Dr Saint. ‘And there are none more deserving to be reviled than the smoglodytes – denizens of the foul fog.’
The child-sized figure grinned and stepped closer, not knowing whether it had been complimented or criticised. Through the murk Dr Saint could see the smoglodyte’s loathsome form. It had a bare, ugly head like a swollen fungus, a big, crooked gash of a mouth, slit-like eyes, and transparent skin through which a soft skeleton and pumping innards could be glimpsed. The creature lolled out its long tongue and tasted the toxic mist.
‘A delicious air today!’ it said. ‘But it comes at a price. What must my people do?’
‘An act of great charity – seeking a poor, stolen child and rescuing him from whoever has taken him.’
Mr Nicely appeared in the fog holding up a photograph of Theo’s face and several items of clothing. Seen through the vapours they created the bizarre illusion of Theo’s presence. The smoglodyte approached Theo’s articles like a wary dog. Other shadowy faces appeared from the mist, gathered close and reached up with eager fingers as if to absorb every detail of the articles.
‘Act quickly!’ ordered Dr Saint. ‘Infest this city as you did of old. Pry into every corner until you find this person! Go now, you miserable vermin!’
The figures dissolved into the dirty air. Dr Saint turned to Mr Nicely, who was looking at his employer in a curious way.
‘You have to know how to talk to these people,’ muttered Dr Saint, brushing past him.
Theo and Chloe entered Sir Peregrine’s old-fashioned consulting room. It was almost in darkness, with blinds covering the tall windows. The air was filled with a nasty odour and Theo was surprised to realise there were dirty dinner plates and stained cups in little piles all over the room. On the windowsill was a row of dead plants, and fallen leaves lay curled along the top of the radiator.
Sir Peregrine Arbogast was a huge, saggy-faced man with scant hair on his head and heavy eyelids. He wore a thick grey three-piece suit with a broad waistcoat – from which one button was missing – and a greasy, claret-coloured necktie. His face had an oily yellow complexion.
Chloe took off her big coat and hung it over the back of her chair. Underneath she was wearing a plain black dress and a string of pearls which made her look very respectable and almost glamorous, thought Theo. At least it made her look slightly less like someone who ran around sewer tunnels and burnt buildings down, which was probably important when arranging meetings with top doctors.
‘Enchanted,’ said Sir Peregrine, nodding vaguely at Chloe. He didn’t look enchanted though – his eyes looked tired and dull. ‘I don’t often take cases like this any more, but since you obviously have such impressive connections …’
‘All lies and illusion,’ Chloe said sweetly.
‘Well, the best connections are,’ commented the old surgeon heavily. He flicked through a card index, then seemed to forget what he was doing it for.
Person thirteen,
noted Theo. He had now met Dr Saint, Mr Nicely, Clarice, Robber number one (Foley), Robber number two (dead), Sam, Magnus, Mr Norrowmore (if skeletons counted), not-Clarice (Chloe), two Foundlings (possibly dead), a secretary and now the doctor.
Thirteen was not an unlucky number to Theo. Because his life had been entirely dominated by three people in three rooms, he only hated the number three and anything, by association, that turned up in the three times table. Thirteen wasn’t one of these contaminated numbers, so he felt strangely hopeful at meeting Sir Peregrine, person thirteen.
‘Are – are you all right, Mr Arbogast?’ Chloe asked.
The old doctor had been staring into space blankly, but snapped out of it and looked at his visitors. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Do you know,’ he added, scrabbling about in an ancient leather bag for some instruments, ‘when people cannot
The child-sized figure grinned and stepped closer, not knowing whether it had been complimented or criticised. Through the murk Dr Saint could see the smoglodyte’s loathsome form. It had a bare, ugly head like a swollen fungus, a big, crooked gash of a mouth, slit-like eyes, and transparent skin through which a soft skeleton and pumping innards could be glimpsed. The creature lolled out its long tongue and tasted the toxic mist.
‘A delicious air today!’ it said. ‘But it comes at a price. What must my people do?’
‘An act of great charity – seeking a poor, stolen child and rescuing him from whoever has taken him.’
Mr Nicely appeared in the fog holding up a photograph of Theo’s face and several items of clothing. Seen through the vapours they created the bizarre illusion of Theo’s presence. The smoglodyte approached Theo’s articles like a wary dog. Other shadowy faces appeared from the mist, gathered close and reached up with eager fingers as if to absorb every detail of the articles.
‘Act quickly!’ ordered Dr Saint. ‘Infest this city as you did of old. Pry into every corner until you find this person! Go now, you miserable vermin!’
The figures dissolved into the dirty air. Dr Saint turned to Mr Nicely, who was looking at his employer in a curious way.
‘You have to know how to talk to these people,’ muttered Dr Saint, brushing past him.
Theo and Chloe entered Sir Peregrine’s old-fashioned consulting room. It was almost in darkness, with blinds covering the tall windows. The air was filled with a nasty odour and Theo was surprised to realise there were dirty dinner plates and stained cups in little piles all over the room. On the windowsill was a row of dead plants, and fallen leaves lay curled along the top of the radiator.
Sir Peregrine Arbogast was a huge, saggy-faced man with scant hair on his head and heavy eyelids. He wore a thick grey three-piece suit with a broad waistcoat – from which one button was missing – and a greasy, claret-coloured necktie. His face had an oily yellow complexion.
Chloe took off her big coat and hung it over the back of her chair. Underneath she was wearing a plain black dress and a string of pearls which made her look very respectable and almost glamorous, thought Theo. At least it made her look slightly less like someone who ran around sewer tunnels and burnt buildings down, which was probably important when arranging meetings with top doctors.
‘Enchanted,’ said Sir Peregrine, nodding vaguely at Chloe. He didn’t look enchanted though – his eyes looked tired and dull. ‘I don’t often take cases like this any more, but since you obviously have such impressive connections …’
‘All lies and illusion,’ Chloe said sweetly.
‘Well, the best connections are,’ commented the old surgeon heavily. He flicked through a card index, then seemed to forget what he was doing it for.
Person thirteen,
noted Theo. He had now met Dr Saint, Mr Nicely, Clarice, Robber number one (Foley), Robber number two (dead), Sam, Magnus, Mr Norrowmore (if skeletons counted), not-Clarice (Chloe), two Foundlings (possibly dead), a secretary and now the doctor.
Thirteen was not an unlucky number to Theo. Because his life had been entirely dominated by three people in three rooms, he only hated the number three and anything, by association, that turned up in the three times table. Thirteen wasn’t one of these contaminated numbers, so he felt strangely hopeful at meeting Sir Peregrine, person thirteen.
‘Are – are you all right, Mr Arbogast?’ Chloe asked.
The old doctor had been staring into space blankly, but snapped out of it and looked at his visitors. ‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Do you know,’ he added, scrabbling about in an ancient leather bag for some instruments, ‘when people cannot
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