bad trousers, no boots. Also known as the Wild Boy of London and the Beast of Bermondsey. Clarissa Everett is described thus: red hair, red freckles, sequined red-and-gold circus attire. Also known as the Fairground Fiend.
The police have stressed that no pains will be spared to bring these killers to swift and public justice.
The paper trembled in Wild Boy’s hands. He read it again, barely able to believe what it said. It was just like at the fair — he’d been set up, his name written at another murder scene. But he didn’t even
know
this new victim.
Anger boiled through him. Just because he was a freak, everyone believed that he was guilty. Unable to control himself, he grabbed one of the soup bowls and hurled it against the wall of the underground chamber. He leaned over the table, swearing and pulling the hair on his face.
“Finished feeling sorry for yourself?” Clarissa said.
“No, I ain’t,” Wild Boy spat. “Leave me alone, will you?”
“I will not! My name’s at that house an’ all, you know? And you’re going to help me get out of this.”
“Yeah? How am I gonna do that?”
“We’re going to find clues to prove we’re innocent.”
Sir Oswald collected the remaining bowls. “Listen to her, Master Wild. She speaks sense.”
“It was his idea really,” Clarissa said, nodding at Sir Oswald. She prodded Wild Boy’s arm. “That’s your skill, ain’t it? Seeing things.”
“I ain’t got a skill.”
“Master Wild,” Sir Oswald said. “It is poor form to lie to a lady. Perhaps, were you not so busy being angry, you might use your abilities to solve this mystery. Indeed, were you and Miss Everett to put aside your differences, I believe that you would make a formidable duo. Why, you even look like partners already.”
He gestured to their clothes — Wild Boy’s long crimson tunic with its gold tassels, and the red-and-gold sequined dress under Clarissa’s coat. “A detective and an acrobat,” he said. “Yes, a quite formidable duo.”
“I can pick locks an’ all,” Clarissa added.
“Good for you,” Wild Boy muttered.
He knew it was a silly thing to say. The truth was, he felt embarrassed. He’d always prided himself on being a survivor, but so far all he’d done was shouted at Clarissa. At least she wanted to do something about this. But he knew her plan wouldn’t work. “Ain’t no point trying to prove our innocence,” he said.
“Why ever not?” Sir Oswald said.
“Because no one will listen. See this?” He threw the news sheet across the table. “The Wild Boy of London. A monster with a price on my head. All anyone will care about is the reward. They don’t wanna hear about our innocence.”
“Great!” Clarissa said. “So you just wanna sit here and get caught. We ain’t friends, but I thought you were tough at least.”
“I ain’t saying we do nothing.”
“Then what are you saying, Master Wild?” Sir Oswald asked.
Wild Boy thought for another moment, wondering if his plan was right. They couldn’t hide down here forever, even with Sir Oswald’s help. The bounty hunters would flush the tunnels, drown them in the darkness. At best they’d get caught and only have their word to give the police.
“We go after the killer,” he said. “We find out who he is, and we catch him.”
Sir Oswald looked alarmed. “Master Wild, surely it would be more sensible to investigate those clues that you know. Miss Everett said the killer was after a machine of Professor Wollstonecraft’s. And she spoke of an individual with a golden eye. Perhaps you could pursue one of those leads, or —”
“No,” Clarissa interrupted. “I like his plan. We owe the killer anyhow. Revenge, right?”
She looked at Wild Boy, and it was as if her eyes lit that fire again inside him. They may not have been friends, but they were both fairgrounders and they had a score to settle.
“Revenge,” he agreed.
“Then we need to make a list,” Clarissa decided.
The police have stressed that no pains will be spared to bring these killers to swift and public justice.
The paper trembled in Wild Boy’s hands. He read it again, barely able to believe what it said. It was just like at the fair — he’d been set up, his name written at another murder scene. But he didn’t even
know
this new victim.
Anger boiled through him. Just because he was a freak, everyone believed that he was guilty. Unable to control himself, he grabbed one of the soup bowls and hurled it against the wall of the underground chamber. He leaned over the table, swearing and pulling the hair on his face.
“Finished feeling sorry for yourself?” Clarissa said.
“No, I ain’t,” Wild Boy spat. “Leave me alone, will you?”
“I will not! My name’s at that house an’ all, you know? And you’re going to help me get out of this.”
“Yeah? How am I gonna do that?”
“We’re going to find clues to prove we’re innocent.”
Sir Oswald collected the remaining bowls. “Listen to her, Master Wild. She speaks sense.”
“It was his idea really,” Clarissa said, nodding at Sir Oswald. She prodded Wild Boy’s arm. “That’s your skill, ain’t it? Seeing things.”
“I ain’t got a skill.”
“Master Wild,” Sir Oswald said. “It is poor form to lie to a lady. Perhaps, were you not so busy being angry, you might use your abilities to solve this mystery. Indeed, were you and Miss Everett to put aside your differences, I believe that you would make a formidable duo. Why, you even look like partners already.”
He gestured to their clothes — Wild Boy’s long crimson tunic with its gold tassels, and the red-and-gold sequined dress under Clarissa’s coat. “A detective and an acrobat,” he said. “Yes, a quite formidable duo.”
“I can pick locks an’ all,” Clarissa added.
“Good for you,” Wild Boy muttered.
He knew it was a silly thing to say. The truth was, he felt embarrassed. He’d always prided himself on being a survivor, but so far all he’d done was shouted at Clarissa. At least she wanted to do something about this. But he knew her plan wouldn’t work. “Ain’t no point trying to prove our innocence,” he said.
“Why ever not?” Sir Oswald said.
“Because no one will listen. See this?” He threw the news sheet across the table. “The Wild Boy of London. A monster with a price on my head. All anyone will care about is the reward. They don’t wanna hear about our innocence.”
“Great!” Clarissa said. “So you just wanna sit here and get caught. We ain’t friends, but I thought you were tough at least.”
“I ain’t saying we do nothing.”
“Then what are you saying, Master Wild?” Sir Oswald asked.
Wild Boy thought for another moment, wondering if his plan was right. They couldn’t hide down here forever, even with Sir Oswald’s help. The bounty hunters would flush the tunnels, drown them in the darkness. At best they’d get caught and only have their word to give the police.
“We go after the killer,” he said. “We find out who he is, and we catch him.”
Sir Oswald looked alarmed. “Master Wild, surely it would be more sensible to investigate those clues that you know. Miss Everett said the killer was after a machine of Professor Wollstonecraft’s. And she spoke of an individual with a golden eye. Perhaps you could pursue one of those leads, or —”
“No,” Clarissa interrupted. “I like his plan. We owe the killer anyhow. Revenge, right?”
She looked at Wild Boy, and it was as if her eyes lit that fire again inside him. They may not have been friends, but they were both fairgrounders and they had a score to settle.
“Revenge,” he agreed.
“Then we need to make a list,” Clarissa decided.
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