Spider had come to a road sign.
The dog gazed up at it, and felt the tickling in his ear that was now so familiar. The flea drank, and there was a tiny sigh, followed by the soft belch. It crawled on to an eyebrow.
“Recognize anything?” it said.
The sign showed a fat roundabout, with roads leading off in five different directions. There were five words floating round them, and Spider waited as his companion spelt out the letters.
“Do you recognize anything?” asked the flea.
“No,” said the dog, at last. “I’ve never heard those words before. Never.”
“One of them has to be your town. The question is: which one and which road?”
“Why do they all look the same?” cried Spider. “How do people know where they’re going?”
“Maybe they don’t.”
“Let’s follow the busiest and just hope it’s the right one. Are you comfortable up there?”
“I’m fine, Spider. Your fur’s got a real silky softness to it.”
“As soft as Jesse’s?”
“Oh, softer.”
“She was a special fox, wasn’t she?”
“One of the best.”
Spider nodded sadly.
They stood in silence for a moment, then the dog took a deep breath and set off, following the grass verge to a sturdy crash barrier. Slipping under it, the two friends kept close to the kerb and, within a few hundred metres, found themselves at an even busier junction. A great concrete bridge flew high above their heads, carrying vehicles in a roaring stream. Spider trotted on, his eyes smarting from the overpowering fumes. He threaded his way cautiously, for there was no pavement. On and on he went, and the road took them through a vast jumble of car parks and sheds.
“Civilization,” said the flea. “I say keep going.”
Spider nodded. “It’s a big place,” he said. “It could be my town, but I don’t see a school. I don’t recognize anything yet.”
“Well, we’re only at the edge.”
They trotted on, and the going got a little easier. There was a muddy track which was much softer than the unforgiving tarmac, and before long they spotted houses.
“Where is everybody?” said Spider. “Why aren’t there any people?”
“They’re at work, I imagine.”
“There was a big park with gates. If we found that, I’d know exactly where I was.”
“Let’s aim for those trees, then. Go left.”
Spider turned down a side street, but the trees turned out to be a small cluster in somebody’s garden. A car rolled by, but after that it was ominously quiet. The two friends pressed on in silence, down a hill lined with lamp posts, and this took them to a row of shops. When they came to a crossroads, Spider felt a very soft pinch.
“Stop,” said the flea.
“Why?”
“We could be in luck. Look up—look at the sign.”
Spider raised his eyes and saw a flat, metal triangle. It had been bolted to a pole, and it had a bright red border. Within the border were the shapes of two children, painted in solid black. They were running somewhere, holding hands, so the flea spelt out the word beneath their feet.
“School,” it said. “It’s got the right colours, too.”
“Maybe every school is red and black,” said Spider. “For all I know, every boy in the world wears the same uniform.”
“I don’t think so,” said the flea. “I was in a school briefly—on the back of a hedgehog. He’d been taken inside for some project, and the kids I saw were wearing blue. I think we’re close.”
Spider trotted on, and within five minutes they both heard the unmistakable sound of laughter. Spider started to run—he couldn’t help himself—and the noise got louder. He turned into a wide driveway, and suddenly they were beside a long set of railings. A hundred children were swirling over the grass, squealing with excitement. They were chasing balls, cheering wildly. The joy was infectious, and Spider found he was barking, but the hope faded in an instant, for he could see at once that the colours were wrong. There were greens and whites, and various greys. Red and black were conspicuously absent, and it was also obvious that the boys were much younger than Tom. Some of them had seen him and were coming over, but Spider hadn’t the heart to make contact, and slipped quickly out of sight. A track took him on to a patch of wasteland, and he sat down, wincing at the pain in his pads.
“Don’t despair,” said the flea quietly. “This is when we have to be strong.”
“I think we’ve come the wrong way.”
“You don’t know that, Spider.”
“I feel it.”
“I say keep going. These might still be the outskirts of the town. Is Tom’s school very big?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“If it is, it might be right in the centre. Like the duck pond was in the middle of that village.”
“Which way is the centre?”
“That’s what we have to find out. And look, Spider! Off to the right there’s a railway line, on the other side of the fence.”
“So what?”
“So that’s good news. A railway line means trains, which is what Jesse remembered. She talked about seeing uniforms where the railway lines ended. Let’s just follow the tracks—it can’t be much further.”
