Above His Station (11 page)

‘I promise,’ I said, feeling a lump rise in my throat at the prospect.

I certainly hoped that the rat was joking, because I couldn’t do this on my own. As useless as the thing was in almost all worthwhile capacities, it did offer one positive contribution – it had saved me from talking to myself all this time. I had already experienced losing it as my travelling companion once that day and I had no urge to return to that dark place. In short, as surprising as it might sound (not least of all to me), I needed my friend far more than it knew; far more than I was prepared to let on.

Scratching at the plastic shielding covering the junction where the wires joined the control panel, the rat sang a little rhyme just prior to making its choice: ‘Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe…pick the wrong one and bang you go.’

I couldn’t see from my position which wire the rat had chosen, but I saw what came next only too well. It began screaming in agony, every one of its hairs stood on end as a violent fit seemed to course through every vein, liquefying every muscle, shattering every bone. I screamed out too, cursing the metal cage as I pounded my fists against it. The rat dropped to the floor, using its last ember of life to lift its tiny paw towards me; our contact denied by the cage. I fell to my knees, felt my spine bend, felt tears flood my eyes. At full stretch, almost dislocating my wrist in the process, I managed to squeeze two fingers through the cage and touched the rat’s still warm body. Words felt inadequate, yet I experienced the need to vocalise my loss.

‘You were a fine companion, rat…and a brave one too,’ I mumbled, bargaining with my clogged throat to allow me to speak. ‘Far braver than I am, that’s for sure. I don’t know how I can carry on without you, I really don’t. Why did you have to die just when I need you the most, hmm?’

‘You’re so gay.’

I lifted my head to see the rat’s shoulders quivering with laughter. I frowned at the rodent; the instinctive thing to do in my confused state.

‘The look on your face!’ guffawed the creature. ‘Fucking priceless!’

‘You mean were just…
pretending?
’ I accused it, grabbing hold of the bars to the cage to elevate me to my feet. ‘That’s a bit callous, don’t you think?’

‘I couldn’t resist it! Do you really think I’m brave? Shit, man, I’m touched.’

‘You bloody
will
be when I get my hands on you, you little-!’ I felt my whole body lurch forwards, and if I had to describe the sound I would probably say that it was a bit like someone loading a clay pigeon into a mechanical launcher. But the sound itself wasn’t as important as what had made it, which was the reason why I found myself looking directly into the rat’s eyes.

‘How did you get so tall?’ was the basis of my initial line of enquiry, but then as I slowly pieced together what had happened, my surprise turned into gradual elation.

The rat had only bloody done it! The door to the metal cage had swung open the moment that I’d pushed against it, and now I was in the embarrassing situation of being flat on my stomach on the ground with a rather nasty bump to my chin.

‘In case you’re still unclear…yes, I chose the right wire,’ said the rat. ‘But save the high fives until after we’re done here. The clock’s ticking and we’ve still got a mountain to climb and only twenty-nine minutes to do it in. So pick yourself up and let’s get back in the game, eh?’

7

The Big Cat enclosure’s lower level was a seedy affair. I felt as if a layer of filth and debauchery was staining my clothes the moment I set foot down there. I was incredibly exposed, and as I walked into the poorly-lit area, I glanced up at the big cats dancing provocatively upon small rocks that served as podiums. It was like a cross between
Born Free
and the Paul Raymond Revue! The whole place was full of female jaguars, leopards, lynxes and panthers - weaving in and out of the congregation of male lions, tigers and cheetahs, flirting with them outrageously. One of the leopards reached down and stroked the side of my face, volunteering to perform an act upon my person that shall go unrecorded in this volume, and if that did not appeal to my particular tastes, apparently I was perfectly welcome to perform a variation of it upon her. I had never been so frightened in all my life and declined politely. Being propositioned by a leopard was an unpleasant experience, and not one that I would ever wish to repeat. Not even the gorillas had put that much fear into me. For all my knowledge of leopards, it seems they can change their spots after all…

‘Is that a boner I see down there, Gramps?’ teased the rat from my shoulder. ‘Come on, admit it. You were tempted, right?’

‘That’s absurd!’ I snapped. ‘How dare you even suggest such a thing?’

‘Hey, it’s like my old man used to say…never turn down a bit of pussy – especially one with that many titties.’

