The Gray House

I start dressing. In a great hurry, for some reason. I wouldn’t be able to climb to the windowsill even if all the rest of them climb down from it, but I still behave like I’m going to get up right now, muscle my way through, and have a look for myself.

Noble is the only one besides me who stayed back on the bed. Smoking and pretending like he doesn’t give a hoot.

“It’s unlikely grandmothers would want to live in tents,” Ginger says. “At least that’s what I think.”

Ginger is standing with her feet on the windowsill, in a cut-off spaghetti-strap top and briefs. The top does not even come down to her navel. The undies are bright red, the color of her hair. The moldy bear is in its usual place, under her arm. I realize that Noble must hate what he sees. That the reason for him sitting glumly on the bed is Ginger parading herself half-naked in the window. If I were him I’d be grateful she at least has something on. She could have just as easily climbed up there topless. I happen to know that for a fact.

“Blind is just paranoid.” Tabaqui giggles. “Imagining grandmothers lurking behind every corner. They have robbed him of his peace of mind.”

“Why not grandfathers?” Mermaid says.

“I wonder when they’re coming out,” Lary says.

I am already dressed, so I crawl closer to the edge of the bed. If I can’t see it, at least I can listen to them talk. Alexander notices my movements and comes over to the bed.

“Would you like to have a look? Come to the window, I’ll lift you up.”

“Never mind,” I say.

As I crawl toward the window, Mermaid slides down from it. She is wearing men’s pajamas, about three sizes too big for her. She turned up the sleeves but the pants legs still flop around. Ginger gives me a hand and hoists me up on the windowsill, almost without any help from Alexander, who’s pushing me from below.

I see them now. Four tents. Two camouflage green, one orange, and one dusty blue. They really are right against the fence, as if the House has sprouted them overnight out of itself, like mushrooms.

“I wonder if it’s not the survivalists from the Sixth,” Sphinx says uncertainly. “Could be that Black decided to train them for the rigors of the Outsides. In stages.”

“Who’s coming down to the yard?” Ginger calls. “To look at them up close?”

“What about breakfast?” Jackal says indignantly. “You have all been neglecting it! It’s boring, going to the canteen by myself.”