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The procession of La Festa wound through the piazza, leaving a cloud of sweetly scented incense in its somber wake. The monks, cloaked in rough brown wool, followed the glorious, gold-plated reliquary entrusted to their order. It was said that it contained a bone from the toe of the Virgin. Four novices carried the reliquary on their shoulders, while dozens of monks followed. Their chants reverberated through ancient stone square, in the center of which was a fountain that sprayed streams of water from the centers of flowers.
Seated by the fountain was the Marquis de Carabas, dressed in velvet and lace frippery. At his side was a Cat. The Cat was a lovely specimen of its kind: sleek, comfortably plump, with four matching white feet.
As the procession circled the fountain, the Cat jumped down and wound its way between the feet of the chanting monks weaving through their bare ankles and feet. A monk tripped. Another kicked at the Cat, but the Cat deftly dodged and moved, twisting and turning its way towards the head of the procession. And then the Cat was under the reliquary. It rubbed on the ankles of one of the novices. And then another. One stumbled but recovered. The Cat found another set of ankles and this time, the novice went to his knees, and the reliquary tilted precipitously. The Cat flew out from underneath with an unholy scream and bounced off into the junior sacrist who carried the incense burner. The chant died into shouts as the monks broke ranks and dove to save the reliquary. The incense burner spilled its smoldering coals on the robes of the prior and flames jumped.
Out of the chaos, the Marquis de Carabas and the Cat walked away. The Marquis carried a key and the end of the Cat’s tail smoked slightly
****
“How did you do that?” asked the Marquis de Carabas?
“What?” said the Cat.
They were walking through a field of grizzled olive trees, and aside from a few goats, they were alone. The cat walked with confidence and its tail twisted into an elegant curve. The Marquis de Carabas’s hand was stuffed into his pocket gripping the key he had stolen from the prior in the fracas.
“I was sure you were a goner when their fancy crate came crashing down,” the Marquis de Carabas said. The Cat turned to look at the Marquis de Carabas, and then it gathered itself and nimbly leaped onto the Marquis de Carabas’s shoulder. “Damn,” he cussed. “Mind the lace!” The Cat settled itself and yawned as the Marquis walked. “So, you are not going to tell me?”
“We cats, we have luck. That luck means extra lives. Some say nine, but I, myself, have used far more than nine lives.”
“That’s a neat trick,” said the Marquis de Carabas. After a few minutes he added, “You share your luck with me. Can you share a life?”
The Cat trilled, a sound the Marquis de Carabas had always assumed was a laugh, but it did not sound that way right now. “For humans it is different. There are special boxes to keep an extra life in.” The Cat yawned again.
“What?” said the Marquis de Carabas, but the Cat did not answer. The Cat had a way of falling asleep right at the important part. The Marquis de Carabas put a hand up to steady the Cat as he walked.
*****
The Marquis de Carabas lay back in the bath, enjoying the hot soak. After his youth of infrequent dips in a cold river, the luxury of the Villa that he now enjoyed was something he savored more than he would ever say to the Cat.
The bath was a sunny room, tiled in marble, with a heavy oaken door that the maid had pulled shut after him. After a while, the Cat, who had been napping in the dining room window, appeared, slipping easily through the closed door. The Marquis de Carabas was not surprised. Doors rarely proved to be an obstacle for the cat.
“So where do I get one of these boxes?” the Marquis de Carabas pressed. The Cat leaped up onto the bath’s window sill and kneaded the pile of towels to its satisfaction before settling down.
“How should I know?” the Cat answered through a purr. “I do not need one.”
The Marquis made a disbelieving sound. “You would have never have mentioned it if you did not know.”
“If I help you get a box, then my debt is to you is paid.”
The Marquis looked at the Cat and jerked his head.
“Fine,” the Cat said. “We need to go to London.”
***
The Marquis de Carabas straightened his tunic again. “Are you sure?” he hissed to the Cat. The Cat, who was darting around in shadows, searching for vermin, said, “As a visiting Marquis, you must present yourself to Lord Portico. It is protocol.”
“Gosh it is cold here,” the Marquis de Carabas said, gripping the neck of the bottle of spirits even tighter in an effort to keep his fingers warm.
“Could be worse,” the Cat said. “Could be raining.”