They soon found a gate they could squeeze under, and Spider clambered down through more scrub to the rails. He stepped wearily on to the sleepers and forced himself onwards, following their graceful curve. Before long, there were walls on either side, and then the lines were multiplying. They passed more sheds and workshops, and a train came by. It was easy to avoid, and when another one approached in the opposite direction they got the distinct impression that they were getting to the very heart of the town. A third followed, clattering past at speed and blasting its horn.
“Hey,” cried the flea. “Look! You can see where they’re going. I think we’ve made it, Spider. This is exactly what Jesse described.”
“I can see a church tower,” said the dog.
“Is that good?”
“I recognize it. It’s the same one, I’m sure! I saw it from the roof. Moonlight showed it to me.”
“What were you doing on a roof?”
“I don’t know, but it was the roof of my house—I climbed up and saw that church. This must be the place, flea! There are people, too! Look at them.”
“But is this a school?”
“I think it must be. Look out for red and black uniforms.”
Spider trotted on, the pain in his paws forgotten. He came to a long concrete platform, and he padded up the ramp. A train had just pulled in, and its doors hissed open. Suddenly, the platform was a heaving mass of bodies, and the dog pushed in among them, hunting for anyone in the right clothes. He skipped between people, desperate to find Tom or the boy he’d seen boarding the bus. Everyone seemed so much older, though, and he yelped in frustration. An elderly woman struggled past with a trolley, helped by a man, and Spider stopped dead.
Both figures were wearing black trousers and white shirts. The trousers had a narrow red stripe.
“No blazer,” said Spider. “No lion. But… it’s red and black.”
“They’re not children,” said the flea. “Does that matter?”
“I don’t know, but this isn’t what I was expecting. Something’s wrong.”
Spider noticed then that the woman was staring back at him, and she didn’t look friendly. For the first time it occurred to him that he might be mistaken for a stray: he had no collar, after all. He backed away, but as he did so he noticed a doorway, out of which two young men emerged, wearing dark jackets. Spider ran to them, barking with excitement. They turned on him angrily, and one of them cursed. Spider dodged quickly to the side, but he came almost at once to a set of barriers which blocked his way. People were pushing through, and there was a clicking and clunking as they presented tickets. The barriers were guarded by figures in the exactly the same clothes, and that was when Spider realized Jesse’s mistake. She had seen the red and black of the station staff, and assumed it had something to do with Tom’s school.
“Oh, no,” he said softly. “She misunderstood.”
He sat down, and the flea pinched him.
“I think you’re right,” it said.
“Dear old Jesse. She was trying to help, but she got confused. Why should a fox know what a school is? Oh, flea, it could still be miles away. This is hopeless.”
The two friends were silent.
They wandered back along the platform, and watched as the train that had emptied filled up again. It rolled out of the station, and soon another replaced it. The lights came on, for it was getting dark. The passengers thinned into a slow trickle, which dried up altogether.
The flea moved down on to Spider’s nose.
“You need to rest, old pal. You’re exhausted.”
Spider nodded.
He lay down on the concrete, and realized how thirsty he was. He was hungry again, too, and his paws were so numb he could no longer feel them. He was covered in dirt, and his tongue was parched and gritty.
The flea pulled at a hair gently.
“You’re depressed,” it said. “And you’re bound to be, Spider.”
“I think it’s all over,” said the dog.
The flea chuckled. “No,” it said. “We just need a few hours’ sleep. In the morning, we try again.”
“Try what?”
“To find this wretched school. It might be round the corner, Spider, waiting for us. You never know.”
“We might be in the wrong town, though. We could be farther away than when we started. You should get out while you can—before it’s too late.”
The flea was quiet for a moment.
“Get out where?” it said, at last. “Where would I go, Spider? You’re my home now.”
“I can’t be.”
“But you are.”
“No. Top yourself up, and let’s say goodbye. I think you should be on your way.”
The flea stood absolutely still.
“Spider, wait,” it said. “I don’t get what you’re saying. What’s wrong?”
The dog said nothing. He closed his eyes and whined—there was nothing else he could do.
“OK,” said the flea, at last. “I do understand—of course I do. You’ve had enough of me. That’s what you mean, yes? You think we should go our separate ways. I told you to say that, if it was ever what you felt. Honesty is the best policy, always… and now you’ve said it.”
There was another silence, and Spider felt the flea walk up his nose and down again.
“That’s it then,” it said. “I do what I’m told. I’ve been unwanted all my life, dog, so you’re not going to hurt my feelings. I just thought we were getting on pretty well.”
