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Description
Acceptance is a valued thing in all worlds. In ours it is a forgotten thing.
They have always said that our world has a lot in common with yours.
Stepping in should require no adjustment at all.

                                       Welcome to World No. 0042

Also Known As: Two Types and Technology
(Because Most Inhabitants Think That’s A Stupid Name, It Is Affectionately Referred To As: Triple T)

   PART ONE: The Beginning of An End

   Calling us ‘Mottley’s Crew’ started as a joke, and there was only one reason the name stuck as assuredly as it did:
   Iggy’s purity.
   He’s 100% genuine Cynimpial, which makes him slightly more memorable than most people. We should have been ‘Camille’s Crew’, but obviously they’d never heard of alliteration.
   So we were ‘Mottley’s Crew’ and thus we remain.

   I believe a little backtracking might be in order.
First there was me: Camille Mason. I was born on the fourteenth of Septambe in the Year of Enamelle – which makes me nineteen years old.
   My mother died when I was three and didn’t have any living relations so I ended up in Art’s Orphanage; and then the State Orphanage; then Helping Hands Orphanage… then there was the one I can never remember – and finally Raldon’s Orphanage.
   By that time I was seven, very angry and very ready to meet someone like Harry.
   He’s a bit of a wonder, really. Once you meet him chances are you’ll never meet anyone quite like him again.
   He appeared at Raldon’s a month or so after I was sent there – a skinny, dirty-faced five year old who rang the doorbell, said ‘Hi!’ when Ms Raldon answered, and waltzed right on in. Everyone was terrified of him at first, probably because he smiled constantly, didn’t blink much and ate more food than would have been considered possible for someone so thin.
   He vanquished my growing cynicism with one look from his huge, cheerful cerise-coloured eyes and from that day onwards we were nigh inseparable.
   I was always there to defend him when he was bullied, which only happened in the beginning because everyone eventually realised the only reason you could ever dislike him was because you couldn’t dislike him.
   Naturally you would assume that a young child with such charisma and curious yet pleasing aesthetics (he cleaned up well after being so filthy the day he arrived) would adopt out in an instant. But Harry had decided he liked it with me at Raldon’s and devised a cunning plan for botching his interviews. This is how it usually went with obvious variation as Harry got older:

   Potential Father: Hey there, kiddo, you’re Harry, aren’t you?
   Harry: Yes!
   Potential Mother: (simpers)
   Potential Father: (beams) Well, Harry, can you tell me a little bit about yourself?
   Harry: I’m gay, sir.
   Potential Father: … Do you know what that means?
   Harry: Yessir.
   Potential Mother: But you’re six years old.
   Harry: Yes. I am. I’m also gay.

   And for some reason that put them off without fail every single time. I got in trouble when he first did it because Ms Raldon assumed I’d planted the idea in his head. But Harry had picked it up all on his own, and when he was fifteen I discovered he no longer considered it to be a joke.
   ‘I’m not leaving. I rather thought I’d made that inexplicably clear.’ Harry was seated in the interview room with Ms Raldon frowning at him from across the table. I stood in the doorway, waiting impatiently. Dragonball Z was about to start.
   ‘I don’t mind that, Harry. You know the deal, though. You’ll be sixteen in a few weeks and you shall have to get a part-time job like Camille.’ Harry nodded and moved to get up but Ms Raldon raised a hand and drew a deep breath. ‘I just wonder… was it necessary for you to be so rude to all those parents?’
   ‘Sylvie,’ Harry said evenly. ‘They were rude to me.’
   ‘Oh Harry, stop it! I know you’re not –’
   ‘I am.’
   Ms Raldon paused, processing. ‘You are?’ Harry nodded again, smiling grimly. ‘Oh.’ Ms Raldon said, somewhat defeated.
   ‘Indeed.’ Harry let out a small giggle and joined me at the doorway. I was staring at him with my mouth open.
   I didn’t say anything until we were seated on the couch with Iggy and Xeeva.
   ‘But…’ I managed. And that was as far as I got.
   ‘Why else do you think I never fawned over Xeeva like all the other boys?’ Harry said quite serenely, curling his knees to his chest and turning on the TV with the remote.
   ‘What?’ Iggy asked. Xeeva, who was seated on the floor, turned to glare.
   ‘I’m gay.’ Harry said, unphased and flicking through TV channels at lightning speed.
   ‘Yeah, we know. Total fag. Though I do think that one’s getting a bit old. Next time tell them you have leprosy or something.’ Iggy muttered, his attention returned to the screen.
   ‘Iggy, I don’t think he’s kidding.’ I told him bracingly. Harry grinned as realisation dawned with painful slowness on Iggy’s face.
Xeeva rolled her eyes and said, ‘Gross,’ while I smiled sheepishly and Iggy slid himself to the farthest reaches of the couch away from Harry.
   I’ll be honest and say I still didn’t believe him. Not until the whole Simon thing happened – but now isn’t the time for that particular story. Although I will say this: Iggy gave him the most beautiful black eye I’ve ever seen.

