Lionboy (33 page)

“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 shine, 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?

There would be a bit more room in there.”

The lions all stared at him.

“Um, Charlie,” said the young lion. “We’re hiding. Remember? In fear for our lives?”

“Oh!” said Charlie. “Yes—I mean, actually—well, no. You’re not. You see . . .”

“What?” asked the lions, all together.

“The king knows about you,” said Charlie. “He wants to meet you.”

The lions went suddenly still again, and the atmosphere froze.

“Do you trust this king?” asked the oldest lion.

Charlie thought for only a second.

“He’s kept the railway people away from us,” he said. “Twice. He’s lied to them to protect us. He’s fed me. He’s found out things about my parents, and made Edward tell me. He’s found out about you and isn’t scared. He says we can use his place in Venice—”

“Good,” said the yellow lioness.

“And he said . . . he said my parents aren’t really in danger, because the people who stole them value them.”

“And do you believe what he said about your parents? Because you know, of course, it is true.”

For a moment Charlie hesitated. It seemed so wrong that his parents were away from him that he could hardly accept that they might not be in actual, direct danger.

But it did make sense. These people had taken a lot of trouble to steal them, for their skills and knowledge. Yes, he could believe that his parents would not be hurt.

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“So you trust him.”

“Yes,” said Charlie.

“Then we are safe,” said the oldest lion, as if it were obvious and he was surprised that Charlie saw it any other way.

Charlie was puzzled.

“We are in a very good position,” said the oldest lion. “We are safer than we were on the streets of Paris; safer than when Rafi Sadler and his foul dog were chasing us; safer than we were when Maccomo was drugging us in the circus, or when we were out in the freezing storm on the roof, or when we were shocked by our friend . . .” He stopped and looked with a gentle expression over to the new creature, who was lying hugely in the bathtub. I wonder what they’ve been talking about, Charlie thought.

“We are warm and dry, and we have eaten, and we are together,” continued the oldest lion. “We are free, and healthy, and we have a friend with power and knowledge—and accommodation. Someone else is going to mend the train that will roar us through this mysterious, dangerous weather to the place where your parents are, closer to our home. Tomorrow perhaps the sky will fall on our head. Tomorrow may never come. If it does, then for sure it brings our new adventure—going home, winning your father and mother back. But now—now we are safe.”

He blinked cheerfully at Charlie.

Charlie hadn’t looked at it that way. He ran through it in his mind.

The silver lioness rolled over, knocking Elsina, who had been lying on her back, to the floor. Elsina purred, and batted Charlie in a friendly fashion with her paw. The other lionesses smiled their mysterious lioness smiles. The young lion was perched on the toilet seat, his tail hanging down, his expression encouraging.

“Don’t worry, little cub!” he said.

Charlie, squatting with his back to the door, this sea of lions around his feet, smiled again. Look at me, he thought, stuck in a frilly pink bathroom, on the Orient Express, with a friendly king next door and a wild snowstorm eddying outside, and a pride of lions comforting me and cheering me up.

“Little cub!” Charlie said. “Little cub! You smart-alecky little pussycat!”

“Pussycat!” cried the young lion. “Who are you calling Pussycat?”

So Charlie jumped up and pulled his tail, and he knocked Charlie across the room, and the lionesses told them to calm down, and Elsina joined in the rolling around, and the snow rattled the windowpanes, and when Edward stuck his head around the door to say His Majesty would see them now, for a moment he couldn’t tell whether he was witnessing a terrible fight, or fun and frolic.

But Charlie knew. Charlie felt wonderful: fine, and strong, and ready for anything.

 

 

 

 

To Be Continued . . .

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Yaw Adomakoh (aka Daddy).
To Rebecca Bowen for helping with the diagrams of the
Circe
.
To Francesca Brill for introducing us to Mabel.
To Jacob Yeboa and Mrs. Elizabeth Adomakoh for help with the Twi
and “Tuwe tuwe, mamuna tuwe tuwe”—the traditional Ghanaian
children’s song that Aneba sings.

 

To Fred Van Deelen for the maps and diagrams—use a magnifying glass!
To Paul Hodgson for copying out the music so elegantly.

 

And special thanks to Robert Lockhart for the beautiful tunes. If you like the
Lionboy
tunes, and want to play them on the piano, you might like to know he’s written more, including “Pirouette’s Flying Habañera,” “El Diablo Aero’s Highwire Violin Melody,” and a rather scary number called “Hello Charlieboy, Rafi Calling” . . . They’re published by Faber Music Ltd: Visit
www.fabermusic.com
for details.

 

And thanks to all the ladies at Dial: especially Lauri Hornik for her patience with our different ways of pronouncing
tomato
, Katrina Weidknecht, Nancy Paulsen, and Kimi Weart for the golden cover (and the pink skull ring).

 

And to the agents: Derek Johns, Linda Shaughnessy, Sylvie Rabineau, Rob Kraitt, Teresa Nicholls, Anjali Pratap—so tough on our behalf! So nice to deal with! So many of them!

a cognizant original v5 release october 14 2010