Free City of Lies by Lian Tanner Page A

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.”

T he 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.
    “ ’Oo’s this, Mousie?” whispered a hoarse voice. “Whatchoo doin’, bringin’ someone down ’ere?”
    It sounded like a boy. Goldie roughened her own voice. “I’m—ah—lookin’ for a place to sleep. Me name’s G-Growl.”
    “Yeah, and I’m Bald Thoke’s grannie. Ya think I’m stupid? You’s a girl.”
    Goldie heard the scrape of a tinderbox and the light flared up again. She was right; it
was
a boy. He wore a homemade half-mask covered in pigeon feathers, and his skinny arms were wrapped in a blanket. The lantern he carried held a thick, oily-looking candle.
    “I told you before, Mouse,” the boy said crossly. “Ya don’t bring
no one
else down ’ere. It’s just you and me, just Mousie and Pounce. Always ’as been, always will be.”
    Mouse’s hands danced in a strange version of fingertalk. Something stirred in the back of Goldie’s mind.
    Missing something
, whispered the little voice.
Missing something
.…
    “Help ’er?” The second boy looked at Goldie in disgust.
    “We got enough trouble ’elpin’ ourselves.” He pointed to the cat. “And where did ya dig up that creepy-lookin’ thing?”
    Mouse shrugged.
    “Spose yer gunna give ’er our bed too,” muttered Pounce as he stalked back up the tunnel.
    Mouse pushed the rattling, bumping pram in Pounce’s wake, and Goldie followed. Before long, they came to a place where the tunnel joined another one. The right-hand side of the new tunnel was blocked a little way in by a rockfall, and a blanket had been strung across it to make a room. There was a circle of stone in one corner, with a fire burning in it. Beside the fire, quilts and blankets were piled in a nest.
    It was surprisingly warm in the little room. Goldie held her hands over the