The sheets used to zip down the telephone wire to escape Terry were, to say the least, noticeably damaged. Apricot was not at all pleased by this. And being it had been Slink who had given her the bad news about them, she chased him all around her home.

Not surprisingly, the others were horrified to hear of their run-in with Terry, the twins, and the Trolls. Although for Ramon his horror didn't last long as he got quite jealous after being told of their highwire act.

'Ahh, lucky,' he said. 'That would have been fun.'

'Fun? Norman replied. 'Have you seen this big red mark on my face? Slink almost got caught and we could have fallen to our deaths.'

Everyone was petrified the Mongraw Gang would come after them. And even more so knowing the Westies were now possibly in cahoots with them. Adding to that, the race was soon approaching, it constantly being on Matthew's mind.

Even Matthew's dreams were about the races (Terry chasing him popped up now and again) and they weren't good. There was one dream where he forgot to take his foot off the brake at the start and he was laughed at. Another where his wheels went all wobbly for no apparent reason. But the worst dream of all was when he accidentally ran over White-spot and everyone chased him out of Spring Heights.

Trying to find Mrs Grey also took up Matthew's time. He spied every single address in the Free Territory, and to his great sadness, he didn't find her. Now they really needed to win the race.

'Two days to go, guys' said Jennifer. All the racers were sitting around the table on the Harrower eating and studying maps of the track, having just woken up from a well-deserved sleep-in after a really long practice the night before. 'Two days to go before the race.'

'I hope we're ready,' said Matthew, putting down a diagram of the track's third corner. 'Do you think we're ready?'

'I don't think we've prepared like this for a race ever,' said Norman.

Emily came barging into the cabin. 'Oh, it's just you lot?' she said. She was a bit winded.

'That's nice,' Jennifer said jokingly. 'But yeah, everyone else is still out doing their chores.'

'I didn't mean it like that.' Emily walked over to the table. 'It's just that Mr Peterson rang and he thinks his chimney's blocked.'

Slink was about to take a bite of hashbrown. 'Why does he think that?'

'He told me he and his wife were performing some musical that supposed to be set during wintertime last night and they thought starting a fire would help them get more into character. When they started the fire, their house filled with smoke.'

'Yeah,' said Slink, 'sounds like the chimney's blocked all right.'

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Norman scrunched up his eyes. 'That's impossible . . . we cleaned their chimney extremely well.'

'Well something has clearly happened since then,' replied Slink. 'We should go over and unblock it.'

'Fine,' said Emily. 'But if you lose the race don't blame me for not pressuring you more not go to the Petersons'.'

Once they had scoffed down breakfast, they got dressed and left for the Petersons'. Scared they might run into the Mongraw Gang or the Westies, their heads on top of their skulking bodies were twitching all over the place as they went.

Sure enough, Norman spotted a couple of Westies, two tall skinny boys who had weasel-like faces, sitting on a bench. The two of them were intently eyeing all the people walking passed.

'Oh, look over there, it's Smooth Sam and Fast Freddy,' said Norman.

'Who are they?' Matthew asked after following the others behind a newsstand.

'Westies.' Slink said it in a whisper, even though the Westies wouldn't have heard him if he had yelled. The street was really noisy. There was a parade full of floats blaring music.

'What's with their names?' asked Matthew.

'You'll see. I think they're about ready to pounce,' said Norman.

Matthew had an inkling of what Norman was talking about and he was right, for seconds later Smooth Sam leapt up from the bench and stopped a really old man walking with a cane. Smooth Sam whipped out, from his pocket, what looked like a donation box with a picture of a puppy with only three legs. He then started to talk at length, possibly a spiel about a fake animal charity he was trying to collect for. The old man was eating it all up. Meanwhile, Fast Freddy casually, and with stealth, walked behind the old man.

It happened so quickly. Matthew couldn't believe how fast Fast Freddy pickpocketed the old man's wallet and with such finesse, too. The old man didn't feel a thing and the people who were walking by were clueless to it. Fast Freddy took a few bills out of the wallet and then, stunningly, placed it back inside the man's pocket.

After Smooth Sam finished talking, the old man smiled and took out a handful of coins from another pocket, dropping them inside the donation box. Smooth Sam mouthed what looked like a 'thank you' and let the old man on his way.

