Am I back in Claymouth? was my first thought when I entered Roseberry Topping.

  Just like Claymouth, the town had lost its Imperial-style architecture over the centuries. I saw no colorful pillars, no upturned tile roofs, no arcades over walkways to shelter shoppers from the rain. Instead, the houses were beige or cream, and crisscrossed with wooden beams gone ebony with age. Some had thatched roofs, some wooden shingles. No two buildings looked the same, which was probably a good thing, because if the literacy rate here were anything like that in Claymouth before I arrived, then it was essentially zero. That the shop signs had pictures instead of words bore out that assumption.

  Vibrations in the ground. Creaking wood.

  I dashed inside a crumbling wall and peeked back out. A cart rumbled past, its wheels clattering over the dirt road where I had just been standing. A black cat with a tuft of white fur on its chest perched on the seat next to the human driver, surveying their surroundings. Boot! It was Boot! She was in Roseberry Topping!

  The cat spy’s yellow eyes passed over me, then snapped back. She sank into a crouch and wiggled her rump. Rat-brain sent me ducking further into the wall.

  Wait, no! This was my chance! I sprang out of the wall and chased the cart, making sure to maintain my rat act.

  Dart to the right, dart to the left, sniff an apple core, nibble a stale crumb…aaaaaand scamper after the cart before it vanishes around a corner!

  As I followed Boot through the narrow, crooked lanes, the most amazing smell of fresh bread filled the air. Rat-brain wanted a better sniff, so I sat back on my hind legs, raised my nose high, and twitched it. Mmmm. Steamed dough, and spices, and meat. Pork? Yes, that was definitely pork. Pork buns!

  Rat-brain and I sprinted after the cart, running as fast as our legs could carry us. At last, it creaked to a stop outside a bakery where grey tabby lolled on the front stoop, sunning itself upside down. The cart driver stretched his back, while Boot leaped down gracefully and flowed up the steps. She jumped over the tabby, which batted at her casually, and landed in front of the bakery door. There, she unleashed a plaintive squeak.

  Nothing happened.

  She squeaked more piteously.

  Still nothing.

  She stood up on her hind legs, braced her front paws against the door, and slid back down. I could hear her claws scrape against the wood. No wonder the paint was peeling.

  On her third dying squeak, the door flew inwards. A human girl about the same age as Lodia scooped Boot up and squeezed the cat against her floury apron. “Boot! Boot-baby! You’re home! We were so worried about you!”

  Boot squirmed and squeaked again in protest.

  “All right, all right,” laughed the girl. She bent over and let Boot jump to the floor. Flour-streaked black fur disappeared into the bakery. “Coming in?” the girl asked the tabby, which slow-blinked at her but didn’t budge. “Let me know when you want in!” With another laugh, she shut the door.

  So this was Boot’s home. Did that mean this bakery was the headquarters of the North Serican cat spies? The apprentice hadn’t given any indication of knowing that Boot was more than a mortal pet…but then again, a spy wouldn’t, would she?

  I darted across the alley. A broad chest covered with mottled brown, black, and orange fur loomed over me. Rat-brain sent me flying up the wall, right as the tortoiseshell cat leaped. Her paw missed me by one inch. I flung myself through an open window and landed on the floor.

  Ow!

  No time to check if I’d broken anything, because someone screamed overhead, and boots started clomping around. “A rat! A rat!”

  “Where?”

  “There! It just ran under that table!”

  A broom smacked into me, sending me flying. I struck the side of a bookcase. Ow! I half-crawled, half-ran under it. The broom chased me, and I ran back and forth, dodging its bamboo bristles.

  At last, the broom withdrew. “Cursed cats. What’s the point of the colony if they can’t rid this lane of rats?”

  The colony. Not “the cats,” but “the colony.” Aha. This had to be the cat spies’ headquarters. Ha! And after Boot went to such lengths to conceal its location and the identity of her spymaster from us, she was the one who led me straight to its door! My lips peeled back from my long front teeth in a smirk.

  It didn’t last long. Cat spy headquarters implied a large number of, well, cats. How was I supposed to talk to Boot without getting killed by one of her colleagues? I recalled that life when I was tortured to death by a group of cat spirits. Had it been in this very bakery? I had no desire to repeat that experience, not least because I’d die and have to start all over, and there was no guarantee I could find my way back to Roseberry Topping.

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  This was the best chance I’d get for talking to Boot. I’d just have to be clever about it.

  Boot didn’t emerge again until well after lunch. I knew, because I surveilled the building from the roof of the mage supply shop next door. Not only was the passage of time marked by the angle of the chimney’s shadow, but also by the aromas that drifted from the bakery. At first, I mostly smelled bread like the kind I’d eaten in Claymouth. My mouth watered at the memory of those loaves: big and oblong and slightly wonky, but with a delightfully crunchy crust and tender crumb. There was also some sort of sweet, tangy, spicy scent that I didn’t recognize. As the morning wore on and the shadows shrank, the smells shifted towards savory – steamed meat buns and sausage rolls and baked buns topped with pork floss.

