Arriving in amongst the smog of the city, Grunt wondered why on earth he had agreed to help Lapsewood. The last time he had set foot in London the ground had literally been pulled away from under his feet and he had felt the sudden violent tug of the rope around his neck as the baying crowds cheered. Amongst them Grunt spotted the man who had killed his wife, except he was so drunk that he failed to notice the moment when Grunt was hanged. Being such a private man unaccustomed to showy public displays, this was the only moment when Grunt had ever stepped upon a stage, and yet this debut went unnoticed by the one man who really should have been paying attention. It was a cruel world and Grunt did not relish being back in it.
As he walked across London Bridge he reflected that the old city seemed even busier, noisier and fuller than it had when he had walked here as a living man.
Disorientated by the constant stream of people, horses and vehicles passing through him, Grunt stepped off the bridge and hovered above the cold River Thames. The tide was in and the murky waters of the river hurried on their way towards the estuary.
‘Papers, please,’ said a voice from the bridge.
Grunt took a moment to realise it was directed at him. A thick-headed Enforcer with a low brow stood at the edge of the bridge, tapping his Ether Beater, more unthinkingly than threateningly. His name badge read enforcer dawlish.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Grunt. He reached into his pocket and handed over his documentation.
The Enforcer studied it closely. ‘Says here you’ve a desk job for the Dispatch Department,’ he said. ‘What brings you down here?’
‘I . . . er . . . I’m on leave. You know, visiting family,’ lied Grunt.
‘You got a Visitation Permit, then?’ asked Dawlish.
‘I . . . no . . . I thought since I won’t be doing any actual haunting I . . .’
‘Still need a Visitation Permit, haunting or no haunting. Otherwise we’d have ghosts floating about all over the place. Talking of which, what you doing there flying about mid-air? You need a permit for that too. That’s how I knew you weren’t no Rogue, you see. You don’t find them drawing attention to themselves.’ He handed the papers back to Grunt. ‘Now, you can be on your way. Make sure you’ve got the right permits next time you come down here.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Grunt continued on to Whitechapel, travelling as Ether Dust to avoid any more encounters like that. Outside the school Lapsewood had mentioned he met the ghost of a sailor who looked as if he had died from being eaten by a shark, judging by the teethmarks visible under his torn shirt. The sailor seemed friendly enough, but warned him against going inside. ‘You mark my words, that place has fallen to the Black Rot, so it has,’ he said. ‘One step inside and you’ll be stuck there forever.’
‘But without the list how will I find Tanner?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know any Tanner,’ said the sailor.
‘He’s a Rogue ghost, a boy. He has spirit hounds travelling with him.’
‘Now, I did see a boy with a pack of hounds recently. He was heading down Bedlam way.’
‘Thank you,’ said Grunt.
Grunt turned to Ether Dust and flew south towards Kennington. He found the ghost of an old woman outside the lunatic asylum, who had seen a boy matching Tanner’s description recently. ‘He was checking buildings still had their ghosts,’ she told him. ‘The ’ospital was on his list, but I told him there were so many spirits in there it’s a wonder there’s any room for the livin’.’
It was halfway down Kennington Road that Grunt finally found a pack of spirit hounds tied up to a street lamp. He bent down to take a closer look at the revolting creatures.
‘Oi, leave them alone.’
Grunt turned around to find a young boy with another dog.
‘Master Tanner?’ he said.
‘Who’s asking?’ replied the boy.
‘I’m not an Enforcer,’ said Grunt.
‘I can see that.’
Grunt gulped and felt a fresh globule of grey goo bubble up from his scarf. He quickly mopped it away.
‘You know that’s disgusting, don’t you?’ said Tanner.
‘I have not come all this way to be insulted,’ replied Grunt.
‘What brings you to these parts if not in search of a good insult?’ replied Tanner, grinning cheekily.
‘I have a message from Mr Lapsewood.’
‘Lapsewood? Where is he?’
‘He’s been detained.’
‘Detained? What, like locked up?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’
‘What manner of speaking?’
‘Do you want to hear this message or not?’
‘If he’s been detained what am I doing all this work for?’ asked Tanner, holding up the London Tenancy List.
‘He said you were to get ghosts into the infected houses. He said it was very important.’
‘Did he indeed?’
‘Yes, and he said to say please.’
Tanner smiled. ‘He’s learning. But what? Get ghosts to step into prisons? That’s no easy task.’
Grunt explained as best he could about the Black Rot and how, left to its own devices, it would draw in something from the Void to satisfy its needs. ‘Lapsewood said to coax ghosts in by whatever means necessary,’ said Grunt.
‘Coax them?’ exclaimed Tanner. ‘You can’t coax ghosts because ghosts don’t want nothing.’
‘I don’t know if that’s true,’ said Grunt, thoughtfully. ‘I’d like to be able to give the man who killed my wife a piece of my mind.’
‘Of course.’ Tanner clicked his fingers. ‘That’s it. How do you coax a ghost? You offer them a service in return.’
‘What kind of service?’ asked Grunt.
‘The kind provided by a Talker,’ replied Tanner.