Carnival of the Lost by Kieran Larwood

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

CHAPTER TWELVE

In which Sheba has a brush with death.

They followed the three men along the Highway, past St Katharine’s Docks and out of the East End. All the while they kept as far behind as they could without losing sight of them. Every now and then, Sister Moon would push them into a doorway or behind a hawker’s street stall. Split seconds later, one of the men would turn and glare back up the road, but see nothing. It’s almost as if she knows when they are about to look round, Sheba thought. Perhaps her reflexes were so fast, she could react to the slightest twitch of her quarry.

They walked past the piece of old wall that marked the edge of Roman Londinium, then alongside the Tower of London. Sheba shivered as she passed it, imagining swirls in the mist were the ghosts of beheaded prisoners watching them. The spirit of Anne Boleyn, maybe.xxiii Or poor Lady Jane Grey.xxiv

They walked over London Bridge, which 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 three men in the crowds, but Sheba still had a hold of the Major’s scent. She followed it as if it were an invisible rope, a secret trail only she could trace.

It led them through a maze of streets, past docks and warehouses and onto a wide, cobbled road that 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 chimney stacks. Most had steps up to the front doors. But all the painted wood was 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 Pyewacket.

‘Quiet,’ hissed Sister Moon. ‘They’re stopping.’

The three of them ducked into a nearby doorway and watched as the Major 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 stooped man stepped out. He had scrawny limbs and an oversized head. 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, metal-rimmed glasses.

Sheba clutched Pyewacket’s arm. ‘Remember what Spindlecrank said about the man who paid for the crab?’

‘Skinny,’ said Pyewacket.

‘Bald,’ said Sister Moon.

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

The Major gestured to the two wounded men, who shook hands with the bald one, then all four 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.

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