The six of them were about to continue on to the Petersons' when a voice from behind, making them all jump and pirouette in the air, said, 'Like what you saw?' It was Sarah and she was with Simon and Maud. When nobody answered, she smiled a crooked smile and went on, 'You know, you guys should try pickpocketing . . . it's very lucrative. A lot more lucrative than your cleaning job.' She chuckled.

'They would never pickpocket,' said Maud, 'they think they're too good for it.'

Simon shook his head. 'What have the people of this city done for you . . . us . . . the rest of the street children? Nothing. It's only right that we steal from them . . . to get our fair share. But enough with that. What I want to talk about is your little run-in with Terry the other day.'

Uh oh, here we go, thought Matthew. They were indeed in cahoots with the Mongraw Gang. He was just waiting for Sarah, Simon and Maud to do something.

'I've never laughed so hard in my life,' said Simon. There was so much joy in him his eyes were watering up. 'Bravo, Slink. I would have loved to have seen you kick Terry in the face, his blood gushing all over him. Seriously, well done.' He put his hand out. 'For that brief moment, Slink, and only that brief moment, I would have traded places with you.'

'Thanks, I guess,' said Slink, accepting Simon's hand and shaking it.

'We would give you a gift, Slink,' said Sarah, 'for that's –' she put a hand over her heart '– how deeply impressed we are, but we're not.'

Maud cackled. 'Good one, Sarah.'

'I will, though,' said Sarah, 'say good luck to you in the upcoming race, Slink.' She looked rather sincere.

'Uh . . . thanks,' replied Slink. Matthew and the others were as bowled over as he was. 'You, too.'

'We'd better be off . . . we've got some more pickpocketing to do,' said Simon. 'Now Slink . . . don't go ratting us out to the cops.' He, Sarah and Maud laughed before leaving.

'Well, I wasn't expecting that,' said Norman.

'I don't think any of us were,' said Jennifer, as the six of them continued on their way.

'What is going on?' Slink burst out. 'This doesn't make any sense. Why are they pleased? If they are allied with the Mongraw Gang they should be angry. Right?'

'Maybe it was just a ruse,' suggested Matthew. 'Maybe they want to keep this partnership a secret for some reason. Maybe Terry told them that we know and they should act as if they aren't.'

'That's a possibility,' said Slink. 'The thing is . . . yes, tell the Westies we know about the partnership, but why tell them – for it had to have been the Mongraw Gang who told them because we didn't – what had happened on the roofs? Why tell them I kicked Terry in the face? I mean, it's rather embarrassing for Terry. Guys, something weird is going on.'

Although the Petersons had opened up all of the windows in their house, letting the smoke clear, the smell was undeniable. Something was wrong with the chimney and it seemed to Matthew the Petersons' were angry about it, their jovial demeanor when he first met them gone. However, he was mistaken about the reason. He and the others got the full explanation for their mood as they were led toward the music room.

They had just received a message from Doctor Alex Parker, the one who was supposed to play the piano at their charity show (Matthew and the others had completely forgot about the show). The news wasn't good.

'Two weeks ago,' said Mr Peterson. Looking like they had just travelled through time from Victorian England, he was wearing a nightgown, a nightcap and slippers, and Mrs Peterson was wearing a ratty suit and pants, 'Doc had to leave town for some family business . . . no hint of why, which I thought was quite rude, but promised to be back for the performance –'

'We had to get another pianist for our rehearsals,' interrupted Mrs Peterson, 'and there is just no comparison. Doc is truly one of a kind.'

'Quite right, dear,' said Mr Peterson. 'Now, Doc's unsure about being back in time for the performance. We've been looking everywhere trying to find a replacement who's at least half as good, but we haven't been able to. If we can't find anyone, we will surely have to cancel.'

'What a travesty that would be,' said Mrs Peterson, quite theatrical. 'To deny the public our voices . . .'

'Problems some people have, hey,' Norman whispered to Matthew.

Shaking her head at Mrs Peterson, Jennifer said, 'It would be terrible if you had to cancel . . . I was really looking forward to it. No, all of us were.'

Mrs Peterson sniffled, warmly putting her arm around Jennifer.

'Well,' said Mr Peterson, 'fingers crossed we don't have to cancel. If we do, we will call you . . . let you know.' They entered the music room. 'About our chimney . . . it is definitely blocked. I checked it myself after we phoned you . . . almost broke my hip doing so.' They all went over to the fireplace, where Mr Peterson grabbed a flashlight from the mantelpiece and handed it to Slink. 'Take a look, the blockage is about halfway up.'

