Boo lay in his tent. But even in his favourite nose-pressed-into-bum position it was hard to sleep. The breeze kept wheedling round the tent, singing of the Greedle. But it was his own yabbering brain that kept him awake.
Why hadn’t Yesterday told him that one of them would die before they left?
Maybe because he’d still have come to search for Mum. And Mug would have come with him, too.
Could you kill a zombie? Probably not, he thought. But you could pulverise him into tiny bits, too small to ever sew back together again. Somehow he doubted that a zombie who’d been digested by a bogey would ever be the same again, either.
Boo wondered if Princess Princess would have come to the Ghastly Otherwhen if she’d known. But then Graunt Doom had Seen that Princess Princess would find a handsome prince, which meant that Princess Princess at least would get back safely.
Or did it?
No, Princess Princess probably wouldn’t have come. Having someone tell you that you’d probably all die was different from a Finder telling you that one of you would die. Which meant he could only be glad that Yesterday hadn’t told them what she’d Seen before. Even though Boo hated to admit it, the Expedition needed a Classic Hero like Princess Princess, too.
It’s funny, he thought. Even his werewolf sense of smell couldn’t tell him what Yesterday had felt when she’d told him one of them would die. Some scents were just too hard to understand.
Suddenly his fur stood on end. Would Yesterday be the one to die? Was that why she hadn’t said anything before?
Yesterday hadn’t chosen to come here. Princess Princess had hired her. Why hadn’t he realised before that for Yesterday this Expedition was just part of her slave’s duties?
Because it wasn’t, he thought. The Guardians may have ordered Yesterday to come with them, in exchange for the green gold. But Yesterday would have chosen to come too—had planned to join them when she was still a student.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. There was too much to fit in one puppy brain. Mum, so close now. This strange and silly world, so different from the Otherwhen he’d expected.
And one of them would die. Him. Princess Princess. Mug. Yesterday. Squeak.
Squeak! Suddenly he realised he hadn’t seen the little mouse since they left the café. Squeak hadn’t even put his nose out for some crumbs for dinner. Was he all right?
‘Squeak?’
No answer. Boo carefully pulled the bag open with his paw and peered in.
The bag was empty.
Had the mouse fallen out? No—he’d have squeaked at them to stop. Squeak knew how to attract attention.
Boo sat back and whined, but softly, so the others couldn’t hear him.
Squeak had abandoned them.
How do you get a zombie who’s lost his arms out of a tree? Ask him to catch a ball.
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