Carbonel and Calidor

19. The Dump

‘I say, we’re nearly over Fallowhithe,’ said Rosemary, when once more she looked ahead. ‘We must have gone at a terrific pace through that cloud after all.’

Instead of the patchwork of fields and trees over which they had been flying, there was a scatter of houses, with the green spaces dividing them growing narrower the further they flew, until at last the buildings closed their ranks, and the greyness of the roof-tops was only broken here and there by a small back garden.

‘How in the world can the broom find Calidor?’ said John, as he looked down on the sea of buildings below.

‘It will,’ said Miss Dibdin calmly. ‘I think it is searching already.’

They had began to lose height and speed, at the same time making a wide circle. Suddenly, without warning, the broom dropped, so quickly that its three passengers felt as though their insides were not quite keeping pace with their outsides. ‘Like going down in a lift,’ as John said later. They just had time to see that there was an open space of some sort beneath them, then they landed, with a deafening clanking and clonking, on a knobbly, uneven surface. They all sat up, a little shakily, and looked anxiously around. They were in the middle of a hollow, in a great mound of rusty old tin cans.

‘No wonder we made such a racket when we landed!’ said John. ‘Wherever are we?’

At once, a voice John and Rosemary both recognized answered: ‘Fallowhithe Rubbish Dump!’

‘Calidor!’ shouted John and Rosemary.

‘John and Rosemary!’ cried Calidor, with just as much pleasure. ‘What in the world brings you here? And Miss Dibdin too!’

He stepped delicately down from the pile of tins on which he had been sitting, and joined them in their hollow, purring loudly.

‘Oh, well done, broom!’ whispered Rosemary. ‘Well done, and thank you!’ And as she gave it a pat the stick gave a little wriggle, as though in acknowledgement, and then lay still. Miss Dibdin had risen to her feet, with some difficulty, and a clatter of tins.

‘First, I should like to pay my respects to Prince Calidor, and to apologize for any lack of respect I may have shown in the past, before I was aware ...’ She held out the skirts of her coat, and was in the middle of a rather wobbly curtsey as she spoke, when the tins gave way beneath her and she sat down abruptly. ‘And if I can be of any assistance to your Highness, I shall be only too honoured!’ she went on breathlessly.

Calidor bowed his head graciously in reply, but he gave John and Rosemary an inquiring glance, which Miss Dibdin noticed. She added drily: ‘Oh, it’s all right. I have not the pleasure of hearing cats talk, so you can say what you like to John and Rosemary. Don’t mind me.’

‘Then she knows who I am?’ inquired Calidor. John nodded.

‘But you have given up witchery, haven’t you?’ said Rosemary.

‘Totally and absolutely,’ replied Miss Dibdin firmly. ‘I merely came for the ride. I have given these children my broom.’

‘I got it to fly properly,’ said Rosemary. ‘And we flew here to tell you we’ve found Carbonel!’

‘Found my father?’ exclaimed Calidor. ‘Wonderful news! Where is he?’

‘At Tucket Towers,’ said John. ‘Mrs Witherspoon wants him to be her witch’s cat!’ and of course he won’t.’

‘My father a witch’s cat!’ said Calidor in an outraged voice.

‘So she has shut him up in the little room at the top of the tower until he changes his mind ...’ said Rosemary.

‘With the Scrabbles to keep guard,’ interrupted John.

‘Scrabbles?’ queried Calidor.

‘Queer creatures with eyes back and front, and iron paws,’ said Rosemary. ‘They sit in a ring round him day and night, in case he should try to escape.’

‘But that’s not all,’ went on John. ‘Mrs Witherspoon is getting fed up with waiting for Carbonel to change his mind, and she has told Grisana and Melissa ...’

‘That wicked pair!’ interrupted Calidor with a hiss. His back was bristling and his tail twitched angrily.

‘She has told Grisana that if Carbonel has not consented to be her witch’s cat by moonrise tonight, she can have him, to do with him what she likes!’ said Rosemary. ‘And we heard Grisana tell Melissa that she would take Carbonel captive back to Broomhurst. And then you would come to rescue him, and they would be lying in wait, all ready to scrodge the two of you.’

Calidor’s tail was no longer just twitching, it was lashing angrily, while he made curious growling, cat noises in his throat: ‘How dare they! How dare they!’ he hissed.

‘Melissa pretends she doesn’t mind that you won’t marry her, but she is furious really,’ said Rosemary.

‘If only Mattins had held his tongue!’ went on Calidor.

‘He did it because when Mrs Witherspoon found Carbonel, she didn’t want him for her witch’s cat any more,’ said Rosemary.

