23

‘‘There’s a man watching us,’’ my sweetums reported.

‘‘More like about a hundred.’’ Half of them more interested in her than monster bugs.

‘‘I’m not talking about these morons. Over there, in the breezeway between the brown brick wreck and the yellow brick one.’’

Those colors were only vague approximations.

It took me a moment to spot him even knowing where to look. The redhead has sharp eyes.

He was a matte maple furniture shade, made to blend into shadows. I didn’t see much of him. His face gave the impression of being wrinkled and leathery. The feel I got for the rest was that he was put together like something more accustomed to living in trees, being mostly long, skinny arms and legs.

‘‘Hey, Head. You see the guy Tinnie is talking about?’’

‘‘Yeah, I got him. He must really be rattled to give himself away like this.’’

‘‘What say? You know him?’’

‘‘I don’t know him. Nobody does. I know of him. Them kids are gone now. You want to go in after them?’’

‘‘No. I want to know who that guy is who’s watching us.’’

‘‘He ain’t watching you. You don’t count for enough.’’

‘‘Saucerhead!’’

‘‘That’s Lurking Felhske, man.The Lurking Felhske.’’

I sighed. The people you have to work with sometimes! ‘‘The Lurking Felhske? What the hell isany Lurking Felhske?’’

‘‘You don’t know? Man, you got to start getting out of the house more.’’

Something about the derelict house had changed. The folks in the street weren’t intimidated anymore. The young and the bold had begun testing the wobbly steps.

Singe had a clutch of fans. Kids more interested in the mantis head than her, though.

‘‘Felhske is his name. His surname. His real first name might be Tribune. He’s called Lurking Felhske because that’s what he does. Better than anybody who isn’t a shape changer or has them one a’ them magic cloaks or rings that make them invisible.’’

‘‘He’s a spy?’’

‘‘Private contractor. Only works for the biggest bigs. Up on the Hill. Him being interested here worries me.’’

‘‘How come?’’

‘‘Because it means one of the top hands up there must be interested in what’s going on around here.’’

‘‘Interested in giant-ass bugs? Who woulda thunk? What’s this Lurking Felhske do, then?’’

‘‘I just told you. He watches. Then he reports back.’’

‘‘That’s it? He doesn’t actually do anything?’’

‘‘That’s all. Something needs doing, they send another specialist.’’

‘‘So.’’

Tinnie asked, ‘‘Are we going to go in there and nose around?’’

‘‘No. There’s a crowd.’’ People were pouring into the empty building. ‘‘Their weight might knock the place down. Plus, we don’t want to get caught in the stampede.’’

‘‘Stampede? What stampede?’’

The small gods heard me. They cracked the whip of coincidence.

The whole neighborhood shook. A bright light appeared inside the derelict house. Jets of dust or smoke blasted out, initially glowing an almost blinding salmon. There was a great surge of sound that sounded almost like a demonic orchestra tuning up.

People screamed and trampled each other getting out. Folks in the street yelled and ran in circles.

When the noise subsided, Tinnie demanded, ‘‘How did you know that would happen?’’

‘‘I didn’t. But those kids were up to something they shouldn’t be. Stands to reason they’d want to cover their tracks.’’

Chunks continued falling. Including sizable chunks of bug. People helped one another stagger out of the building. Amazingly, there were no fatalities.

‘‘Where did Singe go?’’ Tinnie asked.

‘‘She headed over that way,’’ Playmate said.

Saucerhead opined, ‘‘Less’en you got some awful good reason to hang on around here, we ought to get moving. It’s gonna be raining red tops in a few minutes.’’

‘‘Singe . . . Never mind.’’ She was headed our way. Still armed with her trophy. Which wasn’t moving anymore.

She said, ‘‘I checked the watcher’s scent. So I’d recognize him if we run into him again. He was not watching us. He had been there a long time. For days, off and on.’’

I marveled. She was really thinking. I asked, ‘‘Why do you keep carrying that head around?’’

‘‘Maybe the Dead Man can get something out of it. If we get it there before it goes bad.’’

Man, she was thinking. That hadn’t occurred to me.

It was getting scary, being around TunFaire’s first genius rat.

Saucerhead was right. If the Civil Guards found me anywhere near something that blew up, they’d ask me dumb questions into the middle of next week.

Back to the World. Hi-ho.

And just in time.

24

One of the teamsters told me, ‘‘The red tops all headed out. There was an explosion somewhere up that way.’’ Red tops being another slang term for tin whistles. Because of the red flop hats the uniformed ones favor.

‘‘We heard it. It’s why we hurried back. I didn’t want to spend time entertaining the Watch. Anything happen here?’’ Max wasn’t exactly getting his money’s worth out of these teamsters.

‘‘That head rat’s been looking for you.’’

Singe put her trophy into a rat basket and headed inside. I followed. Tinnie started after me but changed her mind. She wasn’t eager to find herself hip deep in big bugs. Or even regular rats.

I glanced at the sky before I went in. We might be in for a change of weather. Back to what we’d been enjoying.

I found John Stretch leaning against a pillar, exhausted. ‘‘You all right?’’

‘‘I will sleep well tonight. I do not look forward to doing this again.’’

‘‘I do appreciate—’’

‘‘We are being paid well. And this, surely, will win our people a great deal of respect.’’

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure. Some people wouldn’t like it much once they figured out that there had to be a psychic connection between John Stretch and the everyday vermin.

We’d have to create some tall tale to cover that.

I said, ‘‘The guys outside said you were looking for me.’’

‘‘I wanted to tell you that something has changed down below. Suddenly. And big.’’

‘‘Maybe twenty minutes ago?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

I told what we’d witnessed. Singe did a lot of nodding.

John Stretch said, ‘‘I am afraid the bugs that are left are about to get loose.’’

I tried my famous lifted eyebrow trick, ordinarily reserved for beautiful women. The ratman took it to be a request for more information.

He said, ‘‘Sudden as a slap in the face, the bugs just ran.’’ That was one for the Dead Man. ‘‘That mean the job is done?’’

Too bad ratpeople can’t laugh. John Stretch was in a mood for it. ‘‘Close, maybe. But you have not dealt with the ghost issue.’’

‘‘Ghosts wouldn’t be your problem. You’re the bug man.’’

‘‘The bug man might have to deal with ghosts in order to get his bug killers to the bugs.’’

‘‘You had ghost trouble?’’

‘‘No. But I hear ghosts are why there are no workers here today.’’

‘‘Uh . . . let’s take that up after we get moving. We’re done here. We need to get gone before the Watch comes back.’’ And they would. That’s the kind of guys they are.

They knew Mrs. Garrett’s boy had been seen within a mile of some excitement. It would be his fault, somehow. Or he knew whose fault it was but he was likely to hold out on the good guys.

Given word that it was time, John Stretch and his gang scooted like scalded rats. I noted a definite lack of enthusiasm for rounding up and removing their hunting cousins. But none had failed to appropriate at least one big bug corpse.

‘‘Those will be some good eating,’’ Singe explained.

I’d crunched a few tropical bugs in my day, just to get by. It wasn’t a gourmet experience. But tastes differ. Especially for different races. There are even species that think people are tasty.