   Oh! My bad. Xeeva and our name-sake, Iggy.

   Iggy also rang the bell.
   Ms Raldon had opened the door, and there he was: kneeling on the doormat, gazing defiantly up at her, his little arms wrapped around and even littler Xeeva, whom he was clutching to his heaving chest. They were both soaking wet despite the sun setting in the clear sky behind them.
   ‘I saw it.’ Iggy panted. ‘She was in a bag and they chucked her into the river.’
   Ms Raldon dropped to her knees and reached out to take Xeeva from him, but he refused. He rearranged his arms, heavy with his sopping jumper, around Xeeva’s shoulders. Ms Raldon opened her mouth to make a second appeal when Harry and I came down the stairs behind her.
   ‘Fetch some towels, will you?’ she said urgently. Our first glimpse of Iggy and Xeeva was short lived as we backed away down the corridor, horrified by the fear in Ms Raldon’s usually calm and collected expression. I distinctly remember seeing one of Iggy’s bare purple feet sticking out from behind his folded knees and wondering if he was deathly ill or diseased or both.
   ‘Has she told you her name?’ Ms Raldon asked while we were gone. Iggy shook his head.
   ‘What’s your name?’
   ‘Ignacius Braums Mottley.’
   Despite all, Ms Raldon later told me, she couldn’t help but spare a moment to blink.
   ‘Well, Ignacius –’
   ‘Iggy.’
   ‘Iggy. I can’t help her unless you let me carry her inside.’
   ‘I’ll do that.’ He said stubbornly as we returned. ‘I carried her here.’ He stood then, lifting Xeeva as he did so. Ms Raldon fussily wrapped a towel around him as Harry and I exchanged a glance. This boy was remarkably stronger than he looked. It was then I remembered his foot and took my double-take. Sure enough where his pants ended there it was, a dull shade of puce. His other foot was encased in a muddy sneaker… he must have lost the other one –
  ‘Hey!’ he barked in my direction, amber-coloured eyes flashing dangerously. ‘Stop it!’ Satisfied with my apologetic flush he turned back to Ms Raldon. ‘Where can I put her down?’
   For the first time Xeeva stirred. If it hadn’t been for her breathing and occasional shuddering before I would have thought her dead. Her eyes, previously screwed tight shut, opened. She blinked twice, sighed, and shut them again.
   ‘Through here,’ Ms Raldon broke the silence that followed. ‘Down this corridor.’
   She led the way. Harry and I trailed behind.
   Iggy gently placed Xeeva on the couch and readjusted the old coat wrapped around her body. He then turned to look at us and seemed to shrink slightly under our gaze. He no longer appeared remotely capable of carrying even the smallest girl. He was thin, malnourished, his dark, wet hair lank and dripping. His eyes, although striking, were exhausted. He drove his hands into the pockets of his faded jumper, but not before I noticed they were purple too.
   Ms Raldon moved forward and touched her hand to Xeeva’s forehead. Xeeva stirred once more and uttered a little whimper.
   ‘She’s alright.’ Ms Raldon said, more to herself than anyone else. ‘We are going to have to get you both dry clothes.’ She directed at Iggy with surprising sternness. Iggy bristled.
   ‘No way.’ He growled.
   ‘I’ve already noticed, dear. No one’s going to do anything to you here.’
   Shocked over again by the hollow, aching sadness in Ms Raldon’s tone I wished she would explain what was going on. ‘She is too, isn’t she?’ Ms Raldon indicated Xeeva with a nod of her head.
   ‘And what if she is?’ Iggy demanded.
   ‘Then I’ll take her in. I do not discriminate and I never have. Iggy,’ his ears, which were longer than any I had ever seen, pricked as she said his name. He appeared disarmed; surprised by her caring. ‘Will you be staying too, then?’ His ears fell as he hesitated. He watched Xeeva.
   ‘Yeah. For a bit, I guess.’ He murmured.
   ‘Ok. Harry, can you go find them some dry clothes?’ Harry darted off, leaving me feeling even more uncomfortable in his absence. ‘How old are you, Iggy?’
   ‘Seven.’
   Seven?! He couldn’t possibly be seven; that was Harry’s age. Harry could barely lift our dog, and she was tiny.
   ‘And how long have you been on the streets?’
   ‘Since I can remember.’
   ‘What about your parents?’
   Iggy scoffed. ‘Gone. Off somewhere making more Cyns to dump.’
It sounded like he said ‘sins’, but the way he said it made me sure he was talking about something else... Or something more.
   ‘Her legs are clear,’ Ms Raldon said, nodding to Xeeva again.
