fellow Jellicles and any special abilities they might have.
Skimbleshanks had been put in charge of olfactory matters the night after his return, and a smell scan of the site had been carried out immediately. This had provided them with a starting point, allowing them to narrow down possibilities and focus on what was most likely.
Hay. Somerset hay. Skimble had been very specific about that. He’d insisted that Somerset hay had certain fruity overtones not found in any other region, so strong that they lingered even then on the sand where the victim had hit the ground. “Mind you, he must’ve rolled aroond in et tae have had et cling tae his fur like this.”
So what did this leave them with? Either the victim had come from Somerset, or had extensive contact with hay from the region. Hay transports from Somerset hadn’t been recorded for months, so the most logical course of action would be to start tracing warehouses and enterprises with special interests in hay – pet stores, riding schools, along those lines. And that might take a while, even when making optimal use of Mungojerrie’s numerous connections around the Metropolis.
Everything had been set in motion, and now all that remained was standing back and letting things take their course. Either there’d be a break, his assumptions turning out to have been accurate, and his actions appropriate, or the case would drag on ceaselessly, and it would be too late to start anew and take an alternative course. Munkustrap wouldn’t usually consider himself to be a pessimistic cat, but as time passed, he came to dread the outcome of the case more and more.
As he stood there worrying, staring at the sand, Jenny slunk around to face him. She had to get him away from there; it had been hard enough to keep his mind off the investigation back at the junkyard. She felt sorry she’d brought it up; she’d have to make up for it some time. But first things first.
“I’m going down to the junkyard. Are you coming along, dear?” Munkustrap nodded. He knew what she was thinking, and he agreed. As the two cats trudged past site huts onto the pavement, the wind tugged, inconsequentially, at the bunch of flowers anchored in the sand.
“Are you sure you know where we are?” Electra asked, looking around. She’d lost track of all landmarks or any other means of orientation she might have had. “Are we in Hampstead yet?” Etcetera rolled her eyes. “It hardly matters, now does it? I mean, we’re supposed to be searching anyway, aren’t we? Unless you want to go back, of course.” Electra was about to say that perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all, when Etcetera rather noisily hushed her. “Can you smell that?”
“Smell what?” Electra sniffed. It would be hard for any cat to smell anything peculiar in a place they’re not familiar with. Before Etcetera could answer, a voice rang out over their heads.
“Good evening, Ladies.” The two kittens gasped as they detected a feline face peering over the edge of a drainpipe. Little flakes of rust whirled down from its hinges as the adolescent tom came to his feet while another, rather more mature, cat slunk calmly into the other end of the alley. Etcetera and Electra backed into a row of bicycles stacked against a trash container.
The ground level tom smiled at them. “Don’t worry. He’s harmless.” He looked up at the drain as it bent under its feline burden, and added with a touch of annoyance, “To everyone but himself, that is.”
Squinting warily at the cat perched overhead, he continued, “Cut the macho act, Honk, nobody’s buying it. And be careful when you come down!” Shrugging apologetically at the two kitty friends as the other tom clambered back onto the roof, he cocked his head and addressed Etcetera, whom he assumed to be the leader, or at least the more bossy, of the two. “As my comrade has already tried to convey to you in his own special way, we wish you both a very good evening. My name is Glarious – whom do I have the pleasure to be addressing?”
Electra surreptitiously rolled her eyes, wondering what could be driving sensible cats into using that stupid, archaic rhetoric every time they approached members of the opposite sex with intentions going beyond small talk. It was just so corny. She was about to give this cat a piece of her mind when 'Cetra let out a coquettish giggle.
“I’m afraid your comrade caught us unawares, Mr Glarious. I am Cinnamon; this is Ginger.”
Ginger? Electra looked at Cetra, who flashed her a smile promising to maul her ears if she’d open her mouth.
Glarious looked her up and down. Cute – a bit too young, perhaps, but definitely cute. “Are you ladies new here?”
