At the alley’s end I pause to sniff the air. Spring is growing stronger, the warmth of the season bringing forth a flowering of scents. Young birds, newly fledged, the ripening of what fauna can survive among these stones. And – yes – the river, its nearness clear to me in this damp and warming air. Despite a shiver of apprehension – a chill as if a hawk had just passed overhead – I head toward that scent. I do not know what answers I will find, if any. I do know that I must try.
There are advantages to being a cat. A cat alone, that is, and not burdened by the presence of a young girl, no matter how well meaning. As an unaccompanied feline, I am free to find my own way through the city, and as the day’s shadows lengthen, I move quickly, my jet-black fur giving me a freedom that no human could ever know.
Unencumbered by the girl, who needs must travel by the surface routes, I make my own way. Time slips away as I glide through dark alleys and over fences. The day darkens and the moon rises as I leap and run, a dark streak in the glowing night. Night is my element, and I take strength from the scents and sounds. Prey scatters before me, but I have another pursuit on this night. I am seeking the truth.
I am headed back to where this adventure began. I am headed for the river.
THIRTY-TWO
Being feline has many advantages, as I have said. One of them is that we do not force ourselves to follow straight lines. Over a fence, along a roof, I make my way toward the fetid artery that pumps life into this city. As I clear a trash heap – the vermin within squawking in terror – I muse on what that means, and what I can do that the girl I have aligned myself with cannot.
The girl has her strengths. Brave and loyal, she has stood by me as she has her younger friend. Smart, as I have said, in that way of humans, and determined, working hard to understand that which she has gathered before her. That, alas, is also her weakness. Seeking a linear cause, a single meaning in what she has heard and what she has learned, she has overlooked the slantwise meaning – the implication behind the remarks. The casual comment that could unravel it all.
‘They need it for the deal.’ The dead man, Jonah, had told her this, but so preoccupied was she with the thing itself – the ‘it’ – she had forgotten. ‘I tried to save him,’ he also said. The deal and his death, it is clear to both of us, are related. Only as bright a child as she may be, she has not had my experience following a trail. Piecing together the clues that will lead, ultimately, to the reward. In this case, the trail begins with a common thread. The scent of the river, rich and full. The place where, but for her intervention, my carcass would have ended. The site, I have reason to believe, where all these disparate elements may yet come together.
Or may not.
By the time the moon has begun to set, I am within hailing distance of the river. The ancient warehouses, most as hollow as the water-rotted piers, loom ghostlike over the pockmarked streets, their missing cobbles filled with rainwater too foul to drink. The train tracks, with their scent of cinder and oil, pass by here, too, cold now and silent.
Closer to the water, human activity picks up. Although it is past the hour when daylight creatures should be asleep, I hear voices inside the shuttered buildings, muffled by the night. I skirt the light that leaks out of their windows, ducking into an alley as a door opens, spilling out two men, wobbly with drink. I shelter by a wall, the refuse shielding me as they get their bearings. Make their plans. Spring is spring, even for humans, and although the night is chill and damp, in the dark behind me I hear the sounds of rutting, furtive and rough.
‘Hey, you owe me.’ The act is finished while I wait for the drunkards to be gone. The commercial nature of the transaction clear.
‘You smoked so much scat you should pay me, darling.’ My ears prick up. The voice. It is the girl’s former comrade, her leader – I hesitate to use the word benefactor – AD. ‘But you knew I’m going to be flush. Didn’t you, darling?’
Movement, and the intake of breath as in pain or surprise. Then he laughs, and she murmurs an apology. Soft words, the hint of an endearment delivered in fear rather than affection.