Tom picked his way over the rubble towards what was left of the warehouse. It was old brick, and as he passed through its gaping doors he could see how precarious the structure was. Sections of the upper floors had given way, and he could see right up to a skeleton of steel girders and rotting timbers. The sky was visible beyond, while under his feet the floor was cobbled, and he was surrounded by crooked pillars and posts. There were several staircases, but most led only to empty space; others took you up to crumbling galleries. The sun fell in hard, diagonal shafts, and he had the strangest feeling that he was being watched.
Why would Spider be here? Tom was about to turn and continue the search elsewhere, when he heard a stone rattle on one of the upper floors.
He shouted again, “Spider!”
This time his voice echoed back at him and faded to nothing. A pigeon took flight, dislodging a trickle of dirt. There was a high-pitched yelp from behind, but when he swung round there was only stillness.
“Come on, boy,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong, Spider? Where are you?”
He chose the one set of steps that looked reasonably sturdy and started to climb.
Robert Tayler, meanwhile, was struggling not to laugh.
He’d followed Tom through the fence, having been behind Tom for some time, astonished he hadn’t been seen. He turned round, grinning. Marcus was still with him, and the plan was working beautifully. The boys realized they could go slowly now. They put their bags and blazers on the ground, and as Tom disappeared into the warehouse they tiptoed round it. Sneaking through the side, they watched as Tom gazed upwards. It was Marcus who threw the stone. When Tom started to climb, they chose a staircase opposite, and minutes later they were above their victim, looking down. When Tom appeared, they crouched low.
Robert lobbed a roof tile this time, aiming high. It dropped hard on to a metal girder and there was a violent clanging. Marcus answered it with a volley of realistic barks, and they had the satisfaction of watching Tom spin round in panic.
“Spider!” he cried. “Where are you, boy? I’m not angry.”
Robert yelped.
The impression of a dog in pain was perfect, and the echo made it all the more plaintive. Tom was beside himself.
He cried out again, “Spider!”
Then he moved quickly upwards, and found himself on a wooden deck, way up in what was left of the attic.
That was when Robert noticed a thin, metal rod. It was lying close to his feet, straight as a poker, and it was the ideal implement of terror. He picked it up and cut off Tom’s exit.
“Got you,” Robert said.
Tom looked down, and the two boys stared at each other.
“Your dog’s dead, Lipman. So are you.”
Back at the house, Thread the spider could not believe its eyes. Its skylight was opening from the outside, and it could see a skinny grey paw pushing at the glass.
“Hey, back off!” it cried. “What’s going on?”
“I’m looking for a boy,” said Moonlight. “A little boy called Tom. This is his bedroom, isn’t it?”
“Tom who? Get back! This is private property.”
“This is also his room—I know it is. Is he here or not?”
“No. He’s run away.”
“Don’t say that!” cried the cat. “Spider’s arrived. He’s come all this way to see him.”
She forced her head inside and found herself staring down at an empty, unmade bed. In a moment, she had squeezed under the window and dropped to the wardrobe. Ignoring the spider’s cries, she jumped to the floor. The bedroom door was open so she padded through nervously. By the time she got downstairs, it was obvious that the whole house was deserted, so she leapt on to the kitchen counter—and there was Spider in the back garden, barking desperately.
Moonlight butted the casement window and flipped the catch with her paws. Seconds later, Spider had hurled himself through the opening and was inside.
“Spider, wait!” she cried, but it was no use.
The dog rolled himself past her, falling heavily on to dirty crockery. He shook the splinters from his fur. The next moment, he was racing up to the bedroom he remembered so well. The scent of Tom was everywhere, but even as he skidded to a halt and gazed around him, it was obvious that yet again he’d failed in his quest. Tom was agonizingly absent.
Thread let himself down and dangled just above his head.
“This is an outrage, Fido,” he hissed. “First a mutilated cat, and now you. We all thought you were dead.”
“You know who I’m looking for,” panted Spider. “Where’s he gone?”
“He’s a fugitive, as far as I know. And, by the way, you’ve got a flea on your face.”
“He certainly has,” said the flea. “And I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a very long time. Tell us what you know—and don’t lie.”
“Did he go to school today?” yelped Spider. “Help us, Thread—I need to find him.”
