The grin vanished from the boy’s face as if Sorrel had wiped it away. “A thingummy-whatsit like you isn’t usually out and about here, either,” he pointed out. “If you must know, I live here.”
“Here?” Sorrel looked around, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, here.” The boy glared at her. “For now, anyway. But if you like,” he added, looking at the dragon, “if you like you can stay here for the time being.”
“Thank you,” said Firedrake. “That’s extremely kind of you. What’s your name?”
The boy awkwardly pushed his hair back from his forehead. “My name’s Ben. What about you?”
“This,” said the dragon, nuzzling Sorrel gently in the stomach, “is Sorrel. And I am Firedrake.”
“Firedrake. That’s a good name.” Ben put out his hand tentatively to stroke the dragon’s neck, as if he feared Firedrake would disappear the moment he was touched.
Casting the boy a suspicious glance, Sorrel went over to the hatch and looked out. “Time to go and look for that rat,” she said. “You — human — can you tell me where the dockland warehouses are?”
Ben nodded. “Less than ten minutes’ walk from here. But how are you going to get there without being captured or stuffed and put on display in a museum?”
“You can leave that to me,” growled Sorrel.
Firedrake put his head between the two of them, looking anxious. “You mean it’s dangerous for her?” he asked the boy.
Ben nodded. “Of course. Well, looking the way she does I bet she won’t get ten meters from here. The first little old lady to spot her will call the police.”
“Police?” asked Firedrake, baffled. “What kind of thing is police?”
“I know what the police are,” muttered Sorrel. “But I have to reach those warehouses, so it’s just too bad.” She sat down and was about to let herself drop into the dirty canal water when Ben grasped her by the arm.
“I’ll take you there,” he said. “I’ll give you some of my clothes to wear, and then I can smuggle you past somehow. I’ve been living here a long time. I know all the back alleys.”
“Would you really guide her?” asked Firedrake. “How can we ever thank you?”
Ben turned red. “Oh, it’s nothing. Really,” he muttered.
Sorrel was not looking so enthusiastic. “Human clothes,” she growled. “Yuck. Dismal death caps, I shall stink of human beings for weeks.”
But she put the clothes on all the same.
5. Gilbert the Ship’s Rat
“Which warehouse is it?” asked Ben. “If you don’t know the number, we could have a long search ahead of us.”
They were standing on a narrow bridge. Warehouses lined both sides of the canal: strange, narrow buildings of red stone, with tall windows and pointed gables. The harbor of the big city wasn’t far away, and a cold wind was blowing from that direction, almost tearing the hood away from Sorrel’s pointy ears. A great many humans were pushing past them, but no one stopped and stared at the small figure with Ben, clutching the railing of the bridge. The sleeves of Ben’s sweatshirt, which were much too long for her, hid Sorrel’s paws. His jeans, turned up twice at the bottom, hid her legs, and her catlike face was hidden in the shadow of the hood.
“Rat said it’s the last warehouse before the river,” she whispered. “And her cousin lives in the cellar.”
“Rat? You don’t mean a real rat, do you?” Ben looked at Sorrel doubtfully.
“Of course she’s real. What do you think? Don’t just stand there looking stupid, not that you don’t do it well, but we’ve got more important things to do.” She impatiently pulled Ben along after her. The bridge led to a narrow road running beside the bank. As they hurried along the pavement, Sorrel kept looking anxiously around. The sound of traffic hurt her ears. She had been in small towns before, stealing fruit from gardens, exploring cellars, teasing dogs. But there were no gardens here, no bushes where you could crouch down and hide in a hurry. Everything in this city was made of stone.
Sorrel was greatly relieved when Ben guided her into a narrow alleyway that led back to the canal between the last two warehouses. There were several doors in the red walls. Two were closed, but when Ben pushed the third, it opened with a slight creak.
They hurried in. An unlit stairway lay before them. Daylight filtered in through a narrow, dusty window and revealed one flight of steps leading up and another down.
Ben looked suspiciously down the dark steps. “There’ll be rats there, that’s for sure,” he whispered. “The question is, can we find the right one? How will we recognize it? Does it wear a collar and tie or something?”
Sorrel did not answer. She pushed back her hood and scurried down the steps. Ben followed her. It was so dark at the foot of the steps that he took the flashlight out of his jacket pocket. A cellar with a high vaulted ceiling lay before them, and once again he saw any number of doors.
“Huh!” Sorrel inspected the light and shook her head scornfully. “You humans need your little machines for everything, don’t you? Even to look at things.”