“I bet no one from London has ever heard that one.”
“We are almost there.”
“Are you sure the key will work in London? Just because it works in Italia does not mean it works here.”
“It will work,” the Cat said.
The door was wooden and heavy with a keyhole in black iron. The Cat slipped through ahead while the Marquis de Carabas pulled the key from his pocket and put it in the lock. The door opened.
He found himself in a coming out of a gate next to a row of attached houses. “Which is it?” asked the Marquis de Carabas.
The Cat said, “Look closely. You’ll see it.”
The Marquis de Carabas noticed that in a space he had taken for an alley at first, in improbably skinny house was squished between two rows of houses. He walked up to the house and lifted the knocker.
The door opened, revealing, what looked like a palatial, if dusty, grand hall. Confused, the Marquis de Carabas looked left and right at the doors to the row houses. The house was so narrow, he could almost touch the doors on either side.
He looked back and saw a scamp of a kid standing there wearing trousers, fuzzy ponytails, and an oversized shirt. “What do you want?” she asked.
Marquis de Carabas blinked. The Cat was prowling around behind the girl. He had not even seen the Cat go in. “I am hoping to meet the Lord Portico,” he said.
The girl turned around and the Cat disappeared behind a vase and she yelled, “Papa!!”
A man, wearing a vest and no jacket, who had with an impeccably trimmed beard and deep creases around his eyes hurried up. “Door! You are supposed to be studying,” he admonished.
“But Papa,” she said. “Brother John smells funny, and Latin is boring.”
Lord Portico frowned at her. “Door,” he said, with the sharp tone of a warning in his voice.
She dropped her head. “Yes papa,” she said. The girl darted away. Out of the corner of his eye, the Marquis de Carabas saw the Cat follow.
“Can I help you?” the man asked, turning back to the Marquis de Carabas.
Marquis de Carabas looked at the man. “Lord Portico?” he asked. The Lord Portico inclined his head.
“I am the Marquis de Carabas. I am new to London. I came to pay my respects.” The Marquis de Carabas held out the bottle of spirits, a ’27 Bouchard, a sadly forgotten vintage that had been in the basement of his villa.
Lord Portico took the bottle and looked at the label, “It’s been years since I had a Bouchard. Thank you,” he said, stepping aside. “Welcome to London. Please come in. Would you stay for dinner?”
The Marquis de Carabas stepped into the marble lined foyer and the door closed behind him.
****
The Marquis de Carabas followed Lord Portico through the foyer, brushing tendrils of spiderweb from his face, as he walked. Their feet echoed and they left footprints in the dust. “Do you live here?” the Marquis de Carabas asked cautiously.
Lord Portico glanced at him and smiled. He opened a door and they stepped into a white room with dozens of doors, each with a picture on it. The Marquis de Carabas turned around. The door that had just closed behind him was wooden and the picture showed a cleaner version of the room he had just walked through. The next door was light blue and it had a picture that showed a child’s bedroom, with a four-posted bed, rocking horse, and shelves of books.
“Come along,” Lord Portico said from behind him. The Marquis de Carabas turned and Lord Portico stood at a bright yellow door with a framed child’s picture of a thatched cottage next to a blue river. The door opened easily.
***
Dinner, it turned out, was an informal affair. They were in a warm, cheerful room with a packed dirt floor covered with fresh rushes. Primly, the Marquis had adjusted his velvet coat in this humble setting. He had not been in a farm’s cottage since he and Cat had left, but he found the space familiar. Soon, he felt at home as he had not felt in a long time.
Lady Portico served dinner herself: a hearty stew with a rustic bread. The Cat appeared from somewhere and was flopped on the hearth, purring by the cooking fire. Door had brushed her hair and changed into a simple dress. A baby slept in a cradle by Lady Portico’s seat.
Partway through dinner, the Marquis de Carabas excused himself to the Necessary. He stepped out of the neat cottage and took in the rolling landscape, dotted here and there with a few other cottages, and a wide river. Sheep dotted the landscape. Under his feet, he could feel the ground shake and. He noticed the wry sign nailed over the door of the Necessity. Waterloo Station.
