Where did a starling lay his roost in fair Toronto?

  In an abandoned chicken coup above an Afghan restaurant, Philly knew. Gracing his nose with the lingering smells of last night’s kabuli pulao, the fox went into the alleyway beside the building and slink through a hole in a fence to get to the staircase to get up to the rooftop of the restaurant. The coup was well out of sight from nearby windows. It was perfect for a starling to lay his roost.

  Philly looked over the horizon, the town consumed by a morning fog and with the cloudy white preventing Philly from seeing beyond a few dozen metres or so, it was like the city has just rose out of a lingering dream. The beautiful horizon of Toronto hid from the fox, making the world feel small in that moment. In a way it was peaceful.

  There was no helping Philly as he lost himself in the heavenly vista, and he hoped that the rainfall earlier would be the only one today as he was tempted to lay down and drown his eyes in the enchanting view. He stared out into the comfy void and let himself relax.

  “And what are you doing here?” asked a voice, pompous and austere.

  Well, that was relaxing. Philly sighed and looked over at the coup to see a starling perched upon it, aiming a stink eye down upon the fox. The starling was Night. Philly walked up, hoping a petite foxy grin would disarm the bird’s nuisance. “Why hello, Night! How are you this morning?”

  Night took posture upward, taking his eyes to the sky. “Spare me some niceties, ground-dweller. You are not here to check up on my welfare.”

  It was always the cold shoulder (or wing) with Night. Philly dropped the theatrical grin and walked closer to the coup, his steps tiny as a display of humility. “Alright. I am here to ask some questions. Information.”

  Night had re-fixed the coup so that it made a nice roost for the sapient bird to call home. It was entering winter so the bird had a ridged sheet of metal over the structure’s open front to keep out some of the cold. How did a tiny starling move such a large piece of metal? It was anyone’s guess. Hopefully the owners of the coup didn’t mind that Night had pecked a hole on the wooden board on top to serve as a door, and that Night had bundled a nest on top of a wire cage inside.

  “Oh?” The starling shifted down the edge of the coup’s roof towards Philly. “And what will you barter to me for this information?”

  Philly tilted his ears down, looking uncertain. “Uh... Iunno. Did you want me to snatch you some jewellery?”

  “Jewellery!?” said Night, the outrage causing his voice to squeal, “Do you think me some sort of lowly bird? I’m no simple crow! Nor raven! Nor magpie!”

  Why did every conversation Philly had with Night be so challenging? As well, it was times like those that Philly really noticed Night’s British accent. The fox sighed. “Okay. What do you want?”

  Night gazed at Philly for a second, still as thoughts clicked through the starling’s mind. Then he spoke, “Perhaps you’ve nothing to offer?” The bird leaned his head down toward Philly, shaping out a mocking smile. “If I desired jewellery, I would snatch it myself!” He pulled his body back upward and gave out a dry chortle.

  “But I need information,” said Philly. “We’re trying to locate a gang somewhere in Toronto and we don’t know where to look.”

  Night scowled. “‘We’re’? I’m participating in no such activity!”

  Philly rolled his eyes and flicked his ear in annoyance. “Not you and me. I mean me and Ghost Thing.”

  “Oh yes,” said Night, throwing his head away mockingly. “You’ve been consorting with that pond-on-two-legs.”

  Philly scrunched his snout, his voice simmering. “Be nice. He’s a good kid.”

  “Indeed,” said Night, convinced of nothing. “So you require information on the gangs? What makes you assume I know anything about the complications of the humans below us?”

  Philly smiled and gestured at the sky by getting up on his hind legs for a second. “Because you’re the one who’s always flying around! You have your eyes in the sky!”

  “That I do,” said Night. “What you think I see, though?”

  “Have you seen that shadow guy?” asked Philly. “He’s sporting a top hat, and– well, the guy has a real style, y’know?”

  “Yeeesssss,” said Night, stroking his beak with a wing. “I’ve spotted the character on occasion. Hopping around rooftops.”

  Philly glinted. “Really? Where?”

  Night waddled his head, taking his eyes up in thought. “I... don’t recall,” said the bird, a little frustrated. He shook his head. “I haven’t seen him more than few times, anyway.” The starling took a wing to his chin again. “I much more often see that cloud person hopping around the rooftops.”

  A cloud person? Philly didn’t know of anyone like that. He spoke, “Cloud person?”

  “Yesssss,” said Night. “I see the stranger in the eastern parts of town, past the river.”

  “Alright,” said Philly. “What about a blue lady?”