Again, Etcetera took the floor. “New to this part of town, yes. But not for much longer...?” The question mark, smiled rather than spoken, hung in the air until shattered by a muffled thud as a rather nondescript furry form slid off the trash container and landed next to Glarious. “Honkinshaw. How do you do.” Cetra held out a paw in greeting, but was interrupted by Electra, who was frantically prodding her flank. “Will you excuse us for a moment?” They turned their backs on the two tom cats.
“What?!” Etcetera hissed, her eyes flaming. Electra refused to be intimidated. “You can’t do this. We don’t know them, we don’t know this part of town, we don’t know who to turn to if things go wrong.” Etcetera rolled her eyes. “Says who things’ll go wrong? Says who I wouldn’t be able to cope if they did? Everlasting Kitten, Electra, you’re starting to sound like Jelly! Get a life!” “I don’t care who I sound like! I’ve had it with you, Cetra. Go ahead, work yourself into a fix, I’m leaving!”
Electra turned around and walked off the way she had come. Etcetera gave Glarious an apologetic pout. “I’m afraid our Ginger seems to have some urgent business to attend to. So, anyway,” she added as she turned her back on the small feline figure now turning the corner, “I assume you know your way around here? Would you mind sharing your experiences with me – a little tour, perhaps?”
“Why, of course. There’s quite a few interesting acquaintances of mine I’d think you’d like to meet.” Effortlessly, Glarious leapt onto the garbage container, Honkinshaw following almost immediately. “This way, my lady Cinnamon.” Looking up, Etcetera faced her doubts one last time. Resolutely, she shrugged them off. Cats did this stuff all the time. If they could handle it, so could she. Forcing a casual purr, she hopped daintily onto the stack of bicycles to join Glarious on the container. “Do you belong to a group of some kind?” she inquired, her voice quivering ever so slightly.
Glarious’ gravity seemed to slide off him as he answered. “Well, there’s no real tribes where we live. It’s all a matter of who you choose to hang out with. For instance” – he climbed onto the roof – “If you’re one of us, that’s Lilliputtle’s little gang, you cannot be with Ascott at the same time. It’s a bit complicated, and rather silly at that” – he cleared a gap between roof tops – “the competition, that is.” He looked back to see if Etcetera could manage the jump. Nodding as she sat down next to him and waited for Honk to join them, he continued, “Sometimes I think they’re taking the gang thing too far.”
The three cats descended a pile of rubble into another alley. “Nearly there,” Glarious stated. “Nearly where?” Etcetera sniffed the ground. Cats. Many different cats. “We meet in Liliputtle’s back yard. Most groups in this part of town are based around gardens and sheds. There’s bound to be someone there this time of night.” He pointed to a garden fence covered in ivy and crouched to jump when something – someone – landed on his back, knocking him over, whilst Etcetera felt someone grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and starting to drag her across the sand.
“Honk! Help me!” Honkinshaw started, but was instantly surrounded by two toms and a queen. As the attackers kept Glarious pinned down and Honkinshaw surrounded, another queen dragged Etcetera through a hedge of conifers into one of the gardens, dropping her, then picking her up again to get a firm hold, after which she lifted the poor kitten off the ground and bounded across stretches of planted soil and neatly mowed lawn, through hedges and holes in fences, until she reached an ancient-looking wooden shed. She let go of Etcetera and pinned her down with her front paws, her tail thumping the door.
“Come on, open up, it’s me! The others will be here in a minute…”
As the wooden door swung open, the stranger queen prodded Etcetera to go in. Trembling all over, the tiny Jellicle tottered onto enemy territory, her catnapper closely following. She looked around. The shed was stacked with black boxes and shiny metal stands, wires snaking across the floor. Bales of straw and hay covered three of the shed’s walls, with a few more scattered round. Atop the boxes and hay, four cats sat in grim expectancy. After about half a minute, pawsteps could be heard outside, and one by one, the other four attackers came in. One of them was limping.