‘He sounds positively charming,’ I said. ‘I can see where you get it from.’

‘Is it even possible to get a boner at your age?’

‘I’m not having this conversation,’ I said.

‘Forget whether it’s possible; is it even
safe
to get a boner at your age? All that blood rushing into one place and cutting off the circulation to the rest of your body? Doesn’t that, like, increase the risks of having a stroke or something?’

I felt this topic was best reserved for a more appropriate time and so I flatly ignored it. Besides, something else has caught my attention. At the far end of the enclosure, a small band of lynxes, cougars and caracals had managed to get hold of some tom-toms, cymbals and a bongo drum from somewhere and were banging out an irregular beat that set my teeth on edge. Along the walls on both sides of me were small booths carved out of the faux-rock fibreglass surroundings, and as the light through the glass-domed roof above was failing, each one of the booths was lit by flickering candlelight. Simultaneously trying to concentrate on my task above the repetitive drumbeat, whilst trying my best not to notice the beastly goings-on within the shadowy booths, I walked towards the King’s throne that was set upon a rocky dais, looking down upon all its subjects.

There it was in all its glory, a wonderfully majestic-looking lion. Its mane was like spun gold and straw. Its paws were immense and its fur was immaculate and its bright eyes were emeralds. It wore a dark brown beard around its mouth, from which flicked a long tongue across its many sharp teeth. On either side of it was a lithe lioness, draped across its lap and hanging off its arm. A large silver bowl full of grapes was positioned on a plinth within its reach, and every now and then it would extend its razor-sharp claws, spear several of them at once and then feed them to its fawning concubines. They smoothed their paws down its mane, across its chest, caressing the lion as if it was a priceless ornament. I could feel a slight tremor beneath my feet and it was only once I’d got a bit closer that I realised it was coming from the King. His deep voice put me in mind of a young James Coburn (from
The Magnificent Seven
era).

‘Milk,’ growled the King. ‘Bring me some milk.’ And one of the other lionesses waiting patiently for him to pay them some attention popped off to fetch him some milk.

‘Blimey,’ said the rat. ‘He’s big…isn’t he?’

‘Very,’ I agreed, with a gulp.

‘Are lions
supposed
to grow that big?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ I said. ‘I’ve never been this close to one before.’

‘So how do you want to play this?’

‘Carefully,’ I responded.

‘Okay…great tactic. Carefully, yeah. That ought to do it. So…you’ve got this right?’

‘Everything is in hand, if that’s what you mean, yes,’ I lied.

‘Good. Well…if you need me at any point I’ll be hiding in my usual spot.’

‘That fills me full of such confidence, thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry for saying that you were brave earlier.’

‘Apology accepted,’ said the rat. ‘Just remember you’ve got about twenty-six minutes in which to do your level best not to fuck this up.’

I was about to open my mouth and tell the rat that I had no intention of doing such a thing, when I was approached by an ocelot. It patrolled around my perimeter and then stopped directly in front of me, preventing me from getting any closer to the King.

‘You shouldn’t be in here, human,’ it snarled. ‘Unless someone ordered a take-out and didn’t tell me. Get out before I call security.’

Here we go again, I thought. ‘Look, there’s no need for that. I just want a quick word with the King, if it’s all the same to you. It won’t take more than five minutes.’

‘His Majesty is busy right now,’ said the obstinate ocelot, thumbing (or whatever the ocelot equivalent of a thumb is) over its shoulder. ‘Come back tomorrow.’

‘I can’t do that,’ I said, firmly. ‘It’s imperative that I speak with him
now
.’

‘What’s imperative is for you to walk on out of here before I order the royal guards to throw you out.’ The ocelot thumbed over its other shoulder and four burly black panthers stepped into view from the shadows either side of the throne. They were wearing what appeared to be home-made armour fashioned from abstract pieces of metal covering their chests, legs and skulls. There was a whole pile of scrap stacked up against the wall, obtained from the vacant vehicles in the car park, I assumed. Hub caps, wing-mirrors; dented boots and bonnets and such-like. Generally, there tends to be only one reason why someone suits themselves up in armour, and specifically, that tends to be so they can inflict lots of pain on someone else whilst remaining protected themselves - which, all things considered, was bad news for me.

