Twelve-year-old Carmen has a secret: she can talk to her cat Grim. But the powerful Brotherhood has banned pets, and the penalty is death.
Ward is the most wanted boy in the world. The only thing standing between him and the hangman's noose is maste...
Lightfinger, meanwhile, had retrieved a cloth bag from a cupboard and withdrawn several shapeless things that might have been bread buns. He put two in Ward's hands and made a motion of eating. Ward tasted the bun-thing. It was delicious. He hadn't realised how hungry he was, and before he realised it had devoured both buns. Lightfinger watched him raptly the whole time, as if he had never seen someone eat a bun before.
"Do you – nick stuff too?" Ward asked him.
"Does he nick stuff?" Wrinkler said from the armchair. "He's only the second-best fine-wirer in Bareheep. Prolly the whole (unprintable word) world."
Lightfinger made a movement with his mouth simulating laughter. Ward found it creepy.
"Well that's the Kidsman of course," Wrinkler said. "But Lightie comes (unprintable word) close. Though he's not one to talk himself up." He paused, as if waiting for Ward to react, then broke out into peals of laughter himself.
Lightfinger grinned back and forth between Ward and Wrinkler, seemingly pleased to be the butt of the joke.
"Saint Nick taught him hisself," Wrinkler went on. "Show him your buzz Lightie."
Lightfinger didn't move. He just stared at Ward. He had an uncomfortably direct stare, like that of a starving dog outside a delicatessen. After an interval of this silent staring, in which Ward grew increasingly uncomfortable, he turned to Wrinkler and said, "So – what's he going to show me?"
"Check your pockets."
Ward did. He was certain he had been carrying a few copper cups with him. Had he dropped them on the way down?
When he looked up, the coins were lying in Lightfinger's open hand.
"But you didn't even move," Ward said.
"Sure he did," Wrinkler said, his face merry. "You only have to (unprintable word) blink and he's rolled ya."
Ward backed off a couple of steps, but as he moved he felt the hem of his pants slip down. He grabbed at them. When he looked up his belt was coiled like a snake in Lightfinger's hand.
"Give that here!" Ward said, shuffling over and snatching it back.
Wrinkler exploded with laughter.
Ward retreated to a sofa and sunk into it as deep as he could, crossing his arms over his chest and watching Lightfinger all the time. He tried not to blink. His eyes began to water.
Lightfinger didn't move.
Wrinkler was still sniggering. Then he suddenly stopped. "What the (unprintable word) is that?"
Ward realised his left foot was cold. He looked down and noticed it was bare. The shoe that had been on it was dangling from Lightfinger's hand. "Nothing," he said. "Give me my shoe."
With a look of silent horror Lightfinger handed the shoe back. Ward started to put it on, but Wrinkler had already crossed the room. "Show me."
"No." Ward pushed his foot into the shoe and stood up to face him.
"Show me."
"No."
"Who do you think you (unprintable word) are, coming in here with that?"
"What's the big deal?"
"What's the big deal?" Wrinkler said, pushing Ward in the chest with both hands. "What's the big deal?" Another push, and Ward found himself up against the wall. Sigarillo smoke burned his eyes.
Perhaps it was the smoke. Perhaps it was that, for a moment, Wrinkler reminded him of Jaggles. Whatever the case, something in Ward snapped. He brought his open palm stinging across Wrinkler's face. The sound was very loud is the quiet room. The sigarillo flew out of Wrinkler's mouth. There was a moment of stunned silence. Ward didn't wait for Wrinkler to react – he launched himself at the other boy.
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