The Peculiars by Kieran Larwood

Author:Kieran Larwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chicken House

Chapter Twelve

IN WHICH SHEBA HAS A CLOSE SHAVE.

They followed the painted man along the highway, past St Katherine’s Docks and out of the East End. All the while they kept as far behind as they could without losing sight of him. Every now and then, Sister Moon would push them into a doorway or behind a hawker’s street-stall. Split seconds later, the man would turn and glare back up the road, but see nothing. It’s almost as if she knows when he’s about to look round, Sheba thought. She supposed stalking people must be part of an assassin’s training.

They walked past the piece of old wall that marked the edge of Roman Londinium and alongside the Tower of London. Sheba shivered as she passed it, imagining swirls in the mist were the ghosts of beheaded prisoners watching them. London Bridge was crowded with hansom cabs, carts and horses and scores of people in between, hurrying to get away from the stink of the Thames.

Once over the river, they headed down Tooley Street, holding their breath for as long as they could past the tanning yards. Once or twice they lost sight of the painted man in the crowds, but Sheba still had a hold of his scent. She followed it as if it were an invisible rope.

He led them through a maze of streets, past docks and warehouses, and on to a wide, cobbled road. It looked as if it might once have been a grand place to live. On either side stood three-storey stone houses with high, square windows and tall chimneystacks. Most had steps up to the front doors. But the painted doors were peeling, the sagging roofs were shedding slates like autumn leaves, and the windows were cracked and filthy.

‘If we’re not back soon, Plumpscuttle is going to skin us alive,’ said Monkeyboy.

‘Quiet,’ hissed Sister Moon. ‘Man stopping.’

The three of them ducked into a nearby doorway and watched as the painted man walked up the stone steps of one house and pulled on the bell. There was a moment’s pause before the door opened and a tiny little man stepped out. He had scrawny limbs and an oversized head. A white frizz jutted out around his ears, but there was no hair anywhere else on the bulging dome of his skull. He also wore a pair of thick, heavy glasses.

Sheba’s heart was in her throat. She whispered to the others, ‘Remember what Farfellini said about the man who gave him the order for the crab?’

‘Skinny,’ said Monkeyboy.

‘Bald,’ said Sister Moon.

‘And spectacles,’ added Sheba. ‘Exactly.’

The two men shook hands, then walked inside the house. As the slam of the door echoed down the street, Sheba and the others stepped out of their hiding place.

‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘We’ve found them. They must be the ones who’ve taken Till. She could even be inside that house right now.’

‘Number 17,’ Sister Moon said, peering down the street at the house. ‘We go back and tell Mama Rat what we find.’

Something about the number made Sheba pause.

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