“Gunna be a warm night,” muttered Pounce, poking at the fire. “Don’t reckon we’ll need no more wood.”

He pushed past Toadspit and disappeared down the tunnel. As soon as he had gone, Toadspit turned to Goldie. “So how do we get out of Spoke? And don’t lie, it’s just us.”

Goldie looked at the nest of quilts beside the fire, where Bonnie and Mouse were sound asleep with the cat curled up between them. “I’m not sure,” she whispered. “I don’t know who we can trust. The man who had you imprisoned—”

“Harrow?”

The cat’s ear flicked as if it had been stung. “Shhhhh!” said Goldie. “He’s got people everywhere.”

“Not here,” said Toadspit.

“Maybe not, but—” Goldie remembered the bandmaster’s terrified face. “You’ve signed my death warrant, and that of all my fellows!”

She shivered. Harrow was like a black shadow hovering above the city. She wished—oh, how she wished she could catch one of the Big Lies, and use it to take her friends to safety.

“Did you see him?” she whispered.

Toadspit shook his head. “I heard Cord say that he was busy on another job. The woman in the green cloak seemed to be running things.”

“Who is she?”

“All I know is that her name’s Flense. She stayed away from us most of the time, and when she was there she wore a mask. I never even heard her speak.”

“Did Cord say why they stole Bonnie?”

“No. Not a word.”

Goldie lowered her voice even more. “I found out something. Harrow’s a murderer. He’s killed at least a dozen people. And you know the bomb that destroyed the Fugleman’s office? That was him! Or his men, at least.”

Toadspit stared at her. “Are you sure?”

“N-no. But I think it’s probably true.”

“Why would he bomb the Fugleman’s office?”

“I don’t know.”

Silence fell between them. Goldie chewed her knuckles, wondering how on earth they were going to get back home without being caught.

Presently Toadspit said, “Look, we’re going to have to trust someone.”

“Are we? The fortune said we’re going home by sea. If we Concealed ourselves and stowed away on a ship—”

“You and I could do it easily enough, but what about Bonnie? If Harrow’s—if his men caught her—”

He stopped as the blanket that covered the tunnel was pushed to one side and Pounce entered, his arms piled high with fence palings.

“Don’t worry ’bout me,” said Pounce. His mask glared at Goldie and Toadspit. “These old things is light as a feather.”

He unloaded the palings into a corner, then sat down and poked at the fire. Toadspit leaned forward. “Listen, Pounce. If we didn’t want to go to Jewel—”

Goldie shook her head at him, but Toadspit ignored her. “If we didn’t want to go to Jewel, and we didn’t want to go soon, really soon, what’s the worst way to get there?”

Pounce jabbed at the fire. “This your job?” he said to Goldie. “The one that don’t pay?”

Goldie didn’t answer. She didn’t trust Pounce, and wished that Toadspit hadn’t asked him for help. But it was too late to do anything about it now.

“Anyone else involved?” said Pounce. “Like, anyone who might want to stop ya gettin’ to Jewel?”

“No,” said Toadspit, meaning yes.

“Yes,” said Goldie, meaning no.

“Make up yer minds,” sniggered Pounce. “Someone chasin’ yez or not?”

Goldie leaned forward fiercely. “Stick your nose in our business as much as you like, Pounce. Can you help us, or can’t you?”

“All right, all right,” said the boy, holding his hands up. “I reckon—I reckon maybe I can’t.” He hesitated. “Any money in it?”

Goldie shook her head. “Definitely not. Not if we get home safely.”

“Mm,” said Pounce. “That’s nasty. Maybe I won’t go and talk to someone.” He stood up and slouched toward the curtain.

“Pounce,” said Goldie.

The boy turned around. “What?”

“Don’t keep this to yourself. Tell everyone. Everyone.”

Pounce saluted mockingly. His eyes glittered behind the mask—and he was gone.

When Goldie woke up some hours later, the lantern was guttering and Pounce was leaning over her.

“I didn’t find a ship,” he whispered, sounding pleased with himself. “Captain’s not a mate of mine. Ain’t leavin’ in an hour. Ain’t goin’ straight to Jewel.”

Goldie scrambled to her feet. “Will you take us to him?”

Pounce snorted. “Course I will. I ain’t got nothin’ better to do than take foreign snotties on a guided tour of the city.”

“How are we going to find him, then?”

“A map’d be no use.” Pounce turned away, then swung back again. Something clinked in his britches pocket. “You make lots of noise while yer gettin’ ready,” he hissed. “Mousie ain’t tired, don’t need ’is beauty sleep. You make as much noise as ya like.”

While Goldie tiptoed around the little room, waking Toadspit and Bonnie, Pounce stuck another stub of candle in the lantern and drew a map on the wall of the tunnel in charcoal. When he had finished, the three children from Jewel crowded around him.

Pounce stabbed at the bottom of the map with a blackened finger. “We ain’t ’ere,” he said. He stabbed again. “And the wharf ain’t ’ere.”

Goldie bent closer and saw five stick figures. Farther up was a picture of what might have been a boat.

“This,” continued Pounce, tapping a squarish blotch near the wharf, “ain’t a deserted stableyard. Me mate won’t be waitin’ for yez there.”

His finger went back to the beginning. “Now, ’ow do yez get to the stables from ’ere? It’s real ’ard. First, don’t go up this street. Then—”

His hand moved up the map. His britches pocket clinked.

