Often at this moment in stories, the hero makes a great realization, or is rescued at the last minute by some unexpected friend. Obelie had read many stories, and always thought these parts were silly and unrealistic. This is why, if she hadn’t been so relieved, she might have been slightly annoyed at that moment to feel a soft head wedge itself under her hand.
“Cat?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”
The small gray shape purred once, then streaked off through the grass.
“Wait, come back!”
She struggled upright and chased after it, following the rustling and swaying tips of the overgrown lawn. Its path curved back toward the school building, stopping beside the looming stone wall in a nondescript spot around the back. The cat emerged from the grass and shook itself.
A small concrete staircase descended into the ground under the wall, the kind that might lead to a basement or a storm shelter. It was entirely ordinary in every way, except that she was almost certain it hadn’t been there before.
“Follow me,” said the cat.
She did. The stairs went down much further than they had seemed to, and when she arrived at the bottom at last and turned around, the small square of sky above was very far away. There was a door down there — unlocked, heavy on its hinges as she heaved it open — and the dark space within smelled faintly of mold and time passing.
“This is the Downstairs,” said the cat, when she had closed the door behind them. “We’ll be safe here.”
It trotted ahead again, and Obelie followed. It was not entirely dark. There was a faint glimmer that seemed to come not from their surroundings but from the two of them, and as they passed through certain sections of tunnel she half-heard and half-imagined strange sounds – terrible winds blowing in one place, snatches of a sad melody in another, and in another many excited voices like a party – all very faint at the edge of her hearing, as if they were happening in the next room. As they passed the voices, she touched a hand to the wall and found it was curiously hollow and soft; she felt as though she could push through it and fall into another place.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” warned the cat. It had stopped to look back at her with its glinting eyes. Obelie was finally able to catch up to it and she stopped a moment to rest, catching her breath and nursing her tender ankle.
“What are you?” she asked at last.
“I am you,” replied the cat, winding around her legs nonchalantly.
“Oh,” she said. “Well in that case, it’s very nice to meet you.”
It seemed pleased. It is always a good thing to be polite to cats.
“My name is Kester.”
“Mine is Obelie.”
“I know your name. You’ve been talking to me for months.”
She was slightly peeved at this. “Why didn’t you respond then, if you could talk this whole time?”
He shrugged his sleek gray body. “I didn’t have anything to say.”
They continued on, and gradually the tunnel began to slope upward. At last they saw a shaft of light shining down from the ceiling – the tunnel ended in a ladder leading up to a round opening. Obelie climbed it with one arm, carrying Kester in the other, and the two emerged blinking in slanted setting sunlight in the middle of a street. A car drove right over them – they ducked down quickly, the manhole cover clattering back in place over their heads. They waited until it was quiet above (Kester grumbled something about the passages being unreliable that was completely muffled in her sweater) and then emerged again, more cautiously. The coast was clear. Obelie ran to the sidewalk and set Kester down. He preened a moment while she took in their surroundings.
They were in a sizable town – everywhere there were people, chattering and calling out and hurrying past them on the sidewalk, the crowd parting around them and reforming like a river around a stone. None of them seemed to acknowledge the girl and cat who stood still and dazed in their midst. Obelie had no idea how long they had spent in the tunnel, but it seemed that in this place night was coming on. She realized suddenly just how tired she was. Her ankle was the worse for walking, and the events of the past however-long swum in her brain.
There was a park to their left, a small green rectangle lined with bushes and flowerbeds. Feeling pathetic, Obelie crawled under one of the bushes, pulling her sweater tightly around her, and fell immediately into a dreamless sleep.