Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(19)

***

"Charlie, wake up." Lincoln's deep voice nestled into my dreams. I wanted to hold it close, sink into its silky depths. His vigorous shaking of my foot was far more disruptive, however.

I sat up and he let my foot go. I rubbed my eyes. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Come with me."

I blinked at him. He was fully dressed and not looking the least sleepy. He must have come straight from Jimmy and Pete's place. "Where to?"

"Whitechapel."

"Why?"

"You wanted to help," he said turning away. "Now is your opportunity. Dress in boys' clothes and your cloak."

I scrambled out of bed as he shut the door behind himself and waited in the corridor. I pulled on the boys' clothing I'd worn the day I'd arrived at Lichfield, and a black hooded cloak, gloves and boots. My hair would have to stay loose. I doubted he'd allow me the time to pin it back.

Without word, he strode ahead of me through the darkness. Neither of us needed a light to move around the house at night, but I was slower at descending the stairs than him. It would be just my luck to miss a step and tumble down. He waited for me at the base of the staircase then strode off again, through the kitchen and other service rooms and out the back door. I had to take two steps to his one to keep up.

A horse tethered to a bollard blew foggy air from its nostrils. The light of the glowing moon glinted off the metal stirrup as Lincoln held it for me. I hesitated, but not for more than a heartbeat. If he'd made the decision to invite me to help on a whim, I didn't want him thinking too much about it and risk having him change his mind. I might never get the opportunity again.

I hoisted myself into the saddle and tried to correct my balance. Seth had given me some riding lessons but I wasn't very good; I much preferred to have both feet on solid ground. It felt somewhat more natural and comfortable with trousers on, as I sat astride like a man instead of sidesaddle. I was beginning to think I could get used to riding if I always sat astride—until Lincoln mounted and disrupted my composure.

He sat in front of me and directed me to hold on. I circled my arms around his waist and rested my cheek to his back. Even through the layers of clothing I could feel his warmth and the ridged muscles of his stomach. Every part of him felt taught, but I got no chance to ponder that when the horse moved. It didn't walk or trot, but flew down the drive to the gates. At least it felt like flying, the beast was going that fast. I held on, not only with my hands and arms, but with my thighs and feet too.

"Charlie." Lincoln's hand closed over mine at his stomach. "Relax your fingers. I need to breathe."

"I will relax them when you hold the reins in both hands again."

He let me go and I loosened my grip a little.

"Are your eyes open?"

"Of course." I opened them and was glad that it was too dark to see much. The few working streetlights provided enough light for me to realize we were going exceedingly fast. I resisted the urge to close them again and instead began to count to pass the time and take my mind off the fact I was riding at an alarming speed.

It still seemed like an age before we slowed. We'd reached Whitechapel. I knew the area well, having spent more months in the miserable precinct than I would have liked. Where not a soul was out on the cool, damp night in Highgate, there were signs of life in Whitechapel, from the homeless, huddled on front porches, to the whores offering themselves to us as we passed. Their threadbare clothing looked too thin for the bitter autumn night. I wished I'd brought some coins with me to hand out.

Lincoln ignored them all. We rode through the shadows, down narrow lanes that stank of human wretchedness until we finally came to a stop behind a row of buildings. Lincoln dismounted and opened a gate then led the horse through to a small courtyard. It was empty except for a small cart, a pail and some empty crates. He closed the gate again and held the horse steady while I dismounted without assistance.

"Is this where Jimmy and Pete live?" I asked.

"They live around the corner. This is a butcher's shop. They stole another body earlier this evening, deposited it here and then left."

Bile rose to my throat. "They're selling human meat for people to eat?" Oh God, how horrid.

"I don't think so, but I don't know for certain."

"So you wish me to use my necromancy and find out from one of the body's spirits what it is they plan to do?"

"I doubt the spirits will know. They have probably crossed over and wouldn't have witnessed anything. It's unlikely they even know their bodies have been disturbed."

"Then how can a spirit help? What do you need me for?"

"To raise one so he can frighten them into telling us."

"Oh. That's a good idea. It might work. But you don't think your interrogation techniques are enough to scare them into giving you answers?"

"It wasn't when I questioned them at The Red Lion. They're being paid very well, or being offered another incentive to keep the secret. Either I kill one of them to frighten the other into loosening his tongue, or we frighten them in some other way."

"I think you've made the right choice."

"We shall see."

"Do you think I can manage it? Raising a dead man when his soul has already crossed over, I mean. I've never done it before." I knew from reading Lincoln's books that a necromancer must summon a soul that has crossed over to the afterlife by name then instruct him or her to re-enter a dead body, not necessarily their own. I knew from experience that a soul that has not yet crossed doesn't need to be summoned by name. Simple instructions suffice in that case.