When they stepped down from the coach, a sharp smell burned Pete’s nose. He sniffed and coughed.
“Coal,” Weasel said, swiping his nose with his sleeve.
Mr. and Mrs. Greenly didn’t seem to notice the smell. They gathered their luggage and handed it to a boy a little younger than Pete and Weasel who greeted them, wheeling a wooden cart.
Mr. Greenly stomped away without waiting for Mrs. Greenly. The boy grabbed the cart handles and rolled the single wheel over the ruts of the dirt street.
“Goodbye and good luck to you,” Mrs. Greenly said and started after her husband and her luggage. “Yoo-hoo, Mr. Greenly. Wait, please.”
When the two had gone out of sight, Pete said, “Greenly told us to go north about five minutes and that should put us at the circus.” He scratched his head. “How come a doctor lives in a circus?”
“You are amazing. You know that?” Weasel said.
“Yeah. I know.”
“Piccadilly Circus isn’t a circus.” Weasel shook his head. “Never mind. You’ll see what I mean when we find it.”
Mr. Greenly had sort of waved his hand in a direction when he said, “Go north,” so that’s the way they headed.
Was it the right way? Pete wondered. He’d lived in a city before winding up in swampy Hadleyville, but his city had lights and sidewalks and a Tri-Plex movie theater.
London didn’t have any of that stuff. But it had lots of skinny kids with their hands out, begging. Dark figures huddled against the stone buildings, and out of the dark corners came scuttling sounds. He didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out what was making those sounds. From how fast Weasel walked, Pete figured he didn’t either. They went ahead as if they knew exactly where they were going. The problem was they didn’t. Pete thought about asking directions, but he didn’t like the looks of the shadowy faces peering at him.
The streets wound around and crisscrossed each other. Some were alleys with dead ends. A couple of times, after they thought they were walking ahead, they arrived exactly where they’d started. If they wanted to go back to where the coach had dropped them off, Pete was sure they couldn’t.
“A GPS would be good about now,” he said.
For the first time in a long while, Weasel agreed. “Even a street sign wouldn’t hurt.”
As they started away, two boys a head taller and with mean, smirky faces stepped out of the shadows and blocked their way.
“Hey, Fancy Clothes, what you got, hey?” The one with a dark look to his eyes stepped closer and shoved Pete in the shoulder.
The other pointed at the packets of food Mattie had given them.
“Just bread,” Pete said.
“Give ’em over, then,” the dark-eyed boy said. The second circled behind their backs and snatched their food and their two coins before Pete felt a hand in his pocket or saw one reach into Weasel’s.
“Ta, Governor,” the dark-eyed boy said. The two vanished into the shadows as quickly as they’d come.
“Welcome to jolly old London,” Weasel said.
Pete looked up and down the street. “Where are the cops around this place?”
“They’re not here.”
“Let’s go.” Pete ran, with Weasel at his heels.
They didn’t stop until they came to a wide street that swept into a long curve. It was jammed with horses and carriages. People passed them from behind and came at them in a rush from the front. The women swept past with full dresses that skimmed over the ground. A lot of the men wore suits with long coats and the same kind of hat that Mr. Greenly wore—tall, stiff and black.
This was the kind of excited bustle Pete remembered from his city days in Charleston. His mom and dad walking down the tree-lined streets ahead, laughing. Him tagging behind, gawking at toy store windows. He shook his head to clear out the memory of his life before his parents died, his life before he landed in Hadleyville.
He threaded his way through the crowd and kept looking back to be sure Weasel was still with him. Before he rounded the next curve in the road, he glanced back again, but Weasel wasn’t behind him. He squeezed up against a store front and waited for Weasel to catch up, but minutes went by and he didn’t show.
Pete retraced his steps, but Weasel wasn’t there, and, as he walked, nothing looked familiar after a while. He’d gone beyond where they’d started. When he came to some steps he climbed to the top and scanned the crowds. Still no sign of Weasel.
