and …”
“Wait.” He snagged her wrist. “You
touched
me? You didn’t try to …”
“Quiet. Not so loud.” She half-turned as, from beyond Tony’s nook and the murky depths of the room, someone shifted in a rustle of burlap and straw. This place, with its demon’s light and heat, was where he and the other rats—children with nowhere to go, who were desperate enough to do a job no one else would—lived when they weren’t out collecting bodies to strip bare and then feed to the furnace as fuel. After another moment, there was a small mewling noise, like a contented kitten, and then a mutter as whoever that was settled back into sleep. Looking back, Rima gave the wrist he still held a pointed look. “No, I
didn’t
. You made me promise, remember? I only felt for a fever. Now, if I might have my hand back?”
He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he did as she asked.
Did she try?
Pressing a palm to his chest, he tried to reach beyond the thump of his heart. Normally, he could tell when she drew out sickness. Hard to describe, but the sensation was like a
clearing
in his soul, as if this black blight in his center was only soot that could be scrubbed clean with the right hand and good soap. For a little while at least, when Rima drew from him, he was stronger, stable, and more himself.
Now, though, he simply couldn’t tell if she had, most likely because he was still so unsettled, his mind mired in the thick mud of that dream. That other boy—
himself
—had appeared in other nightmares, but only fleetingly.
This
time, though …
Bathroom
. Was that a kind of indoor privy? The sink and spigot, he recognized; when the toffs cleared out of London months before, him and the others had ransacked their houses. Being rich, the high-class types had taken their nice threads and jewels. (Stupid. You couldn’t eat diamonds, and how many clothes did one body need?) Furniture and paintings made for very good fuel, though. But he remembered the first couple houses he went through, round Regent’s Park and further north in the very posh Crouch End. There, the houses had indoor plumbing, which meant sinks and spigots and separate water closets. Nothing worked, of course; without a reliable source of fuel, the pumping stations couldn’t function. Light was much more important than being able to flush a toilet. There were plenty of public privies. Or you just dropped your drawers wherever. No one was paying much attention to the niceties these days.
So if
he’d
seen a sink and spigot in his nightmare, then this other Tony must be rich, a real toff. Indoor plumbing, toilet in the same room, and a shower, too. What else?
Crest
. What was that? Surely not the crest of a wave; he hadn’t heard water running.
And a comic book?
Hadn’t looked like any volume he’d ever seen. What wavered before his mind’s eye was closer to a pamphlet but smaller, with odd writing that didn’t look like proper printing. The drawings were wrong, too: in color and very crude, nothing as fine as anything by Doré or Cruikshank. In the drawing, the lieutenant? Or sergeant? He couldn’t remember, but what the figure wore looked like a kind of bowler. The soldier had a rifle,too, though it wasn’t a Henry; he was pretty certain of that.
And foxhole? What’s that?
Why would soldiers be out on a foxhunt?
There was something else, too, that was very strange. An animal … come on, what was it?
Right
. He felt that muzzy sense dissipate, and now the image firmed.
That queer red-roofed house with a gigantic dog and … what’s an electric toothbrush?
He knew what a toothbrush was, but his had a bone handle and the bristles were a threadbare splay of macerated hog’s hair. But electric? Like lightning?
“What?” Rima said. “Electric toothbrush? What’s that?”
Startled—he hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud—he said, “Something I saw in the nightmare. In that other T-Tony’s bathroom.” God, that felt so strange in his
“Wait.” He snagged her wrist. “You
touched
me? You didn’t try to …”
“Quiet. Not so loud.” She half-turned as, from beyond Tony’s nook and the murky depths of the room, someone shifted in a rustle of burlap and straw. This place, with its demon’s light and heat, was where he and the other rats—children with nowhere to go, who were desperate enough to do a job no one else would—lived when they weren’t out collecting bodies to strip bare and then feed to the furnace as fuel. After another moment, there was a small mewling noise, like a contented kitten, and then a mutter as whoever that was settled back into sleep. Looking back, Rima gave the wrist he still held a pointed look. “No, I
didn’t
. You made me promise, remember? I only felt for a fever. Now, if I might have my hand back?”
He wasn’t sure he believed her, but he did as she asked.
Did she try?
Pressing a palm to his chest, he tried to reach beyond the thump of his heart. Normally, he could tell when she drew out sickness. Hard to describe, but the sensation was like a
clearing
in his soul, as if this black blight in his center was only soot that could be scrubbed clean with the right hand and good soap. For a little while at least, when Rima drew from him, he was stronger, stable, and more himself.
Now, though, he simply couldn’t tell if she had, most likely because he was still so unsettled, his mind mired in the thick mud of that dream. That other boy—
himself
—had appeared in other nightmares, but only fleetingly.
This
time, though …
Bathroom
. Was that a kind of indoor privy? The sink and spigot, he recognized; when the toffs cleared out of London months before, him and the others had ransacked their houses. Being rich, the high-class types had taken their nice threads and jewels. (Stupid. You couldn’t eat diamonds, and how many clothes did one body need?) Furniture and paintings made for very good fuel, though. But he remembered the first couple houses he went through, round Regent’s Park and further north in the very posh Crouch End. There, the houses had indoor plumbing, which meant sinks and spigots and separate water closets. Nothing worked, of course; without a reliable source of fuel, the pumping stations couldn’t function. Light was much more important than being able to flush a toilet. There were plenty of public privies. Or you just dropped your drawers wherever. No one was paying much attention to the niceties these days.
So if
he’d
seen a sink and spigot in his nightmare, then this other Tony must be rich, a real toff. Indoor plumbing, toilet in the same room, and a shower, too. What else?
Crest
. What was that? Surely not the crest of a wave; he hadn’t heard water running.
And a comic book?
Hadn’t looked like any volume he’d ever seen. What wavered before his mind’s eye was closer to a pamphlet but smaller, with odd writing that didn’t look like proper printing. The drawings were wrong, too: in color and very crude, nothing as fine as anything by Doré or Cruikshank. In the drawing, the lieutenant? Or sergeant? He couldn’t remember, but what the figure wore looked like a kind of bowler. The soldier had a rifle,too, though it wasn’t a Henry; he was pretty certain of that.
And foxhole? What’s that?
Why would soldiers be out on a foxhunt?
There was something else, too, that was very strange. An animal … come on, what was it?
Right
. He felt that muzzy sense dissipate, and now the image firmed.
That queer red-roofed house with a gigantic dog and … what’s an electric toothbrush?
He knew what a toothbrush was, but his had a bone handle and the bristles were a threadbare splay of macerated hog’s hair. But electric? Like lightning?
“What?” Rima said. “Electric toothbrush? What’s that?”
Startled—he hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud—he said, “Something I saw in the nightmare. In that other T-Tony’s bathroom.” God, that felt so strange in his
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