Part 23 (1/2)

”What?” said Charlie.

”A group big enough to use your parents' information would pay villains to do their dirty work,” said King Boris. ”Edward, do try and talk clearly. I am Bulgarian and my English is clearer than yours.”

Charlie was running through the scene in his head-Rafi saying to some faceless, powerful, greedy person: ”Yeah, Ashanti and Start, I can get them. I know 'em. Make it worth my while and I'll get 'em for you.” He felt a surge of hatred and incomprehension. He would no sooner kidnap Rafi's mother than he would run over his own head with a steamroller.

”Does everyone know about all this?” he asked. ”All grown-ups? Why do you know about it?”

”I know because I like to know everything,” said King Boris. ”But no, very few people know about it, Charlie. It's complicated.”

Charlie felt very young. Even if he asked about what made it so complicated, he probably wouldn't understand the answer.

”Is anyone going to get them back?” he asked tightly.

”It did appear that there were intentions to set in motion the requisite preparations,” said Edward, ”but budgetary obligations combined with some outstanding diplomatic issues-”

The king gave Edward a withering look, and interrupted. ”Edward seems to be saying that the government of Britain thinks that it can't afford a search,” he said. ”And they don't want to offend the medicine companies.”

Charlie was silent. He knew that the big companies were bigger than some governments: bigger, richer, stronger, more powerful. Some big companies had even bought small countries, so they could make up their own laws and do what they wanted. They ran them like the New Communities: Only certain types of people were allowed; you had to be rich, or working for the company, that kind of thing.

”So n.o.body cares about them,” he said. ”Just me. You just said they were 'traveling south.' How come you don't even know as much as I do? People can be stolen and n.o.body cares and only a kid does anything about it . . .” Charlie couldn't tell if he was sad or angry. Or both. ”It doesn't-it doesn't . . .” A phrase of his mum's came into his mind. ”It doesn't fill me with confidence!” he burst out.

Edward and the king were staring at him.

Charlie felt sick.

”Excuse me,” he said politely. ”I'd like to talk to you later if that's okay.” Very quietly he stood up.

As Charlie reached the door, the king said, ”Charlie-people do care. Your parents have been stolen precisely because they are valuable. That may seem small comfort, but if the people who stole them care about them, it means they won't hurt them. They are safe, Charlie.”

Charlie paused for a moment, his head hanging down.

”Charlie,” said the king. ”Much against my better judgment, I am going to help you.”

He sighed. ”I know you're upset. But listen-I have a little place in Venice. You and your lions can go there. Brave and foolish boy.”

King Boris's black-olive eyes were filled with sadness as Charlie left.

”Find out all you can,” he said to Edward.

Edward bowed slightly, and retreated. The king sat a while in thought. Outside, the snow kept falling.

Charlie went back not to the bathroom but to his little cabin, where he sat on the bed with his head in his hands. He felt a million miles away from anything and anyone, far away and very small. He felt as if he might as well not exist. How stupid to be a small boy, powerless against these grown-up things! How stupid that stupid grown-ups should have all the power, when they do stupid things like take somebody just because they've thought up something really clever! A child wouldn't do that. Any child would say, oh, great, they've done something really good, let's give them a prize. They wouldn't steal them away from their home and their son . . .

Charlie cried a bit. Though he was too big for toys, he got out his tiger and lay down for a while with it over his face. He thought about Rafi, stealing his parents to sell them for their knowledge and ability. He pictured Rafi in the ca.n.a.l, bitten by the lioness, and how worried and scared he had been, and now he thought, Good riddance, I hope you get blood poisoning. He thought about Maccomo, plotting with Rafi, planning to sell Charlie to him. He knew they were out there somewhere. He knew he was going to have to face them again sooner or later. The thought made him feel sick with anger.

He wished he knew where they were.

He wondered what was going on in Paris. What would Major Tib be saying about the lions having gone? He was sorry to have had to cheat him. One day perhaps he could find a way to make it up to him.

Then, as is so often the way after crying, he had a headache. He took his little bottle of Improve Everything Lotion from his bag and looked at it. Dear Mum. He didn't need to take any, though. He'd be all right.

The piece of parchment lay there, tucked in the side of his bag.

Ah.

Charlie took it out, unfolded it. There it was-and Charlie was in no doubt this time about what it was. His mother's blood, his parents' knowledge: These numbers and letters were the cure for asthma.

And he had it.

Was the bag a safe enough place for it? He resolved to find something to wrap it in so he could keep it in the long pocket down the leg of his pants, and have it with him at all times. For now, he tucked it back where it was and took out his mum's ball of lapis lazuli.

He lay down on the bed, holding it, listening to the silence of the snow, watching the curious reflections of light from the ball's s.h.i.+ny surface on the ceiling of his little room. Powerless in so many ways, but actually not powerless at all. He fell asleep.

Charlie was awakened by a dark purring sound in his ear, and a whiskery tickle and a warm breath on his cheek. It was the young lion.

Charlie rolled over, and found himself face-to-face with the lion.

”h.e.l.lo,” he said.

”Oh, I'm sorry,” said the young lion, ”I didn't mean to disturb your rest. But we must speak. n.o.body has been into our strange chamber, so when all was silent I came to find you. Come to us? Are you all right? We heard you sobbing and we feared for you. The lionesses said that though you are brave and strong, we should remember you are just a cub . . .”

”I suppose I am a cub,” said Charlie. ”Yes. I'm a cub.”

It made him smile.

”Pretty tough cub!” said the young lion, looking-yes, impressed. Charlie smiled again. He'd impressed a lion!

”Well, you must come and tell us what's happening anyway,” said the young lion. He turned to the door of the compartment and for a moment held his head absolutely still, whiskers perked, ears twitching. He could have been on an African plain, listening out for the hoofbeats of a distant animal, alert for the chase . . . But he was in a snug little railway car in a snowdrift, listening out for guards and waiters.

”All clear,” he said quietly, and together he and Charlie slunk out into the corridor, and into the bathroom.

The lions were lolling about, for all the world as if they were at a Turkish bath. They looked much, much better. The lionesses had regained their s.h.i.+ne, and the oldest lion was deep in conversation with the strange creature. When Charlie came in, they all turned to him, and the lionesses moved to accommodate him. The yellow lioness rubbed Charlie with her head, and he had the strangest feeling-pride, and tears in his eyes, and a sense of comfort. They really were his friends.

Charlie said: ”Why don't you come into my compartment?