Shamanka by Jeanne Willis Page A

come home, wagging his tail behind him. On the other hand, if you go after him it might speed things up a bit.”
    Two schools of thought then, but Sam doubts her father will ever come home of his own accord.
    â€œHave you any idea where he went, Bart?”
    â€œThe Old Bill moved him on coz he didn’t have a licence for his monkey. So feeling sorry for the bloke, I ran after him and—”
    â€œHis monkey? Are you sure it wasn’t an ape?”
    â€œAm I a zoo keeper? Monkey, ape? I dunno. It was hairy and ginger and shuffling cards with its toes. Anyway, as I said, I ran after The Dark Prince and—”
    â€œBut that was
Lola
!” interrupts Sam, “My orang-utan!”
    So now we know how Lola learnt to do magic. She helped John Tabuh with his act. If Sam’s dreams are to be trusted, they’d left their home in the rainforest together to find the answer to three questions and somehow they ended up here. They didn’t travel all that way in a mwa sawah; they’d been on a cruise ship. But why? And where did John learn to perform magic?
    â€œI think you should find out,” says Bart.
    Sam pushes her plate to one side. “That’s what I’m
trying
to do.”
    First, though, she has to find Lola; it’s a matter of life and death. Mrs Reafy might be able to help her, but she can’t get there until tomorrow because of the porters’ strike. If only she could find her father, he’d know what to do.
    Bart orders pudding, but Sam can’t eat hers. Not because it’s too hot or too cold or because it’s nine days old. She’s lost her father, her orang-utan and her appetite. Perhaps all is not lost, however…
    â€œâ€™Course, John had nowhere to stay, so I gave him the address of a warehouse he could doss in,” says Bart. “My mate Kitty lived there at the time. She did a lot of wood carvings. Liked to keep herself to herself. What was her surname … Fisher? No, not Fisher. It was Bastet.”
    Fortified by this new piece of information, Sam picks up her spoon and shovels a large helping of rice pudding into her mouth.
    â€œMad as a hatter, poor old Kitty,” mutters Bart.
    â€œWhy mad?”
    According to the living statue – who considered himself to be normal in every way – Kitty Bastet was mad because she claimed to be the reincarnation of an Egyptian priestess and worshipped cats; mad because she believed the ancient spirits communicated with her through automatic writing. Sam thinks she sounds wonderful.
    â€œDon’t you believe in spirits, Bart?”
    â€œI once met a ghost eating toast – halfway up a lamppost. What’s up, why the face?”
    Sam looks at him rather strictly. “It’s not kind to call your friend mad, Bart.”
    â€œShe wasn’t a close friend.”
    Kitty had what they call a split personality. Bart reckoned the “spirits” who spoke to her were the voices in her own head.
    â€œDo you think Kitty would talk to me?” asks Sam. “Even if my father has moved out, she might know where he went. Does she still live at the warehouse?”
    Bart has no idea. We’re talking years ago, but Sam could always go and see. The warehouse is near Docklands. She’d need to get to West India Quay. He pulls out a piece of paper and draws her a map. She thanks him for everything, especially the pudding and pie, and he walks her to the station. He seems sorry to see her go.
    â€œI won’t kiss you goodbye,” he says. “Georgie Porgie did that and made the girls cry. I don’t want to see you cry. Anyone would think I was made of stone.” And he gets down on one knee, clutching his hand to his heart. A tear rolls down his dusty cheek and sets like concrete. In a split second, Bart morphs from emotional to motionless.
    Sam doesn’t look back. She has a quick look at Bart’s map but she’s in such a hurry, she