As he returned, the Cat appeared at his feet and leapt to his shoulder, purring deeply. “You are doing splendidly,” the Cat said. “The box you seek, it is in the Lord’s study. Suggest to him that you retire there, after dinner.”
The Marquis de Carabas looked at the cat. “There is no study in that cottage,” he said, stating the obvious.
“No,” the Cat agreed.
“But how I am going to get it, when he is there with me?”
The cat rubbed against him and leapt down. “You leave that to me.”
****
When the Marquis de Carabas returned, the Lady Portico and the baby were gone.
“But Papa,” Door was saying, “Why do I have to study Latin? No one even speaks it anymore.”
Lord Portico nodded at the Marquis de Carabas as he took his seat and then responded to his daughter, “In the above world, that is true, but that is not where we live, in the forgotten corners of the world. Forgotten languages, forgotten people, forgotten places, that is what you must study.”
Door made a face and stuffed an entire slice of bread in her mouth.
“Miss Door!” her father admonished. “Mind your manners.”
The Marquis de Carabas leaned toward her, and said, sotto vocce, “My father did not like it when I stuffed bread in my mouth either, but it is so good.”
Door looked at him, wide-eyed.
With a hint of a smile, the Lord Portico shook his head and turned back to the Marquis de Carabas. “So, Marquis, what brings you to London?”
The Marquis de Carabas shrugged. “I had a fancy to see the underground.”
“Don’t you have an underground where you are from?”
The Marquis de Carabas shook his head. “Not like here. Under the streets of Rome, there are wonders on top of wonders, chambers and tunnels, an entire tribe of Huns, a Roman garrison, monks, crusaders and hippies, Catholics and Olympians, but nowhere in the world has an Underground like London.”
“Did you have to study Latin?” Door asked.
With a rueful look, the Marquis de Carabas nodded and said, “Non sum valde bonus.”
Door screeched with delight and Lord Portico shook his head.
“I found a cat today,” Door announced. “Can I keep him, Daddy?”
“What?” Lord Portico said.
“A Cat,” Door said again. “He is very funny. He can walk through walls.”
Lord Portico shook his head. “Cats land on their feet,” he said. “They can’t go through walls.”
Door shrugged. “This one can,” she said. “We played hide and seek.”
Lord Portico sighed. “I have got to get you some playmates your own age.”
“Can I keep the Cat?” Door asked.
Lord Portico shrugged. “For now,” he said. “But you have to take care of it. Why don’t you see if you can get it some milk?”
Door shrieked and jumped up and gave her father a hug. “Thank you, papa!” she squealed, running off.
Lord Portico watched her go and then folded his napkin and dropped it on the table. “I think I am about done. Would you like to sample that bottle you brought me?”
The Marquis de Carabas feigned surprise, “I couldn’t.” he said.
“Nonsense,” said the Lord Portico as he stood. “Let’s go to my study. It is more comfortable.”
****
The bottle was half empty when Lady Portico came in. They were deep in slightly intoxicated debate about if Jaffa Cakes were, in fact, biscuits. “Gentlemen?” she interrupted.
Lord Portico looked at her. “Yes, my love?”
“Have you seen Door? It is getting late.
Lord Portico glanced at the Marquis de Carabas, who was sprawled in an overstuffed chair by the fire and then looked back at his wife. “She found a cat. She was off playing with it when you were putting the baby to bed.”
“A cat!” Lady Portico exclaimed.
Lord Portico shrugged. “A pet would be good for her.”
Lady Portico threw up her hands. “It’s bed time. Would you help me find her?”
Lord Portico glanced at the Marquis de Carabas and the Marquis de Carabas shrugged. “I’ll be right back,” he said to the Marquis and the Marquis inclined his head. Lord Portico followed his wife out of the room.
***
Once he was gone, the Marquis de Carabas’s languid attitude disappeared. He gathered himself from the chair and approached Portico’s desk. It was a massive affair. A dismantled armillary lay scattered across the surface, with its rings and filigree all placed out, piece by piece on a clean cloth. Piles of paper were neatly stacked off to one side. The Marquis de Carabas sat in Lord Portico’s chair and pushed back. There were five drawers, two on each side and one in the middle.
The first drawer that Marquis pulled on open easily. The drawer had screwdrivers, ranging from as wide as the Marquis de Carabas’s thumb, to tiny delicate blades. The drawer had wrenches and pliers, scissors and hammers. There were no boxes in it.