Clink. Clink clink clink …

Goldie would have liked to have said goodbye to Mouse, but he was still asleep, and whenever she looked in his direction, Pounce’s mask glared at her. So she whispered her thanks and farewells to the pram instead, and hoped that somehow the mice would understand and pass her message on to their boy.

It was hard to leave the warmth of the little room. But at least they were not alone—the cat went with them, just as the fortune had promised. Goldie was glad. Harrow and his men were still out there somewhere, and she wanted her allies around her.

We’ll have Morg too, she thought.

But when they reached the mouth of the tunnel, there was no sign of the slaughterbird.

Toadspit bit his lip. “We should wait for her. She won’t be far away.”

“We can’t afford the time,” said Goldie. “Don’t worry; she’ll catch up with us. If she found us once, she can find us again.”

“Are you lying?” said Bonnie.

Goldie smiled. “No, it’s just us now. We don’t have to lie.”

“What do you reckon the time is?” said Toadspit.

“I don’t know,” said Goldie. “Two o’clock in the morning? Half past?”

With the cat trotting beside them, they set out along the dark streets, following the directions they had memorized from Pounce’s map. The rain had stopped, but streams sprouted in all directions, as if the earth was so full of water that it was leaking.

There weren’t many people around, and the only sound of the Festival was the occasional distant popping of thunderflashes. As the children approached the wharf, the streets became even more deserted.

The stableyard was halfway along a row of derelict houses. It had a high stone wall around it and only one gateway. There was no light showing.

The children and the cat stopped several houses away. “I thought Pounce’s friend would be here by now,” whispered Goldie.

“He’s probably inside, waiting for us,” said Bonnie. “Let’s go in. I’m freezing.”

Toadspit shook his head. “If he’s here, why isn’t he showing a light? I don’t like it. That yard’s a good place for a trap.”

In the back of Goldie’s mind, the little voice whispered, Beware.…

She turned to Toadspit. “I’m going to have a closer look. You two wait here.”

Toadspit nodded. “Be careful.”

With the cat trotting beside her, Goldie circled around the block so that she could come at the stableyard from behind. Her feeling of danger was growing, and she pressed her mask firmly in place and wished that she had thought to bring masks for her friends. But it was too late now. Silently, she climbed the stone wall, slid down into the yard and opened her senses to the night.

The moon was covered by cloud, and her eyes told her very little. She could see the dark bulk of the deserted stalls and something that might have been an old cart. Nothing else.

Beside her, the cat’s tail switched back and forth.

Goldie’s nose told her that the yard hadn’t been used by humans for years. It stank of wet feathers and fur. Of tiny battles. Of winter hunger, and the sudden spurt of hot blood.

Her ears told her … nothing at all.

Her skin prickled. A place that smelled like this should be full of small sounds. The patter of paws. The sleepy shuffle of birds. The squeal of unexpected death.

Instead, an unnatural stillness hung over the stableyard, as if the creatures that normally lived here were holding their breath, waiting for some greater predator to leave.

What were they afraid of, she wondered. Her? The cat? Or …

“There’s someone else here, isn’t there?” she whispered to the cat. “Where are they? Can you show me?”

The cat bumped against her, then stalked away across the yard. Goldie followed, putting her feet down heel-to-silent-toe, the way she had learned in the museum. The first row of horse stalls loomed up, then the second. Goldie crept along the back of them, wondering where the cat was taking her.

Then she saw it—the faintest of lights shining through a grating.

She touched the back of the stall with her fingertips and felt a vibration, as if someone had grown tired of standing still and was shifting from one foot to the other. She stood on tiptoe and peeped through the grating.

The first thing she saw was a lantern. It hung from the ceiling of the stall, its light almost totally hidden by iron shutters. In the single faint beam that remained, Goldie could just make out a shadowy figure.

A familiar figure wearing a green cloak and a cat mask.

It was Flense.

Goldie could have cried with disappointment. All her hopes for a quick journey home crashed to the ground. There was no ship leaving for Jewel. There was no safe passage. Pounce had betrayed them.

The woman moved her feet again. “Come on,” she whispered. “Where are you, brats? Come on.”

When Goldie heard that voice, her wrist began to burn as if there were a silver cuff rubbing against it. Her skin crawled.

No, she thought. No, it’s not possible.…

“By the Black Ox!” murmured the woman. “Where are they?” She pushed her mask up onto her forehead and rubbed her eyes. Her cloak swirled. The narrow beam of the lantern fell across her face.

Goldie blinked. The stableyard swam around her, as if the world had tipped on its axis. The cat mask winked malevolently.

A cat …

But it was not the memory of the fortune that made Goldie tremble. Nor was it Pounce’s treachery. She crept away from the stalls, her whole body cold with shock. The cat leaped over the wall ahead of her, and she followed it, stumbling around the block and down the deserted street to where her friends were waiting.

She could feel Toadspit’s eyes on her as she approached. “It’s a trap, isn’t it,” he whispered.

Goldie nodded. Swallowed. Touched her mask. Could hardly believe what she had seen.

“What?” whispered Toadspit. “Tell me.”

“The woman in the green cloak. Flense. The one who’s running things for Harrow. She’s—she’s—”

“Ffffoul!” spat the cat, whipping its tail from side to side.

“She’s—”

“Tell me!”

Goldie took a shaky breath. “She’s Blessed Guardian Hope!”