City of Lies - Lian Tanner [10]
Toadspit must have smelled it at almost the same time, because he let go of Bonnie and whirled around. But he was too slow. Smudge wrapped his big arms around the boy and clamped the kerchief over his nose. Toadspit struggled and kicked, then went limp.
“What’ve you done to him?” shouted Bonnie, and she attacked Smudge, trying to drag her unconscious brother from his arms. Goldie’s muscles ached with the desire to leap out of the dinghy and help, but she did not move.
“Here, gimme that muck, Smudge,” said Cord, grabbing Bonnie from behind. “I’ve ’ad enough of snotties. We’re gunna keep ’em asleep for the rest of the voyage.”
He held the kerchief over Bonnie’s face until she too went limp. Then he handed her to Smudge, who slung both children across his shoulders and carried them below. The cat watched from behind a barrel, its tail whipping from side to side.
Slowly, Goldie let the edge of the tarpaulin fall back into place. A drop of salt water trickled down her forehead, and she wiped it away. She was still shivering, but her anger was beginning to wear off, and she felt stunned by what had just happened.
She was all alone now. No one knew where she was. If Toadspit and Bonnie were to be rescued, she must do it entirely by herself—and the only thing she had to help her was a folding knife.
The thought was almost too much for her. What could she do against a man as violent as Cord? Where were her friends being taken, and why? Who was the mysterious Harrow?
And how will Ma and Pa get on without me?
Something twisted painfully in her chest. She could not turn back, she knew that. She must try to put her parents out of her mind until Toadspit and Bonnie were safe again.
But as the Piglet plunged through the waves, heading for an unknown destination, Goldie felt as if a part of her were trying to fly in the opposite direction.
In a narrow street in one of the poorer parts of the city of Spoke, two boys were sitting on a stone step, watching the shop opposite. The older boy, Pounce, had his scabby arms wrapped around his knees, trying to keep out the cold wind that was blowing up from the harbor. He would have given up ages ago if it wasn’t for the money that Harrow’s underling, Flense, had promised him.
“One thing I’ll say about Harrow’s mob,” he whispered to his friend, “is that they pays well. Not like most people. Most people try and fob us off with a two-week-old pie that’d ’ave us spewin’ in the gutter if we was thick enough to eat it. And they expect us to be grateful.”
The younger boy grinned and pushed his white hair out of his eyes. Pounce blew on his cold hands. “I reckon they should pay us as much as they pay a grown-up,” he said. “More, prob’ly. Snotties make better spies than grown-ups. Specially street snotties. We’s as good as invisible, ain’t we, Mousie? We could lie right down in the middle of the Spice Market and die of ’unger, and no one’d notice till our corpsies started to stink.”
The white-haired boy pointed to the arm of his jacket, where it sagged under the weight of a dozen sleeping mice.
“Yeah, I s’pose they’d notice,” said Pounce. “Greedy little beggars. They’d prob’ly chew our fingers off before we was even cold.”
Mouse’s eyes widened and he laughed in silent delight. Pounce felt a tiny patch of warmth in the pit of his belly. “Well, anyway, we ain’t gunna die of ’unger this week, thanks to Harrow and Flense,” he muttered gruffly.
Mouse pointed to his sleeve again.
“Yeah yeah,” said Pounce. “And thanks to the sprats.” He patted the other boy on the arm, careful not to disturb the mice. “You and them does a good job. There’s lotsa times we woulda starved without your fortune-tellin’ tricks.”
A line appeared on Mouse’s forehead. Pounce held up his hands in mock apology. “All right, so they’s not tricks.