He shut the drawer and pulled on the drawer beneath it. It did not open. The center drawer had pens and rulers and ink and paperclips. The drawers on the other side were also locked.
Taking a breath, the Marquis de Carabas pulled the key from his pocket. Holding it in front of a locked drawer, he waited, and a keyhole formed on the middle of the wood grain. Carefully, he slid the key into the slot and turned.
It slid open. The drawer was full of boxes. Match boxes. Cigar boxes. Boxes made of inlaid, polished wood. Boxes made of intricately folded paper. Boxes made of silver and pounded bronze. Rough-hewn boxes with splinters on their surface. Boxes with locks. Boxes tied shut with string. The Marquis de Carabas stared.
He knew what he was looking for, and after moment he found it, pushed into the back corner. Reverently, he took the box from its place and tucked inside his coat. He closed and locked the drawer.
He took one more glance around the room. While he had no doubt there were items of immense value, there was nothing he needed now. He turned to the door that the Marquis had left through. Confident now, he put the key in the lock and walked through.
The Marquis de Carabas found himself stepping back into the dusty entry hall he had first entered Lord Portico’s house, except, now, towering over the scene was the massive figure, at least three times the height of a man. She wore a green cloak that swirled around her. She roared as she swatted at the floor and the Cat, with its ears flat against its head and its fur puffed to twice its usual size, shot through the room, making a screech that set the Marquis de Carabas’s teeth grinding.
Lord Portico stood straight, his hands upraised, his fingers spread, as Door clung to his leg and hid behind him.
The Green Witch said, “Give me the girl! For waking me, I get her eyes!”
“I didn’t wake you,” the girl screeched.
“It does not matter,” bellowed the witch.
“Silence,” demanded Lord Portico. “You will leave this dwelling, at once!”
“Never!” said the Green Witch. “This is my home now. It is my right! When she woke me, it became mine.”
Something was happening behind the Green Witch. Massive windows were forming into a door and the door swung open.
“You will leave this dwelling!” commanded Lord Portico.
The Marquis de Carabas felt himself pushed back at the force of Lord Portico’s command. The Green Witch, who got the full force of the order, tumbled backwards.
“Quickly,” the Cat said. “We must go.”
The Marquis de Carabas turned and scrambled after the cat. As he fell, he heard metal hit stone, but he did not turn to look. Going as fast as his feet would carry him, he plunged headlong out the door he had entered hours before.
****
A week passed, or maybe more. Time was not the same in London as it had been in Italia. In Italia, time was a stream that could be punted upon, drifting gently downstream on a fine day. In London, it was more like rock lodged on the side of a steep hill. It did not move until the ground gave way beneath and it slid and rolled and tumbled some distance before becoming lodged again.
In the mad escape from Lord Portico’s house, the Marquis de Carabas had lost the key that opened doors, and the Cat had disappeared, but he had kept the box. Without the key, he had no way back to Italia. Without the Cat, he had no way to talk himself into another villa. He had settled for shelter on an out of the way rooftop where an old man named Bailey kept pigeons. He helped a bit with the birds, an in exchange, Bailey showed him around.
One night, the Marquis de Carabas helped old man Bailey carry his wares to the Market and set them up underneath the towering façade of old Aldgate East. When he was done, he turned around and Lord Portico was watching him. Lord Portico’s face was creased and stormy. Lord Portico took a step forward and the Marquis de Carabas took a step back.
“I gifted you with hospitality,” said Lord Portico.
“The stew was lovely,” said Marquis de Carabas.
Lord Portico took another step forward. The Marquis de Carabas took another step back and found himself pressed against the old brick wall.
“You brought that menace into my home. You endangered my daughter. And you stole from me.”
The Marquis de Carabas opened his mouth and then, in a moment of wisdom, shut it.
“You owe me, and you owe my daughter. If either of us should ever…”.
The Marquis de Carabas found himself nodding. “Yes,” he said. “Yes. I will do anything.” Lord Portico took one more step forward. They were almost touching noses. The Marquis de Carabas gasped for breath. “You have my word,” he squeaked.
Lord Portico stepped back. “See to it,” he said, and then he walked away.