“We were.”
“What’s changed? Have I been bossy? Have I overdone it?”
“No. You’ve helped me, and I appreciate it, but… come on. You’ve got your own life to lead.”
“And I’m leading it, pal. With you. You’re a good, loyal, friendly animal, and I want you to find Tom. Why split up now? We can split up when you’re back in his arms, and he’s throwing those sticks for you.”
Spider shook his head.
“No,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Because everything I do leads to disaster,” he cried. “Everyone who meets me seems to end up unhappy—it’s like I’m cursed. First it was my master, then it was Moonlight. I spent one day with Jesse and look what happened to her! There are other animals, flea, and you deserve better. Don’t you have a family?”
The flea sighed. “Several, but I don’t see them.”
“Oh, it’s complicated.”
“What you need is a nice, normal creature, because if you stay with me you’re going to end up hurt. I had a friend called Thread, the first friend I ever made. It warned me I was a failure—and that’s exactly what I am.”
“That was your friend, huh? A friend told you that?”
“Yes.”
“A spider?”
“Yes.”
The flea laughed.
“My God,” it said quietly. “You’ve been listening to spiders? I don’t believe it.”
“This one told me the truth.”
“I doubt that. It sounds terrible, Spider! It must have wrecked your confidence, because that’s what spiders do. They’re complete, total liars—everyone knows that. They make webs! They’re stealthy. That’s how they survive.”
“Thread was different.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” cried the flea. “You are such an innocent. The world is complicated, my friend—and there are some species on this planet who deceive us, and enjoy doing so. Spiders are the worst! Where does it live?”
“In Tom’s bedroom,” said Spider. “Up in the skylight.”
“And it would eavesdrop, I imagine?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’d listen in on conversations, like a spy. Then it’d float down and pretend to know everything, and interfere—yes?”
“He was very friendly,” insisted Spider. “He invited me to his home once.”
Spider nodded.
“What was it like?”
“Not very nice,” said the dog. “He’d caught a little moth, and he was playing with him. Torturing him, really.”
“Exactly! You see? That’s what they do! I’ve met so many spiders in my time, and there might be exceptions, but they’re generally sadistic, solitary and desperately unhappy. They lie for the pleasure of lying, and they feed off the misery of others. I tell you something: when we get to Tom’s place, I’ll sort him out. He won’t try that nonsense with me. Now I’m a parasite—”
“No, that’s not true—”
“Of course it’s true! Look at me. I don’t like the word, but I will never pretend to be what I’m not. And I don’t claim to be useful, but at least I’m not deadly, or poisonous—and I don’t get pleasure out of grief.”
The flea took a deep breath and sighed.
“I choose life,” it said. “And perhaps I’m going to speak out of turn. You can shut me up or shake me off, and if you want me to go, I’ll go—I’m a flea, after all, and you’re not going to miss me—but there’s something we have in common.”
“What?”
“We believe in what’s good. We believe in sticking together. You’re not going to rest until you find Tom, and that’s what I love about you, Spider: you have a purpose, and that’s why your blood is so rich. I’ve never been happier.”
Spider said nothing. He was aware of his friend moving to the tip of his nose. The next moment, it had vaulted straight upwards and was on the ground between his paws. It gazed up at him with fierce, serious eyes.
“Flea,” said Spider, “I don’t want to cause you pain.”
“Well, that’s going to be hard, because the world’s full of it—as we both know.”
Spider was silent again.
“Come on, dog!” cried the flea. “Let’s cut to the chase here, because we need a plan. Are we together, on a mission? Or are we finished?”
Spider twitched his ears back and blinked. He put his muzzle so close to the flea that the little insect suddenly seemed huge. Its big eyes were moist, and its antennae were trembling with emotion.
“Stay,” said the dog softly.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. And… thank you. Thank you for helping me.”
The dog gazed down the empty platform, too tired to move, and thought of Tom. He thought of the park and the lead and Tom’s soft, comfortable bed.
Closing his eyes, he didn’t notice the shadow as it fell across him. He didn’t even pick up the scent, for he was just too tired—and the flea’s tiny scream came seconds too late.
A boot clamped down hard on Spider’s tail, pinning him to the ground. Even as he tried to scramble up, a gloved hand pressed a weapon to his shoulder, and a jolt of electricity sent him into yelping convulsions. The second blast hit him full in the chest, and knocked him unconscious.