Ghosts & Garlands by Kelley Armstrong

Author:Kelley Armstrong [Armstrong, Kelley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781989046562
Publisher: K.L.A. Fricke Inc

7

Nicolas was joking about the Herculean task of calling for a cab. How much different can it be in this world? We have seen the motorized hansom cabs, and we simply need to wave one down. We spend ten minutes doing that before a kind passerby informs us that we need to look for a black cab with a yellow light on. If the light is off, it is occupied—even if there appear to be no passengers, the driver has been summoned to collect one.

Finding a cab with its light on takes another ten minutes, but by then, Nicolas is determined enough that he all but steps in front of it to get its attention. Once we are inside, we are presented with our next obstacle: convincing the poor fellow to follow our list of directions. Again, Nicolas plays the hapless French tourist, while being very apologetic and contrite. Our friends sent us on this hunt, but it’s getting late, and we went the wrong way.

I expect the driver to grumble, but he seems quite amused, and once he sees the list of directions, he says, “Oh, they’re sending you to Hyde Park.”

When I express surprise, he laughs. “I’m a London cab driver, miss. I’ve taken the Knowledge.”

“The . . . knowledge?” I say.

He pulls into traffic. “It’s the test for becoming a cab driver in London. You must be able to give the shortest route to any place within six miles of Charing Cross. That’s twenty-five thousand streets.”

“That is incredible,” Nicolas says.

“Takes years of study to pass it,” the driver says, with understandable pride. “They’d revoke my license if I didn’t know this”—he shakes the list—“took you from your hotel to Hyde Park. You were right to hail a cab. It’s quite a walk from the library.”

I had intended to peruse the Dick Turpin article as we drove, but Nicolas and our driver engage in a conversation about which is more difficult—the test to become a doctor or a cab driver, and it is entertaining enough that I forget all about Dick Turpin. Then we arrive at our destination, and I am all but crawling over Nicolas to see out the window, my nose touching the cold glass.

The driver gives a soft laugh. “Never seen the Wonderland, miss?”

“No, but they have certainly chosen the right name for it.”

Lights. That is all I see. Illumination in such abundance and color that I cannot quite believe my eyes haven’t failed simply from overstimulation. Lights on trees, on light poles, on circus tents, on a giant wheel that soars into the night sky. And the people! They are everywhere, bundled up against the cold, happily braving it to enjoy the delights of a winter’s fair that stretches as far as the eye can see.

“Best have your wallet full,” the driver jokes as Nicolas pays him. “This will set you back a bit.”

“I believe our friends have taken care of that.”

The driver wishes us a heartfelt good night, and we are off, with me nearly stumbling along in my excitement, my boots slipping on the new snow.

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