“Who is she?” An unknown tom asked her catnapper. “I don’t remember seeing her with Liliputtle before. Is she new?” Her catnapper gave her a sharp look. “Are you? Who are you?”
Etcetera swallowed. If Glarious, or anyone around here, was ever to find her, she’d have to stick to one name. “I’m… Cinnamon. Glarious was going to introduce me to everyone.”
The stranger tom threw up his paws in despair. “Oh, great! We capture one bloody Lilimutt, and she’s not even part of the gang!” The catnapper queen glared at him in a way strangely reminiscent of the one Munkustrap usually reserved for Alonzo or Tugger. “If she means anything to Glarious, we can still trade her.”
Trade her? For what? Cetra looked at the catnapper queen, whose features softened upon recognising her astonishment and fear. “It seems we owe our little guest some explanation. First of all, let me introduce myself. Cats call me Ascott.” Etcetera breathed in sharply.
“The rival gang?” she ventured. Ascott grinned bitterly. “That’s what it looks like. It was nothing serious until…” She fell silent, then continued, in a voice lower than before, “Until they catnapped Ruby. My brother.”
Etcetera leaned forward. “What happened?” she whispered. Ascott shook her head. “We never found out. No-one’s seen him since. He’d been in a fight with Honkinshaw – Liliputtle claims he never laid a paw on him, but it was his yard he was last seen in.”
She looked up. “Now we have something to trade him for.” She turned to a tom behind her. “Pinball, I’m sending you and Buchanan over to Liliputtle’s. Tell them to meet us on the playground in an hour. If they refuse, it means war. Tell ’em that as well.” Pinball nodded and climbed a stack of straw to a small broken window, waiting for Buchanan before leaving.
Ascott smiled at Etcetera. “All we can do now is wait, little one. You look like you could use some rest.” She pointed to a bale of hay. As Cetra lay down, she saw two queens positioning themselves beside her. Guards. Burying her head in her paws, she tried not to wail. She wanted to go home.
She should have asked them. She should have asked the way to a railway station or something, before going off on her own. She’d always been the responsible one; the only reason for going along had been to make sure Cetra wouldn’t be alone in situations like the one she’d left her in just now. Then why did she leave her like that? Electra mentally rewound the conversation they’d had in that alley. Cetra’s bossy obstinacy; her own exasperation, Glarious’ benign derision of the two little kittyboppers. Now they were both alone.
Turning into a wider street, she smelled something familiar. With a pang of sudden hope, she sniffed the air, then sagged onto the cold tarmac. It was her own smell – she’d been going in a circle. She looked around for some kind of shelter. She’d try to get some sleep; it would all look far better in the morning. Lying down beneath a park bench and stretching to relax as much as possible, she heard a rustling in a nearby chestnut tree followed by an anxious voice directly overhead.
“Ginger? Is that you? They’ve got Cinnamon!” The voice connected somewhere…
“Honk?” Electra looked up. Through the gaps in the wooden frame, she could spot Honkinshaw’s whiskers twitch nervously. “Who are ‘they’?” She got up and walked out from under the bench to facilitate the conversation. Honk jumped off the bench and began to circle her. “She’s been catnapped by Ascott, and now they want to trade her for her brother, only we don’t have him and they don’t believe us and now there’s gonna be a fight and cats are gonna get hurt and…” He broke into a violent coughing fit.
Guilt and anxiety fought for the upper hand as realisation flooded Electra’s kitty mind. She should’ve… She had to… What if… She took a deep breath. They’d have to find Skimble. Or Munkustrap. They’d know what to do. She turned to Honkinshaw. “Can you get me to Hyde Park?” She’d know her way to the junkyard from there. Honk nodded and ran off, looking back to see if she followed.
“Where are you taking me?” he panted as they darted along the streets. “Home. We’re Jellicles, if that means anything to you.”
