20

The Roost

The first thing Gafferty noticed was the smell of cooking, reminding her of how hungry she was. It was well past supper time and she hadn’t eaten anything since middle-meal. It was a good smell, rich and sweet and spicy. The whole roof space was filled with warm, welcoming light. The roof itself rose to a point and on its underside hung loads of boxes. Boxes with windows and doors, connected by rope ladders and platforms, and hung with golden lamps. They were houses! It was a little town crowded into the roof like the nests of house martins, overlooking the floor that formed the tower’s attic. The window she had seen from outside gave a view of the setting sun through its stained glass, a sun setting over a world that was a lot bigger than when Gafferty had embarked on her journey to find more Smidgens.

Her curiosity drew her up through the trapdoor and she stepped out on to the huge platform. The floor acted as a large communal space: there was a storage area, what seemed to be a small market, and seating and tables for a sort of tavern. That was where the smell of cooking was coming from. There were more Smidgens than she had ever seen, of all ages and sizes. They were dressed in birdlike clothing, though she could see a few bats amongst them as well. And they were all staring at her or whispering to each other. No one looked pleased to see her.

Willoughby and Wyn were talking to a stern-faced man with a woodpecker-like coat. Will beckoned her over, as a crowd began to form around them.

‘You’ve got some explaining to do, Will,’ the man was saying. Will’s forehead creased with worry.

‘Uncle Abel, I—’ he began. Gafferty stepped forward.

‘No, I’ve got some explaining to do,’ she said. This wasn’t time for talking – Gobkin was still in danger and every minute spent pointlessly discussing things was another minute lost.

‘You will get your turn to speak, child,’ Uncle Abel said curtly. Gafferty ignored him and spoke loud enough for everyone in the crowd to hear.

‘It’s not Will’s fault that I’m here. It’s all mine. I’m Gafferty Sprout. I know I’m an outsider and I might only be a child who’s breaking all the rules, but I’ve got the same needs and dreams as everyone else. I set out to find other Smidgens because as far as I knew my family were the last. All I really wanted was to find some friends.’ Gafferty’s voice cracked and went quiet. She bit her lip. She thought of Gob, and Mum and Dad, and even horrible little Grub. Everything had gone wrong. ‘I didn’t mean any harm.’

There was a murmur from the crowd. Not of disapproval but of sympathy. Some of the Smidgens were looking at her kindly. There were good people here, people like Will. Too small to cause any trouble but big enough to care. Those were Dad’s words. They gave her courage. She took a deep breath.

‘And I did find friends – I found Will. He may be my only friend so far but he’s also definitely my best friend. Which is just as well, as I need friends more than I ever knew, and I think we all need each other too. My brother has been taken by a witch, or at least a person who is hunting Smidgens. She doesn’t care where they’re from, whether they’re outsiders or not. She’s hunting Smidgens, and a mirror, and she’s in this hotel right now.’

There were gasps and mutterings from the Smidgens. Then the crowd parted to let through a small woman, the oldest Smidgen Gafferty had ever seen. She was dressed as an owl, with two large amber jewels in her white hair that resembled eyes. Although she was old, she studied Gafferty keenly.

‘A mirror?’ the old lady said. ‘You’re sure, Gafferty Sprout? One of our scouts spotted a woman arriving at the hotel yesterday, not the usual type of visitor. There were strange, unearthly lights emanating from her room today.’

‘I told you we had eyes on everything in this town,’ Will whispered. ‘Lady Strigida knows about magic too. She has visions and things.’

‘Yes. A mirror,’ said Gafferty to the woman, ‘I’m sure that’s what she said. The Mirror of Trokarwash or something. I’ve seen her here, I tell you, and I’ve seen the horrible, cold mist monster things that she’s working with.’

‘Trokanis?’ The old lady suddenly grabbed Gafferty’s hand and dragged her into one of the nearby houses, her grip surprisingly strong. ‘Abel, Willoughby – you come along too,’ she commanded. Gafferty found herself in a sitting room, lit by a tealight fire. Aside from some sofas made from hotel soap dishes and a table created from a drinks mat from the hotel bar, the room was filled entirely with books and scrolls. The woman urgently began rummaging through them, searching for something.

‘What do you know?’ said Gafferty. ‘And what’s it got to do with my brother? Poor Gobkin – we need to help him now!’

‘Wait,’ said Abel, his voice softer than before. ‘This could be important. Lady Strigida is the chief of the Elders. She is steeped in the Smidgen-lore. What is it, Strigida? What do you know?’

‘A human is pursuing Smidgens,’ the old woman said. ‘A witch perhaps, or someone with a knowledge of magic, if she keeps the company of ghosts – as I’m sure that’s what you saw.’

‘Ghosts!’ Gafferty gasped.

Strigida found a book, ragged with age, and turned the pages hurriedly. Willoughby nudged Gafferty’s arm.

‘That was a really good speech out there,’ he whispered. ‘You impressed them.’

‘Thanks. I hope you don’t mind me calling you my best friend.’

Willoughby grinned.

‘Do I have any choice?’ he said. ‘The way you argue with your friends makes me sorry for your enemies.’

‘Here!’ said Lady Strigida. She pointed to a page with a drawing of a diamond shape on it, surrounded by a pattern of strange markings. ‘The Mirror of Trokanis. The stories are patchy, forgotten – perhaps forgotten deliberately. For the Mirror, an object of magic, held great power.’

‘What did it do?’ asked Abel.

‘The Smidgens used it for travelling about the town before the Disaster.’

‘Like a kar?’ said Willoughby. ‘That sounds a bit of an odd thing to do with a mirror. It doesn’t sound magical.’

‘If a Smidgen looked into the Mirror,’ said Strigida, ‘they could travel to another place, as quick as thought. Teleportation, they called it. No need to use the Tangle, you could teleport yourself into a human food store and out again without them ever knowing. It was broken in the Disaster and the pieces scattered.’ She threw the book down in frustration. ‘It was a time when Smidgens fought each other. So much knowledge was lost in the violence and the years that followed. The three clans ended contact with each other and kept to their homes: the Roost, the Hive and the Burrow.’

‘The Hive,’ said Gafferty. ‘That must be our home! We call it the House, but I always thought it was like a beehive, or an anthill. Except empty, of course. Maybe that’s why we always dress as insects and other creepy-crawlies. But that doesn’t explain why the woman has taken Gobkin.’

‘Who knows the mind of one of the Big Folk? She may have a use for the Mirror if she can put it back together. You don’t need to be Smidgen-sized to use it. And to find it, what should she do first? Who is most likely to know the location of the Mirror?’

‘A Smidgen!’ said Gafferty, her stomach filling with dread. ‘She thinks Gobkin might know where it is! But he doesn’t … and when she finds out he doesn’t know anything, what will she do with him then?’

Lady Strigida looked at the floor but didn’t answer.