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with her eyes closed, deep in thought. Gigantus was writing away again, his pen nib scratching across paper.
    â€œWhere’s Monkeyboy?” Sheba asked.
    â€œHe not allowed out of cage,” said Sister Moon, without opening her eyes.
    â€œPlumpscuttle doesn’t let him in the house,” added Gigantus. “Ever since he did a poo in his best top hat.”
    â€œThat was unpleasant for all concerned,” said Mama Rat, shaking her head.
    â€œIs he back, then?” asked Sheba. After last night’s show, he had gone out and she hadn’t heard him return, or the gargling snoring from his room.
    â€œHe back soon,” said Sister Moon. Her eyes still closed, she put a spoonful of sugar in her coffee, stirred it, then lifted the cup and took a sip.
    â€œHe’ll be in a soot-black mood, too,” said Mama Rat. “Out all night, his money gone and sick as a pig. But he’ll probably go straight to bed and sleep until evening. We’ll just try to keep out of his way.”
    As Mama was speaking, Sheba caught a whiff through the open kitchen window. Stale sweat, crusty gravy, and cheap wine. She marveled at how her nose could still pick out a scent amongst the London stink.
    â€œHe’s almost here,” she said.
    The others looked at her as if she were mad, but then the front door slammed open with enough force to shake plaster from the rafters. Heavy footsteps stomped across the parlor, and Plumpscuttle’s purple, blotchy face appeared at the kitchen door.
    â€œGet me some blasted coffee!” he roared to no one in particular.
    Mama Rat filled and held out a mug. Plumpscuttle snatched it and drained the contents in one gulp, spilling half of it down his front. Then he glowered at the Peculiars.
    â€œI’m going to bed — don’t you lot dare make a
sound
.”
    His booming footsteps headed upstairs, and his bedroom door slammed shut. A few moments later a sound like a wildebeest drowning came through the floorboards.
    â€œThat’s him out for the day,” said Gigantus, still writing away.
    â€œHow you know he coming, Sheba?” asked Sister Moon, a delicate eyebrow raised.
    â€œI smelt him,” she said.
    â€œI must say, he is a bit on the ripe side,” said Mama Rat, “but that is a very extraordinary nose you have, my dearie.”
    Sheba rubbed her little pink nose with a hairy hand and felt slightly self-conscious. She wasn’t used to being paid compliments. Thankfully Sister Moon changed the subject.
    â€œWe let Monkeyboy out of cage now?”
    â€œIf we must . . .”
    The Peculiars headed out into the yard. After stopping to check on Flossy — who was actually making an attempt to frolic — and trying to give Raggety some sugar without losing a hand, Sheba joined the others at the cage in the corner. Sister Moon yanked the door open and stood back.
    There was a rustling from the straw within, then a boy-sized streak burst out and began bouncing around the yard, whooping and shrieking. He finally came to rest on top of the privy and gurned down at the others below him.
    â€œGood bloomin’ morning, you bunch of sideshow weirdos!” he said, winking. “About time someone let me out of there; I’d run out of snot to harvest three hours ago!”
    â€œThat is truly disgusting, even for you,” said Mama Rat, which caused Monkeyboy to cackle so much he started retching. After a few moments, he calmed down enough to speak again.
    â€œRight, Sheba. Time for the national anthem.”

    The bells of Christ Church struck four in the afternoon. Monkeyboy was now amusing himself by throwing carefully rolled balls of dried pigeon poo at everyone. Mama Rat was leaning against one of the caravan’s large wooden wheels, behind an old copy of the
Times
. Gigantus was scribbling away once more, pausing every now and then to stare into space and chew his pen, and Sister Moon was throwing metal