Tired-looking figures emerged from doorways, buttoning waistcoats and stretching stiff limbs. Some of them stopped to watch a poster-boy plaster new signs to a wall, demanding the capture of the Wild Boy of London and the Fairground Fiend Clarissa Everett. The price on their heads had risen. Wild...
None of the lamps on the walls were lit, but he didn’t need them. He’d spent most of his life locked up in dark rooms, so he was used to it. He saw several closed doors along the passage, between shelves crammed with books. “Which door should we take?” Clarissa said. “None of them. Don’t open any...