Iggy bent over her and carefully rolled her onto her side then pulled away the coat. She was wearing a singlet top that had ridden up on her waist and thin shorts which could only be pyjamas. Her pallid tea-coloured skin gave way to a shocking continuation of her spine: a tail of nut-brown fur.
   ‘Her hands are fine but her feet aren’t, look,’ Iggy pointed solemnly and Ms Raldon and I leant in. Sure enough her feet were a shade darker than the rest of her skin. I examined them closely. Their texture didn’t look like fur, but then neither was it skin. It looked velvety and I was gripped by the urge to test if this was true. Perhaps I would have if I hadn’t been so afraid that this was a top-secret, highly-contagious medical condition.
   ‘Just her feet, and a tail’s perfectly manageable. That’s hardly a reason.’ Ms Raldon whispered furiously.
   ‘I know.’ Iggy agreed sadly.
   Harry returned and I hastily sidled over to him as he presented Ms Raldon with the clothes he had found. The other children had followed him and were standing back, curious.
   ‘Henry, Emily, Rosalie – back upstairs, now!’ Ms Raldon ordered. They slunk away, disappointed. ‘Iggy, this is Harry and Camille. They’ll help you with her. I just need to make a quick phone call.’ She handed the clothes to Iggy and crossed the room to the door of her office.
    ‘Gonna tell the police to come pick me up and take me to a reserve?’ Iggy called mutinously after her. She turned and smiled.
   ‘No. But keep up with the attitude and I will.’ Satisfied by his wary glare, she closed her door. Iggy moved his eyes to us, his expression unchanging.
   ‘Call me Cam,’ I offered with great trepidation.
   ‘I’m Ignacius Braums Mottley, but… yeah.’ He replied begrudgingly.
   ‘Hi Iggy.’ Harry smiled.
   ‘Xeeva.’
   Iggy turned back to the couch instantly. She had rolled onto her other side to face us. I will never forget how small she looked in that moment, or how her thin, navy-coloured hair clung to the clammy skin of her face. Her hazel eyes were huge, even bigger than Harry’s, and they were filled with fear.
   ‘Xeeva LeAmi, ten Hawley Close, Benjamin Square, five-zero-double-two, twelfth of Julay, Year of Copper.’ She recited breathlessly in a voice even smaller than she was. We remained silent, stunned. Harry calculated, and then asked:
   ‘You’re six?’
   She nodded.
   ‘Benjamin Square?’ I repeated, hushed. ‘You live there?’
   She nodded again. I didn’t hesitate. I ran for Ms Raldon’s door and wrenched it open without knocking.
   ‘Ms Raldon!’
   ‘Shh,’ she held up a finger angrily and continued talking into the phone. ‘Yes, I’m well aware of that, but there is no denying…’ The voice on the other end cut her off.
   ‘Her name’s Xeeva LeAmi. She’s from Benjamin Square,’ I blurted out.
   Ms Raldon’s eyes widened and she remained perfectly still for a moment before placing the phone in the receiver without saying goodbye to whoever she’d been talking to. She picked it up again and dialled a new number.
   ‘Hello, listings for LeAmi in Benjamin Square, please?’ she asked politely. We waited. The voice on the other end returned but I couldn’t hear what was said. ‘Thankyou. Goodbye.’ She put the phone down more gingerly this time. ‘They say there’s no one living there by that name.’
   ‘But… why would she lie?’ I felt the anti-climax weigh heavily upon me. Ms Raldon sighed. It was a long time before she replied.
   ‘I guess Xeeva LeAmi is what we’ll call her.’ She slid her keyboard over to her and tapped the name into her computer. ‘I’ll call the police and tell them what’s happened. They can do a wider search for LeAmi but I don’t think they’ll find anything.’
   ‘She’s only six. Why would she lie?’ I repeated myself more forcibly.
   ‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we believe her.’ She fell silent, watching me. I understood. I was not to ask any more questions. ‘I’ve got to call Jack. I’m going to need help taking two beds upstairs from the storeroom. I suppose he can help with dinner, too. Will you go make sure Harry is being helpful and not talking their ears off?’ I turned dejectedly. ‘Run them a bath, Camille!’ Ms Raldon called after me.
   I dragged my feet for the short stretch of corridor and returned to the common room. I froze when I reached the doorway, transfixed by what I saw. Iggy’s dirty jumper lay discarded at his feet, and he was pulling his tattered long-sleeved shirt over his head. Harry was babbling happily and holding a dry t-shirt ready.
   ‘…but the food is nice – wow!’ Harry gasped as Iggy dropped his shirt on top of his jumper. ‘That’s so cool!’
