by Angie Sage
“Step on your neckerchief, Jonno,” I hiss.
Jonno does not move. He is deep in a nightmare, staring at me, terror-eyed. I kneel down and quickly wipe his neckerchief on his sock—it comes away sodden with blood. I give the neckerchiefs to the Roach and it holds Jonno’s at arm’s length like it has a bad smell.
The third declaration finishes: “Open in the name of Bartizan!” There is a silence. I glimpse the Roach flipping open a panel in the wall and pulling sharply on a lever. I hear a click and a small door in the wainscoting swings open to reveal a black hole smelling of damp. I feel pincers sharp in my back as the Roach pushes me forward into the darkness.
“Hide. Please,” it says in its tinny voice.
This is not a place I’d choose to go into, but right now the choices are the Enforcers or a place to hide from them. I pull a resisting Jonno into what feels like a prison cell. “Stay!” the Roach tells us, like it is talking to a bad dog. Then the door closes and I hear the click of the catch.
Everything is quiet and we are alone in the darkness.
Chapter 4
In and Out and In Again
M
I, Maximillian Fly, must make haste. I flip down my goggles and am up the stairwell and out of the skylight in seconds. In silent flight—moving only my soft underwings and gliding with my outer wings—I drop down to the house next door and place the fouled neckerchief on the backyard wall. As I do, so I see the Vermin at work laying the charge. My dear old door will not last much longer I fear.
I pick up a pebble and fly over my yard. The Vermin are so intent upon the destruction of my door that the first thing they know of my presence is the pebble dropping on the head of the one with the net. It looks up. “Roach!” it yells in its unearthly, veiled voice.
The searchlight swings upward, pinning me in its glare as I hover above them. All three stare up at me and I indicate that there is something of interest on the wall. The searchlight swings around and the SilverShip symbol on the neckerchief shines like a beacon.
“How could you miss that, you idiots?” demands the netter.
“It wasn’t there before,” says the searchlight swinger. “I swear it.”
“Probably all that’s left of them,” says the rammer. “Blasted Roach has had its supper and left us the wrappings.”
This is offensive talk, but I cannot complain, for they have come to the conclusion I intended. I fly slowly away and settle on the roof of my neighbor’s house in order to observe.
The Vermin test the blood on the neckerchief; then they swarm over the wall in a frenzy. It is a good feeling when my Roach-hating neighbor’s door comes crashing down. I wait until they have disappeared inside and then I throw the second neckerchief through one of the upstairs windows and retreat. As I drop through my skylight into the stillness and tranquility of my house, I confess I am tempted to leave the young ones where they are for tonight and go straight to my nest. But a deal is a deal. They have had the wit to find me and I will not leave them alone in the darkness.
I get up from my landing mat and go downstairs with a heavy heart.
J
Me and Tedward are in prison. There is a huge Roach outside and soon it will come in and eat us. My foot hurts so much.
K
The cupboard smells of something dead. In the pitch-blackness I hear Jonno whimper. I tell him it’s all right, but I know it’s not. The truth is, I’m trying hard not to panic. I run my hands along the damp bricks of the wall, and then around the corner to the door that the Roach just shoved us through. I push against it, but it feels as solid as a rock. I follow the wall back into the cupboard, which is longer than I expected. My fingers trace their way along the bricks until they touch metal bars. This is not good. I shove my arm through the bars and there is nothing beyond but empty space. I trace the smooth chill of the metal all the way down to the floor and then up to an arched stone ceiling. There are no gaps. There is no doubt about it—we are in a Night Roach pantry.
I’ve heard stories of rogue Roaches who collect victims for the Night Roaches—and, some say, for themselves. And now I understand that is what has happened to us. Jonno and I have been collected.
In a panic I throw myself against the door. It is locked. Of course it is. The thuds of the battering ram have stopped and all is silent. This must mean that the Enforcers are inside the house now, padding around looking for us. I come to a tough decision—our only chance to get out of here alive is to make as much noise as we can and hope they hear us. So I start yelling and kicking and hammering on the door.