Honk frowned. “Like Mungojerrie?” Despite the circumstances, Electra couldn’t stifle a smile, wondering if there’d be any cat in London who didn’t know Jerrie.
“Exactly. By the way, it’s Electra, not Ginger. And Cinnamon is actually called Etcetera.” Honkinshaw nodded with understanding. “I used to hate cats calling me Honk, so I told everyone my name was Texan. You can’t escape a name, though. Not if you’re a cat.” He halted. “Which way now?” Electra darted westwards with a sigh of relief, glad to be back where she belonged. Soon, the piles of metal and cardboard that marked the bounds of the junkyard came into view. Clearing a stack of packaging plastic, she tripped and tumbled head over tail into the central area, coming to a halt against a rusty washing machine. Swaying as she waited for the fireworks in her head to subside, she heard the shuffles of half a dozen Jellicles coming to see what was going on.
“Everlasting Cat! Electra dear, we thought Rumpus Cat had come to join us for the night!” Jennyanydots gave the kitten a caring lick across the back of her head. “Where have you been, dear? We were worried sick!” Electra looked around. Where was Honk?
“Etcetera? Is that you, dear?” Jennyanydots followed Electra’s gaze.
“Honk?” Electra called out to the pile of plastic that rustled in the breeze. “Honk, you can come out now. These cats are my family.” Gingerly, Honk popped his head around a dustbin. He stepped forward and made a little bow to Jennyanydots.
“Are you the head cat, miss?” Jenny giggled.
“Oh dear… Not me, dear. I wouldn’t know what to do.” She turned to Demeter. “Where’s Munkustrap?”
Demeter looked slightly offended. “How should I know?” Seeing the looks some of the others were giving her, she turned a dark shade of red beneath her fur.
“Please, this is an emergency,” Honkinshaw pleaded. “What is it?” Munkustrap had climbed the washer and now stood overlooking the little scene. “Who are you?”
Honkinshaw held out a paw in acknowledgement.
“A kitten from your tribe has been catnapped by rivals of ours, who believe we have taken one of their group. They wish to trade captives, but we are not keeping anyone. If we don’t comply, they’ll declare war on us, and there’s gonna be blood shed.”
Munkustrap looked at Electra. “Cetra?” Electra nodded gravely. He turned to Honkinshaw again. “I can’t promise you we can prevent anything from happening. Our first concern will be getting Etcetera out of it all. Can you take us there?” He looked round the junkyard. “Demeter, Alonzo, I’m taking you along. Has anyone seen Skimble? We need someone to take care of Cetra.”
Alonzo snorted. Jenny ran off, returning within half a minute. “He’ll be here in a second.”
As Munkustrap came down from the washer to discuss matters with Demeter and Alonzo, and Skimbleshanks made his way into the junkyard, Honkinshaw approached Electra, rubbing gently past her flank. “I’m so sorry. We’d never expected anything like this to happen.” Electra smiled bravely. “Who would have?”
“Are we all here?” Munkustrap turned to Honkinshaw. “Lead and we’ll follow.”
Honk gave Electra a goodbye nuzzle. “See ya, kit. Try and get some sleep.” Electra nodded as the five cats set off into the night.
Jenny came over to where she sat and began to groom a paw. “Don’t worry, dear. They’ll be all right. You just get yourself some rest. You’re home now.” As she settled down on a bed of wood wool, feeling the agitation of the Jellicles pacing the junkyard drift away from her, one last thought crossed her mind: it ain’t over till it’s over.
The atmosphere wasn’t depressing. It couldn’t be. A children’s playground furnished with cheery, safe, environment-friendly constructions designed to have fun with couldn’t be possibly be depressing. And yet, even in broad daylight, the playground exuded a hopelessness and sorrow that was as unnerving as it was inexplicable. Cat legend states that it served as location for one of the most horrific battles on the Day of Dread, which would explain much. Never again.
