Sally cried, relieved that her “eidetic imagination”
had not been so fanciful after all. “In Mincing Lane last week. Ugh,
his coat seemed to move on him, gleamed almost.” The Nax brothers
nodded. The tall man’s rusty virgated coat was his trademark. The
fraulein said something that sounded like a prayer, of which Sally
caught in German the words “a cloth of wonder with strange figures
in-woven.”
Nexius Dexius went on: “Very dangerous, the Cretched Man.
Also, his creature . . . very dangerous. Almost never brought here, to
your world. The Wurm’s need is great. We call the beast ‘shaharsh-harsh.’ In your language, that is ‘knuckle-dog.’ Scholars say they are
the Hounds of Tindalos. As may be . . . knuckle-dogs.”
Barnabas and Sanford thought of the wolf-thing sliding bonelessly
around the corner, gripping the paving stones with simian hands.
“‘Outside are the dogs and sorcerers . . . and murderers and
idolaters’,” recited Sanford under his breath.
“A bird,” Sally yawned and winced but wanted one more question
answered before sleep took them all. “I saw a wren last week keeping
watch on us.”
Salmius Nalmius replied, “Ah, a wick-wren, a hyter-spirit.
Another one of their creatures. Not really a bird. A phantom made
flesh. A spy.”
As if she understood, Isaak arched her back at the description
of the wick-wren. Salmius Nalmius nodded in her direction: in
Yount, cats were given special honour. Turning back to McDoon &
Associates, he said: “It is late. My brother and I withdraw for the
night. But please, let us talk again tomorrow.” Barnabas and Sanford
agreed, convinced now of a threat but still uncertain of its origin,
and how best to meet it.
At the door, Salmius Nalmius said, “They will try again, and
soon. Please, I beg you: the key must leave London. The key must
go to Yount.”
“Chock,” said the parrot, and then the house fell silent.
Chapter 4: Hearth and Home
No one slept well that night except for Yikes. The cook and the maid
had the first word of the day, to one another as they lit the fires.
“Beetle-headed I said I was, and so I am!” said the cook. “We
never should have gone last night to the bishy-barnybees. ’Stead of
mardling there, we should have been here fighting off those reasty
devils.”
The maid looked none too certain of that, but the cook pulled out
her sharpest hulking knife and declared, “I would have gutted any
man as came into this kitchen, same’s I hulk a chicken.”
The maid admired her aunt, and had no doubt of the cook’s
abilities with any kitchen utensil, but thought she’d rather have
Fraulein Reimer’s pistol to hand. She was on good terms with
the fraulein, even though they did not always understand one
another’s accents. She wondered if all German women were as brave.
Altogether it had been an unnerving evening, what with the talk
among the Norfolk women about the dreadful Ratcliffe Highway
murders in December (someone knew a man who knew a brother of
one of those murdered, so small the world could be!), and now this.
The cook bent over to give Isaak some milk. “Well,” she said.
“From what I hear, you did your best, didn’t you, little lion?”
Straightening up, she said, “Now, my dear, there’ll be no falling
apart here, then. Pass me the eggs, let’s make the best duff-pudding
we can.”
Bolstered by pudding (the cook insisted everyone have seconds,
and she gave Isaak another saucer of milk), McDoon & Associates
spent the day in caucus. Correspondence was suspended, a first in
the history of the firm. Three times someone used the dolphin door
knocker to announce themselves, and each time Sanford asked the
visitor to come again the next day.
Barnabas was for counter-attacking immediately. “Like Lord
Rodney against the French!” he said, waving in the direction of
the picture in the hallway of Rodney in the Formidable leading the
British fleet through the French line off the Dominican
had not been so fanciful after all. “In Mincing Lane last week. Ugh,
his coat seemed to move on him, gleamed almost.” The Nax brothers
nodded. The tall man’s rusty virgated coat was his trademark. The
fraulein said something that sounded like a prayer, of which Sally
caught in German the words “a cloth of wonder with strange figures
in-woven.”
Nexius Dexius went on: “Very dangerous, the Cretched Man.
Also, his creature . . . very dangerous. Almost never brought here, to
your world. The Wurm’s need is great. We call the beast ‘shaharsh-harsh.’ In your language, that is ‘knuckle-dog.’ Scholars say they are
the Hounds of Tindalos. As may be . . . knuckle-dogs.”
Barnabas and Sanford thought of the wolf-thing sliding bonelessly
around the corner, gripping the paving stones with simian hands.
“‘Outside are the dogs and sorcerers . . . and murderers and
idolaters’,” recited Sanford under his breath.
“A bird,” Sally yawned and winced but wanted one more question
answered before sleep took them all. “I saw a wren last week keeping
watch on us.”
Salmius Nalmius replied, “Ah, a wick-wren, a hyter-spirit.
Another one of their creatures. Not really a bird. A phantom made
flesh. A spy.”
As if she understood, Isaak arched her back at the description
of the wick-wren. Salmius Nalmius nodded in her direction: in
Yount, cats were given special honour. Turning back to McDoon &
Associates, he said: “It is late. My brother and I withdraw for the
night. But please, let us talk again tomorrow.” Barnabas and Sanford
agreed, convinced now of a threat but still uncertain of its origin,
and how best to meet it.
At the door, Salmius Nalmius said, “They will try again, and
soon. Please, I beg you: the key must leave London. The key must
go to Yount.”
“Chock,” said the parrot, and then the house fell silent.
Chapter 4: Hearth and Home
No one slept well that night except for Yikes. The cook and the maid
had the first word of the day, to one another as they lit the fires.
“Beetle-headed I said I was, and so I am!” said the cook. “We
never should have gone last night to the bishy-barnybees. ’Stead of
mardling there, we should have been here fighting off those reasty
devils.”
The maid looked none too certain of that, but the cook pulled out
her sharpest hulking knife and declared, “I would have gutted any
man as came into this kitchen, same’s I hulk a chicken.”
The maid admired her aunt, and had no doubt of the cook’s
abilities with any kitchen utensil, but thought she’d rather have
Fraulein Reimer’s pistol to hand. She was on good terms with
the fraulein, even though they did not always understand one
another’s accents. She wondered if all German women were as brave.
Altogether it had been an unnerving evening, what with the talk
among the Norfolk women about the dreadful Ratcliffe Highway
murders in December (someone knew a man who knew a brother of
one of those murdered, so small the world could be!), and now this.
The cook bent over to give Isaak some milk. “Well,” she said.
“From what I hear, you did your best, didn’t you, little lion?”
Straightening up, she said, “Now, my dear, there’ll be no falling
apart here, then. Pass me the eggs, let’s make the best duff-pudding
we can.”
Bolstered by pudding (the cook insisted everyone have seconds,
and she gave Isaak another saucer of milk), McDoon & Associates
spent the day in caucus. Correspondence was suspended, a first in
the history of the firm. Three times someone used the dolphin door
knocker to announce themselves, and each time Sanford asked the
visitor to come again the next day.
Barnabas was for counter-attacking immediately. “Like Lord
Rodney against the French!” he said, waving in the direction of
the picture in the hallway of Rodney in the Formidable leading the
British fleet through the French line off the Dominican
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