Cat's Paw Read Free

lifeless eyelids. He was no longer touching the electric rail that had, presumably, struck him down. It looked as if his friends had simply grabbed the handbag and left him here, where the coming
train would cut him in half. Ben knelt to listen at the boy’s mouth and caught a whisper of breath. He was still alive.
    ‘Can you hear me?’
    Pain exploded in Ben’s head. Something had hit him so hard that he saw stars, stars that dazzled every catra. Ben himself was all but knocked out, but the Mau body inside him reacted like
a stung wildcat, planting both his hands on the ground and lashing out with both feet. Someone was pinned to the wall behind him, winded so instantly that they didn’t even grunt. Ben
staggered upright just as a bare, tattooed arm hooked round his neck.
    Ben pulled at the arm in vain. As it tightened it squeezed the strength from his limbs. There had to be a pashki move to get him out of this. His head felt swollen with pressure and yet light,
floaty. A roar filled his ears. The noise of a train. Oh no,
the train. . .
    Then it was strange. He fancied he was still in his seat on the Tube. The carriage was empty apart from him. He stared through the dark window. They were stuck in a tunnel. The lights had gone
out. He was delayed. It bothered him. By now he should be walking back to Dad’s flat, on his way h–
    ‘Home,’ croaked Ben. His voice sounded different. It was pitch dark. He felt as if he had woken from sleep. Time was missing. His head and neck ached and he was cold.
    He was sitting on hard ground. Trying to get up he found his arms would not move. A light flared, hurting his head.
    ‘Told you he was alive.’ It was a deep voice, but a boy’s, not a man’s. ‘You’re a worry-weasel, Hannah.’
    The light bobbed farther away, tracing the outline of a rangy boy holding a small torch. Beyond him crouched two smaller figures. Crouched where, though? This didn’t feel like the tunnel
anymore. More like a poky room. Again he tried to move.
    ‘Your arms are tied,’ said the tall boy.
    Ben opened his mouth. The boy mockingly said it for him.
    ‘
Where am I?
You’re in the Hermitage, and you’re trespassing. Next question.
What are you going to do to me?
Dunno. That’s up to him.’
    ‘Him?’ Ben strained at the cords that chafed his wrists. ‘Who’s
him?
’
    The boy bent close, angling the torch into his own face. Red hair burned above the black cloth of his mask.
    ‘Mad Ferret,’ he whispered.
    The torch went out, leaving Ben in a smouldering dark that no effort of his eyes could penetrate.

HERDING CATS
    A young dancer, wearing black, kneeling on the floor of the bleak church hall. That was how she would look to anyone who walked in. But Tiffany Maine was alone in the building.
She knew that because hers was the only breath she could hear.
    She sat on her heels, fingertips resting on the herringbone pattern of wooden tiles, her arms parallel pillars. She repressed a shiver.
    ‘I heed no words nor walls.’
    Her voice rang off the grubby plaster walls, which were papered with crayon pictures. The Sunday School also used this place, thankfully never at the same time. Tiffany tried to concentrate.
    ‘Through darkness. . . I walk in day.’
    The only light in here came from neighbouring street lamps that turned the arched windows orange. Sour smells troubled the air. Perhaps one of the Sunday School kiddies had had a little
accident. A drawing of a hippo flapped in a draught and she forgot the last line of the chant.
And I. . . I do not fear. . .
    Tiffany liked to get here early. Just ten minutes to change into her pashki kit and prepare for the lesson. They were
her
lessons now, and she wanted them to be right. Also, it was her
only chance to snatch a moment alone. Even though such moments tended to dredge up her most dreadful memories, she was learning to be glad of this too. Better to face them, stare the terrors down,
than to leave them lurking in the depths of her