‘Don’t wimp out on me now, Gramps,’ said my conscience, in this case happening to take the form of a small, grey and cowardly rat tucked underneath my collar. ‘This is only the monkey; we need to speak to the organ grinder, remember?’

‘It’s not a monkey, in case it’s slipped your notice,’ I whispered.

‘Are you still here?’ asked the ocelot, shooing me away with its front paws.

I half-turned, feeling a crack in my resolve, but then I remembered why I was there, why I had travelled so far – both figuratively and literally. I couldn’t give up, I couldn’t give in. Even if I was to die in this place, then at least I’d know that I’d given it my all. I had held my own and made Molly proud. I had died a good man doing what was right. But one thing was for certain; if I really was going to die (which was not on my agenda, strictly speaking, although it was looking increasingly likely) then it wasn’t going to be at the hands of a bunch of medieval panthers, not when the king of the jungle was only a whisker away.

I commenced a forceful stride and the ocelot had two choices: try to stop me or get out of my way. Not even the rapid approach of the armoured panthers could put me off.

‘
No!
’ I heard myself command. ‘I
must
speak with the King!’

The entire enclosure went suddenly silent. The panthers froze. The dancing leopards and assorted cats ceased their cavorting. The big cat band’s drums stopped as the beat from my heart increased in tempo. All eyes were upon me. It was like in the old Westerns when the stranger would enter the saloon and everyone would stop whatever they were doing and stare at him. Except that the saloon’s customers generally weren’t lions, tigers and other assorted man-eaters. Gary Cooper never had to contend with this…

Of all the pairs of eyes that were looking at me, of which there were many, there was one pair that paid me closer attention. The King rose slowly from his throne, swatting away the lionesses clinging onto him.

‘Step forward,’ he said in that baritone voice of his, ‘and tell me what is so important that you would risk your life so willingly?’

Addressing a lion, whether it be a king of anything, let alone the jungle, is undeniably a daunting prospect, so it was to my credit that I managed to stop myself from fainting.

‘Not willingly, Your Majesty,’ I said. ‘I risk it because it is all that I have.’

‘I am King Simba,’ said the lion king.

The rat sniggered from its place of hiding and I cursed its bones.

‘What was that?’ asked the King.

‘What was what?’ I asked.

‘I thought I heard you laugh,’ growled the lion. ‘I must warn you that it is very unusual for my subjects to show me disrespect. Such a thing comes with severe penalties in my kingdom, let me assure you.’

I thought better of reminding the King that I wasn’t one of his subjects. I didn’t want to push my luck any more than I was already. ‘No, it wasn’t me it was my…
my shoe
. It squeaks, you see.’ I tried my best to replicate the sound by twisting my boot into the sandy ground, but it wouldn’t squeak for love or money. ‘It’s a bit temperamental.’

‘Well then,’ said King Simba, ‘you were about to tell me why you are here?’

‘Ah, yes…yes, I was,’ I said, wondering how on earth I was going to phrase this. ‘Um, you haven’t happened to notice that things have been a little
strange
recently, have you?’

‘Strange?’ asked the King.

‘Yes, strange. Odd. As if something’s not quite right?’

‘I know what the damn word means, I’m not an imbecile!’ roared the King (and he really did roar too, that’s not just for dramatic effect).

‘Of course you’re not,’ I said, wanting to dig a big hole and bury myself in it. ‘I mean, have you noticed the distinct lack of human beings about the place?’

‘You refer to the premature extinction of your species?’

‘
Extinction?
’ I gasped. ‘Who said anything about extinction?’

‘Perhaps extinction is a little inaccurate,’ said King Simba. ‘It’s not like every single human being on the face of the planet was systematically wiped out, is it?’

‘Well…it is a bit,’ I said. ‘But to tell you the truth, I don’t really know what it is, and that’s sort of the whole reason for me coming here. Your Highness, do you have any information as to what’s behind it? And how we can put things back to normal?’

King Simba signalled the ocelot, who slid over to his side like an oil slick. There was much snarling and growling, guttural and bestial; a conversation not in man’s tongue. The King’s voice was a little less James Coburn when he returned to me. If anything, it was more like Richard Harris (from
The Wild Geese
era).