“I didn’t know there was a law against it,” said Bod.
The largest of the policemen opened the rear door of the car. “Is this the young man you saw, Miss?” he said.
Mo Quilling got out of the car, and looked at Bod, and smiled. “That’s him,” she said. “He was in our back garden breaking things. And then he ran away.” She looked Bod in the eye. “I saw you from my bedroom,” she said. “I think he’s the one who’s been breaking windows.”
“What’s your name?” asked the smaller policeman. He had a ginger mustache.
“Nobody,” said Bod. Then, “Ow,” because the ginger policeman had taken Bod’s ear between finger and thumb, and had given it a hard squeeze. “Don’t give me that,” said the policeman. “Just answer the questions politely. Right?”
Bod said nothing.
“Where exactly do you live?” asked the policeman.
Bod said nothing. He tried to Fade, but Fading—even when boosted by a witch—relies on people’s attention sliding away from you, and everybody’s attention—not to mention a large pair of official hands—was on him then.
Bod said, “You can’t arrest me for not telling you my name or address.”
“No,” said the policeman. “I can’t. But I can take you down to the station until you give us the name of a parent, guardian, responsible adult, into whose care we can release you.”
He put Bod into the back of the car, where Mo Quilling sat, with the smile on her face of a cat who has eaten all the canaries. “I saw you from my front window,” she said, quietly. “So I called the police.”
“I wasn’t doing anything,” said Bod. “I wasn’t even in your garden. And why are they bringing you out to find me?”
“Quiet back there!” said the large policeman. Everyone was quiet until the car pulled up in front of a house that had to be Mo’s. The large policeman opened the door for her, and she got out.
“We’ll call you tomorrow, let your mom and dad know what we found,” said the large policeman.
“Thanks, Uncle Tam,” said Mo, and she smiled. “Just doing my duty.”
They drove back through the town in silence, Bod trying to Fade as best he could, with no success. He felt sick and miserable. In one evening, he had had his first real argument with Silas, had attempted to run away from home, had failed to run away, and now failed to return home. He could not tell the police where he lived, or his name. He would spend the rest of his life in a police cell, or in a prison for kids. Did they have prison for kids? he didn’t know.
“Excuse me? Do they have prisons for kids?” he asked the men in the front seat.
“Getting worried, now, are you?” said Mo’s uncle Tam. “I don’t blame you. You kids. Running wild. Some of you need locking up, I’ll tell you.”
Bod wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no. He glanced out of the car window. Something huge was flying through the air, above the car and to one side, something darker and bigger than the biggest bird. Something man-size that flickered and fluttered as it moved, like the strobing flight of a bat.
The ginger policeman said, “When we get to the station, best if you just give us your name, tell us who to call to come and get you, we can tell them we gave you a bollocking, they can take you home. See? You cooperate, we have an easy night, less paperwork for everyone. We’re your friends.”
“You’re too easy on him. A night in the cells isn’t that hard,” said the large policeman to his friend. Then he looked back at Bod, and said, “Unless it’s a busy night, and we have to put you in with some of the drunks. They can be nasty.”
Bod thought, He’s lying! and They’re doing this on purpose, the friendly one and the tough one…
Then the police car turned a corner, and there was a thump! Something big rode up onto the hood of the car and was knocked off into the dark. A screech of brakes as the car stopped, and the ginger policeman began to swear under his breath.
“He just ran out into the road!” he said. “You saw it!”
“I’m not sure what I saw,” said the larger policeman. “You hit something, though.”
They got out of the car, shone lights around. The ginger policeman said, “He was wearing black! You can’t see it.”
“He’s over here,” shouted the large policeman. The two men hurried over to the body on the ground, holding flashlights.
Bod tried the door handles on the backseat. They did not work. And there was a metal grille between the back and the front. Even if he Faded, he was still stuck in the backseat of a police car.
He leaned over as far as he could, craning to try and see what had happened, what was on the road.
The ginger policeman was crouched beside a body, looking at it. The other, the large one, was standing above it, shining a light down into its face.
Bod looked at the face of the fallen body—then he began to bang on the window, frantically, desperately.
The large policeman came over to the car.
“What?” he said, irritably.
“You hit my—my dad,” said Bod.