‘What do you mean, send a message?’ He’s blinking, afraid.
‘You know, to keep everyone in line.’ I see her concern on her face. She was speaking without thought, though the idea that she would be able to shield this child from the harsh reality of their environment seems risible. I grumble a little louder, just enough to make the boy turn.
‘But that’s – that’s what I did,’ he says. This bothers him, although I cannot see why.
She pulls herself upright, the book forgotten on her lap. ‘What do you mean, Tick? Tell me.’
‘I told you.’ In the fading light his eyes are dark and shadowed. ‘I carry messages. That’s what AD had me doing.’
‘I don’t mean that kind of message.’ Care leans in as if to comfort the boy and stops herself. ‘Wait – Tick, do you know something about this?’
‘I just … It’s a job, Care. You said so yourself – I needed to find a job. And AD said I could go anywhere. Get by anyone. And I’m fast, too.’
‘What kind of messages did you bring, Tick?’ She’s making an effort to keep her voice steady. ‘You need to tell me.’
‘Most of the time, it was something small,’ says the boy. ‘A thing – you know, a token. Like a book of matches to old Jonah.’
‘Jonah Silver?’ She’s been taken by surprise.
The boy nods.
‘No wonder he’s so down in the mouth.’
‘But he didn’t have a fire, did he?’ The boy seems proud of his role, though the threat makes my ears flip back and down. ‘He got the message. He knew what it meant.’
‘He knew all right.’ The girl is thoughtful. ‘Was that what it was for Fat Peter, Tick? Was it a book of matches?’ Her own voice is nearly silent, all breath and tremor. ‘Was it the red brick – or the bloody knife?’
He shakes his head and sniffs. Shoves his hands into his pockets as if to find the answer there, or perhaps something of comfort – some small, fine thing to call his own.
‘It wasn’t like that, Care. It wasn’t a – you know – a threat. It meant, “It’s time,” he said – Fat Peter said. He was all worked up about it. Excited, like. He tried to … you know.’
‘Oh, Tick.’ She folds him in her arms at last as he begins to cry, and holds him until he calms. Only then, when his breathing has grown regular once more, do I hear her murmur.
‘Time? Time for what?’ She pauses, hearing her own question. ‘And why no token?’ In the growing gloom she doesn’t see how the boy looks away. How he opens his mouth but doesn’t speak.
Instead, she is lost in her own thoughts. When she speaks again her voice is breathy with memory. A voice so distinct I feel I can hear it as well, a growly kind of baritone, soft but sure of its impact. ‘“The measure is off,” he said.’ A ghost stands behind her, his breath in her words. ‘“Fat Peter isn’t on the level.” The old man told you to tell me that. He knew Fat Peter owed somebody, but by then it was too late. Someone else knew that he was getting that message. Someone got rid of Fat Peter. The question is, who? And why kill the old man as well?’
The boy only shrugs, the darkening room quiet but for those ghosts.
TWENTY-THREE
Morning finds the girl roused and ready, shaking her younger companion at first light. I’ve been awake for hours, of course. Hunted, bathed. But although I find myself wondering about the boy’s duties and the role he may yet play in this girl’s life, I keep my thoughts to myself, content to sit on that ledge and sniff the air, all the while keeping these young humans within earshot.
‘Come on, Tick,’ she calls to him while rummaging in her sack. The boy is slow to wake. He’s been dreaming, I could tell her. Though whether the night phantoms that haunted his sleep, prompting the twitches and moans of a prey animal under attack, bear any relation to the scene I have relived, the water’s edge and the silhouettes, I do not know. ‘We’ve got to go.’
‘Where are we going?’ He takes the piece of cheese Care hands him along with the wrinkled apple. I perk up at the sight of the cheese, remembering its salt and grease, and Care slices off the rind, placing it on the sill before me. It is more wax than cheese, however, and I leave it. Perhaps it will draw something more toothsome still, especially once these two have moved on. My side still aches from yesterday. My hindquarters are stiff and sore, and I have no desire to trot around after this girl as if I were some kind of dog. This seems to be our base for now, dry enough and reasonably safe. I will wait here and hunt again, gathering my thoughts until these two return.
‘I have an idea.’ Care looks around before locating the loose bricks of the boy’s hiding place. That she then unpacks her bag and places her extra clothes, the few treasures she has taken from AD’s, in the space confirms my deduction: this is to be home for the foreseeable future. I fold my paws beneath me and prepare to nap.