M
I, Maximillian Fly, hear loud banging and shrieking. I am stricken with guilt. I have left the young Wingless ones alone and the Vermin have discovered them. I have failed in my pact with you. Mama is right: I am a bad creature.
I drop down the stairwell in such haste that I tear an underwing, and as I go I realize that I am angry. How dare these Vermin terrify my innocent young ones? I reach the foot of the stairs and turn the corner at a run, expecting to confront three vicious Vermin with my two young guests caught in a net. But I find nothing. The passage is empty, and yet the shouts and the thuds continue.
It is now that I realize the noise is coming from the entry to the Underground, where I placed the young ones for their safety. Something must have come up from the tunnel and frightened them. A Bludd Owl maybe? Or a Fingal Spider? I hurry to the lever and pull hard. The door swings open, bringing with it the girl who is shouting so loudly that I fear my ear tubes will become dislocated. She gives me a shove so powerful that I stagger backward and feel the click of my carapace hitting the wall. A jarring shock runs though me and I fear I have cracked something. We Roaches are delicate creatures in some respects. Our exoskeleton is light and strong, but we do not bounce. You Wingless ones have so much meaty padding that you have no need to consider these things.
The girl rockets off down the passage, dragging the small boy with her. She hurls herself at my door and wrenches at the bolt. She is trying to get out. I do not understand why she is doing this, but she is obviously in great distress and the least I can do is to offer assistance. At the sight of me she emits a dreadful noise. But I persist, for I am a helpful creature. I undo the lock, draw the bolts and stand back. My poor, battered door swings open. I bow and indicate the way out.
Tick-tick. I hope you will agree that I have done my best.
K
Out in the night air, my panic subsides and I realize that something strange just happened: the Roach opened the door for us. It even bowed as we ran out. I begin to wonder if I’ve misunderstood the Roach. That maybe I have made a massive mistake . . .
The other weird thing is I can hear crashes and shouts from the far side of the yard wall—the Enforcers are trashing the house next door. All they need to do is take a look out of one of the windows and they’ll see us.
My brain is racing through the options. I could hurl Tedward over the wall into another yard and hope no one finds him, but Jonno won’t let go of the stupid bear without yelling, so that’s not going to work. Or we can run for it—but where can we go? There are patrols everywhere, not to mention Night Roaches, and there is no sign of the night fog to hide us. The truth of it is, we don’t stand a chance out there.
M
I confess that for my own comfort I am relieved that the young fugitives—not to mention the filthy piece of fur the small boy clutches—are leaving. I can now look forward to a peaceful night after what has been an hour of turbulence and woe. But I fear it will not go well for them. I see them standing in the basement yard, holding hands and looking lost. I feel sad. I slowly close the door and give them a little wave to wish them well.
K
I am watching the Roach’s door slowly closing and I feel as though a friend is leaving us. The Roach gives a sad little wave and at last I understand—it is on our side.
So I throw myself at the door and I beg it to let us back in.
M
I
am a gullible fool, as Mama once said. The girl now wishes to come back in. It is only because of my pact with you who are reading this sorry tale that I agree. I open the door, bow once more and let the annoying creatures back into my home. Immediately the small boy with the vile scrap of fur falls flat on the floor. He stays thankfully silent, but the girl throws herself onto him and begins to emit choking noises.
Once again I lock and bolt the door. Tick-tick. So much for a peaceful night.
Chapter 5
Blood Upon the Floor
K
The Roach lets us back in and there is something about the expression on his broad, flat features that reminds me of Dad back in the old days, when I’d done something really annoying. We fall back inside the house and Jonno collapses onto the floor and lies so still it frightens me. I drop to my knees beside him and suddenly, embarrassingly, I burst into tears.
The Roach makes tick-tick sounds and locks the door. Again.
