Carnival of the Hunted by Kieran Larwood

Author:Kieran Larwood
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 2022-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

In which Sheba’s gentleman friend comes calling.

‘It must be one of these,’ said Sheba. ‘But which?’

They were in the workshop, where the far wall had been turned into a giant incident board. A huge map of London and the surrounding countryside had been pinned to the wall, and all the stately homes and manor houses north of the city marked with red pins. Most had pieces of twine tied around them, leading off to etchings of grand buildings – all pillars, crenellations and bay windows – set in rolling grounds with lashings of topiary, follies and ornamental ponds. They looked unreal to Inji. Like pictures from a fairy tale.

Sheba walked over to a stack of newspapers and pamphlets on her desk. She began tearing out pages, then going back to the wall and pasting them next to the house pictures with a splodge of thick yellow glue from a dripping brush.

When she was done, she stood back, chewing at her nails and frowning. She had been doing a lot of chewing and frowning, the past couple of days.

‘What are you putting on there now?’ Inji asked. From where she was standing it looked like more etchings, this time of people.

‘These are portraits of the owners,’ said Sheba. Without taking her eyes from the wall, she reached behind her and waved a magazine at Inji. ‘All the ones I can find pictures of.’

Inji took the magazine from her and began flipping through. It was full of articles about high society balls and parties. Lists of who was there, what they had been wearing, who performed … even what kind of hors d’oeuvres had been served. Each article had a sketch alongside, showing gentlemen in long-tailed jackets and ladies wearing enough lace to supply a small country with tablecloths.

‘Do you think Redtash might have been at one of these lah-di-dah shindigs?’ Inji asked. She was torn between laughing at some of the ridiculous outfits and wishing she could go to one herself. To swirl around a polished floor in time to the music … To wear clothes that were clean and delicate and pretty, which didn’t get ripped to shreds by her claws …

‘Perhaps,’ said Sheba, still chewing a finger. ‘And if we can match him to one of these houses …’

‘Then we might know where the Hunters’ Club is based!’ Inji finished. She moved nearer the wall, peering closely at each face Sheba had pasted. Most of the men did indeed have beards or whiskers or sideburns, but they were all drawn in black ink. There was no way of knowing whether any were red-haired or not.

‘I’ve been to one or two of those balls,’ Sheba muttered. ‘But I can’t remember anyone with red hair. I mean, some people must have had it, but I didn’t notice …’

‘How were you to know one might have been a murderous criminal?’ Inji said, going back to the magazine. Now she wanted to find a picture of Sheba, all dressed up.

‘It’s the aristocracy, Inji.

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