Rivers of London (Rivers of London #1)(25)

I suspected that some total bastard at the CPS could parlay that into a racially aggravated crime. I caught Lesley’s eye and she sighed but stopped taking notes.

‘I just wanted to go to the pictures,’ repeated Ms Munroe.

Salvation arrived in the form of Inspector Neblett who took one look at us and said, ‘I just can’t let you two out of my sight, can I?’ He didn’t fool me. I knew he’d been rehearsing that line the whole way over.

Nonetheless, we all trooped back to the nick to complete the arrest and do the paperwork. And that’s three hours of my life I won’t get back in a hurry. We ended up, like all coppers on overtime, in the canteen where we drank tea and filled in forms.

‘Where’s the Case Progression Unit when you need it?’ said Lesley.

‘Told you we should have seen Seven Samurai,’ I said.

‘Did you think there was something odd about the whole thing?’ asked Lesley.

‘Odd, how?’

‘You know,’ said Lesley, ‘middle-aged woman suddenly goes bonkers and attacks someone in a cinema, in front of her children. Are you sure you didn’t feel any … ?’ She waved her fingers.

‘I wasn’t paying attention,’ I said. Looking back, I thought there might have been something, a flash of violence and laughter, but it felt suspiciously retrospective; a memory I’d conjured up after the fact.

Mr Munroe arrived with a brief, and the parents of the other children, around nine and his wife was released on police bail less than an hour later. Considerably earlier than Lesley and I finished the paperwork. I was too knackered by then to try anything clever, so I said goodbye and caught a lift in the fast-response car back to Russell Square.

I had a brand new set of keys, including one for the tradesmen’s entrance round the back. That way I didn’t have to sneak past the disapproving gaze of Sir Isaac. The main atrium was dimly lit, but as I climbed the first flight of stairs I thought I saw a pale figure gliding across the floor below.


You know you’re staying somewhere posh when the breakfast room is a completely different room and not the same place where you had dinner, only dressed up with different china. It faced south-east to catch the thin January light, and looked out over the coach house and mews. Despite the fact that only Nightingale and I were eating, all the tables had been laid and bore laundry-white tablecloths. You could have seated fifty people in there. Likewise the serving table sported a line of silver-plated salvers with kippers, eggs, bacon, black pudding and a bowl full of rice, peas and flaked haddock that Nightingale identified as kedgeree. He seemed as taken aback by the amount of food as I was.

‘I think Molly may have become a little overenthusiastic,’ he said and helped himself to the kedgeree. I had a bit of everything and Toby got some sausages, some black pudding and a bowl of water.

‘There’s no way we can eat all this,’ I said. ‘What’s she going to do with all the leftovers?’

‘I’ve learned not to ask these questions,’ said Nightingale.

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because I’m not sure I want to know the answers,’ he said.


My first proper lesson in magic took place in one of the labs at the back of the first floor. The other labs had once been used for research projects but this one was for teaching, and indeed it looked just like a school chemistry lab. There were waist-high benches with gas taps for Bunsen burners placed at regular intervals and white porcelain basins sunk into the varnished wooden tops. There was even a poster of the periodic table on the wall missing, I noticed, all the elements discovered after World War Two.

‘First we need to fill up a sink,’ said Nightingale. He selected one and turned the tap at the base of its long, swan-necked spout. There was a distant knocking sound, the black swan neck shook, gurgled and then coughed up a gout of brown water.

We both took a step backwards.

‘How long since you used this place?’ I asked.

The knocking grew louder, faster and then water poured from the spout, dirty at first but then clear. The knocking faded away. Nightingale put the plug in and let the basin fill three-quarters before closing the tap.

‘When you’re attempting this spell,’ he said, ‘always have a basin of water ready as a safety precaution.’

‘Are we going to make fire?’

‘Only if you do it wrong,’ said Nightingale. ‘I’m going to make a demonstration and you must pay close attention – as you did when searching for vestigia. Do you understand?’

‘Vestigia,’ I said. ‘Got it.’

Nightingale held out his right hand palm upwards and made a fist. ‘Watch my hand,’ he said and opened his fingers. Suddenly, floating a few centimetres above his palm was a ball of light. Bright, but not so bright that I couldn’t stare right at it.

Nightingale closed his fingers and the globe vanished. ‘Again?’ he asked.

Up until then I think a bit of me had been waiting for the rational explanation, but when I saw how casually Nightingale produced that werelight I realised that I had the rational explanation – magic worked. The next question of course was – how did it work?

‘Again,’ I said.

He opened his hand and the light appeared. The source seemed to be the size of a golf ball with a smooth pearlescent surface. I leaned forward but I couldn’t tell whether the light emanated from inside the globe or from its skin.