Basilius quickened his pace so much that Peter struggled to keep up with him. Their relaxed amble had slowed them down, and now the real reason they were there was spurring Basilius to move more quickly than before. They had to find out what the creature was and what it was doing going into houses and stealing people’s dreams. Someone somewhere in the City of Rooftops knew something, and they had to find that person.
They passed the lighthouse, and Peter felt as though the wind carried with it a moss-like smell and the distant sound of crashing waves. Next to the iron gate, he saw a plaque that said: ‘Old Giuseppe, may your light guide us on this night and your music take the sadness of our hearts far away’. Peter thought this felt almost like a prayer, but it wasn’t like the prayers he had been taught when he was small, those prayers that were full of fear and pleas that sounded so empty. These words were simpler, more intimate, and at the same time so pure he would always remember them.
He wondered whether he should ask his uncle about them or not, but he had so many questions he wanted to ask and, with each step they took, he thought of another question so he decided it was better to spend his time taking in every single detail of what he was seeing. He also wondered whether or not to tell his uncle he thought someone had been watching him, but now he deduced it could have been an unfounded fear. Perhaps someone had been looking at them, but that didn’t mean their motives were sinister, which is what he had thought at first. He didn’t want his uncle to think he was cowardly or paranoid. No sir! It was bad enough his uncle thought he was short for his age.
Leaving the fair behind them, they reached new paths, walking through the complicated and labyrinthine urban landscape until cats were the only company they had left. Not long after, the orange-tinged street lamps became less frequent, and there was much less light coming from people’s lofts. Peter knew they were reaching the outermost edges of the city. There was only darkness after that, a darkness they walked blindly through until a lamp in the distance came into view and helped to guide them. Peter often looked back, trying to catch sight of the lighthouse that would lead them back to the city.
‘Before we get there, you should know a few things,’ said his uncle. His voice calmed Peter, who was beginning to feel frightened. ‘The person we are looking for is called Rivka. Nobody knows whether she’s a girl, a woman or perhaps an old lady, but she seems quite young. Her background isn’t particularly clear. They say her mother died when she was born and her father, apparently a very important man, had wanted a boy. Since he didn’t get what he wanted, he paid little or no attention at all to the girl, who was brought up by an old maid they recruited from the south. Rivka never wanted for anything. She had the best dresses and the prettiest dolls, but none of that made her happy: she only had eyes for her cats. She had an enormous terrace at home where she would go each day to feed and play with them. Years went by, and Rivka became more and more distant from other people. Apart from her nanny, who treated her like a daughter, there were few lucky enough to have a conversation with her. People say her nanny knew an ancient secret that had been passed on to each generation in her family and had now been passed to Rivka; it was the language cats spoke. One day, Rivka’s nanny passed away, and Rivka began to adopt the customs and behaviour of the cats that were so dear to her. Her family, thinking she had gone mad, decided to put her in a mental institute, but after a few days she disappeared. One night, she just vanished from her room. Nobody knew where she went or where she was, but, when people started to hear about her again, they discovered she could talk to cats and, most importantly, the cats listened to her. We now believe the cats led her to the path that so many yearn to find – the path to the City of Rooftops.’
‘Wow, what a story! And you think she might know something about what happened at your house?’ asked Peter.
‘I hope so. If anyone knows what’s happening above the rooftops, it’s Rivka. She has eyes everywhere, thanks to her little friends,’ replied Basilius. ‘But wait, I haven’t finished yet. That’s not the most important thing. You have to remember that Rivka acts like a cat. That means she thinks she’s better than us, wiser and cleverer. She probably is. If she realizes she has something we need, she’ll play with us, like a cat with a mouse. We shouldn’t beg or plead and much less demand something of her. Like a good cat, she’ll choose whether to give us the information or not and she’ll do it whenever she sees fit. But we shouldn’t lower ourselves either. If we show that we’re as smart as her and she’s as clever as I think, she’ll want us to be her friends. Let her lead the conversation and treat her with respect. Do you understand, Peter?’
‘I think it’s best I stay quiet.’
‘Yes, quite possibly,’ laughed Basilius. ‘Look who’s come to find us. Good evening, Jim-Jim.’
A small, ginger tabby sat on a ledge, observing them closely. Jumping down from the ledge with the elegance that only a cat has, Jim-Jim started rubbing up and down their legs.
‘Hi, kitty!’ said Peter. ‘What a friendly cat!’
‘He’s marking you with his smell so he can find you whenever he wants. From now on, he’ll be our guide. We’re about to cross the city’s boundary, and the only way of knowing which way to go is if someone or something shows us the way.’
‘So Rivka knows we’ve come?’ asked Peter.
‘As I told you, there’s little that Rivka doesn’t know about what goes on around here, and that’s particularly true now we’re in her kingdom.’
There was no longer any artificial light, but it was a clear night so they could press on without any significant problems. Jim-Jim jumped along, guiding them with patient resignation. The kingdom wasn’t meant for clumsy human legs, but for agile creatures with nimble feet. As they went along, they could make out hundreds of gleaming feline eyes that watched them as they walked between the rooftops. When Peter decided to look back, he noticed the city lights were far behind them. Luckily, the lighthouse still shone in all its splendour.
A bored Jim-Jim was waiting for them atop a roof that led directly down into that dangerous fog when Peter and Uncle Basilius finally arrived.
‘Right, now we must follow exactly what Jim-Jim does,’ said Basilius. And, before Basilius could finish his sentence, the cat had jumped into the fog, suspended on top of it as though held in a cradle.
‘There’s a passage under the fog, but if you step in the wrong place…’
His uncle didn’t need to say any more, Peter knew very well what that meant so he let his uncle go first and followed him, holding on to his waist. Thanks to Jim-Jim’s help, it wasn’t difficult, but, if anyone were to try it without Jim-Jim, it’s very likely they would fall.
The path stopped in front of an iron staircase that led straight up. Jim-Jim turned around and, with a miaow of farewell, stepped on to the invisible platform and went back up.
‘We’re here,’ said Basilius, resting his hand on his nephew’s shoulder. ‘Remember what I told you, Peter.’
Together, they climbed the stairs towards Rivka’s kingdom without realizing there were cruel eyes watching them from the darkness below.
Text © Fernando M. Cimadevila
Translation © Harriet Cook
