Bill did not introduce himself, however. That task fell to Leela, an
Indian girl who sat beside him. Leela's eyes seemed to have their own luminescence, but they dimmed a
little when she explained that Bill had no voice of his own. Whether the boy was actually mute or simply
chose never to speak, Leela did not reveal, and Jazz hadn't the heart to ask.
Cadge was next, and for a moment the confidence he had when imitating Harry faltered and he gave
Jazz a shy smile. The names came too quickly. She'd already marked Hattie, Faith, Gob, and Stevie.
Another of the boys was called Switch, and still another Marco —after the explorer Marco Polo, according
to Harry—but by the time they'd gone round the circle entirely, Jazz couldn't recall which was which.
"Good to meet you all," she told them, "and thanks for not running me off."
Some of them smiled in return, but others sniffed at her words and one or two eyed her with open
suspicion.
"Nonsense," Harry said with a flutter of his hand. "It's not our way, love. You're a stray. We've all
gone astray our-selves, but now we're lost together. Far better than being lost on your own. Now, then, let's
have your story. I see it's all still fresh, a bit of glaze in your eyes, but pain needs telling, Jazz girl. Pain
always needs telling. The only way to stanch the wound."
Jazz squeezed her eyes shut and a moment of vertigo washed over her. If she hadn't already been
seated, she'd have fallen. Was she really supposed to share her story with them all, like some tale told round
a campfire?
Nothing's for nothing, her mother had once said. Those that help mostly help themselves. Jazz
could hear the echoes of that voice whispering in her head, and she wanted to claw into her brain to stop it.
It felt now as though her mum had been preparing her for this all her life. But Jazz wasn't ready to be
alone. How could she survive down here in the dark by herself?
She opened her eyes again and saw those faces, all watching her curiously. Her mother's whispers
became more insistent, but Jazz shut them out. After all, her warn-ings had been about people up in the
world, people like the Uncles, not about the discarded, like Fowler and his United Kingdom. Even if she told
them, how could they hurt her with the truth? They lived down here. Who would they tell?
"My mum's dead," she said. "Murdered, just today." Jazz frowned and looked upward, as though she
could see through hundreds of feet of earth and stone and pavement. "Or yesterday. I'm not sure what time
it is. I was walking home from school and a queer feeling came over me, and then I saw the cars."
"Cars?" Harry asked.
Jazz nodded. "The Uncles were there, but there'd never been so many visiting at once and I knew
something was wrong. Mum brought me up paranoid, made sure if things took a turn I'd suspect it right off,
and I did. I went up the al-ley that runs behind the house..."
She left out any mention of ghosts or whispers, fearful that they'd think her mad or doubt every word
if she started up talking about phantoms. By the time she finished re-counting the hours leading up to their
discovery of her, like Goldilocks in Baby Bear's bed, Jazz felt exhaustion begin-ning to claim her again. Her
tears flowed freely while she spoke, and several times she had to pause simply to catch her breath. The
sympathy on Harry Fowler's face and the empa-thy shining in the eyes of the urchins were the greatest
gifts she had ever received.
Jazz never would have imagined herself crying so openly in front of anyone, let alone a roomful of
strangers. But she could still smell her mother's blood. Her life had new rules, now and forevermore.
When she fell silent, no one spoke for a moment. Harry reached out as though to lay a comforting
hand on her shoul-der but hesitated. Then he cupped the back of her head and looked into her eyes. Had
anyone else done such a thing, Jazz would have slapped the hand away.
"You're well hid, Jazz girl. Well hid. So you've done as your dear mother asked," he said, his gaze
intense. After a moment, he withdrew his hand but continued to stare at her.
"You can keep running if you like," Harry went on. "No one will try to stop you. We'll give you a bit
of food, let you keep a torch, even an extra set of batteries. But know that you're not alone down here, and
I'm not talking
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