   Iggy blushed and wrapped his arms around himself. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘Nobody thinks that.’
   ‘But it’s so cool,’ Harry noticed me in the doorway. ‘Look Cam! Isn’t that neat?’
   I was looking. Unabashedly, now that Harry had given me an excuse to stare. Iggy’s arms had the same velvety sheen on them as Xeeva’s feet, and they were purple to his shoulders where they blended into his normal-coloured skin in a myriad of mottled spots.
   ‘Gimme the shirt, please,’ Iggy muttered, rather desperately. Harry handed it to him.
   ‘I’m sorry.’ Harry apologised, confused. ‘Your skin’s just really pretty.’ Iggy grew redder still.
   ‘You’re weird.’ He laughed nervously as he sat down to pull off his one remaining sneaker. I noticed with a jolt that he had a tail much like Xeeva’s, only perhaps a little scruffier.
   ‘Are your legs like that too?’ Harry asked. Iggy froze in the motion of tugging off his sock.
   ‘Well, yeah.’ He looked up at Harry, highly affronted. ‘I don’t want you to see.’
   ‘Alright.’ Harry screwed his eyes shut and held out the pair of pants he’d brought down. ‘Cam, you shut your eyes too.’ Harry called. I already had.
   After a moment of listening to the shuffling of clothes Iggy said we could open our eyes. Xeeva was bundled up on the couch, wrapped in every towel we’d brought. She was also clutching a steaming mug of tea that was so big for her she had to rest it on the edge of the couch. Her hands shook with the weight of it when she brought it to her lips.
   ‘I got that for her,’ Harry explained. ‘It’s green. Iggy didn’t want any.’ Iggy now sat protectively next to Xeeva on the couch, watching her drink.
   ‘Uhm,’ I hummed nervously. ‘Iggy… are you… sick?’
   ‘No.’ he replied. I was relieved he didn’t appear offended. ‘I’m pure.’
   ‘Pure?’ Harry repeated, nonplussed.
   ‘Pure Cynimpial. Don’t you know what that is?’ We shook our heads. He didn’t seem surprised, though. ‘Your grandparents at least must have had a lot of Cynimpial in them. Neither of you have the right cartilage shaping in your ears; and your noses are fairly dark.’
   ‘We don’t have any grandparents.’ Harry said.
   ‘Oh. Neither do I.’ Iggy shrugged.
   I hadn’t understood a single thing he’d just said. I’d heard of Cynimpials before: we were taught in school that they were the native People of Triple T. But that was all they taught us. I’d never realised that Cynimpials looked different to everyone else. That was when it dawned on me: if Iggy was pure Cynimpial; and Harry and I had Cynimpial in us… what was the rest of us? That question set many things in motion for me, but the answer shall be explained at a later stage.
   I’m not sure if it’s worth mentioning, but that was also the day I became truly aware of just how cruel the world can be.
   But anyway, plenty of time for angst and morbidity later. Back to Xeeva.
   I mentioned our dog before, didn’t I? (Never fear, this is relevant) Well, Ms Raldon bought her as a puppy from the shelter as a present for us all shortly after I’d first come to Raldon’s. We all agreed that it was very appropriate we should own an orphaned dog. We named her Millie. She was a tiny, silky-haired, grey mutt and for the first few days, whenever she wasn’t sleeping, she followed me everywhere, too afraid to be alone.
   I was overjoyed. I believed then that she had chosen me as her favorite and her protector and that we would be together always. But as soon as Millie got used to her surroundings she grew more independent, and she eventually matured to be proud, haughty and far too clever for own good. Of course we all loved her regardless, it was better than having a dumb dog. But she was never very affectionate… more like a cat.
   With Xeeva it was exactly the same. (See? Told you)
   For the first few months she barely said a word, and she clung to Iggy (who had continued to stay on past what anyone would consider “a bit” of time), Harry and I like we were surrogate parents. Though after awhile she grew up, and taught herself to enjoy her own company. Regardless of her aloofness later, I know that it was at this stage we all bonded so tightly. It was also then that we were dubbed ‘Mottley’s Crew’.
   Jack, Ms Raldon’s boyfriend, would call us that when he came over.
   ‘There they all are, doing nothing in the way of getting adopted ‘cause they’ve got each other,’ he’d laugh kindly. I always liked Jack. ‘What a motley crew.’
   Eventually he realised its potential as a pun, laughed until he cried, and never called us by our real names again. We became a single unit. One. Together.

