Hollow City: The Second Novel of Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children

teeth.

“Don’t tell them anything, syndrigasti!” shouted Bekhir—and then one of the soldiers kicked him in the stomach, and he groaned and fell quiet.

Mr. White reached out and grabbed Horace by the chin, trying to force him to look right into his horrible blank eyes. “You’ll tell me, won’t you? You’ll tell me, and I won’t hurt you.”

“Yes,” Horace said, still squeezing his eyes shut—still wishing himself gone, yet still here.

“Yes, what?”

Horace drew a shaking breath. “Yes, I’ll tell you.”

“Don’t!” shouted Emma.

Oh God, I thought. He’s going to give her up. He’s too weak.

We should’ve left him at the menagerie …

“Shh,” Mr. White hissed in his ear. “Don’t listen to them. Now, go ahead, son. Tell me where that bird is.”

“She’s in the drawer,” said Horace.

Mr. White’s unibrow knit together. “The drawer. What drawer?”

“Same one she’s always been in,” said Horace.

He shook Horace by the jaw and shouted, “What drawer?!”

Horace started to say something, then closed his mouth. Swallowed hard. Stiffened his back. Then his eyes came open and he looked hard into Mr. White’s and said, “Your mother’s knickers drawer,” and he spat right in Mr. White’s face.

Mr. White slammed Horace in the side of the head with the handle of his knife. Olive screamed and several of us flinched in vicarious pain as Horace dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, loose change and train tickets spilling out of his pockets.

“What’s this?” said Mr. White, bending down to look.

“I caught them trying to catch a train,” said the soldier who’d caught us.

“Why are you just telling me this now?”

The soldier faltered. “I thought—”

“Never mind,” Mr. White said. “Go intercept it. Now.”