But that was years ago. Right now, two groups of cats sat facing each other across the soggy sand pit, each waiting for the other to make a move. Finally, Ascott stepped forward, motioning Buchanan and Pinball to follow her. Almost simultaneously, Liliputtle and Glarious detached themselves from the opposite group. At about five feet from each other, both parties halted.
“I believe you have something we want,” Glarious stated in a low voice.
Ascott snorted. “That makes two of us, then.” “Why won’t you believe us when we tell you we never touched him!” “From what he told me, Honk certainly did!”
“That doesn’t prove anything!” Ascott began to circle Glarious. “It’s circumstantial, but it’s all we have. He was last seen on your territory. No-one can disappear like that without someone hiding them.” Ascott seemed about to pounce on Glarious when commotion broke out amongst both groups of bystanders. “What is it? Pinball?” Ascott demanded, careful not to let her guard down. Pinball went to investigate, returning instantly.
“It’s Cinnamon’s tribe. They’re asking us to keep her out of it.”
Ascott smirked incredulously. “What? And give up our only advantage?” Glarious turned to look at the small group of strangers on the edge of the sand pit. A tall, grey-and-black tabby tom was approaching them, a younger black-and-white one closely following.
“Which of you is Ascott?” he demanded.
Ascott ceased her stalking of Glarious and faced the tabby. “And who might you be?” The younger tom came forward and opened his mouth, but was silenced by the grey tabby.
“I am Munkustrap of the Jellicles. You have taken one of us against her will, and we demand her back.”
Ascott tried to appear as reasonable as possible. “I’m afraid we cannot give in to your demand. Keeping her is my only hope of ever seeing my brother again.”
Glarious rolled his eyes. “No, she’s not! Can’t you see – we don’t have him!” He turned to Munkustrap. “We don’t have him; you have to believe us.”
“Belief is not the issue here. What concerns me is the safety of a fellow Jellicle.” Munkustrap turned to Ascott. “Where is she? I hate to get involved in matters like this one, but if your attitude doesn’t change, you might just find yourself faced with two enemies.” He looked around. “As far as I can see, you’re outnumbered six to five as it is.”
Ascott sighed. He was right. As a leader, she couldn’t wilfully put her group into danger. Apart from that, it had begun to dawn on her that she was in all likelihood causing this poor kitten as much misery as her brother must have gone through.
She turned to the cluster of cats at one end of the pit and gestured for them to open up, revealing the hunched figure of Etcetera. The Jellicle kitten looked up. Demeter… Alonzo… Skimble… Cautiously, she took a few steps in their direction before breaking into a run, remembering just in time to preserve her own dignity as well as that of her fellow Jellicles by not taking a flying leap onto Skimble’s back. Instead, she held out a paw toward Munkustrap and rubbed past Demeter’s flank. The latter gave her a lick behind the ears, then spat as she tried to clean her tongue.
“Ppptff! Kit, where have you been? Your coat’s covered in… What is it, anyway? Skimble?”
The Railway Cat went over to Etcetera, sniffing her carefully. Suddenly, his face froze.
“Munkus?” He gestured towards the grey tabby still monitoring Ascott’s every move. “Munkus? There’s something I think ye might want tae smell, here…”
Munkustrap reluctantly left the two parties facing one another, antipathy dripping off their whiskers like milk. “What is it?”
Skimbleshanks gave a curt nod to Etcetera sitting timidly at Demeter’s paws. “Just sniff her fur.”
Demeter nudged Cetra to stand up whilst Munkustrap sniffed her shoulders and back as politely as possible. His tail stopped in mid-swish. His whiskers twitched as he turned to Skimble. “The same?”
Skimble nodded. “Positive.”
Simultaneously, the two toms turned their gaze to the sand pit, where Ascott and Glarious were now circling each other. “Come on!”
