City of Lies - Lian Tanner [37]
“Really?” The bandmaster perked up. “I knew you were a bad lad.” He puffed out his chest and roared at the band. “All right, you lot!”
The mournful tune died away.
“This is such a good spot that we’re staying right here,” cried the bandmaster. “And we’re going to play something sad. Something quiet. Something that’ll make the citizens of Spoke think twice about giving us a decent dinner. On no account will we play ‘The Skipping Goose.’ One, two, three!”
He raised his baton, and the trumpet players stumbled into a lively tune, followed a few beats later by the trombones and the bombardon. The sailors whooped and shouted. “Awful! Awful! Stop it at once!”
The bandmaster put his head close to Goldie’s. “How’s that?”
“Terrible,” said Goldie. She pointed in the wrong direction. “Go that way!” she cried, and she began to lead the band, as quickly as she could, toward the five-story house.
As they entered the warren of streets near the bootmaker’s, the night grew livelier. People began to dance around them. Children appeared from every doorway, and thunderflashes crackled and popped. An enormous woman with sweat running down her forehead waddled out of a shop and handed the bandmaster a bright blue roast duck.
His eyes lit up. He tore off both drumsticks, handed one to Goldie and passed the rest of the duck back to Sweetapple. The music slowed to a saunter, and so did the band.
“I expect those people up the hill will be there all night,” mumbled Goldie, biting into the drumstick. “I bet they’re not going anywhere.”
The bandmaster obligingly sped up again. The crowd surged along with him.
And suddenly, there was the cat, trotting beside Goldie, its eyes bright, its scraggy ribs thrumming with pleasure. Goldie dropped a chunk of meat onto the ground, and the cat devoured it in one gulp.
A string of green sausages flew overhead, followed by a loaf of bread. The bandmaster beamed at Goldie, and she did her best to smile back.
Faster, she thought. We need to go faster.
They were still two blocks away from the five-story house when the bandmaster beckoned to Dodger and Sweetapple. They stepped closer to him, their instruments blaring, their chains rattling against the cobblestones.
“I don’t owe you an explanation, lad,” muttered the bandmaster as he and Goldie marched along side by side. “You did us a cruelty the day before yesterday, and another one tonight.”
The street, which had been deserted when Goldie crept up it earlier, was now full of people. A pie flew out of the dancing crowd. Dodger snatched it up one-handed and stuffed it into his pocket.
“That name you asked me about,” said the bandmaster, glancing around to make sure that no one could hear him above the music and the chains. “You didn’t almost give me heartstroke when you mentioned it. I don’t know him. In fact, I didn’t do a few jobs for him a while back—”
He broke off, gazing down at the cat, which was trotting beside them, its tail held high. “Is that gorgeous beast—ah—tame? Could you pick it up?” He chewed his lip. “It’s got nothing whatsoever to do with what I want to tell you.”
By now, Goldie was almost dizzy with impatience. For all she knew, Bonnie and Toadspit were being moved to another hiding place at this very moment. What if Morg lost them? How would she ever find them again?
But this was information, and she could not afford to ignore it. She stepped to one side and bent down. “Cat,” she whispered. “I need to pick you up. Do you mind?”
“Frrr-own,” said the cat, its back bristling.
“I’m sorry. But it’s important. Please?”
The cat grumbled a bit more, then said, “Alllllow.”
Carefully, Goldie slid one hand under its belly and the other under its back legs. It was heavier than she expected, and she could feel a low growl of displeasure rumbling through its bones. But it kept its claws sheathed, and as she ran to catch up with the band, it lay more or less quietly in her arms.
The bandmaster gulped when he saw it up close. “Um—sweet kitty!” He put a tentative hand on its back. The cat hissed