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why he left Urbs Umida. Now Mrs Fitch has visions telling her that she must save the children. Every day nearly. Messages from Above, she says, guiding her.’
    Polly lifted the latch on a small door to her right. It was only just as high as Hector. She would have to bend to enter, he thought.
    ‘The other rooms are full at the moment,’ she said almost apologetically. ‘Three to a bed. You’ll probably be more comfortable in here for the time being.’
    Hector stepped into the darkness holding his candle before him. In the light of the fame he saw that the room was little more than a space under the stairs.
    ‘By Jove!’ he exclaimed before he could help himself (a favourite classical expression of his tutor). ‘It’s small.’
    Polly raised her eyebrow sympathetically. ‘But it’s warm.’
    Hector attempted a smile. Whatever the size, it had to be better than three in a bed. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.
    ‘I’m sure you’ll get used to it.’
    I hope not to be here long enough to get used to it, he thought. Suddenly he felt an indescribably painful yearning for his own bedroom and for his father.
    ‘There’s a bell for breakfast,’ continued Polly helpfully. ‘Afterwards you do your chores and then you must go out and try to earn money.’
    ‘For Mrs Fitch?’ asked Hector.
    She winked. ‘Mrs Fitch takes some, of course. But she can only take what she knows about.’
    Hector laughed. Polly looked thoughtful. ‘You know, Hector, the boys here – well, they’re good-hearted really but they’re all southsiders. You, being from the north side – well, you might find that—’
    ‘You think they might take against me because of where I come from?’ he finished.
    ‘Well . . . yes. At first anyway.’ She went to the top of the stairs and rested her hand on the banister. ‘But somehow –’ she grinned – ‘I think you will survive.’ And then she descended into the darkness.
    Hector set the candle down beside the mattress on the floor and pulled the door shut. He stretched out his arms and found he could touch both the wall and door in one go. The bricks were warm to the touch. But of course, he thought, the chimney must be on the other side and Mrs Fitch probably has the fire going all day in the kitchen below. He placed his bag on the floor beside him and lay back on the mattress. He yawned widely and felt the cocoon at his neck. It brought him some comfort these days. Then, as every night now since all his troubles began, he thought of Gulliver Truepin. He doubted very much that he was asleep under some stairs.
    ‘Just wait until I find you, Truepin,’ vowed Hector again. ‘And you will pay for what you have done.’
     
Chapter Eight
          
Metamorphosis
    Hector was right. At the same time as he was settling down in a cupboard under the stairs, in a smart lodging house on the north side of the Foedus his one-eyed foe was observing himself in the mirror of a much larger room. Once again, spread out on the bed coverlet – in this establishment made only of silk – was an array of clothing, but this time it had been delivered that day from the City’s best tailors and outfitters. Waistcoats and breeches, shirts and collars and cuffs, stockings and handkerchiefs – everything a gentleman’s wardrobe should contain. There was much velvet just begging to be stroked (which he did), soft satins and silks, felt and linen, all hand-stitched. And what splendid hues – scarlet and magenta, indigo and mauve, purple and gold and a particularly lovely peridot green.
    Having spent at least two quarter-strokes of the clock feeling the clothing, Hector’s enemy dressed in blue with scarlet accessories. But the final touch was a coordinating glass eye. He examined again the startling new eyeball that stared back at him in the mirror. It was bright, a perfect fit, and upon closer inspection the twinkle in the pupil proved to be emanating from a small scarlet ruby. This glass eye, an early