“Now, then,” Owen said, “Mick will have put the word out on you already, on account of you looking for Orcus thread—anyone doing so
that isn’t with the Shiguan is almost surelyagainstthe Shiguan—and if he can pick up some reward money or goodwill with that filth, he won’t bat an eye. So, we’ll need to sneak out of the Dials in disguise.”
He dug into his shoe, pulled out two small coils of thread, and handed me one. “Tie bracelets of this on Cassius. It’ll make him appear like one of the Newgate prisoners just marched into Rats Castle.”
“I didn’t think binding threads could deceive thanaturgic beings,” I said. “Most can’t. But mine are a cut above.” Owen smiled a bloody grin—missing front tooth and bleeding gums. “That’s why Mick loves me so. But no thread can change a man’s shadow. Nothin’ but penance’ll do that. Be quick now, the bobbies will be moving their prisoners to the
Guildhall soon.”
“You mean the Guildhall School of Music and Drama?” I’d jammed with guys who studied there. The music program was internationally recognized. And the drama side had produced more than a few famous Hollywood stars.
“Mick’s goons transport the condemned there for a fee. They’ll be moving them soon. And if we look like part of the parade, we’ll slip past any of the bounty men that lurk the Dials.” He cut a few lengths of thread from the other coil and handed me the rest. Then he began lashing his own legs and arms. “This thread’ll help you and me look like bobbies.”
“You’ve done this before,” I said.
Owen nodded. “In the Dials, it pays to have certain threads at the ready.”
I bound Cassius and myself with the threads and stowed the balance in my catalyst bag. “So we’re not actually going to the Guildhall?”
“That’s Shiguan headquarters. Not a nice place if you’re not one of ’em. No, we’ll split off once we’re outside the Dials.” Owen hugged Sarah and Emily, then hurriedly led us out the door. We shuffled down the alley and slipped in with the mob of released convicts just as they were exiting Rats Castle.
“Behind our time,” Owen announced to the police captain, a fat man with a thick, black mustache. “But we’ve got a ripe one here.” He pointed to Cassius.
The captain grumbled. “Fall in, then.”
We joined the line and walked in silence at the tail end of the group for maybe half a mile. Then Owen slowed down, dropping us several paces back, and with a few quick flicks of a short knife severed our disguise threads. Quietly, he turned us north on Fleet Street, blending in with the foot traffic.
For the better part of two hours we worked our way north and west, mostly following the river. The city fell slowly away to trees and fields, until we stood at a stone gate.
“Highgate Cemetery,” Owen said.
We made our way in, winding down a footpath until we’d come to a maze of standing crypts. A chill fog had settled in, reaching nearly to our chests. Owen pointed through the haze to a catacomb stairway and led us up into the silky dark space between strata with his own bright lantern. The old pressure danced in only briefly—it didn’t push as hard going up the Strata.
When we reached the Modern Stratum, he took us through this version of Highgate Cemetery toward an enormous black cloud that stretched out of sight in both directions and upward from the ground into the sky. Black liquid that looked too opaque to be water pooled with increasing frequency as we approached it.
“Oil?” I asked, pointing at a puddle between two old gravestones. Owen shone his lantern on it. “These are collections of the Endless
Dark that have liquefied.”
I pointed toward the great cloud. “This is the Endless Dark?” Owen whirled. “Wait a minute. You a virgin to the Dark?”
Obviously, that was going to be a problem. “Yeah, but I’m not as green?—”
“And you”—Owen jabbed Cassius’s chest with his finger—“you were going to let us march in there with a tenderfoot, were ya?”
Cassius held up his hands. “Honestly, Owen, I had forgotten how new Jack is to his calling. He has absorbed a vast amount of information quickly, and he does not conduct himself like a novice.”
Owen scoffed. “I’m not ungrateful for what ya did at the Castle, but this is the Dark we’re talking about. It’s not like traveling the stairs or the Strata.” He jabbed Cassius again. “It’s easy enough for you and me, but your friend here’s a mortal.Thanatist, sure, but mortal.” He turned to me. “Once you enter the Dark, it will be aware of you. Not just for today, either. And a little more each time you go in. It gets a sense for the lives that pass through it.”
“So, it’ll press at my memories,” I said. “Like the stairs?—”
“You’re not listening,” Owen almost shouted, “it’s not like that at all. It’llpressat what makes you mortal.” He squatted down, thinking. “We might have a better chance at stealing Orcus from the basement labs of Brach’s Guildhall. Bloody hell, a tenderfoot. The whole Dark will know we’re coming.”
Cassius looked back toward the city. “Is the Guildhall a real option?” “I sell thread to the seamsters there.” Owen tapped his satchel of threads and needles. “They’re fashioning mummers—near twins to topside mucky-mucks. I could get us past the door. Nabbing the thread would be a trick, but I might like our chances there better than in the Dark with this one.” He stuck a thumb at me, then looked up. “We get caught trying to steal Orcus from Brach, we’re done for. But we get found out in the Dark on account of a greenhorn who can’t guard his
mind . . .”
“What’s that mean, ‘guard my mind’?”
