prowess in the saddle and for their noble hunting hounds.’ He cocks his head as if deciding whether I qualify as a noble hound. Unfortunately, a long strand of drool hangs from my mouth and one side of my jowl is tucked into my gums, having got stuck there from when I held the torch. Dante tutts. Apparently not.
‘How do you know about coats of arms?’
‘Bit of a history buff. Did you know my ancestors originally guarded the Tower Of London, not those wretched usurpers, the ravens?’
‘We’re pressed for time so can you get on with it?’
He sighs but positions himself so that his claws rest on the edge of the keyboard. He leans forward and taps a key with his beak. As the screen is illuminated, Dante becomes mesmerised, as he is by everything bright.
Betty has followed us at a distance. She tugs my fur. I drop my head so I can hear what she says.
‘So why does he owe you?’ she whispers.
I whisper back. ‘I saved his life.’
Rose’s laptop is demanding a password. Dante turns his dark, sleek head in my direction and blinks.
‘Well? Any idea?’
Betty leans into me as if trying to hide in my fur: she’s still fearful the magpie will try to eat her.
‘Let me think,’ I say. ‘It wouldn’t be her name …’
‘Obviously,’ says Dante, with withering condescension. All magpies sound arrogant, but Dante’s exceptional intellect makes him particularly intolerant. ‘Date of birth, something that’s important to her?’ he suggests. ‘Humans are sentimental like that.’
‘Duckdown! Try duckdown,’ I say, wagging my tail, confident I’ve cracked it.
Dante taps in the word and up pops, Incorrect Password. ‘Try harder, Monty,’ he says, sighing. ‘Only two more goes, then we get locked out.’
I feel Betty fidget. ‘Oy, Mr Dante. Why don’t you have a guess?’ she says.
‘Madam, I have an IQ in the top ninety-ninth percentile in the world and I would be a member of Mensa, if big’uns allowed birds to join, which they don’t, the stupid snobs. However, I don’t know the owner of this laptop so your guess is as good as mine.’
‘What about a car number plate?’ I suggest. ‘I know big’uns love their cars.’
The magpie nods. ‘A possibility.’
‘Wait here.’
I run out of the kitchen door, down the side passage to the front of the house where her car is parked. Betty comes with me, muttering something about not being ‘left alone with that tosser’. I memorise the number plate and we race back to the kitchen.
But it doesn’t work – Incorrect Password.
‘One more try,’ Dante announces.
My tail is drooping as my confidence wanes. I realise I know very little about my new master. Where does she come from? Somewhere by the sea, but that doesn’t help. Is she a pack animal or, as I suspect, a lone wolf? I know she’s a detective. I know she loves this house but is sad sometimes because the person who lived here before her has gone away. What was her aunt’s name? I think back to when Rose and I stood outside the dilapidated shed. It’s a bit hazy. Oh, hold on …
‘Kay! Her aunt! Could she be the password?’
‘A bit short for a password, and remember this is your last chance.’
‘Okay then, try Aunt Kay. That’s what she called her.’
My nose is dry so I lick it. I can feel Betty clinging to my leg. Dante taps in AuntKay. And …
We are in! I’m so excited I run around in circles. But I collide with a chair on the turn and skid to a halt. Betty squeaks with delight. Dante ignores us. Colourful short-cut icons appear on the desktop, looking like tasty sweets in tiny jars. This reminds me of food. I peer longingly at the larder door, distracted by the mountain of deliciousness I know is stored within. My stomach rumbles.
‘I’m in The White Pages. Who are you after?’ Dante asks.
I tell him. A moment later we have Larry Nice’s address: Block D, Flat 251, Truscott Estate, Greyfield Common.
Betty rubs her front paws together. ‘I can get us to there.’
‘And what, pray, would a rat know about directions?’ says Dante. ‘I can use Google maps.’
She ignores his sarcasm. ‘I know the railway tracks like the back of my paw. In fact, I ride the trains a lot, just hop on and hop off whenever I want. I happen to know that the Waterloo train stops here at Milford, and two stops later, hey presto, you’re at Greyfield Common. If we take the train, we’ll be outside Larry Nice’s flat before you can say Bob’s-your-uncle, Fanny’s-your-aunt. Then, Mr Brainbox, it’ll be up to you to find this Truscott Estate place. Think you can manage that?’
Dante rears his head up. ‘What you fail to comprehend, madam, is that I have better things to do with my time. Something your tiny little rat brain wouldn’t understand.’
‘Piss off, Dante!’ says Betty, hands on hips. ‘At least I don’t have a poncy name like you.’
‘I am named after The Divine Comedy, I’ll have you know. A masterful poem.’
‘Yeah, I know The Divine bloody Comedy. Ate some pages from it once. Tasted like shit. You like to think you’re all dark and menacing, don’t you? Well, I’ve got news for you! You’re just a grumpy old bird!’
Dante opens his wings and screeches, ‘Harridan!’
‘Stop it! Both of you,’ I say. ‘You’ll wake Rose!’
Instantly silent and still, we listen, like cardboard cut-out silhouettes in the laptop’s brightness. Rose doesn’t stir.
‘I like your idea of the train, Betty,’ I say, quietly, ‘but I’m a big dog. You can hop on and off unnoticed; I can’t.’
‘That’s true,’ says Betty, ‘but the first train of the day is almost always empty and the driver is too sleepy to notice who gets on and off. Milford is a small station with loads of bushes. We hide until the train comes and then, just when the doors are about to close, we jump on.’
‘When’s the first train?’ I ask, feeling uneasy.
‘Five-thirty.’
‘I can’t do this, Betty. I don’t know what time Rose gets up for work. It’s too risky.’
Betty stands between my front paws, looking up into my eyes. I hang my head and our noses almost touch.
‘What if Larry Nice is the killer and gets away with it, all because you didn’t want to leave this house? You want to know the truth, don’t you?’
I pace up and down, wondering what to do. Disobey Rose, or stay put and feel useless? I think of the Queen’s Corgis and their secret night escapades from Windsor Castle. But they know they’ll get a royal pardon. I won’t be so lucky. I think of Rose upstairs who’s been very kind to me and what it might mean to betray her trust. Then I think of the promise I made to find the bastard who took Paddy from me.
‘Well?’ asks Betty, her ball-bearing eyes gleaming with mischief.
‘Let’s do it,’ I say.
‘Rose won’t know a thing,’ Betty promises.
Famous last words.
Dante nods at my dog tag. ‘We made a deal,’ he