The sun sets over the city.
It disappears prematurely at the end behind a bank of thick cloud, spilling great bursts of golden light into the sky above as the darkness encroaches.
Gold fades to orange, to pink, to red, to purple; and purple turns at last to the light-stained blue-black of an urban night.
Two figures and a body odour stand in the shadows of the Barbican, that great maze of towers, fountains and walkways on the edge of the City of London.
One says, “This is really very kind of you, Mr Swift. But as I said, I’m sure my little puppy won’t do any harm.”
Another says, “I have every confidence, Mrs Rafaat. But as you have such a natural touch with him, I was thinking maybe, all things considered, we should just double-check on his well-being.”
The body odour says from the empty air, “Oi oi. You two are thick as cold syrup and can’t see nothing. But I’m looking at the city wall right now and I gotta tell you the gate is well down. Someone’s been mauling and tearing at these city walls, and if I wasn’t such an amazing shaman I’d be really worried by the thought of what could be getting in.”
“I do hope this isn’t my fault,” wailed Mrs Rafaat. “I know that you think this… Greydawn character… is somehow responsible for these… city walls you say you can see. But I really don’t remember any of this, and actually I’m very concerned that you may have made a terrible mistake.”
“Ma’am,” said Swift, “shall we recap the manner in which a primal monster covered in gore rolls over at your feet and wags his tail at your touch? Or can we take that particular conversation as read?”
“Maybe I’ve just got a knack?” suggested Mrs Rafaat.
“ ’Sides,” whispered the odour of Sammy the Elbow, “you can’t be talking to Greydawn like that, cos she’s Our Lady of 4 a.m. and you don’t wanna piss her off, stupid.”
“Oh, I could never be annoyed with you gentlemen!” exclaimed Mrs Rafaat. “I can see that you’re only concerned for my well-being.”
“Yeah, that’s why we’re stood on the edge of the city wall waiting for an angry dog to come barking,” grumbled the goblin. “Concerned is what we is.”
“Sammy, may I, as Midnight Mayor, just say you demonstrate a shocking lack of civic—” Swift stopped abruptly. “Anyone hear…?” he murmured. And there it was, rising in low, mournful greeting from the dark, a swelling round of animal pain and longing:
hhhhhhooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwilllllllll!!!!