remembered fogs like this from when he’d lived at the workhouse. These sickly brews of coal smoke and factory fumes shrouded the riverbank nearly every night, bringing confusion and fear. But as the clouds swirled around them, Wild Boy and Clarissa grinned. Thanks to the fog the streets were empty — for now.
As they looked at each other, their smiles turned into laughs that echoed around the thick fumes. Partly they were relieved to have made it this far. But also they both looked so
revolting.
Brown slime dripped from Clarissa’s hair. It was all over Wild Boy too — sliding down his coat and soaking the hair on his face and body. They looked like monsters risen from a swamp.
“Over there,” Clarissa said.
They rushed to a horse trough and dunked their heads in the water, then tore off their coats, splashed their arms, and rubbed their faces. Soaked through, Wild Boy shook himself like a dog, spraying mucky water over Clarissa.
“Hey!” she cried.
She grabbed the trough bucket, about to hurl more water over him, but she froze mid-swing. A curtain of fog parted long enough to see the wall behind the trough. It was covered with posters, each with the same printed announcement:
Clarissa dropped the bucket. “Fiend,” she said. “Is that like a ghost?”
Wild Boy heard voices. Quickly he pulled Clarissa into an alley between two buildings.
Slowly they dared a look. Through the fog, they saw several men silhouetted against the jaundiced light of a streetlamp, dressed identically in high-collared coats and stovepipe hats. At the base of the lamp was something ragged and black, like a crow.
“Sir Oswald’s cravat,” Clarissa said.
They’d agreed that Sir Oswald would go ahead and tie his cravat around the lamppost nearest to where Doctor Griffin had lived and worked. The house he’d signaled rose higher than those around it — four floors of brick and glass covered in so much soot and grime from nearby factory chimneys that its entire face seemed to drip with darkness. Wrought-iron railings ran along the front, like prison bars guarding the ground-floor windows.
“Who are them people outside it?” Clarissa said.
“Coppers,” Wild Boy said, and cursed. They had to get inside that house.
But before he could think what to do, Clarissa turned and ran off — a blur of red and gold charging down the alley. “I got a plan. Follow me.”
Wild Boy chased after her, whispering for her to slow down, but she was in her element now. She swept along the back of the houses, back-flipped over a fence, and vaulted over a wall.
“Hurry up!” she called.
He caught up with her in a small yard surrounded by high walls. Brightly colored handkerchiefs hung on a washing line, fluttering in the fog, and the voices of the policemen echoed down an alley that trailed along the side of the building. A shiver of excitement ran up Wild Boy’s spine. This was Doctor Griffin’s house.
Clarissa was already at the back door, fiddling her picks in the lock. “It’s bolted from the inside,” she said. “This window’s barred an’ all.”
Wild Boy moved closer, intrigued by the iron bars that protected the window. He ran a finger around the mortar where the metal met the window ledge. “These bars are new,” he said.
“So?”
“So the Doctor was scared of something.”
“But how did his killer get in?”
Wild Boy stepped back and surveyed the building in the light of a spluttering gas lamp. A cloud of fog parted just enough for him to see the first-floor window. It wasn’t barred.
“Can you get up there?” he asked.
“Course,” Clarissa said. “I’m a circus star, remember?”
She kicked of her boots, tied the laces together, and slug them over her shoulder. Then she unhooked the washing line at both ends and threw that over her shoulder too. “I’ll pull you up after,” she said.
In one lightning move she sprang onto the top of an outhouse that stood against the wall. Then she shinned up
As they looked at each other, their smiles turned into laughs that echoed around the thick fumes. Partly they were relieved to have made it this far. But also they both looked so
revolting.
Brown slime dripped from Clarissa’s hair. It was all over Wild Boy too — sliding down his coat and soaking the hair on his face and body. They looked like monsters risen from a swamp.
“Over there,” Clarissa said.
They rushed to a horse trough and dunked their heads in the water, then tore off their coats, splashed their arms, and rubbed their faces. Soaked through, Wild Boy shook himself like a dog, spraying mucky water over Clarissa.
“Hey!” she cried.
She grabbed the trough bucket, about to hurl more water over him, but she froze mid-swing. A curtain of fog parted long enough to see the wall behind the trough. It was covered with posters, each with the same printed announcement:
Clarissa dropped the bucket. “Fiend,” she said. “Is that like a ghost?”
Wild Boy heard voices. Quickly he pulled Clarissa into an alley between two buildings.
Slowly they dared a look. Through the fog, they saw several men silhouetted against the jaundiced light of a streetlamp, dressed identically in high-collared coats and stovepipe hats. At the base of the lamp was something ragged and black, like a crow.
“Sir Oswald’s cravat,” Clarissa said.
They’d agreed that Sir Oswald would go ahead and tie his cravat around the lamppost nearest to where Doctor Griffin had lived and worked. The house he’d signaled rose higher than those around it — four floors of brick and glass covered in so much soot and grime from nearby factory chimneys that its entire face seemed to drip with darkness. Wrought-iron railings ran along the front, like prison bars guarding the ground-floor windows.
“Who are them people outside it?” Clarissa said.
“Coppers,” Wild Boy said, and cursed. They had to get inside that house.
But before he could think what to do, Clarissa turned and ran off — a blur of red and gold charging down the alley. “I got a plan. Follow me.”
Wild Boy chased after her, whispering for her to slow down, but she was in her element now. She swept along the back of the houses, back-flipped over a fence, and vaulted over a wall.
“Hurry up!” she called.
He caught up with her in a small yard surrounded by high walls. Brightly colored handkerchiefs hung on a washing line, fluttering in the fog, and the voices of the policemen echoed down an alley that trailed along the side of the building. A shiver of excitement ran up Wild Boy’s spine. This was Doctor Griffin’s house.
Clarissa was already at the back door, fiddling her picks in the lock. “It’s bolted from the inside,” she said. “This window’s barred an’ all.”
Wild Boy moved closer, intrigued by the iron bars that protected the window. He ran a finger around the mortar where the metal met the window ledge. “These bars are new,” he said.
“So?”
“So the Doctor was scared of something.”
“But how did his killer get in?”
Wild Boy stepped back and surveyed the building in the light of a spluttering gas lamp. A cloud of fog parted just enough for him to see the first-floor window. It wasn’t barred.
“Can you get up there?” he asked.
“Course,” Clarissa said. “I’m a circus star, remember?”
She kicked of her boots, tied the laces together, and slug them over her shoulder. Then she unhooked the washing line at both ends and threw that over her shoulder too. “I’ll pull you up after,” she said.
In one lightning move she sprang onto the top of an outhouse that stood against the wall. Then she shinned up
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