The old man. He wanted her to see this, and it matters for that reason. I do not see how a piece of metal can bring back a living creature and I watch her, curious as to what she will do. She turns it over in her hand and I stretch up to examine it once more. She kneels, opening her palm, and I think how very foolish AD was. This item is small, but solid, with a warm glow that makes me consider its value. Flat on one end, with a bulbous top on the other, it is smooth and round and heavy. Perhaps his thoughts were addled by that scent he had been inhaling. Something about Care’s reaction makes me think it was evil. He was more intent on maintaining the illusion of control and he knew Care was set on going.
I sniff the piece. Metal holds little scent – the warmth of Care’s pocket, the musk of her muddy hand. And, yes, the tang of the smoke, which had permeated the building. I – and I realize how it pains me to acknowledge this – am unsure how to proceed. Unsure of the importance of this piece. I close my eyes, breathing it in.
Measure. The word comes into my mind as if from a dream. I have overheard it, maybe. It matters. And just as swiftly, I am convinced that Care is on the right track. This piece is a step toward something – something that may not want to be found. My whiskers bristle, tingling with anticipation. We are on a hunt. I am not a pack animal, but this girl has saved me. I have senses that she lacks, and if I can be of service to her, I will.
I do not know how much of this she understands, this strange girl. With one hand she reaches out, and I brace. She sees this. She has known violence, too, and draws back. Wordlessly, she rises and – with a glance at me – crosses the scrub of the train yard and heads down a deserted street.
There’s much one can learn, walking in silence with another. This girl, for example: she could be a cat. Like me, she hangs to the side, moving from one area of shelter to the next, all the while surveying the road around her for danger or for prey. Some of this has been learned, I can see. The way she holds one hand out – palm flat – as if to signal me before crossing a thoroughfare. Someone did that for her. The old man, perhaps, and when we make the next turn I see why.
‘Oi, you!’ A large man stands up, tall as AD but broader. He’s been leaning on the corner of a storefront, its brick stained almost black by wear and smoke, and now stands astride, blocking the alley that runs back from the street. He has raised his hand as well as his voice and gestures to us. ‘You, come here.’
I don’t like him. The volume as well as his size bode ill if he so chooses, but she approaches and so I circle round, watching him and keeping the open road in sight.
‘I’m looking for Fat Peter.’ She speaks up loudly, her chin raised, but she’s not using her own voice. She’s softened the consonants to mimic him. ‘He around?’
‘What’s it look like?’ The big face is clean but sweaty as it nods toward the storefront with its dusty glass. She turns, and so do I. I suspect she’s noticing the jumble of items piled within. Some metal, some less solid. Strands of sparkle laid out on faded cloth. An odd conglomeration of wood and wire that makes me think guitar. She probably doesn’t notice the movements of rodents in the corner or the thin layer of dust that has dulled even the brightest gleam.
‘He’s not open?’ Maybe she has. I sense her hesitation. This wasn’t what she expected.
‘Got something to sell, have you?’ He senses it too and leans forward, reaching for her. ‘Maybe you’re the delivery, huh?’
She twists away even as he grabs for her arm. He just laughs as she jumps back, stopping to glare. ‘Get over yourself, girl.’ He wipes his hand on his coat. ‘You’re too skinny for my taste, anyway. But if you were looking for a buyer for anything else, I’d move on. Fat Peter hasn’t been trading with the likes of you for a while now. He’s got better sources, better product coming in than your dockside scat, and you rats are as likely to steal from him as bring him custom. I bet you bite, too.’
His leer is cruel, and I circle closer. If he bends toward her, his broad white face will feel my claws.
‘I’ve got a message for him.’ She’s standing her ground, chin up, those green eyes defiant. ‘Something he wants.’
‘I doubt it, but suit yourself.’ He nods, and I realize then that he has been standing guard over the alley, the real entrance to the business within. Trying not to touch him, she squeezes by the big man to enter the narrow passage beyond. He’s still laughing when I zip past him, following the girl. ‘You the rat catcher, now?’ he calls after us. She doesn’t respond.
‘You’re here. Good.’ Down the alley and she stops, turning to address me. I pause, waiting. ‘Don’t let him catch you.’ She glances back at the ruffian. ‘He’s nasty.’
I blink up at her, grateful that she has seen what I have too. Perhaps she knows how I ended up in that culvert. I cannot find a way to ask, however, and she has moved on. There’s a door in the alley – painted wood set in the brick. She jiggles the handle as I sniff at the corner, where the paint has worn away. The wood is rotten and damp.
‘Hello?’ Either the door has given way or she has found a way to jimmy it – I think this girl knows some tricks. ‘Mr Peter?’
Her voice falls flat in the dark and she steps inside. ‘Hello?’
I hesitate. The scent of dust and mouse droppings that billowed out when first she opened the door has been replaced by a stronger aroma. Heavy and sweet and—