Mortal Ghost | Page 3

anything, not
even an apple from the market. He only wished he ha d a place to store the books. If he
kept going at this rate, by winter it would be a re al problem to carry them around. Of
course, by winter there would be other problems—pro blems a little more pressing than
his luggage . He smiled to himself. Nothing was worse than taki ng yourself too seriously.
The dog kept its distance at first. The two-leg was mumbling under his breath,
twisting a length of hair around his finger and tug ging on it. He smelled worn and
musty, like a discarded shoe. The dog edged closer. It sniffed at a crushed tin,
scratched itself. Loud staccato cough: the dog slun k back. The street had taught it
caution, even patience.
A small movement caught the corner of Jesse’s eye. He whipped his head round.
Not again, he thought, shutting his book. So many o f his mistakes came back to haunt
him. The dog moved closer, licked at Jesse’s hand.
‘What do you want? I’ve got nothing to feed you.’
The dog stared up at him with large, sentimental ey es. A big skinny creature, black
fur dirty and matted, but otherwise in pretty good shape. Jesse wondered how it man-
aged so well on the street.
‘I bet you could teach me a thing or two,’ he said.
Jesse stood, jingling the coins in his pocket. They hadn’t earned any interest over-
night—just enough for a hot drink and a hamburger. No doubt a sell-by loaf and some
milk would be smarter, but at the burger places the y usually didn’t notice how long you
used the lavatory. He could at least brush his teet h, maybe wash his neck and hair.
Stripping would be risky, unless he could bolt the door. Few people had seen him
without pants, no one without his T-shirt. He didn’ t do naked.
Jesse glanced at the sky. The cloud cover resembled an old greying sheet, thin
cheap cotton to begin with, the kind they gave you in those rundown places where, for a
few quid, you could get a bed for the night—he’d sl ept a couple of times in one or an-
other of them when he had some money and was desper ate for a real mattress and real
roof and real shower—the kind of linen that didn’t even remember white, that you could
put your foot through, and did. Only here it was th e sun that was breaking through the
crumpled and dingy fabric.
The rain would hold off for a few hours. Ample time to eat and find shelter. It was
bad enough being dirty and bedraggled, but a wet T- shirt was uncomfortable, and wet
jeans, a torment. He had only one change of clothes , none too clean. Filthy, actually. He
knew there were certain things he could do—or allow to be done to him—that would get
him a night or two in someone’s flat, bathroom and washing machine privileges in-

Mortal Ghost
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cluded. He’d go back to Mal before it came to that.
Jesse packed up his meagre possessions. He’d follow the river south for a while,
then