“Yes,” Dot said. She was. She wasn’t interesting looking, but she could talk and she could use her hands, feet, and tail, well, and she had some pretty patterns: her namesake spots.

“I want you to go home,” Ratcatcher said. “If we fight, I’ll win. I thpecialize in dealing with your type.”

“I’m here to deliver message,” Dot said. “That all.”

“What methage?”

“Burnish. She went to a store. Machine Army was there. She wanted me to tell. North of the Raleigh chasm. They were surprised.”

“We thought it was your people,” Ratcatcher said.

“No,” Dot said. “I watched.”

“You didn’t help?”

“Too small, too weak.”

“That’th no ekthuthe. Burnith was a good one. Nice to me. I’ll mith her.”

Dot remained where she was. She looked back. No sign that the men who were investigating under the train even realized she wasn’t there anymore.

“Thank you for your methage.”

“I’ll go now,” Dot said. “But can I have water? I’m so thirsty.”

“Come. Vending machine. Have you theen thethe?”

Dot had, but she shook her head.

Ratcatcher held out a hand. Dot was wary, but she ventured closer.

“Thay hello to Raththputin,” Ratcatcher said. “Thtay in my pocket for now.”

In another time, another world, Dot might have stayed.

But she had a king to rescue. A king adored by his people. A truly great man.

As Ratcatcher reached into a pocket, change jingling, Dot saw opportunity. She leaped for the ground, went under the vending machine, and then ran along the wall, darting for the vent.

Big people were often slow. Ratcatcher wasn’t. Fast reflexes. Fast in general.

But Dot was faster. Had the vent not already had a corner peeled away, Dot wouldn’t have been able to make it inside. As it was, she ducked inside, and Ratcatcher’s gloved fingers only managed to seize the ends of the hairs at the end of Dot’s tail. Dot hauled herself free.

Ratcatcher moved her mask aside, fingers going to her mouth, and then whistled. “Trouble!”

But Dot was already in her element.

She ran through dusty vents, navigating the guts of the building. Flashlights periodically shone into the vents, illuminating areas. She avoided most of those beams of lights, going this way and that, until she found another convenient point, where two pieces of metal weren’t flush together. She squeezed through and pulled her bag after her.

It was another minute until she realized two things.

Ratcatcher had friends.

The convenient openings in the vents and leading from vent to the inside of the walls of the station were there because of those friends.