“Good man.” Lowering his voice, Alex’s grandfather fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Now: is that a doggie bag?”

“Huh?”

“In your hand.” He nodded toward it. “Plastic bag. Had the notion it might have something to eat inside. I’m famished, Alex. Not had any dinner. Been on the road for days.”

Alex started to say something, gave up, held out the bundle.

“Good show. Now then, what have we . . .” The old man opened the package eagerly, took a great sniff. His eyes rounded. He grabbed a piece out, popped it in his mouth.

“Good lord. Pen patat. Nirvana. I’ve not tasted this in years, Alex. Not since I was in Haiti that time. Let’s see, late-fifties it was. Got a little sticky, as I recall. The trip, I mean, not the pudding.” He munched on happily, smiling at a memory. “Ha, I remember, Harry, he—”

Alex’s grandfather fell suddenly silent. He folded the bag closed and handed it back, picking fussily at crumbs on his coat. “Look at this. I’ll be needing a bib soon. Let’s get off the street, eh? We need to talk. I seem to remember there’s a quite passable café not far from here. Be safer indoors, and I really am hungry, Alex. A body cannot live on pudding alone, exquisite though it may be. Did you get yourself another phone?”

Alex nodded, pulled it out.

“Have their uses, I suppose,” the old man muttered. “Well, what say you drop your mother a message, let her know you’re with me, and we’re off to get ourselves a little late supper.”

Alex looked in the direction the nightmarish cloud had vanished, and shivered. Getting inside was an idea he couldn’t argue with. They started walking while he texted, turning onto a brighter road.

Neither noticed but, back along the street behind them, a tiny shadow detached itself from a roof and fluttered into the air. It hovered shakily above the chimneys for a moment as if it might fall, then, with a weak whirr, bobbed after them through the rain.

V.

CUSTARD CREAMS

A yellow explosion of yolk dripped to the plate as Alex’s grandfather bit into his first roll.

“Marvelous,” he mumbled. “Been living on European highway food recently, Alex. Fine in small doses, but not something to base your life around. There’s nowhere like a decent old-fashioned British café. Not that there are many left.”

They had passed two coffee shops Alex knew on the way, but his grandfather had dismissed his recommendations, striding on until they reached this greasy hole-in-the-wall, hidden up a small street that Alex had never noticed before.