Goldie spent the rest of that miserable night curled up next to the chimney of an underground kitchen. She dozed fitfully, and when the sounds of clattering saucepans echoed up from below, jus t before dawn, she crawled to her feet, pulled her torn jacket close and went back to the bread shop. The air was colder than ever and the hunger was as sharp as flint in her stomach.
Mouse
She could see movement in the back of the shop, but the doors weren’t yet open, and the only people around were other ragged children scouring the cobblestones for crusts.
Goldie joined them and found enough to take the worst edge off her hunger. She also found the wheel marks from the horse and cart and followed them for two blocks before they were lost under a hundred other such marks.
In the back of her mind, the little voice whispered, You’re missing something.
Goldie returned to the shop and watched it for most of the morning, mingling with the passersby. There was no sign of the cat, and nothing happened that would lead her to her friends.
But in the back of her mind the little voice whispered again, Missing something . . .
She did her best to work out what she might have missed in her midnight search. But there was nothing, she was sure of it. Not unless you counted stacks of bread tins and empty hessian bags.
Just before midday, she gave up her vigil, hid the iron lever in the pile of rays next to the rope, and set out to search the rest of the city. The streets were crowded, and she wished desperately that Toadspit was with her, and that they were looking for Bonnie together. She wished, too, that she could talk to Olga Ciavolga, or Herro Dan, or Sinew. She felt horribly lonely and did not know what she could do in the afternoon that was any better than what she had done in the morning.
In the cellars of her mind, the little voice whispered, Missing something . . . missing something . . .
The sun was already low in the winter sky when she found herself in another plaza, a smaller one than yesterday’s. There were shops all around the edges, with canvas awnings folded back, and dark interiors. In front of the shops, cinnamon, nutmeg, peppercorns and powdered ginger spilled from their sacks. There were stone jars of honey, too, and coffee and cocoa beans.
In the middle of the plaza, a crowd had gathered. Goldie wriggled through it, hoping for something to eat. Instead she found a small boy with white hair and bare feet standing next to a rickety-looking pram. The pram had a board nailed across the top of it and was filled to the brim with scraps of paper.
A man at the front of the crowd held up a coin. ‘Here, lad,’ he said. ‘Tell my fortune.’
The boy, who looked to be about six or seven years old, was very thin, and his feet were blue with the cold. But there was something cheerful about him that immediately raised Goldie’s battered spirits. He took the coin, slipped it into his pocket and whistled softly.
There was a rustling sound, and the pram rocked on its springs. A moment later, a white mouse with a scrap of paper between its teeth scrambled up onto the board. It was quickly followed by another mouse, and another, and another. Before long there were twelve of them lined up, each with its bit of paper. They were all pure white with little pink eyes and pink ears, and they gazed up at the boy as if they were waiting for instructions.
He whistled again, and they dropped their bits of paper onto the board.
‘Is that it?’ said the man, taking a step forward.
The boy held up his hand, as if to say, ‘Wait.’ He tipped his head to one side and stared at the bits of paper. From where Goldie stood, they looked as if they had been torn out of books and gazettes. Some of them had only one word on them, others had a whole sentence. Two of them had no words at all, only pictures, though Goldie couldn’t see what they were.
The boy moved the scraps of paper around, tossing some of them back into the pram. When he was satisfied, he nodded.
‘Well,’ said the man, winking at his friends, ‘let’s see what’s in store for me.’
He stabbed his finger at the bits of paper one by one, and read them out loud. ‘Cotton socklets – ah, that’ll be something to do with my business.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘It’s a good start, lad. I don’t make socklets exactly, but you’ve got the cotton bit right. Now, what comes next? Long hand. What’s that got to do with anything? And the next one, sick one day. Is this supposed to make sense?’
The white-haired boy shrugged.
The man stared at the bits of paper, puzzled. Then his face cleared, and he turned to one of his companions, who had a snub nose and an arm in splints. ‘Hang on, young Spider, I think it’s talking about you! Long hand, that’s close enough to arm, isn’t it?’ He beamed at the crowd. ‘Spider’s my accountant. Broke his arm yesterday, poor sod. Those mice are smart little beggars, aren’t they?’
The crowd peered at the young man, who flushed, as if he was too shy to enjoy such attention.
His boss poked at the next bit of paper. ‘Ooh, now we’re getting interesting. Do not betray me, oh my darling. Sounds like something out of a bad romance. And this next one. Five hundred thousand thalers.’
He laughed, but it seemed to Goldie that he was not quite as amused as he had been. Spider’s face had lost some of its colour.
The man turned to the white-haired boy. ‘Is this a true fortune?’
The boy nodded.
‘Festival doesn’t start till tomorrow, lad. You can’t get away with lies today. You sure it’s true?’
The boy nodded again.
The man bent over the remaining scraps of paper. Goldie saw his face darken. He swore under his breath. Then, with one quick movement, he spun around and grabbed Spider’s good arm.
The accountant flinched and tried to pull away, but the man held him tightly. ‘Going on a little trip, Spider?’ he growled.
‘Y-you know I am, Herro Metz,’ stammered Spider. ‘Y-you gave me permission to visit my mother, who lives down the coast. Just until my arm is healed.’
‘Ah, yes, the arm,’ said Herro Metz. ‘Where exactly is it broken?’
‘Th-there, Herro.’ Spider pointed to a spot below his elbow. ‘A simple break, nothing too serious. I’ll be back at work before you know it.’
Herro Metz peered at him closely. Then, to Goldie’s surprise, he smiled. ‘Of course you will,’ he said. ‘I never doubted it.’ And he let go of the accountant’s arm.
The crowd sighed. The colour began to creep back into Spider’s cheeks. But before he could speak, Herro Metz’s hand lashed out again and grabbed the broken arm – just below the elbow.
Spider was so shocked that it took him a second or two to respond. Then he mumbled, ‘Ouch.’
It was not even slightly convincing. An angry murmur ran through the crowd. Herro Metz leaned over the young man. ‘You and I, Spider,’ he growled, ‘need to have a little chat about money. Now!’
As the two of them disappeared into the crowd, Goldie heard Spider’s frightened voice. ‘I— I was going to pay it back, Herro, really I was. It was just a – a loan.’
The crowd stared after them. One or two people took out coins, as if they wanted their fortunes told. But then they thought better of it, and put their money away. Before long they had all wandered off.
Goldie peered at the remaining scraps of paper. The first had a picture of a ship on it. The second said the greatest escape of.
‘How did they know?’ she asked the white-haired boy. ‘All that stuff about the accountant. How did the mice know which bits of paper to pull out?’
The boy smiled shyly, but didn’t answer. He whisked the pieces of paper back into the pram, then held out his hand to the mice. They scurried up to perch on his shoulders and head, and began to clean themselves, licking their tiny paws and brushing up their whiskers and ears. Every now and then one of them would break off to clean the boy’s ears instead, or to nibble the ragged ends of his hair.
Suddenly, one of them squeaked a warning. A dozen heads shot up. A dozen furry backs bristled.
Goldie turned around. Stalking across the cobblestones, its eyes fixed on the mice, was the grey-spotted cat.
‘Go away!’ said Goldie, and she stamped her foot.
The cat took no notice of her. All of its attention was on the mice. Its tail thrashed from side to side. Its teeth chattered. It pressed its scrawny haunches to the ground . . .
Then it sprang.