‘And because you didn’t trust him enough to tell him who you really were,’ said John. ‘But he’s sorry now. Mrs Witherspoon punished him because he told Grisana about Carbonel, without her permission. She plaited his whiskers. And once she said she would plait Carbonel’s, if he wouldn’t do what she wanted.’

‘What!’ said Calidor, rising to his four paws. ‘Plait my father’s whiskers? Never! Now listen to me! Grisana thinks that I shall go to his rescue ... and she is right. But not when she expects it! I shan’t wait till he has been taken prisoner to Broomhurst. You say we have till moonrise tonight before Mrs Witherspoon plans to hand Carbonel over to Grisana?’

John nodded. ‘Tucket Towers will be surrounded by a troop of crack Broomhurst cats well before moonrise, ready to pounce as soon as Mrs Witherspoon sets him free.’

‘Then most of their attention will be fixed on Tucket Towers,’ went on Calidor. ‘They will expect no opposition. In the meantime, with an army of Fallowhithe faithfuls, I shall advance secretly and attack them from behind. Grisana must be routed once and for all.’

‘Yes, but what about Carbonel?’ asked Rosemary.

‘That is where you come in,’ said Calidor coolly. ‘While we fight to the death outside and distract attention, you will somehow get hold of the key.’

‘Yes, but I say ...’ began John. Calidor took no notice. ‘Release my father,’ he went on, ‘and then, of course, you will take your orders from him.’

‘We’ll do anything we can to help,’ said Rosemary hurriedly. (She was afraid from John’s red face that he was going to explode at what he called Calidor’s bossiness.) ‘We shall be there, a bit before moonrise.’ Luckily at this point they were interrupted by Miss Dibdin.

‘I thought you two were in a hurry to get back to High-down?’ They turned to her with surprise, having almost forgotten she was there. ‘I’ve just heard the Town Hall clock strike two.’

‘Two o’clock? Heavens! The Sale begins at half past. Come on, Rosie,’ said John, getting to his feet with a clatter.

‘One question before you go,’ said Calidor. ‘How is my dear little Dumpsie?’

‘Dumpsie? Her paw is much better ...’ began Rosemary, when she was interrupted by a loud cat voice behind her.

‘And who is it as talks so free about my daughter, Wellingtonia?’

They turned to see the tousled head of an old cat, peering down at them over the top of the tin-can mountain. Her pepper-and-salt-coloured fur stuck out in all directions, but her whiskers curved bravely, and her moth-eaten tail rose at a jaunty angle. ‘Oh, it’s you, young Calidor!’ she said.

‘It is I,’ said Calidor graciously. ‘And these are John and Rosemary, the young Hearing Humans I told you of, who have taken Dumpsie in, and bound up her wounded paw.’

‘For which I gives a mother’s heartfelt thanks,’ replied the cat. ‘A good kitten, my Dumpsie, though I sez it myself. I heard a clatter of cans just now, enough to waken the Great Puss Himself, and I sez to myself “Strangers!” I sez. “Best see if it’s friend or enemy.” Only those as learns to walk soft-footed lasts long in the Dump, my dears. Now, would you be going back to Wellingtonia?’

‘As soon as we jolly well can!’ said John.

‘Then would you take a little something as a present for her? There was me just saying to myself as I was taking home my supper, how Dumpsie would have licked her chops at the smell of it!’

As she spoke, she stooped, and picked up something from between her front paws. Then, stepping carefully from tin to tin, testing her weight on each one before trusting herself to it, she joined them in the hollow with hardly a sound.

‘Of course we’ll take it ...’ began Rosemary, then she hesitated. ‘It’s a bit smelly, isn’t it?’ she went on, as she picked up the unsavoury morsel between a reluctant finger and thumb.

‘Ripe, dear, just how she likes her haddocks’ heads,’ said the old cat.

‘Oh, come on, Rosie!’ said John. ‘We must go! Put the pongy thing in a tin or something, there are plenty to choose from, and get on the broom. This time I’m going in front. I’ve made up my rhyme. I know I’m not much good at poetry,’ he added, going rather pink. ‘I hope it will do.’

‘Remember, we meet tonight at moonrise!’ said Calidor, as John and Rosemary and Miss Dibdin mounted the broom. ‘Give my love to my one and only Dumpsie!’

‘And tell her to mind her manners!’ added the old cat. ‘A bit quick on her answers she is.’

‘All aboard?’ cried John. ‘Then let’s go!’ He paused a moment, then he said in a loud voice:

‘To Uncle Zack

Please take us back!’

‘Brief but businesslike,’ remarked Miss Dibdin.

There was a slight pause, while Rosemary wondered if the broom would obey such a bald command, but the handle began to vibrate again, and it rose steeply into the air.

‘Farewell, and a thousand thanks go with you!’ called Calidor after them, as the broom straightened out and made for Highdown.