City of Lies - Lian Tanner [27]
“It’s not that sort of job,” said Goldie.
“So what’s yer name? Yer real name.”
“My real name doesn’t matter.” She hesitated, thinking of all the things she didn’t know about this city. Things she might need to know. “Tell me about the Festival of Lies.”
“What’s it worth?”
Mouse’s fingers danced. Pounce sniffed. “Yer a regular little goody-goody tonight, Mousie. Don’t reckon I’ll give ya no breakfast. That’ll learn ya.”
The white-haired boy giggled. Pounce drew himself up in mock importance. “So, the Festival of Lies,” he said. “Lesson one, which is for simpletons, and girls from Jewel.”
He leaned forward so that the light from the fire caught his mask. His voice lost its mockery and became serious. “Once a year, for three days, everythin’ in Spoke becomes a lie.”
“Everything?” said Goldie doubtfully.
“Shut up and listen. Ya can’t trust nothin’ or no one durin’ the Festival. Everythin’s turned on its ’ead. And it’s not just the people who lie.” His voice sank to a whisper. “The city lies too. And that’s the good bit.”
“What do you mean?”
Pounce’s finger began to draw circles on his knee. “Everyone’s lyin’, right? And all those lies, they sorta join together like whirlpools.” The circles grew bigger. “And the whirlpools build up into Big Lies. There ain’t many of ’em. Sometimes there’s only two or three or four for the whole Festival. No one knows where they’ll turn up, but if ya get caught in the middle of one, ya can feel the air fizzin’ round ya, full of lies and stories and stuff. That’s when ya gotta have your own lie ready. A good one!”
“Why?” said Goldie.
“It’s like this,” said the boy. “Mousie and me is walkin’ down the street, right? Only it’s tomorra night and the Festival’s in full swing. And suddenly I feels the air sorta fizzin’ round me. And at the same time someone says to me, ‘Oy, Pounce, where’s you and Mouse livin’ now?’ And I says, ‘We got this nice little room up on Temple Hill. With feather beds and a fireplace and all. And lots of food and no cockroaches.’ And ya know what ’appens?”
Goldie shook her head.
“Suddenly me and Mousie is up there in that little room. For a whole day and a night we eat ourselves silly and sleep on feather beds in front of the fire. And we think we’s always lived like that. Cos that fizzy feelin’, that’s the Big Lie that’ll make yer own lie come true.”
Goldie stared at him, wishing he wasn’t wearing the mask. She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t tell if his story was itself a lie. The pigeon feathers told her nothing.
“Ya can’t cheat, mind,” said Pounce. “Someone ’as to ask the right question or it’s no good. And ya gotta give the right answer. If ya do that, a Big Lie can take ya anywhere. Anywhere! For a day and a night ya can be a whole different person, if that’s what ya want.”
Mouse was licking his fingers dreamily. “What about afterward, when it finishes?” said Goldie. “Wouldn’t it be hard to go back to how things used to be?”
Pounce grinned. “But ya might not ’ave to, see? ’Cos the city always gives ya somethin’ to take away with you when the Big Lie ends. Somethin’ real. Might just be a feather from the feather bed. Might be the bed itself. Or the whole room.” His eyes gleamed. “That’d be somethin’, wouldn’t it? The whole room!”
Goldie stared into the fire. Once again Spoke reminded her of the museum, a place of strange and powerful forces. If only she could find one of those Big Lies! Then she’d be a match for Harrow.
She shook her head. Pounce was probably talking nonsense. From what she had seen so far, the Festival was just people wearing masks and throwing food. Pounce was trying to fool her because she was a stranger.
A stranger searching for two stolen children in a city of thousands.
Mouse yawned. Pounce grabbed a chair leg off the pile behind him and poked it into the middle of the fire. “You sleep in the corner,” he said to Goldie. He nodded toward the cat. “And take that nasty old bag of bones with ya. I don’t trust it. Look, it’s givin’ me the evil eye.”
Goldie was so tired that she was glad to curl up in the corner with a blanket, and