That was a good question. A very good question.
Alora shrugged. ‘Anyway, conjecture is not why I brought you here. I have something more concrete to discuss with you.’ She laughed slightly. ‘I’m doing better. Instead of immediate accusations, I am learning to trust.’ She smiled enigmatically. ‘Some people, anyway.’ She gestured at the building. ‘It’s this way.’
We trooped inside. The lobby was grey and depressing, with some nonsensical artwork hanging dejectedly on the walls that had obviously once been someone’s idea of cheering the place up. Unfortunately, the brilliant-red splashes against the dirty beige walls looked more like blood splatters than anything else.
I glanced round, frowning. Something wasn’t right about this place but I couldn’t put my finger it.
‘Where’s the dust?’ Felicity asked.
I glanced at her.
‘I always sneeze,’ she said. ‘When I enter buildings like this, the dust tickles my nose and I end up sneezing. I’m not allowed in advance search parties because my damned nose always gives away our position to any beasties that might be hiding.’ She said this last part almost accusingly to Monroe. ‘Why else am I always on damned guard duty at the barricades?’
‘Sensible decision,’ he replied. Her face contorted, but Monroe wasn’t finished. ‘We need someone on the barricade who is not only strong but who we can trust to question orders when the need arises.’
Felicity’s mouth dropped open slightly. She wasn’t the only one who was surprised; Monroe used to be overwhelmingly proud that the werewolves did what they were told without question.
‘Your girlfriend is a good influence on you,’ she said.
He smiled slightly and his fingers grazed mine. ‘I know.’
Alora let out an audible sigh. ‘Can we get back to the reason why I brought you here? The lack of dust is part of it. It was cleaned up to avoid drawing attention to their presence. Footprints would be something of a giveaway.’
‘Who are you talking about?’ I asked.
‘You’ll see.’ She waved her sword towards the staircase. ‘Top floor.’
It was a long way up. At every level there was a bogle guard with green skin, a lethal-looking sword and a blank expression. Alora wasn’t taking any chances.
My trepidation grew the further we went. Whatever – or rather whoever – she was taking us to see, she clearly wanted us to see it for our own eyes.
The lower levels might have contained dark grubby offices with depressing cubicles and the stench of desperation but the top floor was where the bigwigs hung out. It was a vast space, with windows on every side and a lot of light. The views were extraordinary, though it wasn’t the Manchester horizon that caught my attention. It was the rubbish, the empty cages and the lived-in appearance of the place that gave me pause.
I sucked in a breath. ‘Someone’s been living here.’
‘And recently,’ Monroe said, sniffing the air.
Perhaps this was nothing more than a fellow survivor’s encampment but I had an uneasy feeling there was more to it.
‘Check this out.’ Felicity was toeing some rubbish on the floor. There were numerous bottles of water, some full, some empty. There were army-style rations, like the ones which had been in Fab’s tent. ‘Whoever was here stayed for some time.’
Cath walked over to the single closed door. Before she could open it, Alora called out to her. ‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ she said. ‘Our guest has been using that room to relieve him or herself.’
Cath pulled back abruptly. ‘Skeevy.’
Monroe went to one of the empty cages and peered inside. ‘Birds,’ he said. ‘Birds were kept in here.’ He plucked something out: it was a single grey feather. ‘Pigeons.’
From the door, Jodie looked confused. ‘The same ones that carried the message about Fab’s arrival?’
‘There aren’t enough cages,’ I said. ‘There couldn’t have been more than three birds held here.’ But if you wanted to spy on someone in technologically deficient Manchester and then communicate what you learned to the outside world, a few pigeons would indeed do the trick.
Monroe put his hands in his pockets. His spine was stiff. He strode over to the nearest window and looked out. ‘There’s a perfect view of the Boggart Hole and the bogles’ neighbourhood from here,’ he said.
Alora’s mouth tightened. ‘Indeed.’ She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. ‘We also found this.’
I took it from her, turning it over in my hands. It was a tiny pin of the sort that you might clip onto a tie to keep it in place. There was an insignia on it. ‘Fab Labs,’ I read out loud. My mouth flattened. ‘No prizes for guessing who owns that company.’
I twisted slowly on my heel. Judging by the mess, someone had been here for weeks, not days. Someone who’d been watching the bogles. Spying on them. That was how Fab had known about the Travotel; there had probably been someone watching the hotel. And someone watching our enclave as well. That was how he’d known to look up my history before he’d arrived. He’d already been aware I was someone of importance and he’d wanted to get the lowdown before he arrived.
My thoughts collided. Fab’s purported ignorance about how we were all coping within Manchester’s walls was bullshit; he’d been ten steps ahead of us from the start. He’d already known everything.
‘There will have been others watching in other places,’ Monroe said, coming to exactly the same conclusion. His eyes were like chips of ice and his face could have been etched in granite. I suspected I looked much the same.
Alora’s grip on her sword tightened. ‘If I had known they were here and got hold of them…’
Felicity didn’t look impressed. ‘Then what? What would you have done?’ she asked. ‘Put them on trial for the crime of looking?’
She had a point. I chewed my lip. ‘I guess we’ll have to see what their boss says about who they were and what