   Let us return to the present. I’m nineteen, remember? Iggy and Harry are seventeen, and Xeeva is sixteen. We are older, wiser (possibly) and closer than we’ve ever been. Especially today. Today has been a total nightmare.
   And darn it all, it’s about to get worse.

Description
Acceptance is a valued thing in all worlds. In ours it is a forgotten thing.
They have always said that our world has a lot in common with yours.
Stepping in should require no adjustment at all.

                                       Welcome to World No. 0042

Also Known As: Two Types and Technology
(Because Most Inhabitants Think That’s A Stupid Name, It Is Affectionately Referred To As: Triple T)

   PART ONE: The Beginning of An End

   Calling us ‘Mottley’s Crew’ started as a joke, and there was only one reason the name stuck as assuredly as it did:
   Iggy’s purity.
   He’s 100% genuine Cynimpial, which makes him slightly more memorable than most people. We should have been ‘Camille’s Crew’, but obviously they’d never heard of alliteration.
   So we were ‘Mottley’s Crew’ and thus we remain.

   I believe a little backtracking might be in order.
First there was me: Camille Mason. I was born on the fourteenth of Septambe in the Year of Enamelle – which makes me nineteen years old.
   My mother died when I was three and didn’t have any living relations so I ended up in Art’s Orphanage; and then the State Orphanage; then Helping Hands Orphanage… then there was the one I can never remember – and finally Raldon’s Orphanage.
   By that time I was seven, very angry and very ready to meet someone like Harry.
   He’s a bit of a wonder, really. Once you meet him chances are you’ll never meet anyone quite like him again.
   He appeared at Raldon’s a month or so after I was sent there – a skinny, dirty-faced five year old who rang the doorbell, said ‘Hi!’ when Ms Raldon answered, and waltzed right on in. Everyone was terrified of him at first, probably because he smiled constantly, didn’t blink much and ate more food than would have been considered possible for someone so thin.
   He vanquished my growing cynicism with one look from his huge, cheerful cerise-coloured eyes and from that day onwards we were nigh inseparable.
   I was always there to defend him when he was bullied, which only happened in the beginning because everyone eventually realised the only reason you could ever dislike him was because you couldn’t dislike him.
   Naturally you would assume that a young child with such charisma and curious yet pleasing aesthetics (he cleaned up well after being so filthy the day he arrived) would adopt out in an instant. But Harry had decided he liked it with me at Raldon’s and devised a cunning plan for botching his interviews. This is how it usually went with obvious variation as Harry got older:

   Potential Father: Hey there, kiddo, you’re Harry, aren’t you?
   Harry: Yes!
   Potential Mother: (simpers)
   Potential Father: (beams) Well, Harry, can you tell me a little bit about yourself?
   Harry: I’m gay, sir.
   Potential Father: … Do you know what that means?
   Harry: Yessir.
   Potential Mother: But you’re six years old.
   Harry: Yes. I am. I’m also gay.

   And for some reason that put them off without fail every single time. I got in trouble when he first did it because Ms Raldon assumed I’d planted the idea in his head. But Harry had picked it up all on his own, and when he was fifteen I discovered he no longer considered it to be a joke.
   ‘I’m not leaving. I rather thought I’d made that inexplicably clear.’ Harry was seated in the interview room with Ms Raldon frowning at him from across the table. I stood in the doorway, waiting impatiently. Dragonball Z was about to start.
   ‘I don’t mind that, Harry. You know the deal, though. You’ll be sixteen in a few weeks and you shall have to get a part-time job like Camille.’ Harry nodded and moved to get up but Ms Raldon raised a hand and drew a deep breath. ‘I just wonder… was it necessary for you to be so rude to all those parents?’
   ‘Sylvie,’ Harry said evenly. ‘They were rude to me.’
   ‘Oh Harry, stop it! I know you’re not –’
   ‘I am.’
   Ms Raldon paused, processing. ‘You are?’ Harry nodded again, smiling grimly. ‘Oh.’ Ms Raldon said, somewhat defeated.
   ‘Indeed.’ Harry let out a small giggle and joined me at the doorway. I was staring at him with my mouth open.
   I didn’t say anything until we were seated on the couch with Iggy and Xeeva.
   ‘But…’ I managed. And that was as far as I got.
   ‘Why else do you think I never fawned over Xeeva like all the other boys?’ Harry said quite serenely, curling his knees to his chest and turning on the TV with the remote.
   ‘What?’ Iggy asked. Xeeva, who was seated on the floor, turned to glare.
   ‘I’m gay.’ Harry said, unphased and flicking through TV channels at lightning speed.
   ‘Yeah, we know. Total fag. Though I do think that one’s getting a bit old. Next time tell them you have leprosy or something.’ Iggy muttered, his attention returned to the screen.
   ‘Iggy, I don’t think he’s kidding.’ I told him bracingly. Harry grinned as realisation dawned with painful slowness on Iggy’s face.
Xeeva rolled her eyes and said, ‘Gross,’ while I smiled sheepishly and Iggy slid himself to the farthest reaches of the couch away from Harry.
   I’ll be honest and say I still didn’t believe him. Not until the whole Simon thing happened – but now isn’t the time for that particular story. Although I will say this: Iggy gave him the most beautiful black eye I’ve ever seen.