M
Tick-tick. Now there is a pile of young ones upon my floor and blood. So much blood. A joy to a Night Roach no doubt, but not to me. I, Maximillian Fly, have a revulsion to all fluids that you squashy ones exude. Particularly blood. However, I also know my physiology, and I understand that while such a quantity of blood upon my floor may be unpleasant for me, it is dangerous for the person from which it emanates. I suspect the small boy has cut a blood vessel deep inside his foot. This is the disadvantage of being soft on the outside.
Tick-tick. Something must be done.
K
I am trying to help Jonno and to stop my ridiculous crying when a lantern is lit in the passageway and I hear the Roach’s tinny little voice. “Please get up,” it says. It sounds so concerned that I feel bad for upsetting it. I manage to get control of the tears and stand up. My legs shake, and I feel as if they will fold under me at any moment. I sway and lean back against the wall and look the Roach in the eye. It returns my gaze and I see concern and puzzlement spiced with a touch of annoyance.
“It is a bad situation,” the Roach says. “There is much blood.” It waves its antennae and makes the tick-tick sound again.
I get the distinct feeling that this Roach is revolted by blood, and maybe even by us. I also get the feeling that out of politeness it is trying not to show it. “I’m sorry,” I say. “My brother stepped on some glass and cut his foot.”
“Tick-tick,” the Roach says anxiously. “Tick-tick.”
A searchlight beam cuts across the passage. We glance at each other, the Roach and I, and then we look down at the blade of light at our feet.
The Enforcers are back.
M
The Vermin have finished destroying the house next door. They have, naturally, not found what they seek and now they will force their way in here. The girl and I exchange a glance and I am surprised. In that brief moment I believe we understand each other perfectly.
“Please bring your brother upstairs,” I say. “Follow me. Quickly.”
The brother lies limp upon the floor and she struggles to lift him. She speaks to the brother but there is no response. I steel myself for what must be done. “Allow me,” I say. I wrap my three upper limbs around the brother and his foul furry object, and then I pick him up. He is both heavy and soft. Oh, how I detest the dampness of non-carapaced humans.
K
The Roach picks Jonno up! Its wide lipless mouth makes a little twist that looks like revulsion as it sees that Tedward is coming too. Tedward is not a nice bear. He is sticky with blood from Jonno’s endless nosebleeds and he smells vile from the time Jonno was sick on him. This has been ideal up until now because it has kept people away from Tedward, but now I feel embarrassed. I follow the Roach and Jonno up a flight of bare wooden stairs. As we reach the bend halfway up, the searchlight beam swings into the passageway below. That was close.
J
I am dreaming that me and Tedward are being carried up to bed by a Roach. It has a bent antenna that tickles my ear.
M
I lose count of how many floors we climb, but at last we reach the very top and I follow the Roach across bare wooden boards of the landing. It pushes open a door with its foot and we go into a small room with beams and a sloping ceiling, which is empty but for a pile of neatly folded blankets in the far corner under the eaves. It is sparse but comfortable, with rugs strewn on the floor and flowery curtains drawn across the window. A swath of goose bumps runs over me: I had those very same curtains in my bedroom at home. I mean, what was home, once. Our real home by the fields.
The Roach waves a pincer at the corner. “Blankets for your brother, please,” it says as it gently lays Jonno down on the soft rugs. I fetch some blankets and it carefully covers both Jonno and Tedward with a thick blue tartan one and lays another beneath Jonno’s head. The Roach is so tender that I begin to feel tearful again. And then, far below, an enormous bang reverberates up through the house. The Roach and I look at each other. We both know what this means.
The Enforcers are inside.
M
The Vermin have broken into my home—the home that Mama told me that I was not worthy to live in. And now I know that she was right, for I have brought calamity upon it.
The girl speaks. “Please,” she says. “Please help us.” I am becoming accustomed to her squashy, formless features with her shining gray eyes, and I read the expression well enough. It is fear. I wonder if she can read the fear in my eyes too? My mind races as I desperately try to think of a way of ridding us of these vile Vermin and I find I have an idea. “Your brother’s jacket,” I say. “And yours. Put blood on both. Hurry.”
