“Yes, it’s true,” Flavia says, pausing Gladys in her slow roll towards the exit just briefly enough for the boy to situate himself more securely on the bicycle seat. Once the chance for escape came, there wouldn’t be a moment to waste. “And the cat is at the train station, with a rubber tomato.” She didn’t care if it made no sense; the policeman hadn’t any idea what they were saying, anyway.

As if to confirm her point, he let out an aggrieved sigh, reaching for his radio. “Neither one of you speak English? Par-less anglaze?”

Flavia blinked up at him, trying to make her expression as innocently stupid as she could. “The duck is our friend,” she says, sorrowfully. “What time is my biology class?”

“Yeah, I’m going to need some—” he starts saying into his radio, and as he moves just enough to one side, Flavia decides to take the chance. Breaking into a run to build up momentum, she pushes past the policeman and leaps astride Gladys, pedaling furiously.

The angry, spluttered Hey! that reaches her ears as she and the boy speed away sounds utterly wonderful.