   Oh! My bad. Xeeva and our name-sake, Iggy.

   Iggy also rang the bell.
   Ms Raldon had opened the door, and there he was: kneeling on the doormat, gazing defiantly up at her, his little arms wrapped around and even littler Xeeva, whom he was clutching to his heaving chest. They were both soaking wet despite the sun setting in the clear sky behind them.
   ‘I saw it.’ Iggy panted. ‘She was in a bag and they chucked her into the river.’
   Ms Raldon dropped to her knees and reached out to take Xeeva from him, but he refused. He rearranged his arms, heavy with his sopping jumper, around Xeeva’s shoulders. Ms Raldon opened her mouth to make a second appeal when Harry and I came down the stairs behind her.
   ‘Fetch some towels, will you?’ she said urgently. Our first glimpse of Iggy and Xeeva was short lived as we backed away down the corridor, horrified by the fear in Ms Raldon’s usually calm and collected expression. I distinctly remember seeing one of Iggy’s bare purple feet sticking out from behind his folded knees and wondering if he was deathly ill or diseased or both.
   ‘Has she told you her name?’ Ms Raldon asked while we were gone. Iggy shook his head.
   ‘What’s your name?’
   ‘Ignacius Braums Mottley.’
   Despite all, Ms Raldon later told me, she couldn’t help but spare a moment to blink.
   ‘Well, Ignacius –’
   ‘Iggy.’
   ‘Iggy. I can’t help her unless you let me carry her inside.’
   ‘I’ll do that.’ He said stubbornly as we returned. ‘I carried her here.’ He stood then, lifting Xeeva as he did so. Ms Raldon fussily wrapped a towel around him as Harry and I exchanged a glance. This boy was remarkably stronger than he looked. It was then I remembered his foot and took my double-take. Sure enough where his pants ended there it was, a dull shade of puce. His other foot was encased in a muddy sneaker… he must have lost the other one –
  ‘Hey!’ he barked in my direction, amber-coloured eyes flashing dangerously. ‘Stop it!’ Satisfied with my apologetic flush he turned back to Ms Raldon. ‘Where can I put her down?’
   For the first time Xeeva stirred. If it hadn’t been for her breathing and occasional shuddering before I would have thought her dead. Her eyes, previously screwed tight shut, opened. She blinked twice, sighed, and shut them again.
   ‘Through here,’ Ms Raldon broke the silence that followed. ‘Down this corridor.’
   She led the way. Harry and I trailed behind.
   Iggy gently placed Xeeva on the couch and readjusted the old coat wrapped around her body. He then turned to look at us and seemed to shrink slightly under our gaze. He no longer appeared remotely capable of carrying even the smallest girl. He was thin, malnourished, his dark, wet hair lank and dripping. His eyes, although striking, were exhausted. He drove his hands into the pockets of his faded jumper, but not before I noticed they were purple too.
   Ms Raldon moved forward and touched her hand to Xeeva’s forehead. Xeeva stirred once more and uttered a little whimper.
   ‘She’s alright.’ Ms Raldon said, more to herself than anyone else. ‘We are going to have to get you both dry clothes.’ She directed at Iggy with surprising sternness. Iggy bristled.
   ‘No way.’ He growled.
   ‘I’ve already noticed, dear. No one’s going to do anything to you here.’
   Shocked over again by the hollow, aching sadness in Ms Raldon’s tone I wished she would explain what was going on. ‘She is too, isn’t she?’ Ms Raldon indicated Xeeva with a nod of her head.
   ‘And what if she is?’ Iggy demanded.
   ‘Then I’ll take her in. I do not discriminate and I never have. Iggy,’ his ears, which were longer than any I had ever seen, pricked as she said his name. He appeared disarmed; surprised by her caring. ‘Will you be staying too, then?’ His ears fell as he hesitated. He watched Xeeva.
   ‘Yeah. For a bit, I guess.’ He murmured.
   ‘Ok. Harry, can you go find them some dry clothes?’ Harry darted off, leaving me feeling even more uncomfortable in his absence. ‘How old are you, Iggy?’
   ‘Seven.’
   Seven?! He couldn’t possibly be seven; that was Harry’s age. Harry could barely lift our dog, and she was tiny.
   ‘And how long have you been on the streets?’
   ‘Since I can remember.’
   ‘What about your parents?’
   Iggy scoffed. ‘Gone. Off somewhere making more Cyns to dump.’
It sounded like he said ‘sins’, but the way he said it made me sure he was talking about something else... Or something more.
   ‘Her legs are clear,’ Ms Raldon said, nodding to Xeeva again.
Iggy bent over her and carefully rolled her onto her side then pulled away the coat. She was wearing a singlet top that had ridden up on her waist and thin shorts which could only be pyjamas. Her pallid tea-coloured skin gave way to a shocking continuation of her spine: a tail of nut-brown fur.