  In the meantime, a whole cast of cats rotated through the front stoop lounging spot. Some were obviously young spirits trying too hard to act casual, while others were indistinguishable from mortal cats. This lounging had to be part of their spy training.

  I was about ready to attempt a flying leap onto the bakery roof so I could sneak into the kitchen to steal a bite – er, to find Boot – when the cat herself sauntered out the back door. She strolled into a corner and started pawing at the dirt, preparing to relieve herself. There were no other cats or humans around. Perfect!

  I scampered down the wall as fast as I could, bounded the last foot to the packed earth, and whisked behind a barrel. I peeked back out. Boot had paused her pawing and was staring my way with those lantern-like yellow eyes. I ducked back behind the barrel.

  Here came the tricky part. I might not have an audience here on Earth, but I could very well have one up in Heaven. This encounter had to appear accidental, because what rat would run right up to a cat?

  I peered around the barrel and twitched my whiskers. Boot had abandoned her latrine-digging and sunk into a crouch. Her long tail swished from side to side. Since she hadn’t begun to advance towards me yet, rat-brain suggested that I stay put in hopes that she hadn’t seen me. Perfect.

  Boot lifted one front paw and set it down silently. That was followed by another noiseless step forward, and another. How long would a normal rat hold still until it panicked and made a break for it?

  Another step forward. And another.

  Close enough. I squeaked and raced for the bakery’s back door.

  Boot sprang. Her long black form arced through the air and landed right in front of me. I dodged sideways, barely escaping a cage of claws. I remembered those claws! For a split second, I froze, locked in place by the memory of pain.

  Her paw swiped at me again.

  Wait! Boot, it’s me! I hissed as loudly as I dared.

  Her paw jerked sideways, and she came down heavily on it, so off balance that she nearly fell flat on her face. “What – ? Who – ?” Like me, she was playing the role of a mortal animal, and she kept her voice low.

  I scurried away a few steps, pretending to try to escape. I must commend you on your acting skills, Boot. Had I not known your true identity, I might have taken you for a normal cat.

  She prowled towards me and sank into a hunting crouch once more. “How do you know my name? You’re not a spirit. Tell me who and what you are.”

  How could she have forgotten the voice of the turtle who’d directed the show in Honeysuckle Croft? Her spy skills obviously lagged behind her acting skills. I am the one you met in the home of the little girl while accompanying the mage.

  “The little girl…the mage….the turtle! You’re – ” she caught herself – “the one who was the turtle?!”

  Shh! Yes. That was I.

  “But what are you doing here? And why are you a rat now?”

  We’d stayed still for too long. Keep pretending to hunt me. They might be watching.

  A paw swiped at me, missing me by a whisker’s length.

  I squeaked and ran a few steps. Has the Black Death reached this town yet?

  “No. No cases that I know of yet.”

  The baker apprentice’s laugh tinkled out through the kitchen window, and Boot’s eyes darted that way. Her tail swished anxiously.

  Good. I meant it. I’d seen enough abandoned, plague-ravaged villages to last not only this lifetime, but every one hereafter. I know how it spreads.

  “You do?! How?! Tell me now!”

  Shh! I told you to act normal!

  Boot’s eyes narrowed. “No one’s in earshot. I checked. I’d know.”

  Not anyone on Earth, silly. I rolled my eyes Heavenward. In exchange for this knowledge, I need your help with something –

  The egotistical creature bristled at being called “silly.” Before I realized what she was planning, she pounced and picked me up in her teeth.

  Hey!

  I squeaked and squirmed furiously, but she didn’t let go. Nor did her fangs puncture my skin.

  All right, all right, you made your point, I said with as much dignity as a rat dangling from a cat’s jaws could muster. Now put me down.

  “Nrgf,” she said, which I inferred from the way she didn’t let go meant that she wanted me to keep talking while I swung from her mouth.

  Well, we were certainly putting on a good show for anyone spectators in Heaven. I had no doubt that if Aurelia were watching, she was enjoying the scene immensely. Cassius had probably shut his office door so he could roll around on the floor laughing without damaging that stern, authoritative image he liked to project. Flicker, on the other hand, was probably tearing his hair out.

  Flicker.

  I squeaked and flailed again for extra verisimilitude. It’s a closely-guarded secret that carries great personal risk – not only for me, but for Flicker too – if they find out that the knowledge is spreading on Earth…. Boot’s teeth closed a little harder around my neck, but since I wasn’t bleeding yet, I kept going. All I want in exchange is for you to reunite me with my friends. I’m sure it’s trivial for your…network to locate them.

  Boot shook me.

  So impatient. I tsked. Do we have a deal?

  “Mmmrgh-hrrgh!”

  It’s the fleas. They carry the Black Death. If we can eradicate all the fleas….

  The jaws opened. I fell to the ground with a thump.

  “The fleas,” gasped Boot. “The fleas carry the Black Death? All along, it’s been the fleas?”

  I shook myself, mouth curling with distaste at the cat spit on my fur. Yep. I’ve kept up my end of the bargain. Now use your network to find my friends.