The Lives of Christopher Chant. Diana Wynne Jones

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СКАЧАТЬ to another all round the room. As far as he could tell, Throgmorten was not angry any more. He seemed simply full of curiosity.

      Or maybe, Christopher thought, as Throgmorten gathered himself and jumped from the top of the wardrobe to the curtain pole, Throgmorten had a bet on with himself that he could get all round the night-nursery without touching the floor. As Throgmorten began scrambling along the pole, hanging on to it and the curtains with those remarkable claws of his, Christopher was sure of it.

      What happened then was definitely not Throgmorten’s fault. Christopher knew it was his own fault for not putting the curtain pole back properly. The end furthest from Throgmorten and nearest Christopher came loose and plunged down like a harpoon, with the curtains rattling along it and Throgmorten hanging on frantically.

      For an instant, Christopher had Throgmorten’s terror-stricken eyes glaring into his own as Throgmorten rode the pole down. Then the brass end hit the middle of Christopher’s chest. It went in like the spear. It was not sharp and it was not heavy, but it went right into him all the same. Throgmorten landed on his stomach an instant later, all claws and panic. Christopher thought he screamed. Anyway, either he or Throgmorten made enough noise to fetch the Last Governess running. The last thing Christopher saw for the time being was the Last Governess in her white night dress, grey with horror, moving her hands in quick peculiar gestures and gabbling very odd words…

      He woke up a long time later, in the afternoon by the light, very sore in front and not too sure of very much, to hear Uncle Ralph’s voice.

      “This is a damned nuisance, Effie, just when things were looking so promising! Is he going to be all right?”

      “I think so,” the Last Governess replied. The two of them were standing by Christopher’s bed. “I got there in time to say a staunching spell and it seems to be healing.” While Christopher was thinking, Funny, I didn’t know she was a witch! she went on, “I haven’t dared breathe a word to your sister.”

      “Don’t,” said Uncle Ralph. “She has her plans for him cut and dried, and she’ll put a stop to mine if she finds out. Drat that cat! I’ve got things set up all over the Related Worlds on the strength of that first run and I don’t want to cancel them. You think he’ll recover?”

      “In time,” said the Last Governess. “There’s a strong spell in the dressing.”

      “Then I shall have to postpone everything,” Uncle Ralph said, not sounding at all pleased. “At least we’ve got the cat. Where’s the thing got to?”

      “Under the bed. I tried to fetch it out but I just got scratched for my pains,” said the Last Governess.

      “Women!” said Uncle Ralph. “I’ll get it.” Christopher heard his knees thump on the floor. His voice came up from underneath. “Here. Nice pussy. Come here, pussy.”

      There was a very serious outbreak of cat noises.

      Uncle Ralph’s knees went thumping away backwards and his voice said quite a string of bad words. “The creature’s a perfect devil!” he added. “It’s torn lumps off me!” Then his voice came from higher up and further away. “Don’t let it get away. Put a holding spell on this room until I get back.”

      “Where are you going?” the Last Governess asked.

      “To fetch some thick leather gloves and a vet,” Uncle Ralph said from by the door. “That’s an Asheth Temple cat. It’s almost priceless. Wizards will pay five hundred pounds just for an inch of its guts or one of its claws. Its eyes will fetch several thousand pounds each – so make sure you set a good tight spell. It may take me an hour or so to find a vet.”

      There was silence after that. Christopher dozed. He woke up feeling so much better that he sat up and took a look at his wound. The Last Governess had efficiently covered it with smooth white bandage. Christopher peered down inside it with great interest. The wound was a round red hole, much smaller than he expected. It hardly hurt at all.

      While he wondered how to find out how deep it was, there was a piercing wail from the windowsill behind him. He looked round. The window was open – the Last Governess had a passion for fresh air – and Throgmorten was crouched on the sill beside it, glaring appealingly. When he saw Christopher was looking, Throgmorten put out one of his razor-loaded paws and scraped it down the space between the window and the frame. The empty air made a sound like someone scratching a blackboard.

      “Wong,” Throgmorten commanded.

      Christopher wondered why Throgmorten should think he was on his side. One way or another, Throgmorten had half killed him.

      “Wong?” Throgmorten asked piteously.

      On the other hand, Christopher thought, none of the half-killing had been Throgmorten’s fault. And though Throgmorten was probably the ugliest and most vicious cat in any Anywhere, it did not seem fair to kidnap him and drag him to a strange world and then let him be sold to wizards, parcel by parcel.

      “All right,” he said and climbed out of bed. Throgmorten stood up eagerly, with his thin ginger snake of a tail straight up behind. “Yes, but I’m not sure how to break spells,” Christopher said, approaching very cautiously. Throgmorten backed away and made no attempt to scratch. Christopher put his hand out to the open part of the window. The empty space felt rubbery and gave when he pressed it, but he could not put his hand through even if he shoved it hard. So he did the only thing he could think of and opened the window wider. He felt the spell tear like a rather tough cobweb.

      “Wong!” Throgmorten uttered appreciatively. Then he was off. Christopher watching him gallop down a slanting drain and levitate to a windowsill when the drain stopped. From there it was an easy jump to the top of a bay window and then to the ground. Throgmorten’s ginger shape went trotting away into the bushes and squeezed under the next-door fence, already with the air of looking for birds to kill and other cats to bully. Christopher put the window carefully back the way it had been and got back to bed.

      When he woke up next, Mama was outside the door saying anxiously, “How is he? I hope it’s not infectious.”

      “Not in the least, Madam,” said the Last Governess.

      So Mama came in, filling the room with her scents – which was just as well, since Throgmorten had left his own penetrating odour under the bed – and looked at Christopher. “He seems a bit pale,” she said. “Do we need a doctor?”

      “I saw to all that, Madam,” said the Last Governess.

      “Thank you,” said Mama. “Make sure it doesn’t interrupt his education.”

      When Mama had gone, the Last Governess fetched her umbrella and poked it under the bed and behind the furniture, looking for Throgmorten. “Where has it got to?” she said, climbing up to jab at the space on top of the wardrobe.

      “I don’t know,” Christopher said truthfully, since he knew Throgmorten would be many streets away by now. “He was here before I went to sleep.”

      “It’s vanished!” said the Last Governess. “A cat can’t just vanish!”

      Christopher said experimentally, “He was an Asheth Temple cat.”

      “True,” said the Last Governess. “They are wildly magic by all accounts. But your uncle’s not going СКАЧАТЬ