“Now what?” He couldn’t start yelling, “Weasel!” Who could he ask for help? All he knew was an address. Wait! Weasel knows Mattie told us we’d find Dread at Number 20 Piccadilly Circus. All I have to do is go there, and Weasel’s going to meet me.
He hurried down the steps and looked up to find Number 20. Some doors had numbers. Some didn’t. There was Number 45, then a few doors down a Number 37. He must be heading the right way.
“Thirty-five. Twenty-one.” Above the next door was nineteen. What? How could twenty-one be right next to nineteen? He found a ledge and sat down, his chin cupped in his hands.
How am I supposed to find Number 20 if there’s no Number 20 showing? How am I going to find Weasel?
“And what’s this? A boy what’s got hisself lost?”
Pete looked up into the narrow face of a man with spotty red cheeks and a thin scar across his forehead. His eyes were drawn into a squint as if he needed glasses and had forgotten to put them on. He wore a cap a lot like the one Pete had on and one sleeve of his coat had a hole as though something with sharp teeth had eaten through it.
“I can’t find Number 20 Piccadilly Circus. Do you know where it’s at?” Pete asked.
The man rubbed his chin. “Not from here, are you?”
Even with the clothes Mattie had put him in, Pete couldn’t fool anybody into thinking he belonged in London.
“What’s your business at this Number 20, heh?” The man’s breath smelled like bad milk and Pete pressed back against the wall as far as he could.
“I’m looking for someone named Dr. Dread Wraith.”
The man eyed him and tucked his thumbs at the sides of his vest. “Don’t sound legitimate to me.”
Pete didn’t know how to answer that. He did know he wanted to get away, but he couldn’t escape. The man pressed closer and pinned him against the wall.
“You got yourself a place to stay hereabouts?”
Pete shook his head.
“Well now, it’s good old Stringer found you then. You’ll be needing a bed and some food afore long.”
Before Pete could duck under the man’s arms or scream, no, Stringer had him by the back of his shirt and was pushing him down the street.
“Wait!” Pete yelled. “Let me go!” All the warnings he remembered from his mom about staying clear of strangers echoed in his head. Twisting around, he grabbed at Stringer’s hand to free himself, but he only made himself stumble. He would have fallen if Stringer hadn’t kept a firm grip on his shirt. Stringer picked up the pace and Pete was almost running to stay on his feet.
People passing didn’t give him more than a quick glance before looking away.
“Help!” Pete screamed.
A woman looked up, startled, but she drew her cloak around her shoulders like protection and hurried off.
Suddenly, a large figure blocked their way. “What’s this about?” The man wore one of those Abe Lincoln hats and carried a cane with a silver handle.
Stringer snatched Pete close to him. “A bad sort, Governor. Caught him thieving, I did. He needs a lesson to be sure.”
“What did he steal?”
“He didn’t get away with it, see.” Stringer pulled out a watch from his vest pocket and dangled it by a chain. “I stopped him. Right quick I was.”
“I didn’t—” Pete didn’t get out the rest before Stringer yanked him up tight by the shirt.
“Show some respect. This here’s a gentleman.” Stringer used his free hand and tipped his cap to the man with the cane.
For a moment, Pete thought the man might help him, but instead he shook his head and walked off.
“Now be a good boy and don’t make no more fuss. I’m doing you a favor, you see. You get a place to sleep off the street and you get a nice hot meal.” Stringer pushed Pete ahead. “You’ll be thanking old Stringer afore morning.”
Pete stopped struggling and started thinking how he was going to escape. Where was Weasel? He could use his help about now. If only he could make Weaze appear like he did that time during the Ornofree war. But he couldn’t use his spells, not if Mattie was right and he could cause more trouble than he was in already.
As Stringer dragged him through streets that turned this way and that, Pete lost hope of ever finding his way back to Piccadilly Circus. He lost hope of ever finding Weasel again.
Stringer came to a stop, shoved open a door and pulled him inside a dark room. It smelled like very old, soggy gym socks.