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but Ma thought we’d best rouse Mr. Mick. Hey, ma’am,’ he called after her, “if you’re going up past our Henry, you ought to get down low. That’s what Mr. Mick says to do. Air’s better when you go on your hands and knees.”
    Timona climbed past their Henry, who stood at attention and solemnly stared up into the smoky hall above them.
    On the top floor, the hot, thick air brought tears to her eyes, and her lungs hurt with every inhalation. Instinctively, she dropped to all fours. Should she bang on the doors before the other tenants suffocated?
    The door to the flat was wide open and as she crawled, she could see the dim figure of Mr. McCann stomping on a smoking cloth. His wet coat, she realized. Even as she watched, the smoke began to die away.
    She cougand crawled to the doorway. “Do you need any help?” she called hoarsely.
    “I don’t. ’Tis out. I’ll just be fetching Tucker.” The damp handkerchief muffled his voice, but she could hear he sounded almost cheerful.
    “What about the Tuckers’ neighbors? They might be having trouble breathing.”
    “You can knock up the neighbors if you think it best, but this time is not bad enough to worry about.”
    She wondered what the place was like when it was bad enough.
    He headed to the back of the room. She couldn’t see him in the dark and smoke. She waited and for a long moment her chest hurt with something more painful than the smoldering air. Get out of there, she wanted to scream. She gulped a few smoke-filled, shallow breaths, forgetting that she should not do so, in all the confusion.
    Mr. McCann appeared in the door, the lanky figure of an unconscious man draped across his back and shoulders. With one hand he pushed down the handkerchief tied across his face. He grinned at her. “Feathers stink something awful, eh?”
    She stopped herself from racing to him and throwing her arms around him.
    He started down the stairs, and was two flights down, when Timona heard the sound of retching.
    Mr. McCann’s voice drifted up the stair well, half-laughing, half-groaning. “God help us, Tuck, couldn’t you wait til you got outside?”
    Timona thumped down the stairs after him. She felt like laughing aloud. Her hair and skin and clothes smelled of smoke, but Mr. McCann would stink far more.
    She slowed her steps as she remembered Daisy. Perhaps she should ignore Daisy’s existence? Timona at once amended that thoughtless resolve.
    She’d meet the woman first.
    If Daisy didn’t appreciate the treasure she held, then Timona would work as hard as she could to take Mr. McCann for herself. She’d transform herself into a bandit, a pirate, or even a coquette. Whatever it took.

Chapter 3
     
    Timona spent the first hours of the new day helping to clean the reeking apartment. Mrs. Kelly and Mrs. Hurley, who lived in the building, worked with them for an hour or so, and even the widow on the bottom floor pitched in. She took in the younger members of the Tucker family, which seemed to surprise everyone.
    “Her place is the biggest flat in the building,” Rob told Timona, as they trailed down the stairs from the Tucker’s flat.
    Henry, who was ten, added, “We get one room of her place, and she has two more. But it’s not for long. She’s already told us five times it’s just until we get the worst of the smoke out and the place cleaned up.”
    At the bottom of the steps, they met Mick coming out of the widow’s flat, where he’d checked on the still-unconscious Tucker.
    Mick looked up at them, his brow furrowed. “Jenny, Rob. It’s time to talk, but it’d best be over breakfast at Colsun’s. Henry, you come along and we’ll get victuals for the little ones and Tuck. And the widow.”
    “And Botty,” added Henry.
    “Of course,” said Mick and grinned at him. He turned to Timona and gave her a blank look, almost as if he wasn’t sure who she was. “You coming along, then?”
    Timona touched his arm s the group trooped out the door. “Mr.