the man said. His voice was lower than before, and Jazz could see the
confusion on his face.
Damn, she really needed to pee.
Jazz sobbed. She couldn't help it. She quickly pressed her hand to her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut,
and the torch slipped between her knees. The handle touched the metal wall of the cabinet, making a sound
as loud and strik-ing as a school dinner bell.
Oh fuck!
"Guests?" she heard Mr. F. say.
She tried to open her eyes, but fear kept them glued shut. Tears squeezed out and tickled her cheeks,
and when she finally found the strength to look, the shelter was fran-tic with activity, children darting here
and there as they searched for the intruder. The only person not moving was Mr. F. He was once again
standing on the blanket in the center, turning slowly around until his gaze settled in her di-rection.
"Cadge?" he said.
"Mr. F.?" The voice came from very close by, and Jazz's breath caught in her throat. She leaned
forward slightly and saw the ginger boy, Cadge, standing six feet away.
"The coat cupboard," Mr. F. said.
Jazz kicked open the doors and went to leap out and brandish the torch as a weapon. But her left leg
had gone to sleep, and instead of leaping she stumbled, falling to the ground and sending the torch spinning
away.
Cadge was on her quickly, knocking her left hand away and sending her falling painfully onto her
side. He sat astride her and pinned her right arm beneath his legs.
Jazz struggled for a moment, then realized it was far too late.
"Mr. F.!" Cadge called." 'Fink we caught us a proper lady!" "Is she wearing a hat?" one of the girls
asked, and every-one laughed.
"Trust Hattie to think of the most important things," Mr. F. said. He came into Jazz's field of vision,
sideways be-cause she still had her face pressed to the cool concrete, and he looked even stranger close
up. His skin was so pale as to be almost white, and even beneath the stubbled chin and cheeks it looked like
flesh that had been underwater for too long. He had a large Roman nose, a wide mouth, and deeply piercing
eyes. She thought they were green, but it was diffi-cult to tell in this light.
There were very fine, very intricate tattoo swirls beneath both ears and disappearing down under the
collar of his coat.
"Who are you?" Jazz asked.
"We ask the questions down 'ere," Stevie Sharpe said. "In fact, you don't even talk. Not a word. This
is our place, and the walls hear only our words."
Mr. F. pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think, my pets, that we should hear this girl's
story before we start imposing such rules?"
"She could be trouble," a tall girl said.
"She could be, Faith. But weren't you trouble as well when I found you?"
Faith shrugged, still staring at Jazz. "Suppose."
"First thing I wanna know is how she found us," Stevie said.
Cadge remained silent, still pressing her down. Jazz could sense that he was tensed and ready to
move should she try anything foolish.
"I really need to piss," Jazz said.
Mr. F. frowned. "We don't swear and curse down here, young lady. Avoid vulgarity, please."
"Right. Pee."
Mr. F. regarded her for a while, expression unchanging.
"She does look a bit desperate," a short, chubby boy said.
"Hmm." The tall man squatted and turned his head so that Jazz could see him straight on. "Well then,
Hattie, would you be good enough to take her to the loo?"
"No problem. Cadge?"
Cadge stood from Jazz, gently, so that he didn't hurt her.
Jazz sat up slowly, shifting her foot to test whether she had feeling back in her leg. It seemed better,
but she didn't want to collapse again in front of these people. So she waited awhile, looking around, trying
not to appear as confused and frightened as she felt.
"My name's Harry," Mr. F. said. "And nobody here will hurt you." Jazz believed him. There was
something about his voice that made her suspect that she would believe it if he told her black was white. It
was smooth, intelligent, and assured. Mum would like him, she thought, and the thought surprised her. She
looked down at the ground and stood, rubbing away a tear as she did so.
Facing them, feeling their attention bore into her, sens-ing the suspicion coming off them in waves,
she realized that there was no reason at all to lie.
"My mum's dead," she said. "She was murdered today. And the people who did it are looking for
me."
Harry's expression did not change, but the kids around him all reacted in some way.
"Then you're lost too, just like us,"
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