“Is Sumatra the same as China?” asked Saint.
“No,” said Merrick and Crane, simultaneously and emphatically. Merrick added, “Couple thousand miles off. Different people. Different language.”
“Does either of you speak Sumatran?” Esther put in.
“Malay. No, but Merrick’s not bad with pidgin. Then again, anyone surviving over here will speak English, there’s not a lot of Malay spoken this side of the globe.”
Stephen nodded. “Saint, did you find the addresses? Good. Mr. Merrick, can I borrow you to look into what happened to the shamans?”
“Be a pleasure, sir.”
“Thank you. Saint, take Mr. Merrick to the flagpole houses and back him up. Subtly, please. Do not get into trouble.”
“That goes for you too,” Crane told Merrick.
“Esther?”
“I’m going to Ratcliffe Highway for a sniff around. If this is a deliberate summoning, that might have been a practice run, in which case I’ll bet the summoner was near. Joss, with me, unless you need him, Steph?”
“No, I think I’ll look into Mr. Willetts’ death,” Stephen said. “The sooner we find out if this was a deliberate summoning, the better. Lord Crane, if you’re not busy—”
“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.”