All-is-lost o’clock
Someone crouches beside the cage. ‘Rita.’
I do not look up. I’m still lost in the betrayal of Emily Duckinson.
‘Rita,’ says Tracy. ‘I want you to write a poem for Delphine and Zach.’ She holds up a pen and paper.
I turn away from her.
Ducks do not write poetry.
‘Rita?’ says Tracy.
Delphine and the man Zach are standing behind her. ‘This is a waste of time,’ says Zach.
‘I think she’s depressed,’ says Tracy. ‘Because of the cage. Can I let her out for a minute?’
‘Ha ha, I don’t think so,’ says Delphine.
‘She won’t run away,’ says Tracy. ‘She can’t, not with all the doors closed.’
She puts her face closer to the bars. ‘Rita, if you won’t write a poem, will you dance?’
She is blinking at me with one eye. Why is she blinking at me?
‘I didn’t know you danced,’ says Clara.
‘I don’t.’
‘Come on,’ says Rita. ‘Just a little dance to show Delphine and Zach what you can do.’
This is insulting. I do not dance!
‘Why does she think you dance?’ asks Clara.
‘Because she is foolish. I have told her again and again that it’s not dancing. It’s unarmed combat. But she persists in—’ I stop, and look up at Tracy. Could this be subterfuge?
Tracy blinks one-eyed again.
It is!
I stand up straight.
‘Let me out,’ I quack. ‘I am going to do dancing. Hehehehehe.’
‘I don’t like this,’ growls the man. But he opens the door of the cage and stands back.
Clara murmurs in my ear, ‘The girl on the bed is Jubilee Crystal Simpson, the daughter of master criminal Ernie Simpson. I don’t think she’ll cause you too much trouble. But you must bring down Delphine and Zach as quickly as possible. In case they have coshes or sawn-off shotguns.’
‘You reckon this duck understands everything we say?’ the man asks Tracy.
She nods.
Zach turns to me. ‘Okay, duck. Let’s see you dance.’