Her Majesty's Necromancer (The Ministry of Curiosities #2)(46)

"That bad?" He screwed up his face. "I suppose it's inevitable. I wonder how long it will be before I'm nothing but bones."

"A little while longer, yet." I don't know why I wanted to reassure him. He was very matter-of-fact about his decay; I, on the other hand, was somewhat saddened by it. "Are you ready?"

He dusted off some of the dirt from his suit, but he was still covered in it. His hands in particular were filthy. "I'd offer you my arm, but I don't want to sicken you."

"I'm not sickened," I said, holding out my hand.

He hesitated then with a smile, offered his elbow. I slipped my hand into it, picked up the lantern, and headed out of the cemetery with him like an ordinary couple going for a stroll. I giggled at the macabre image we cut, earning a smile from Gordon in return. Unfortunately, one of his teeth fell out, and he shut his mouth again.

We passed through the Highgate Cemetery gate and I nodded at the two horses tied up nearby. "It's too far to walk so I brought transportation." I'd managed to saddle them on my own; Seth had taught me how. I'd brought the two most docile horses in the stables and prayed they wouldn't be spooked by the ethereal quiet of the foggy night, or by Gordon.

I'd left a note on the kitchen table for Cook. I didn't want to wake him and he wouldn't have been as useful as Gordon anyway. Hopefully I'd be back before he or one of the others read it. No doubt it would cause alarm, despite my assurance that Gordon could protect me.

"Do you know the way to Lee's?" he asked me.

"Not precisely. Lower Pell Lane is near the docks, but that's all I know."

"I'm well familiar with it," he said drily. "I could find my way there with my eyes closed."

He held my horse while I mounted, then spent a moment to familiarize himself with the other. It shied away from him at first, but a few gentle words and pats coaxed it to stand still and allow him to mount. Even so, its ears twitched back and forth and its nostrils flared.

We rode south as quickly as I dared. With no traffic to get in the way, it was an easy ride, thank goodness. Gordon was more comfortable on horseback than me, as most gentlemen would be, and he frequently had to stop and wait. We dismounted in a tavern yard around the corner from Lower Pell Lane and paid a tired looking stable lad to mind the horses. Gordon clung to the shadows as I completed the transaction.

Despite the late hour, a few drunkards came and went from the tavern but took no notice of us. Dressed in my boys' trousers, I blended in. We were a few streets north of the actual docks, and aside from taverns and alehouses, there were shops selling wares that travelers or sailors might need. All were shut up for the night, some with lamps valiantly trying to ward off thieves, all with heavy locks on doors.

I held my lantern high and walked swiftly to keep up with Gordon. We headed away from Ratcliff Highway, through an arch, along a narrow passage and into a courtyard crammed with tenements. Faded signs hung above doors announcing that lodgings could be had within. There were other signs too, in a script I couldn't understand.

Gordon fixed on a door with the symbol of a dragon etched into the wood. "This is it," he said. "Lee has rooms inside and a man on the door. He'll scream blue murder if we're police, but shouldn't put up a fuss when he sees it's just two lads, especially if I use Mr. Lee's name. He's had this establishment a few years now, ever since the authorities began cracking down on the dens, and he had to leave his shop for something more discreet. Be prepared, Miss Charlie. It's a hovel."

I drew in a deep breath and nodded at the door. "I'm ready."

He pulled up the collar of his suit to cover his chin and mouth and drew some of his hair over his face. A few strands fell out as he did so. He knocked and the door was opened by a Chinaman with a long black ponytail and sleepy eyes. His age was difficult to discern, but his face was quite youthful. The smell of smoke drifted to us, tickling my nose.

Gordon bowed before the man could fully see his face. "Is Mr. Lee in? I've brought a friend with me this time."

The Chinaman bowed and so did I. When he straightened, he indicated we should go through. "Mr. Lee at home," he said and sat again on a stool by the door.

We headed up a flight of wooden stairs. The burning smell grew stronger, but it wasn't quite the same smell as a fireplace. It was more acrid, and the closer we drew to the room at the top of the stairs, the more my eyes watered.

Gordon opened the door and the fumes almost overpowered me. I coughed into the haze of smoke and wiped tears from my stinging eyes. Gordon took my arm. His eyes were fine. He would be unaffected by such mortal things as opium fumes.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the room was quite small. Clothing and bedsheets hung from the ceiling on string, but for what purpose, I couldn't say. If Mr. Lee did his laundry in there, it would never be free of the smoke. A large bed occupied most of the room, but there were two other narrow beds as well, two chairs, a table and stove. When I realized how many people lay on the three beds, my jaw dropped. There were two on each of the smaller cots, lying curled on their sides, and at least four or five on the bigger bed. It was difficult to determine the number as the limbs were splayed here and there, and the bodies packed together. One or two raised their heads upon our entry, but most simply lay there in a stupor, writhing every now and again, like snakes. Even more men sat or lay on the floor, pipes drooping from their mouths. Most stared vacantly, but a few were intent on their conversations or lighting their pipes.