hunted. No one would believe that the bird had been re-stolen by some monster living among the bridge folk. They’d assume that I’d hidden it in a safe place, and they would hurt me to make me talk. They would hurt me bad.
As the Duke examined the cage, Merlin suddenly burst into song, flying and fluttering around the bars. It was amazing—I’d never seen the bird do that, and I was pretty sure a creature made up of metal and gears shouldn’t be able to do that. Merlin’s little show had a different effect on the Duke, though, as he got a good look at the bird at last.
“Eh? What’s that? Why, it looks like …” In a moment, the Duke’s pitted and pockmarked face went from drooling greed to confusion to something like fear, then worse, anger. He was working out something in the slow train of his thoughts. When a creature that big has to think about something that hard, the outcome can never be good. I began to back away, doing a slow crab walk on my hands and feet.
You could almost hear the clank as something fell into place inside the Duke’s ugly head. “Spy!” he shouted. “You ain’t no street trash! You’re working for them! They sent you here to put the squeeze on the Duke.” He rose up to his full height and took a giant step toward me. “Well, you can give them this message for me, will you?”
The Duke brought his meaty foot down just inches from my head. If I hadn’t rolled at the last minute, my brains would have become so much toe jam. This was obviously my cue. Still on four legs, I scurried underneath the Duke’s other foot and made for Merlin’s cage. It was ridiculous and very unlike me to be risking my own neck for Merlin a second time. But then again, if you look at the bird as my property rather than, say, my only companion, then it made perfect sense. I always say you need to protect the things that you have rightfully stolen in this world.
The Duke roared in outrage over his inability to squash me into paste. By this time I’d gotten to my feet, birdcage in hand. The Duke gave pursuit.
“I’ll have you,” he shouted. “And I won’t stop with your little finger, either!” He practically chewed the slobbery threat, but I knew that in an open footrace, I had the advantage. The Duke was all girth, much of it sagging around his middle, and thosetree-trunk legs just weren’t made for sprinting. I’d already put distance between him and me. I even felt cocky enough to wave my intact pinky finger back at him.
Then a voice came out of nowhere. “Not with my shiny parrot you don’t!” it said.
I never even saw Prune-face coming, but the wrinkled bridge dweller blindsided me. As I was crushed to the ground, something in Merlin’s cage broke with a sharp snap, but I didn’t have time to check on the bird’s condition. Filthy hands grabbed my arms and legs as more bridge folk, seeing which way the tide was turning, rushed to join the winning side. It didn’t take long before I was right and truly pinned.
The Duke came jogging up in a puff—the exercise seemed to have made his mood even crueler, if such a thing was possible. He looked to Prune-face and between gasping breaths said, “Nice … tackle, Meg.”
Meg
. I’d been taken down by an old woman.
“Now … then,” continued the Duke, his ugly mug leering just inches away. A big, dirty drop of sweat trickled down his brow and off the tip of his twisted, corkscrew nose, splashing against my cheek. I tried pulling away, to put even a few inches between me and that gaping mouth, but the bridge folk held me fast. The Duke grinned, showing teeth. “Now, where’s that little finger again?”
I kicked and cursed and fought against my captors, but I was stuck. In my years of thieving, I’d imagined a number of grisly ends. I’d played these scenes out in my head time and time again. Worst I figured, I’d be knifed in a back alley, while the best I could hope for was three squares in a cell somewhere until I
As the Duke examined the cage, Merlin suddenly burst into song, flying and fluttering around the bars. It was amazing—I’d never seen the bird do that, and I was pretty sure a creature made up of metal and gears shouldn’t be able to do that. Merlin’s little show had a different effect on the Duke, though, as he got a good look at the bird at last.
“Eh? What’s that? Why, it looks like …” In a moment, the Duke’s pitted and pockmarked face went from drooling greed to confusion to something like fear, then worse, anger. He was working out something in the slow train of his thoughts. When a creature that big has to think about something that hard, the outcome can never be good. I began to back away, doing a slow crab walk on my hands and feet.
You could almost hear the clank as something fell into place inside the Duke’s ugly head. “Spy!” he shouted. “You ain’t no street trash! You’re working for them! They sent you here to put the squeeze on the Duke.” He rose up to his full height and took a giant step toward me. “Well, you can give them this message for me, will you?”
The Duke brought his meaty foot down just inches from my head. If I hadn’t rolled at the last minute, my brains would have become so much toe jam. This was obviously my cue. Still on four legs, I scurried underneath the Duke’s other foot and made for Merlin’s cage. It was ridiculous and very unlike me to be risking my own neck for Merlin a second time. But then again, if you look at the bird as my property rather than, say, my only companion, then it made perfect sense. I always say you need to protect the things that you have rightfully stolen in this world.
The Duke roared in outrage over his inability to squash me into paste. By this time I’d gotten to my feet, birdcage in hand. The Duke gave pursuit.
“I’ll have you,” he shouted. “And I won’t stop with your little finger, either!” He practically chewed the slobbery threat, but I knew that in an open footrace, I had the advantage. The Duke was all girth, much of it sagging around his middle, and thosetree-trunk legs just weren’t made for sprinting. I’d already put distance between him and me. I even felt cocky enough to wave my intact pinky finger back at him.
Then a voice came out of nowhere. “Not with my shiny parrot you don’t!” it said.
I never even saw Prune-face coming, but the wrinkled bridge dweller blindsided me. As I was crushed to the ground, something in Merlin’s cage broke with a sharp snap, but I didn’t have time to check on the bird’s condition. Filthy hands grabbed my arms and legs as more bridge folk, seeing which way the tide was turning, rushed to join the winning side. It didn’t take long before I was right and truly pinned.
The Duke came jogging up in a puff—the exercise seemed to have made his mood even crueler, if such a thing was possible. He looked to Prune-face and between gasping breaths said, “Nice … tackle, Meg.”
Meg
. I’d been taken down by an old woman.
“Now … then,” continued the Duke, his ugly mug leering just inches away. A big, dirty drop of sweat trickled down his brow and off the tip of his twisted, corkscrew nose, splashing against my cheek. I tried pulling away, to put even a few inches between me and that gaping mouth, but the bridge folk held me fast. The Duke grinned, showing teeth. “Now, where’s that little finger again?”
I kicked and cursed and fought against my captors, but I was stuck. In my years of thieving, I’d imagined a number of grisly ends. I’d played these scenes out in my head time and time again. Worst I figured, I’d be knifed in a back alley, while the best I could hope for was three squares in a cell somewhere until I
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