Rahma Krambo - Guardian Cats And The Lost Books Of Alexandria

Guardian Cats

& the Lost Books of Alexandria

By Rahma Krambo

Copyright 2011 Rahma Krambo

Smashwords Edition

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'I am the cat who walks alone and all places arealike to me.'

Rudyard Kipling

Chapter 1: Moonlight and printers ink

Marco stayed up until dawn, the night hediscovered he could read. He never dared think the books wouldspeak to him like they did for Lucy. He had been content to curl upnext to her in the library, listening. At first the sound of hervoice drew him in, but gradually he grew to love the stories.

Then one night, Lucy left a book open on thewindow seat where the bright light of a full moon illuminated thepage. Marco cocked his head, wondering if his eyes were playingtricks. The rows of black lines wavered as moonlight caused thepaper to ripple, as if touched by a celestial finger.

Marco could not have known about the mysticaleffect of a full moon on cats and books left on their own in thelibrary. Not until he saw the lines breathe, the wordsunveiled.

His heart pounded when he realized thatLucys stories had been locked inside the books! And now he had thekey!

His immediate surroundings, the rich scentsof the library, mahogany, leather and brocade, receded into thebackground. He no longer heard the grandfather clocks steadyticking. Time stood still while moonlight and printers inktransported him and four children through an English wardrobe to aplace of everlasting winter. There, a majestic lion befriended themand liberated his kingdom from the spell of an evil witch.

He was hooked. He couldnt wait to openanother book. He inspected the shelves with the knowledge thatbooks were no longer the unique property of humans. They were, likethe wardrobe in the story, a portal which opened into strange andwonderful places.

And now he held a magical pass.

Where would these other books take him? Andwhere in the world would he start? There were so many to choosefrom. That night he did not sleep a wink. Each one transported himinto a new adventure. How amazing, he thought, that books, onceopened, were so much bigger on the inside.

In the wee hours of the night, Marco became awarrior, a wizard, a wanderer, but he was always the hero. WhenMarco read, he forgot he was a cat.

Chapter 2: A force to be reckoned with

The nights stretched out longer and colder,each one stealing warmth and light from the previous day. Marcodidnt mind. It gave him more time to read.

In the early evenings, Lucy and hergrandmother played cards or watched TV in the living room. In thecompany of a crackling fire they sipped hot tea, and Marco had hischoice of two warm laps.

Later, while Lucy and her grandma slept,Marco settled into the library and read. His armchair travels tookhim to exotic places full of adventure, intrigue and danger. He hada perfect life.

Many adventures passed and the days graduallyoutstretched the nights, until one morning the clamor of song birdsshattered the chill of winter. Marco stretched and yawned. Thelibrary glowed with warm sunlight diffused through gauzy undercurtains. All around him books were scattered about, and he hopedLucy wouldn't scold him too much.

No matter, he thought, then curled up on theleather ottoman and fell asleep. He dreamed of being in a clearingin the woods. An enormous hawk took off from atop a tree, swoopeddown in a wide circle and Marco was suddenly flyingthe hawkswings spread wide on both sides, almost as if they were his. Windwhooshing, flattening his ears, Marco was exhilarated, soaring highabove the ground, when the bird suddenly turned and they were nolonger in a sunny meadow, but a dark alley between buildings.

Together they made the descentplummetingdownward toward an unlit brick street with a single car parked inthe shadows. At the last moment, Marco saw the man. He wasfrantically trying to unlock the car door. The hawk shriekedjustbefore striking the man to the ground.

Marco was startled out of his dream; thehawks piercing call still in his ears. But the sound didnt goaway. The shrill cry was no dream! He jumped down from the ottomanand fought the urge to run.

This was a force to be reckoned with, right?Just the kind of thing that might require the services of a hero.That ruled out ducking under the bed.

The clamor was coming from outside, so it waspossible the threat could pass. He chose the writing desk beneath alibrary window as his vantage point and poked his nose through thesheer curtains. Screeching to a halt in front of the house was anextraordinary vehicle flashing beams of red and blue light from itstop.

What a strange creature, he thought. Itscries abruptly ceased and the back end of its white shell burstopen, casting two men from inside. Like prisoners escaping, theyran at full speed towards the house.

Were they friend or foe? Were they on arescue mission or was Marcos house under attack? And how in theworld do you tell the difference? He didnt realize being a herorequired so many decisions.

Lucy ran past the library towards the frontdoor and, in what seemed to him like a reckless moment, threw thehouse wide open to total strangers. She turned and dashed towardthe back while the men chased after her.

Marco pursued them as they rushed towardsGrandmas room. But tailing him from behind was a metal bed onsqueaky wheels, and one of the men pushing it booted Marco in thehead.

His ears rang from the blow and he duckedunder the chaise lounge at the end of the hallway to regroup. Howwould he save Lucy and her grandma from these men who had obviouslycome to abduct them?

How did heroes in books always seem to knowthe right thing to do?

He tried to stay calm. He knew a hero mustlook danger square in the eye and take action. Hunkered down underthe chaise lounge, he was trying to come up with a plan when theear-splitting jangle of a telephone overhead broke his resolve. Hemade his getaway, finding refuge on a bookshelf. He was somortified at his failed rescue mission, he refused to budge evenwhen Lucy called his name.

After a long silence, Marco emerged from hishiding place. The desolation of an empty house was overwhelming. Ithad always been peopled. Lucy, her friends. The cook, the nurse,and the gardener.

He sat on the writing desk, looking out thefront window into the fading light. How could he face the fact thathis humans had been kidnapped and he had done nothing to save them?He went upstairs to Lucys room, hoping for a miracle. Maybe shedisappeared through the back of her closet, like the one in thebook, he thought with a burst of optimism. But no, the wall wassolid and the only thing left of Lucy was her scent. For two days,he mewed inside the vacant house and nibbled on diminishing crumbsin his food bowl.

Empty space eventually fills up withsomething. A void, cultivated in the aftermath of misfortune,begins to attract the wrong kind of attention. Marco knew it wastime to leave when disagreeable spirits started roaming freelythrough the house, as if they owned the place.

On the third day he stood at the front door,which the spirits must have left open. He stared out at the cloudswhile they moved and stretched across the sky.

It looked so big out there. He poked his nosethrough the door and sniffed the air. What in the world would he dooutside?

Chapter 3: Book of the Dead

Leo Chin held the door open for a woman andher daughter while he collapsed his umbrella into a refined blackwalking stick and entered the Great Court of the BritishMuseum.