She understands. She takes the jacket from the brother, who grasps his bear as though he thinks she will take that from him too. I am pleased to see that he will not be parted from it however foul it is, for one must never be parted from one’s bear. She pulls off the brother’s sodden sock, wrings it out onto the jackets and scrunches them together. I take the jackets. They are revolting but highly satisfactory for my purpose. “I go now,” I say. “I will lock the door.” I do not do this to protect my fugitives from the Vermin, for it will be useless. I do it because if I succeed in my purpose there will no doubt be some unpleasant sounds that I do not want my young ones to hear. Call it vanity, but I do not wish them to think of me as being no better than a Night Roach.
I turn the key; then I flip my goggles over my eyes and progress down the stairs with dread in my heart. As I descend, the sounds of destruction grow louder, and when I am on the first-floor landing, I hear a noise that is a dagger in my heart. It is the sound of smashing china.
I know exactly what this means—the destruction of the love of Mama’s life, her precious collection of Meissen porcelain. I think of the dancing fish teapot, the fruiting clock and the flight of golden cherubs with the shimmering blue wings all smashed to smithereens and I can hardly bear it. I do not think I could kill for my own sake, or even for the sake of my young fugitives, but I will do it for Mama. I will do it.
K
The Roach has gone and I feel very afraid for it. I check that our door is locked, even though I know that when the Enforcers reach us it will be no more use than a sheet of paper. I lean back against its flimsy panels. There is nothing more I can do. Our future is in the hands—or the pincers—of a Roach.
But wait. There is something I can do.
I tiptoe over to Jonno. He is curled up like a pill bug beneath his tartan blanket, his eyes closed, his face pale and drawn. I give Tedward a gentle tug and he does not react. I feel mean taking advantage but I’m doing this for him too. Very carefully I ease Tedward from his grasp. He gives a little moan and I whisper, “It’s all right, Jonno. It’s all right.” With his hand freed from guarding Tedward, his thumb slips into his mouth and Jonno is a baby again.
Quickly I flip open my pick tool and undo the stitches beneath Tedward’s right arm until I’ve made a hole big enough to push in the long-nose tweezers attachment. Then I find what I am looking for and
pull. A heavy, flat silver disc—one side of which is striped with gold bands—emerges. This, Mom told me, is the Disc Key Circuit Breaker—DisK for short. Without it the SilverShip cannot leave the city. And as long as the SilverShip cannot leave, Jonno and I and all our SilverSeed crewmates are safe.
The DisK lies heavy in my palm and I get a weird feeling in my stomach as I realize that Mom was the last person to hold it. It was Mom who stole it, Mom who hid it in Tedward by replacing his growler, and the stitches I have just unpicked are hers. In fact, sewing these stitches was pretty much the last thing Mom ever did. I gaze at the DisK, trying to find an echo of her, but all I feel is the faint buzz of its charge. Mom is gone.
Chapter 6
Shards
M
I, Maximillian Fly, stand at the top of my basement stairs and look down at the Vermin. I see two. At first glance they look quite charming: they have obliterated their Wingless squishiness by wearing a carapace of iridescent CarboNet armor, and a feature-flattening visor encases their heads and turns them into smooth ovoids. But their actions fail to charm. One is still in Mama’s porcelain store and I can hear the silvery smash of china. It is unbearable.
The other two Vermin are swarming up the stairs. The one in front carries the searchlight, the next the net. They are so intent upon their foulness that they do not see me waiting in the shadows at the top. I raise my wings above my head in the classic Night Roach threat stance and the movement catches their eye. They look up and they freeze. I know that all they see is the glint from my goggles and my shape. The front Vermin drops the searchlight and we all listen to it clattering down my stairs and rolling onto the stone flags below. I cannot see the expressions of horror beneath their visors, but I know they are there. Which is most gratifying. The one with the net recovers first. I suspect it is a female—they are more fearless. It pushes forward, up the stairs. “Stand aside,” it says. But it is not as brave as it appears. Through its electronic voice-screen I hear the constriction of fear in the back of its throat.
