Tick-Tick said, “Eh,” a small noise telling us she’d had to speak to acknowledge what she’d heard, but no one should think it hurt her. “How did you know to come here?”
“Orient said to try here first. Then your place, then Danceland.”
Tick-Tick nodded. “That’s plausible.”
“Let’s get him,” said Sai.
“There’s a lot of them,” said Caramel. “I don’t know how many. And they’ve got guns.”
“Guns don’t always work.”
“They don’t need to always work,” Tick-Tick noted. “Now and then is nuisance enough.”
“Why were you there?” Sai asked Caramel. “Part of their gang?”
“No.” She blinked at me, then back at Sai. “I saw the elf in the coat, the one who’d cut up the other one, go into that alley with a raggedy-looking human kid. They were such an odd combination, you know? And I was a little afraid he’d hurt the kid. So I glanced into the alley as I walked by, not really knowing what I could do if there was trouble, and there were more of the raggedy kids there.”
Sai said, “Keep it coming.”
“This one with glasses, he held something out toward the elf and said ‘Looking for this?’ The elf pulled out his sword-thing, but the kids were all over him before he could do anything with it. They had razors and knives, and it was—it was— It made me feel sick.”
Sai said, “So they caught you.”
Caramel shook her head. “Not then. The glasses guy, he put the thing he’d shown the elf into the saddlebag of his bike and drove off. But two of them were on foot, so I followed them ‘cause, you know, you have to report murders—”
“Should’ve reported it then,” said Sai.
“Who to? I mean, you’re right, but they were going away fast, so there wasn’t time to get anyone, and bold, like they didn’t think anyone would follow them.”
“And they caught you.”
“No. I followed them to their place. The glasses guy’s bike was in their garage. And I thought if whatever he’d put in the bags was still there, I’d have something to show people, so they’d know I didn’t make it up. That’s when they caught me, in the garage.”
“Tough. The thing in the bag might’ve been important.”
Caramel nodded. “Orient said it was.” She held out a silver ring set with a sapphire. I’d seen its sisters on Linden’s hand.
Tick-Tick said, “Too small for fingerprints. Nor can anyone confirm your tale.”
Caramel did her impersonation of one of those paintings of big-eyed kids. “I’m not lying!”
“No,” Tick-Tick agreed. “I meant that this and your story will not free Strider, who’s being held as a murderer.”
Sai pocketed the ring. “Unless someone’s got a better idea, we get Orient, then we worry about this.”
Tick-Tick and I nodded.
“Can anyone help?” asked Caramel.
“Maybe,” said Sai.
•
We brought in everyone, people from the Pack and the True Bloods and even Sai’s brother and a few of his Rat pals. The only person we left out was Ms. Wu, for fear she’d want to bring in the Silver Suits. If we hadn’t known another magician who was supposed to be as good, we would’ve taken a chance on her, and probably on Sunny Rico as well.
I approached Milo. I felt uneasy walking across the parking lot, which seemed unnaturally lit in the early-morning sunlight. I felt even odder when Milo opened the door, gave me an absent nod, and stalked back through the display room cluttered with metal shelves. I looked at Sai, who was waiting for me on the Batcycle, then I waved and followed Milo.
He sat at his computer and tapped out a burst of something. I held up the letter I’d written and growled. He typed a bit more, said, “Wait, wait,” typed a bit more, then looked at me. “Wolfboy, yes?”
I held up the letter again. “Oh,” he said, and began to read.
I smelled Sparks before she touched my shoulder. I stood perfectly still until I felt her hand, then I turned to meet her smile.
Her hair was growing out; the two inches closest to her scalp were dark brown. She wore one earring, a painted wooden parrot that I had given her on her birthday. She said, “H’lo, Ron. Any leads on Florida? On anyone?”
I nodded. Milo said, “Mmm. Yes,” and set my explanation on his desk. “A commando raid. Hmm.”
Sparks picked up the letter while I nodded at Milo.
He said, “This offer of gold—”
I waited, wondering if Milo had been insulted because Leander had offered payment, or because Leander had offered too little payment.