   ‘Her hands are fine but her feet aren’t, look,’ Iggy pointed solemnly and Ms Raldon and I leant in. Sure enough her feet were a shade darker than the rest of her skin. I examined them closely. Their texture didn’t look like fur, but then neither was it skin. It looked velvety and I was gripped by the urge to test if this was true. Perhaps I would have if I hadn’t been so afraid that this was a top-secret, highly-contagious medical condition.
   ‘Just her feet, and a tail’s perfectly manageable. That’s hardly a reason.’ Ms Raldon whispered furiously.
   ‘I know.’ Iggy agreed sadly.
   Harry returned and I hastily sidled over to him as he presented Ms Raldon with the clothes he had found. The other children had followed him and were standing back, curious.
   ‘Henry, Emily, Rosalie – back upstairs, now!’ Ms Raldon ordered. They slunk away, disappointed. ‘Iggy, this is Harry and Camille. They’ll help you with her. I just need to make a quick phone call.’ She handed the clothes to Iggy and crossed the room to the door of her office.
    ‘Gonna tell the police to come pick me up and take me to a reserve?’ Iggy called mutinously after her. She turned and smiled.
   ‘No. But keep up with the attitude and I will.’ Satisfied by his wary glare, she closed her door. Iggy moved his eyes to us, his expression unchanging.
   ‘Call me Cam,’ I offered with great trepidation.
   ‘I’m Ignacius Braums Mottley, but… yeah.’ He replied begrudgingly.
   ‘Hi Iggy.’ Harry smiled.
   ‘Xeeva.’
   Iggy turned back to the couch instantly. She had rolled onto her other side to face us. I will never forget how small she looked in that moment, or how her thin, navy-coloured hair clung to the clammy skin of her face. Her hazel eyes were huge, even bigger than Harry’s, and they were filled with fear.
   ‘Xeeva LeAmi, ten Hawley Close, Benjamin Square, five-zero-double-two, twelfth of Julay, Year of Copper.’ She recited breathlessly in a voice even smaller than she was. We remained silent, stunned. Harry calculated, and then asked:
   ‘You’re six?’
   She nodded.
   ‘Benjamin Square?’ I repeated, hushed. ‘You live there?’
   She nodded again. I didn’t hesitate. I ran for Ms Raldon’s door and wrenched it open without knocking.
   ‘Ms Raldon!’
   ‘Shh,’ she held up a finger angrily and continued talking into the phone. ‘Yes, I’m well aware of that, but there is no denying…’ The voice on the other end cut her off.
   ‘Her name’s Xeeva LeAmi. She’s from Benjamin Square,’ I blurted out.
   Ms Raldon’s eyes widened and she remained perfectly still for a moment before placing the phone in the receiver without saying goodbye to whoever she’d been talking to. She picked it up again and dialled a new number.
   ‘Hello, listings for LeAmi in Benjamin Square, please?’ she asked politely. We waited. The voice on the other end returned but I couldn’t hear what was said. ‘Thankyou. Goodbye.’ She put the phone down more gingerly this time. ‘They say there’s no one living there by that name.’
   ‘But… why would she lie?’ I felt the anti-climax weigh heavily upon me. Ms Raldon sighed. It was a long time before she replied.
   ‘I guess Xeeva LeAmi is what we’ll call her.’ She slid her keyboard over to her and tapped the name into her computer. ‘I’ll call the police and tell them what’s happened. They can do a wider search for LeAmi but I don’t think they’ll find anything.’
   ‘She’s only six. Why would she lie?’ I repeated myself more forcibly.
   ‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we believe her.’ She fell silent, watching me. I understood. I was not to ask any more questions. ‘I’ve got to call Jack. I’m going to need help taking two beds upstairs from the storeroom. I suppose he can help with dinner, too. Will you go make sure Harry is being helpful and not talking their ears off?’ I turned dejectedly. ‘Run them a bath, Camille!’ Ms Raldon called after me.
   I dragged my feet for the short stretch of corridor and returned to the common room. I froze when I reached the doorway, transfixed by what I saw. Iggy’s dirty jumper lay discarded at his feet, and he was pulling his tattered long-sleeved shirt over his head. Harry was babbling happily and holding a dry t-shirt ready.
   ‘…but the food is nice – wow!’ Harry gasped as Iggy dropped his shirt on top of his jumper. ‘That’s so cool!’
   Iggy blushed and wrapped his arms around himself. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he said. ‘Nobody thinks that.’
   ‘But it’s so cool,’ Harry noticed me in the doorway. ‘Look Cam! Isn’t that neat?’