  Night gave Philly the side-eye. Unwillingly, the starling had been chatted into volunteering information. That could have been worth something, although Night had no idea what the fox could have given. Was it a big deal, though? The bird didn’t believe so. He shook his head. “I cannot know if I’ve seen a blue lady.” Night pointed a wing at his eyes. “Colourblindness. Are you no different?”

  Philly nodded. “Yes, I’m colourblind, too. But the lady’s blue– the kid said so.” He puttered. “Listen... have you seen a lady hopping around rooftops? There’s not a lot of people like that around.”

  “No,” said Night, “I’m afraid not.”

  Philly sunk. “Drat. That doesn’t help me much.”

  Sarcasm oozed out of Night’s beak. “Apologies, my quadrupedal cohort.”

  “It’s not your fault,” said Philly, moving around the floor and scanning his eyes around. “It’s frustrating. There’s a gang out there after Ghost and we don’t know who. We’re out there trying to find the guys!”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Night rubbed a wing down his crest again. “Well, best of luck, I suppose.”

  “Hey,” said Philly, “It’s nearly November. Aren’t you supposed to be migrating?”

  The bird rose his beak up at Philly. “Like a common starling?” The bird huffed. “Although instincts inside of me dictate me to fly south, I’d rather stay in town.” He looked up and down his coup. “And make sure that my coup stays mine.”

  “Hmmmm.” Philly looked around. There was no more business to be had with the starling. “Well, I’ll see you later, feathers.”

  Ugh, feathers. What an insulting nickname! Night turned away, like he couldn’t even bother to look at Philly on the way out. With words dripping in more sarcasm, he said, “Till we meet again.”

  Philly went back down the stairs and left Night to himself. Night dove down into the roof and got out of the foggy cold.

  “So other than the shadow guy, there’s a ‘cloud person’ that’s been seen in the eastern parts of town.”

  Philly had claimed another backpack to ride inside when Ghost Thing was jumping around town, and maybe the fox was getting used to it because his nerves and stomach weren’t acting up as much while the water kid hopped around the spires of Leslieville with the backpack strapped to his shoulders. Spires might have been an overstatement but even if most buildings didn’t cake up more than three layers, it was easy to find Ghost’s way around.

  “A cloud person?” asked Ghost as he ran across the peak of a gable roof.

  “You haven’t fought a cloud person, have you?” asked Philly, his head hanging out of the backpack.

  Ghost chuckled. “Nope. Do you think he’s part of the gang after me?”

  “That’s a good question, slick,” said Philly. “Just because a weirdo is hopping around town doesn’t mean they’re associated with whoever’s after you. He might be a cloud person, just living his cloud life!” Philly smiled and raised a foreleg to pat Ghost Thing on the shoulder. “Kinda like you!”

  Ghost Thing was scouting. It was about the only thing he could do right now– scan the city for people that might be associated with the mysterious organization that had been sending trouble after Ghost. He was leaving himself open, too, by racing across the tops of houses and stores.

  Nothing about Leslieville seemed like a hotspot for criminal activity nor the location of the gang after Ghost Thing, but with little certainty on where the gang was hiding, patrolling Leslieville didn’t seem like the worst idea. And apparently it was a stomping ground for a mysterious cloud person. Who knew what could have been uncovered around town?

  The fog had dissipated since early morning. Underneath a grey sky, Ghost came to an intersection where a good five or ten metres split buildings apart. There weren’t any streetlights proximate enough for him to “stone skip” across over the street. He had to go down a row of houses to find a section of the road where two streetlights, poles hanging above the sidewalk, were close enough for Ghost to hop across them to the other side.

  The problem was that as he walked down a line of houses, he was in plain view to the people walking the sidewalks below and they looked up at the thing racing across the rooftops and saw it was Toronto’s newest superhero: Ghost Thing.

  A guy in a baggy blue sweater pointed up at the water boy. “Hey! It’s that ghost guy!”

  A few others on the sidewalk joined him in gawking at Ghost Thing; an older couple crossing the road to get a closer look.

  “Uh oh,” Ghost said quietly. Philly stared at the approaching citizens, wary of them getting a good glance at his liquid friend.

  Ghost Thing turned and jumped into a tree and then into a streetlight and then into another streetlight. And with pedestrians chasing him below, Ghost jumped from streetlight to the top of a coin laundry place.

  “He jumped onto that roof!” someone shouted below.

  Guess I need to lose them, thought Ghost Thing.

