Beasts of London by Jonathan Maloney

Author:Jonathan Maloney [Maloney, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SkyNation Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

When the door opened, the carriage was already there. Resplendent and fresh, unmarked and spotless. The four horses that pulled it along stood proud and tall, larger than most such steeds and, somehow, a bit rougher rather than sleek and carefully presented like other coach horses tended to be in London.

Crook was leaning back against the door to the carriage, grinning. That wide, toothy grin with glittering eyes, his silver hair bound back. Far from crooked, this time he towered straight and rigid, arms folded across his chest. He touched his brow, opened the door to the carriage, and beckoned Barty enter. This made Barty pause.

It was obvious by this point that there was something different about Crook. The reaction everyone had to him was telling. Cutter, the brute from when this had all begun, was terrified of him. Adam held him in caution. And his behaviour aside, there were questions to be asked—but now was not the time to slow.

So, he approached confidently. Now dressed in the clean and pressed apparel that Adam had taken care of for him, to give an appearance somewhat more professional for his venture, Barty took some of the courage from earlier and strode up to Crook, tipping his hat in reply.

“If I may, Master Crook, I would prefer to join you on the driver’s seat this afternoon instead. After all…” He gestured to the autumn gloom, not yet raining but promising at some point, that hung over all. “It is such a fine day.”

Crook reared back at this, his spine curling as his features twisted into bemusement, before he straightened with a snap. Laughing, and with but a single finger, he caused the door to the carriage to slam closed once more, and then slid up the side of the carriage, like water running backwards up a hill, to place himself in the carriage driver’s seat. Eagerly, he grinned down at Barty and patted the leather beside him. “Well then,” he said gleefully, but his eyes glittered strangely. “Far be it from me to deny a fool his delight.”

This did not reassure Barty in the least. He climbed with difficulty, a distant shadow to Crook’s unnatural agility. The coach seat seemingly had not been designed for a normal person to have easy access to; there was a hint of a ladder, but no foot points for a person to get a step up to the seat. Crook quite clearly did not need them, which made it clear that this coach was his and his entirely.

But Barty was slight and spry and wriggling, and he made his way up. Crook nodded, seemingly impressed, and the carriage set off smoothly before Barty had found his seat. Falling into it at the strange man’s side, he gathered himself. “You know where we are going, then?” A foolish question, but it was one to start the conversation.

Crook gave a genteel snort. “Of course I do. I can find a dream in starlight, a dandelion in rain. I

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