Slink crawled into the fireplace and shined the flashlight up the chimney. 'I see it. The whole chimney's blocked.'

'Blocked by what?' asked Matthew.

Slink turned to him and shrugged. 'I couldn't tell you.'

'What should we do?'

'I guess we could poke it,' said Slink, and that's what they did. With Ramon holding the flashlight for him, Slink gave the blockage a prod with a chimney brush.

That seemed to have done the trick because the two of them were out of the fireplace in a jiffy.

'GET BACK!!!' they both screamed to high heaven. They looked as though they had just seen a ghost.

'My dears,' said Mrs Peterson, 'there's no need to shou – HOLY FUDGE POPSICLES!!!'

A tiny raccoon hit the bottom of the fireplace with a thud.

'It's still alive,' said Slink, and everyone retreated to the other side of the room, underneath the disco ball.

'Are you sure it's still alive?' asked Matthew. 'It doesn't look like it.'

The raccoon was motionless, his legs and arms sprawled out at weird angles, and his tongue was dangling out of his mouth.

'It looked at us before it fell,' said Slink. 'Trust me, it's alive.'

'I want this creature out of my house,' cried Mr Peterson, tightly hugging his wife. They were both shaking.

'It's all right,' said Slink, 'we'll get it out.'

'Thank you,' gibbered Mr Peterson, and he and his wife left the room.

'So, how do we want to handle this?' asked Slink.

'I say the easiest way,' said Norman. 'We kill it. One good hit with something hard.' He made a whacking motion. 'It will be good eating and we can trade the pelt for something.'

'Awww, that's mean,' Jennifer said with puckered lips. 'Look, it's only a baby, and baby animals shouldn't be treated like that.'

'I agree,' said Norman, 'but it's only going to die anyways. Even if it's not injured, it won't survive on its own if we let it go.'

'Its mother could still be around,' said Jennifer. 'We could leave it somewhere safe where she could find it.'

'That's true,' said Norman. 'But if it is injured, the mother won't take it back.'

'So let's see if it's injured then,' said Jennifer. 'If it isn't, we let it go.'

Everyone agreed.

'How are we supposed to see if it's injured?' asked Ramon.

'Try and make it move, I guess,' said Matthew.

However, as they all moved closer, stamping their feet loudly on the floor, hoping to get a response from the raccoon, they saw that its back right leg was clearly broken. It was either the result of getting stuck in the chimney or falling onto the hearth. They could also make out a faint breathing that sounded rather laborious and see that it was extremely malnourished. It must have been in the chimney for some time.

Visibly upset, Jennifer said, a break in her voice, 'Well, that's that.' She began to rub her eyes.

They stood in silence for a minute before Slink said, 'So, who's going to do it? Who's going to . . . you know . . . put it out of its misery?'

There were no takers.

'How are we going to do it?' asked Matthew. He didn't like the question but it had to be asked.

Ramon nodded over to a fire poker next to the fireplace. 'I think that will do the job.'

'We could get someone else to do the deed,' proposed Norman. 'Trevor would probably be willing. He does like his raccoon hats.'

'Can we fix it?' asked Jennifer. 'Mend the leg?' She looked at Slink.

Slink bobbed his head in contemplation before saying, 'I could give it a try.' The rest turned to him. 'I have a medical book somewhere that could have something about dealing with broken bones.' Everyone smiled. 'Mind you, the book has to do with humans.'

The Petersons were really grateful to Matthew and the others for removing the raccoon from their house, paying them with both money and fudge popsicles (Mrs Peterson really liked them), which they ate while carrying the injured baby raccoon back to the Harrower.

Everyone back home was surprised by the furry arrival, but they all took to it quickly, except for John, that is. It took two tirades, one about them not being an animal hospital and another about why nobody got him a fudge popsicle, before he came around. And everyone helped out as Slink went to work trying to fix the raccoon's broken leg.

In the end, Smoky (a suitable name that Jennifer had come up with) lay in his bed of pine needles inside a cardboard box next to the wood stove, a cast made from bandages and paper-mache on his broken leg. Now, it was a waiting game, of which started off on a positive and very funny note, for that night, as dinner was being cooked, a half-sleeping Smoky comically sniffed the air.

If Smoky did get better, the plan was to find his mother and hope she would take him back. If they couldn't find his mother, the plan was to keep him until he was old enough and wanted to go out on his own.