As the two Jellicles bounded across the grass, Ascott took a swipe at Glarious, grazing his forehead. For three seconds, all-out cat war seemed inevitable. On both sides of the sand pit, cats advanced slowly, a menacing hiss rising up from numerous feline throats. Glarious hunched, then launched himself at Ascott as the rest of the Liliputtle gang charged across the sand.
A streak of grey threw itself in front of Glarious’ claws, catching a nasty gash in its side, whilst a flurry of orange darted to and fro between the two enemy groups, shouting “Hoald yer claws!” at the top of his voice. Baffled beyond measure, the two gangs backed away. Glarious looked down in shock at a bleeding Munkustrap.
“Oh my Cat… What did you have to go and do that for?” His shock grew into anger as the rush of fighting refused to let go. “This is none of your business!”
“Oh, I believe et es, lad.” Skimbleshanks had caught his breath, and assumed his usual dignified and, above all, official bearing. “I believe we kin be of coensiderable help in clearing up this matter withoot bloodshed.” He shot a brief glance at Munkustrap, who gave him a nod saying he’d be all right, then turned to Ascott. “I’m sorry, but I think we might know where yer brother is…”
“I should have known.” Ascott looked down at the now slightly withered bunch of flowers still securely in the sand. Jennyanydots, who was used to being confided in, gave her a smile. “Now don’t you go blaming yourself, dear. You know this was nobody’s fault.” Faintly, though encouraged by Jenny’s tone, Ascott continued, “I mean, I should have bothered to find out where he went at night. I just assumed he hung out in the shed. He was the only one who could stand the noise.”
Munkustrap pricked up his ears. “What noise?” Ascott stifled a sob. “Humans get together in the shed to play those electric boxes. Horrible racket.” Her whiskers twitched in a wry smile. “But Ruby would go in every single night, just to roll around in the hay. I think they used that to hold back the sound.”
Skimbleshanks and Munkustrap exchanged a knowing nod. Somerset hay – stacked up in a rehearsal shed to reduce noise pollution. It was hard to imagine just how incredibly lucky they’d been to find out at all. Just this once, they’d go easy on Cetra’s stubbornness.
Ascott looked down at her paws. “I wonder what he was doing around here. But then again I’m not sure any of us ever really knew what he was up to…” Her voice faltered when she noticed all eyes were on her. She shuddered and shook her head, then ran off. Pinball went after her.
“Poor thing,” Jenny mumbled. Glarious nodded. “No-one can blame her for the way the kit ended up. First her mum, now this. She had to raise him all on her own – I don’t think anybody ever found out who his father was.” He sighed. “She was no more than a kit herself at the time.” He caught himself staring at Etcetera, who got up from where she and Electra had been lying and approached him cautiously.
“I know things haven’t quite worked out as planned tonight…” She bit her lip at the euphemism. “But I was wondering… Are we still on?” Once more, Glarious stared at her, this time in confusion.
“What?”
“She’s right, you know. You did promise her a tour.” Honkinshaw came sauntering over. “We’ve still got a couple of hours till dawn. Besides, it would help to get your mind off things.” He cocked his head. “Well? What do you say?”
Glarious was about to protest when Etcetera quickly placed a paw over his mouth. “We get your point, tommy – just a kitten, trying to grow up too fast, all that kitty litter. But it needn’t always be that way. Anyway, I’ll have Electra to look after me.” She looked behind at her kitty friend, who had pricked up her ears at the sound of her name. “Won’t I?”
Electra rolled over and came to her feet. “As usual,” she sighed. “Honestly, Cetra, one day you’ll have to start accepting some responsibility yourself.”
“Oh, yes, one day, of course,” Etcetera purred as the four of them set off into the dark. “But not just yet.”
– End of Episode II –
Lynnskittle says: Some interesting developments seem to have emerged here. I mean, what was Ruby doing by the railroad in the first place? And how come everybody mistook him for Skimble? Oh, and yes – the opening scene will connect somewhere further on in the series. I promise.