“D’you think he could get O-scale train track? I don’t need gold, but I was thinking—”
I nodded, quickly and vigorously.
Milo pointed toward the ceiling. “—that I could extend the track—”
Sparks said, “Milo.”
He said, “Oh. It doesn’t really matter. Of course I’ll help.” He stepped to one of the shelves, where an empty water pistol sat on top of several leather-bound books that appeared to be ancient. “The point is to demoralize the Rats, I think, and to make them harmless without harming them in turn.”
He pulled a volume from the shelf and slapped dust from its cover, revealing the title: Secrets of Seven Sages. He walked his fingers through the pages, paused, mumbled, “To reverse ten years of an enemy’s life.” His finger swept down the page. “Mmm. Hmm. Got it.” He snapped the book shut. “Let’s go.”
“An enemy’s?” Sparks said.
“That means it can’t be undone, so far as I can tell from the notes. I won’t feel guilty about turning a few Rats into small children. It’ll give them a second chance at life.” He kissed her cheek. “And I won’t change any of them unless I have to.” She still looked at him. “This will be dangerous. I need to be able to protect myself and the others.”
She nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“You’re—” He nodded, too. “Okay. Let’s go.”
•
They followed us in the Mustang. You make better time traveling Soho’s rundown streets on a bike, so Sai and I beat them to the meeting place, an overgrown park near the Mad River. There must’ve been a hundred kids waiting for us.
Leander was among them, looking quite out of place in a black polo shirt and black chinos. Wiseguy stood beside him, looking something like her old self in jeans and leather. She said, “Hey, Wolf, don’t be a stranger. Young parents need suckers to baby-sit. Uh, I mean, the company of their wild friends to remind them that life goes on.”
Leander smiled. “Luce is mistaken about our need for baby-sitters, but never about a wish for your company.” He moved his hand wearily over his perfectly combed hair. “I spoke with the magistrate, promising her wealth eternal. She said she wouldn’t bail out a pseudonymous Soho murderer, no matter how rich his friends.”
I shrugged; I suppose I hadn’t expected anything more.
“So I’m here to atone for my failure.” He carried a hunting bow and a quiver of arrows; he looked like he was about to enter a college sports event.
I rolled my eyes and slapped his shoulder. Wiseguy ruffled his hair with her fingers and laughed as he grimaced and smoothed his white locks.
Sai’s brief speech to the crowd ended, “If the Rats won’t let us in, about ten of us are going in anyway. The rest of you circle the place, but you stay back. Your job’s to make the Rats know they can’t escape. And that’s all. Understand? This isn’t a video, y’know.”
“Yeah!” Gorty yelled. “Video doesn’t work here!” I spotted him next to Taz and Q. Paul. They gave me a thumbs-up that I returned, though I felt less and less certain of success as we came closer to acting.
Sai repeated, “Understand?”
Sparks said, “I know that time is against us, but a threat is a threat, no matter how politely you offer it. It might make them feel they have to fight.”
“Then we fight,” said Sai.
Someone said
, “Maybe we should call in the Silver Suits.”
Gorty said, “Why? We’ve seen the same movies they have.”
Sai said, “If we can’t get in, we’ll call the Silver Suits.”
Sparks said, “Are you sure this is the best way?” She moved her hands out, indicating the gathered kids. Most were bare-handed, but many had bats, quarterstaffs, and knives.
Sai studied Sparks. “No. Not at all. But it’s the fastest.” She looked at the crowd and said, slowly and fiercely, “We don’t start anything. And we don’t leave here until everyone agrees to that.”
Several people sounded disappointed, but everyone agreed.
•
So we moved toward the River. The territory seemed familiar, but that wasn’t strange. I’d gotten to know these grounds when I’d been a Rat, even though I’d forgotten most of the details of my life as a River junkie. But a growing suspicion was confirmed when I saw the building where Caramel said Orient was being held. Someone had poured cans of paint down its walls from the roof since I’d been there, but this was the building I’d lived in. Which meant the head Rat holding Orient, the little guy with the round glasses, was Specs, the King of Spectacles. I should have guessed.