The spider chuckled and twirled. “You really want the truth?” he cried. “You can have it, dog—because it’s all down to you. It’s been chaos round here ever since you left. The phone’s been ringing non-stop, and we’ve even had the police round—”
“The police? Why? When did you last see Tom?”
“This morning, of course! He cried himself to sleep last night, as usual. Oh, my goodness, you wouldn’t believe the tears. Then up he gets, and I’m on the landing, listening as the lodger comes upstairs. That’s when your boy makes his move. He’s a delinquent now, you know: he stole the motorbike and skipped school. Sometime later, two policemen showed up, talking about a road accident—”
“But where is he now?” barked Spider.
“Who knows?” shouted Thread. “We’re waiting for news. They found the bike on the railway line, smashed to pieces. The rider vanished—under the train, presumably—”
“Oh, God!” howled Spider. “I don’t know what to do! I can’t stay here…”
He raced down the stairs, retracing his steps to the garden. Moonlight followed, and in no time they were back at the front door. Buster was on the front step, keeping guard.
“He’s gone, and he’s hurt,” said Spider. “What do we do?”
“Eat,” said Moonlight. “Let me find you something—”
“I’m not hungry, you fool! I’m never going to eat again, unless it’s with Tom.”
“Don’t say that, Spider!”
“Why not?”
“Because you have to keep your strength up. And, oh, look—where’s your flea? You’ve left it behind.”
Moonlight went to nuzzle him, but Spider spun away from her. The next moment, he was standing motionless, a paw in the air.
“What?” asked the pit bull.
“Leave me,” said Spider. “Don’t touch me…”
“Why not? What’s wrong?”
“It’s his heart,” whispered Moonlight. “It’s breaking, I think—”
“Spider, talk to us!” barked the pit bull. “What’s happening, pal?”
The dog lowered his head and swallowed. His ears started to twitch, and the fur along his backbone rose, hair by hair. He could feel the strangest tingling sensation, and the tip of his tail was hot.
“Tom is close,” he said softly. “He’s close, Buster—and he needs me. I can feel it.”
He whined, and sniffed the air. The tingling had turned to a persistent throbbing, and he’d never felt anything as intense before. It was an awful pounding of the blood in both his heart and his head. He turned in a circle and managed to gasp.
“Why am I standing here?” asked Spider.
“You shouldn’t be,” said Buster. “Find him.”
“Which way? I can’t tell where it’s coming from, but he’s… he’s calling me!”
“Listen harder,” said Buster. “I’ve had this myself, buddy, so don’t resist it! What can you see?”
“I see that railway again.”
“What else?”
“I see… the train, the one we were on, and… we’re too late.”
“We can’t be!” cried Moonlight.
As she spoke, they heard a siren. Somewhere nearby, an emergency vehicle was answering a call, and it jerked Spider into action. He barked once, and it was a triumphant bark, because it was the bark of realization. Suddenly, he knew which way to go. His tail was up, and in an instant he was gone—he seemed to rise upwards like a missile, and then he was flying down the pavement. Buster and Moonlight followed, but he was way ahead of them. They saw him flash across the street, as a police car missed him by a whisker.
Buster picked up his scent and gave chase. She was in time to see him coursing down an alleyway, back towards the town centre. They were soon in front of the church, its familiar clock tower rising high above their heads. It was chiming five, the bells crashing over the town like an awful countdown. Spider ran yet faster, bounding into the station. He raced over the concourse to the first platform that he came to. He dodged a railwayman, who tried to block his path, and sailed over a barrier. Then they were all on the tracks, and Spider caught a whiff of his master. He forged ahead, faster than ever. A horn blasted as a train lurched slowly towards them. They scrambled under it, rolling between its wheels on to a patch of scrub. There, the lines divided, and the freight wagons came into view.
They gathered on the empty platform, but now a fence blocked their way. Spider jumped at it, barking, for he could smell his master on the stone and in the grass. The boy had been here, not long ago, and he wasn’t alone.
“Help me, Buster,” he whined. “We have to get through.”
“This way!” cried the cat. “There’s a gap just here.”
“Is Tom still close?” asked the pit bull.
“Yes, but he’s not safe. He’s in the most terrible danger.”