   I was looking. Unabashedly, now that Harry had given me an excuse to stare. Iggy’s arms had the same velvety sheen on them as Xeeva’s feet, and they were purple to his shoulders where they blended into his normal-coloured skin in a myriad of mottled spots.
   ‘Gimme the shirt, please,’ Iggy muttered, rather desperately. Harry handed it to him.
   ‘I’m sorry.’ Harry apologised, confused. ‘Your skin’s just really pretty.’ Iggy grew redder still.
   ‘You’re weird.’ He laughed nervously as he sat down to pull off his one remaining sneaker. I noticed with a jolt that he had a tail much like Xeeva’s, only perhaps a little scruffier.
   ‘Are your legs like that too?’ Harry asked. Iggy froze in the motion of tugging off his sock.
   ‘Well, yeah.’ He looked up at Harry, highly affronted. ‘I don’t want you to see.’
   ‘Alright.’ Harry screwed his eyes shut and held out the pair of pants he’d brought down. ‘Cam, you shut your eyes too.’ Harry called. I already had.
   After a moment of listening to the shuffling of clothes Iggy said we could open our eyes. Xeeva was bundled up on the couch, wrapped in every towel we’d brought. She was also clutching a steaming mug of tea that was so big for her she had to rest it on the edge of the couch. Her hands shook with the weight of it when she brought it to her lips.
   ‘I got that for her,’ Harry explained. ‘It’s green. Iggy didn’t want any.’ Iggy now sat protectively next to Xeeva on the couch, watching her drink.
   ‘Uhm,’ I hummed nervously. ‘Iggy… are you… sick?’
   ‘No.’ he replied. I was relieved he didn’t appear offended. ‘I’m pure.’
   ‘Pure?’ Harry repeated, nonplussed.
   ‘Pure Cynimpial. Don’t you know what that is?’ We shook our heads. He didn’t seem surprised, though. ‘Your grandparents at least must have had a lot of Cynimpial in them. Neither of you have the right cartilage shaping in your ears; and your noses are fairly dark.’
   ‘We don’t have any grandparents.’ Harry said.
   ‘Oh. Neither do I.’ Iggy shrugged.
   I hadn’t understood a single thing he’d just said. I’d heard of Cynimpials before: we were taught in school that they were the native People of Triple T. But that was all they taught us. I’d never realised that Cynimpials looked different to everyone else. That was when it dawned on me: if Iggy was pure Cynimpial; and Harry and I had Cynimpial in us… what was the rest of us? That question set many things in motion for me, but the answer shall be explained at a later stage.
   I’m not sure if it’s worth mentioning, but that was also the day I became truly aware of just how cruel the world can be.
   But anyway, plenty of time for angst and morbidity later. Back to Xeeva.
   I mentioned our dog before, didn’t I? (Never fear, this is relevant) Well, Ms Raldon bought her as a puppy from the shelter as a present for us all shortly after I’d first come to Raldon’s. We all agreed that it was very appropriate we should own an orphaned dog. We named her Millie. She was a tiny, silky-haired, grey mutt and for the first few days, whenever she wasn’t sleeping, she followed me everywhere, too afraid to be alone.
   I was overjoyed. I believed then that she had chosen me as her favorite and her protector and that we would be together always. But as soon as Millie got used to her surroundings she grew more independent, and she eventually matured to be proud, haughty and far too clever for own good. Of course we all loved her regardless, it was better than having a dumb dog. But she was never very affectionate… more like a cat.
   With Xeeva it was exactly the same. (See? Told you)
   For the first few months she barely said a word, and she clung to Iggy (who had continued to stay on past what anyone would consider “a bit” of time), Harry and I like we were surrogate parents. Though after awhile she grew up, and taught herself to enjoy her own company. Regardless of her aloofness later, I know that it was at this stage we all bonded so tightly. It was also then that we were dubbed ‘Mottley’s Crew’.
   Jack, Ms Raldon’s boyfriend, would call us that when he came over.
   ‘There they all are, doing nothing in the way of getting adopted ‘cause they’ve got each other,’ he’d laugh kindly. I always liked Jack. ‘What a motley crew.’
   Eventually he realised its potential as a pun, laughed until he cried, and never called us by our real names again. We became a single unit. One. Together.

   Let us return to the present. I’m nineteen, remember? Iggy and Harry are seventeen, and Xeeva is sixteen. We are older, wiser (possibly) and closer than we’ve ever been. Especially today. Today has been a total nightmare.
   And darn it all, it’s about to get worse.