Specs wasn’t keeping Orient in a room with a jar of River to torment him or to turn him into a slave. He was keeping him there to convert him to the joys of drinking the blood red waters that flowed from Faerie. Some people can’t understand that you ought to ask permission before doing anyone a favor.
I made a note for Sai about the probable leader of this group of Rats. She moved into the open and yelled, “Specs! C’mon out! You’ve got company!”
Someone on the roof yelled, “Whatchawan’?”
Sai looked at me; I shook my head. Sai yelled, “We want to talk with Specs! Tell ‘im we appeal to his hospitality and his good sense!”
The sentry yelled, “Specs don’t need to—”
Sai lifted her right hand a couple of inches and snapped her fingers. Our people began to show themselves. A few bikes rolled into one street, a few into another. People stepped out of empty buildings, from behind trees. No one said anything.
The sentry disappeared. A moment later, Specs appeared where he’d been. Sunlight glinted from his round glasses, then he raised his hand to shade his eyes and shouted, “We have River enough for all of you, if you wish it!”
Sai shouted, “We want Orient, then we want to search your building!”
Specs looked at all the silent kids. No weapons were visible yet, but most of them wore their bike gear, protective boots, jackets, and helmets. “I won’t say, You and whose army! But I assure you, we do not know where this Orient is to be found!”
Sai said, “Better find out fast! We’re not going until we have him or we’ve been through every inch of your place!”
“I see.” Specs scanned the crowd again. I moved out where he could see me. Even if he remembered the kid called Gone, he couldn’t suspect Gone had let his hair grow since then. I heard nothing in his voice to suggest he saw anything more than a kid in a furry mask. “You’re quite sure?”
“Positive!” Sai answered.
Specs nodded. A shotgun blast threw up chunks of dirt maybe thirty feet from Sai. I bit my lip as she dove for cover behind the rusted remains of a taxi.
Tick-Tick called, “You all right?”
Sai touched her chest. “Sure. If this is just fear and not a heart attack.”
Milo, near Tick-Tick, said, “It was too fast—”
We could not see Specs, but we heard his voice. “That was a warning! Heed it! You won’t get another!”
Tick-Tick said, “Let’s return the favor. Stay back.” She reached into a pouch, pulled out something small and spherical wrapped in wire and electrical tape, and threw it into the middle of the lawn that separated us from Specs’s warehouse-turned-fortress.
Clods of dirt and grass sprayed the air as Tick-Tick’s homemade bomb exploded. I felt a little ill. She had one left, that we thought we might use if we needed to blow open a door.
Sai shouted, “See, Specs? We’ve both got things that go boom! There’s nothing you can do. Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt you or your people. We only want our friends back.”
It is hard to reason with people who have different things in their bloodstreams than you do. Or maybe Sparks was right. A third Rat stood up on the roof and raised a pistol, aiming it toward Sai, who was still crouched behind the rusted car.
Tick-Tick said, “We need to lower the technology level around here.”
Milo closed his eyes and mumbled something. An explosion came from the roof that was almost as loud as Tick-Tick’s had been. Someone began to scream. We all stayed where we were. We had taken first blood, and none of us liked it.
Sai swallowed once, nodded, and we ran to the front door. I reached it first, jumped up against it, and fell back onto the grass. Tick-Tick grabbed the handle, turned it, and swung the door wide. She held her second bomb in one hand, ready to throw it in.
Sai and Leander reached the building and pressed themselves against the outer wall. Leander carried the hunting bow; he peeked through a paint-spattered window, began to draw back an arrow, then grimaced and froze, perfectly still, the arrow half-drawn.
A small kid, maybe twelve years old, in a yellow T-shirt stood inside the door with a pistol in both hands, saying, “Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god-oh-god.” His eyes were closed. Tears ran down his cheeks, and the barrel waggled, threatening Tick-Tick and everything in front of the kid, and maybe the kid’s feet, too.
