“Shush,” said Finn. “We don’t allow him out all the time. Just once a week. For twenty-four hours only. The rest of the time he spends in the house. Complaining about everything.”
Broonie paused in his banquet. Belched loudly. Resumed eating.
“The Council of Twelve gave Broonie back to us, but only once he’d been desiccated,” said Finn. “They didn’t want him running loose, causing trouble. He’s still just a Legend as far as they’re concerned, not to be trusted. The Desiccation was horrible. There were shouts and screams and, well, a lot of cursing. Hogboons know a lot of curses. And, when it was all over, they gave him to us in a jar.”
“But you brought him back,” said Emmie.
“Reanimating him was even more horrible. And there was even more cursing. But Dad felt we owed Broonie something given he sided with the resistance over on the Infested Side. Or, at least, got kind of stuck with the resistance. And then got stuck with us.”
Broonie stood upright. A long slurp suggested he was sucking in a worm.
His right ear revolved towards them.
“You know I can hear the two of you,” he said, without turning. “As if I couldn’t smell you before you even arrived.”
Finn gently pushed through the gap in the wire from behind which they had been watching Broonie, holding it open for Emmie to follow. He crept up to the Hogboon.
“Hey, Broonie!” Emmie shouted as she skipped ahead.
“Quiet,” begged Finn. “We don’t want the Half-Hunters knowing he’s here.”
“Look who it is,” Broonie said to Emmie as if she was another trial sent to test him. “Come to see the poor creature in his prison, have you?”
“My dad said I should check on you,” Finn said to the sullen Hogboon. “You know, to make sure you’re OK.”
“To see if I’d escaped again,” sneered Broonie.
“You’ve escaped before?” asked Emmie, examining the Legend’s green skin, droopy ears and droopier nostrils.
“I tried to,” said Broonie. “I got something worse than Desiccation for my troubles. I got a strict talking-to from that grunting Legend Hunter Hugo, and a promise that if I ever tried it again I’d be thrown into a jar and put at the very back of the highest shelf so that no one would ever find me again.”
A car drove by, and they all ducked. Except for Broonie, who was short enough as it was. And petulant enough.
“How would they know if you just ran for the hills?” asked Emmie, once they were sure the car was gone.
Broonie pulled a locket from the rags at his neck. “Because of this.”
“Oh look, you’ve one just like ours,” said Emmie.
“It’s not like yours at all. Yours isn’t welded on to your neck, is it? It’s not locked tightly in place,” said Broonie. “And it isn’t being used to track your every move, like this is.”
“Oh, that’s very clever,” said Emmie.
“It’s very sore,” corrected Broonie.
Another car went by. Again Broonie stayed upright as if in protest.
“What’s that dirt on you?” Emmie asked, after the bright lights had passed on. “It’s like you slept in a skip.”
Neither Finn nor Broonie said anything, and Emmie realised why.
“You slept in a skip?”
“It makes him feel at home,” explained Finn.
“What’s the worst that could happen to me?” Broonie asked, but had no interest in waiting for a reply. “Nothing. Because the worst thing has already happened. Being here. Trapped in this world, with its people and smells and smells of people and its utter lack of scaldgrubs. These earthworms are passable, but they don’t taste nearly as putrid as I would like.”
Finn opened his mouth to say something, but Broonie raised a green, knuckly finger to let it be known he hadn’t yet finished ranting.
“And as if that’s not bad enough,” added the Hogboon, “I have no freedom. And the little bit of life I do have is bound entirely by the clock here, when I must return as planned to be subjected to a lengthy period of torture in your house.”
“Torture?” asked Emmie.
“My dad listens to country music when he’s working in the library,” explained Finn.
“It makes my earwax bleed,” snorted Broonie.
“Make sure to be on time, Broonie,” said Finn, sorry to bring it up. “You were a few minutes late last time and Dad was ready to put you in a biscuit tin for all eternity.”
“I don’t know if I care any more, such is the anguish of my life here,” said Broonie, dismissive.
“You’re so funny, Broonie,” said Emmie.
Broonie grunted, then thrust his face in the hole at the top of the wormery and began chomping again. Finn and Emmie lingered briefly before backing away and leaving through the gap in the fence.
Evening was drawing in. As Finn and Emmie crossed a couple of alleyways that ran off the strand, Finn thought he saw something move in the twilight. He stopped and peered towards it.
“What is it, Finn?” asked Emmie.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Do you remember when we were on the Infested Side and felt we were being watched by Legends?”
“Which we were. By a lot of them.”
“I just have that sense again. As if there’s somebody out there.”
They waited, watched. There was nothing but settling darkness.
“This is why I love Darkmouth,” said Emmie. “Always something odd going on.” She shoved him in the shoulder playfully and ran off. “Race you!”
Finn hesitated just a moment, then followed, belting after her.
Across the lane, a succession of shadows skittered across the dim alleyway.
Kenzo the Japanese Half-Hunter rang the rusted doorbell on the house, hummed its cheery tune as he waited.
The letterbox opened, fingers propping it open from inside, and a man’s voice asked gruffly, “What?”
“Excuse me,” said Kenzo as politely as he could, and yet loud enough to speak over the rattle of his metal skirt as he stepped back. “Your sign says this is a bed and breakfast?”
“Go away,” said the man. “We’re shut. We’re always shut. And we’re especially shut now.”
Kenzo bent down level with the letterbox, and could see nothing but those splayed fingers and a single bloodshot eye. “I require only bed. No breakfast. In fact, a floor will do fine—”
A walking stick thrust through the letterbox, forcing Kenzo to retreat sharply. Its owner waggled it from side to side in a manner that was not likely to cause any damage, but still managed to very neatly get across the message that no Half-Hunters were wanted here. And, in case it didn’t, the man in the house shouted, “Shoo!” for extra effect.
Kenzo had