City of Lies - Lian Tanner [25]
The boy shrugged and whistled.
This time, when the mice scrambled up onto the board with their scraps of paper, Goldie knew what to expect. She waited impatiently while the boy shifted the scraps around, making a picture of shapes and colors that pleased him.
By the time he had finished, there were only four bits of paper left. The first was a picture of a very high mountain. The second one simply said danger. The third said friendship is. The fourth was two entire sentences that looked as if they had been torn from a book. You are still here, Herro. Does this mean you will help me?
Goldie’s heart sank. It didn’t seem to have anything to do with Bonnie and Toadspit, except perhaps for the bit about danger. But why was there a picture of a mountain?
“Does it mean mountains are dangerous?” she said. “But we’re not near any. So maybe it’s not meant to be a real mountain. Just—just something rocky. No, something big. Look at it, it’s huge. So maybe it means, um, huge danger. No, great danger, that’s it.”
A shiver ran down her spine. Harrow …
The boy touched her arm again, as light as a moth.
“Sorry,” said Goldie, and she read the second half of her fortune out loud. The boy’s eyes widened. He tapped his chest, then pointed to the mice and the cat.
“Friendship,” said Goldie. “And someone to help me. Do you think it means you?”
The boy pointed to the mice and the cat again.
“You think it means all of you?”
He beamed at her. Then he grabbed the handle of the pram and set off across the plaza with the cat close at his heels. Goldie didn’t move.
When he realized that she wasn’t following him, the boy turned and beckoned. Goldie was tempted to go with him. But she was heading into great danger, and did not want anyone else to be harmed because of it. So she waved instead and called out, “Thanks for the fortune.”
The boy beckoned again. In the back of Goldie’s mind, the little voice whispered, Go with him. She ignored it and turned away.
She had not gone far when she felt something bump against her legs. The cat gazed up at her. “M-rrow?”
She tried to keep walking, but with every step it wound itself between her ankles. “Watch out,” she said.
“Frrr-own,” said the cat, almost as if it was talking to her. And it sat down directly in front of her.
Goldie stepped around it. It shifted so quickly that she barely saw it move, then sat down again.
She glared at it. “What do you want?”
“Prrrowl,” demanded the cat, and it raised its ragged tail high in the air and began to stalk back the way it had come, stopping occasionally to look over its shoulder. On the other side of the plaza, the boy watched them both.
Go with them, whispered the little voice.
“No,” said Goldie. “I don’t want to.”
It was a lie and she knew it. The sun had almost disappeared behind the buildings that surrounded the Spice Market, and a cold wind was blowing up from the harbor. Soon it would be dark. If she walked away now, she realized, she would have to spend another night alone. And perhaps another one after that.
She didn’t think she could bear it.
The cat turned toward her. “All right,” said Goldie quickly. “I’ll come.”
“Nnnn-ow?” said the cat.
“Yes. Now.”
The white-haired boy lived in a sewer. It was very old, and big enough to walk through, and it obviously hadn’t been used for many years. But it was still a sewer, and its brick sides were crusted with slime.
Goldie followed the boy into the darkness. The pram wheels rattled and clanked over the rough ground, and she could hear water dripping somewhere. Cockroaches scuttled past her feet. The cat stalked behind her like a jailer.
“Where are we going?” she whispered, knowing that there would be no answer.
She thought she could probably trust the white-haired boy, but she had no idea who else might be living down here. And so, when she saw a faint yellow glow ahead, she stopped. Her foot kicked against a stone. It was only the slightest of sounds, but the glow snuffed out immediately.
The air moved, as if someone was creeping down the tunnel toward her. Goldie’s skin crawled.