Tick-Tick said, “It’s fine. Honestly. See? I’m setting down my weapon. See?” She slowly placed her bomb on a table in the hallway. “You do that, too, okay? We’ll all be all right, then.”
“Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god,” the kid said, and the pistol continued to waggle.
“Please,” said Tick-Tick. “If you put that down—”
The kid dropped the gun and turned, beginning to run. His pistol hit the floor and fired. Leander grunted, clutched his hip, and fell into the shrubbery by the window. His arrow skidded across the dirt, hurting no one.
I looked back into the house. The kid was partway down the hall. Tick-Tick started forward, as if to follow. Someone stepped into the far hallway, silhouetted against a grimy window. The running kid yelled, “Spe—”
Something exploded. The kid slumped to the floor. Specs held a sawed-off shotgun. Tick-Tick stooped, picking up the kid’s pistol. Specs went through a door. Tick-Tick ran after him. The door closed. Tick-Tick kept running toward the stairs.
I needed to leave this place, but Tick-Tick was in there, and Orient was in there, and maybe Florida and Goldy and Mickey were in there, too. Tick-Tick disappeared up the stairs. I yelled, “’Ih-’ih!” and followed.
Specs had gone through a rusty sliding door. I put my ear against it; a dumbwaiter was smoothly ascending. It may have been the only thing in this house that had been maintained. In my mind, I saw Specs drawing on the pulley with both hands, his shotgun by his side, a smile of victory or disaster on his face.
I took the stairs two at a time. Above me, Tick-Tick slowed on the second floor, then ran up to the third. Skidding into a long hallway of boarded doors, I saw her boots and the hem of her jacket as she darted into a far room, opposite the open door of the dumbwaiter.
An explosion preceded the crash of broken glass. As I reached the doorway, Tick-Tick shrieked, “Lobo! All clear. Get your ass in here!” Her voice raced the scales and cracked, all elfin calm gone.
The room stank of sweat and gunpowder and blood. It had been a library sometime in the ancient past. It still held a lot of rotting and moldering furniture. A fireplace was inadequately sealed with plywood. One wall was splashed with reddish water. A broken jar lay beneath it.
Orient lay in Tick-Tick’s arms. He looked like someone who’d been hit over the head with a tire iron, then left in a room without water for more than a day. His arm was splinted with rags and bits of wood, probably
torn from some of the furniture. Tick-Tick looked worse than Orient, who lay there as though he hadn’t quite decided yet whether to live or die.
Specs, sprawled on the floor, didn’t have that choice.
I swallowed and stepped over Specs’s body to give Tick-Tick a canteen and a clean handkerchief from my satchel—we’d been able to figure out some of what we’d need. She soaked the cloth, then held it to Orient’s lips. He couldn’t swallow at first, but when he was able, Tick-Tick said, “Know anything about Florida, Mickey, or Goldy?”
His eyelids twitched, as if they were scraping over sandpaper. He shook his head. I nodded and ran back into the hallway.
Sai and Milo were there. I could hear people running on the floors below us, opening doors. We did the same, moving down the hall, trying every handle. One door opened. Inside, we found eight or nine Rats huddling in a small room full of dirty mattresses.
One said, “Please, please, we didn’t do anything, it was all Specs’s idea, he—”
Sai said, “The black guy with gold hair, the armless woman, and the little elf. Where are they?”
Several of the Rats looked toward the back of the house. “They’re fine—” one began as another said, “The last room. It doesn’t leak or—”
Which was all I needed to hear. I have never run faster than I ran through the hall and toward the farthest door.
(I don’t know how to describe the desperate sense of relief that I felt at that moment. I’d been confident that Florida was alive, though I hadn’t known whether we could find her. I hadn’t been so sure about Mickey and Goldy. I kept telling myself that only people who read too much bad fiction would expect the Rats to casually kill two human beings simply because keeping them as prisoners was inconvenient.
(But people caught up in extreme actions kill in moments of carelessness, anger, or fear. And now, while Specs’s stronghold was under attack, the Rats were very likely to commit an act of carelessness, anger, or fear.)
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