"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 shiny 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 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 p.u.s.s.ycat!"

"p.u.s.s.ycat!" cried the young lion. "Who are you calling p.u.s.s.ycat?"

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 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 gla.s.s!

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 Lionboy tunes, and want to play them on the piano, you might like to know he's written more, including "Pirouette's Flying Habanera," "El Diablo Aero's Highwire Violin Melody," and a rather scary number called "h.e.l.lo Charlieboy, Rafi Calling" . . . They're published by Faber Music Ltd: Visit tunes, and want to play them on the piano, you might like to know he's written more, including "Pirouette's Flying Habanera," "El Diablo Aero's Highwire Violin Melody," and a rather scary number called "h.e.l.lo Charlieboy, Rafi Calling" . . . They're published by Faber Music Ltd: Visit www.fabermusic.com for details. for details.

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