  A few of those below had the right idea to not chase the kid who could hop across rooftops with ease but some of the pedestrians tried following Ghost Thing, running around the sides of the building to see where he was jumping to, hoping to trail him. Ghost ran down the side of the building and jumped over to a small shed at the edge of a parking lot and then onto the top of a row of houses. He put distance between him and his followers and it didn’t take long for the others to give up the chase.

  Philly looked back and gave out a snappy laugh. “Looks like you got your fans!”

  Ghost landed on another stony rooftop and slowed down. He looked back in the direction of the people that wanted to catch his glimpse. “Do you think they would know about the cloud guy? Or maybe any gangs?”

  Philly chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

  It was time for a break, and Ghost Thing took a break at a food court. On top of a food court, that is. Ghost Thing parked himself on top of the Gerard Shopping Centre. If he crept up to the sky lights he could peak down through the glass at the shoppers below, eating at tables. Philly shed the backpack and rested on a surface that was flat enough that he didn’t think he would slide down and off the rooftop.

  The sky was full of clouds but rays of lights shone through and blessed the ground. It could be real beautiful, Ghost Thing knew.

  Below them, the speakers pumped through the ceiling. The sound wasn’t too muffled that Ghost couldn’t make out the bass line. Actually, he recognized the song. Maybe the drums hit too hard but the singing was a soulful and the guitar lick was nice. Ghost Thing almost got to tapping his feet, until– Wait a minute, it was that 50 Cent song! Ugh, Ghost Thing couldn’t believe he was– for a few seconds– charmed by a 50 Cent song!

  It was good enough for Philly to tap his paw to. The fox rested there, clicking his claws on the roof of the mall.

  “Hey, Philly,” said Ghost Thing. “Do you like music?”

  Philly turned to him, confused. He took the question at face value. “Yeah, I like music fine.”

  “Where do you hear it?” asked Ghost.

  Philly grinned and twitched his big fox ears. “All around. I, uh, don’t really pay attention close enough to get any names.” Philly dropped his head down into his legs and continued while staring out into the distance. “It’s not really my domain, right? I just like what I hear, I guess.” A pause. “There’s so much of it. There’s too much to listen to!”

  “But most of it is garbage and not worth hearing,” said Ghost Thing, like he wasn’t just a half-minute ago enjoying a hip hop track.

  An awkward silence unfolded. Ghost Thing’s thoughts lingered towards Lady Beat. Where was she? Did she hang around Leslieville or was downtown the only place she roamed? The only places Ghost could recall that Lady Beat had visited was that construction deal that she busted in the city and when Ghost himself was attacked by the shadow man at the tower where Beat had to save him personally. All the other rumours of Lady Beat’s presence, he had no idea if they were legit.

  “Where do you think Lady Beat lives?” said Ghost.

  “I don’t know, droplet,” Philly said dismissively. That felt condescending, so Philly rephrased the statement. “I don’t know. I’m not sure where she could be.” Philly let out a snicker. “She could be living at the top of CN Tower for all we know!

  Ghost sighed and stretched out his legs across the surface. “I wish I could have asked her about gangs when I saw her the other day. I bet she would know.”

  “If she knew where they were,” said Philly. “Why wouldn’t she bust them?”

  “I dunno,” said Ghost Thing. He looked over at Philly and grinned. “Maybe she’s waiting for a partner to help get the job done.”

  Philly chuckled. For a second there, it seemed like the water boy’s mission was to take the gang out and not make peace with them.

  “Do you think people call her?” asked Ghost Thing. “Maybe she’s got ties to the police or something.”

  Philly smirked. “If I was the police of this town and had to deal with the things that need dealin’ with, I’d find a way to contact somebody like Lady Beat.”

  Ghost took a big breath in and exhaled. “It seems like the only way to see her is to be attacked, and I don’t like the idea of putting myself in danger just to see her again.” He chuckled, and looked over at Philly. “Whaddya say? Should I cruise around downtown and hope one of the gang’s agents comes to get me?”

  Philly smirked but said nothing. Ghost Thing dropped his eyes and drew a circle on the roof, his watery finger leaving behind a glistening trail. “At that point, I might as well try talking to the member and see if they can set me up with a meeting with their leader.” A realization came over Ghost. “Or... I follow them back to their hideout.”

  “That sounds dangerous, though,” said Philly. “You sure you wanna try that, slick?”

  Ghost chuckled and said, “Of course not! I’ve escaped from those goons twice and I don’t think I’ll get lucky a third time!”

  They shared a laugh, loud enough that it could have rang down the roofs to the parking lot below, possibly heard by shoppers. They rested for a bit more, then headed out.