Page 22 of A Case of Possession
“I can take you to the Traders,” Crane offered. “There are a few Java men there, they’ll know as much as anyone in England about Willetts. And a few scholarly types who might know something about Sumatran legends and so on.”
“Perfect.” Esther clapped her hands. “Lord Crane, thank you very much. I needn’t tell you to keep this quiet, need I? Alright, Saint, gentlemen, meet tomorrow, surgery, ten, unless anything goes catastrophically wrong before then. Everyone moving please.”
“See you tomorrow,” Stephen agreed.
“Let me lock up here, Mr. Day, and I’ll take you to the Traders.” Crane moved to close the shutters as the others left.
When the outside door shut behind the last of them, he slid the bolt through and felt Stephen’s arms go round his waist.
“Hello.” He twisted round and slipped his hands under Stephen’s shabby jacket.
“Hello to you.” Stephen leaned forward, resting his head against Crane’s chest. “And thank you. You’re rather marvellous.”
“Says the man with magic hands.” Crane brushed his own slender, ordinary fingers through Stephen’s curls. “When did you leave this morning?”
“About four. I’d have stayed if I could, but these blasted rats.”
“What happened on Ratcliffe Highway?”
Stephen’s arms tightened slightly. “They attacked a boarding house three days ago. A lot of rats. Twenty or more, according to the survivors.”
“Survivors. Who died?”
“Anyone who couldn’t get out. A lace-maker, her infant, her two-year-old, a sailor with a wooden leg, a consumptive. The rats somehow got through the cellar door and went up through the house like a, well, a tide. Everyone who could run did so. By the time they went back in, the rats had gone, and there were five chewed bodies.”
“Jesus. Why wasn’t that in the broadsheets?”
Stephen shrugged one shoulder. “There’s, shall we say, a policy against causing alarm with stories of this sort. People would rather not hear it. The survivors are being treated for fever, or a bad batch of gin, or something like that, and the deaths ascribed to a mad dog, I think.”
“The witnesses are being told they didn’t see it?” said Crane, incredulously.
“Told it didn’t happen as they thought. It might be a relief for some of them to believe that. I don’t know. I don’t know if the poor swine who came back home to find his wife and children dead might take some comfort from the idea they weren’t ripped to shreds by giant rats.” Stephen swallowed. “I saw his face, Lucien. The policeman telling him his family was dead, and that he couldn’t see the bodies. He’d got a new job just that day. He was coming home to tell his wife. He had some sweetmeats in a basket, for the children.”
“God.”
“We thought it was an accident. Some freak occurrence. Escaped pets or experiments or what have you. That was bad enough. If they were summoned, if this was deliberate rather than chance…”
“Mrs. Gold said a practice run,” Crane said. “Practice at what?”
“Trying out the control over the rats, I imagine. Bring them out, call them back. Watch them kill.”
“Ratcliffe Highway is a fairly busy place for magical experiments.”
“Mmm,” said Stephen. “I was wondering if that was a joke. Ratcliffe.”
“If it was, I trust you’ll be making the joker laugh on the other side of his face.”
“Only if Esther doesn’t get to him first. She has no sense of humour.” Stephen held on to Crane for a moment longer, then let out a long breath. “Before we go to this club of yours, do we need to discuss Rackham?”
“Let me handle that.”
Stephen stilled. He moved back a couple of steps so he could look up at Crane. “I’m not a child, Lucien. Rackham is as much my problem as yours. And I don’t need your protection.”
“No,” said Crane. “You need to eliminate a plague of giant killer rats, and find out if some murderous bastard called it up. So you concentrate on that, and I’ll take Rackham off your plate while you do it.”
Stephen stared up a minute longer, then his shoulders dropped slightly. “I see what you’re saying, but—”
Crane sighed. “It is actually possible to accept help without marking yourself as a weakling, you know.”
