Free A Very Peculiar Plague by Catherine Jinks Page A

lampposts.’ He shook his head admiringly. ‘Ain’t nothing like this viaduct in all the world.’
    Jem stared at the spot where Purdy’s box of lead sheets had been positioned. To reach it, Billy would have had to climb down the ladder and turn his back on the grating, which would have been about ten feet away from him.
    Having seen a bogle in action, Jem had no trouble imagining what might have happened next. And he shuddered at the thought of it.
    Alfred sighed. ‘That there is where yer bogle came from,’ he announced, with a nod at the ventilation shaft. ‘Straight up from the sewers and straight back down again.’ He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last. ‘’Tis the worst stroke o’ luck I ever saw. The Board o’ Works should have consulted a Go-Devil man afore building bogle-runs into these here houses.’
    ‘But – but ain’t that hole too small, Mr Bunce?’ Purdy was gaping at him in disbelief. ‘Why, Billy himself could barely fit through it, let alone the bogle as ate him!’
    ‘Never think any hole’s too small for a bogle,’ Alfred replied. Then he turned and headed straight towards Jem, planting his feet with great care as he clutched the balustrade.
    Jem reached out to help him back inside.
    ‘Wait! Where are you going?’ Purdy exclaimed. ‘What about the bogle? We have to kill it!’
    Alfred shook his head. ‘I can’t. Not up here.’
    ‘We couldn’t lay down no salt,’ Jem observed, thinking aloud. ‘The roof’s too steep.’ When he saw Alfred’s nod of approval, he felt quite pleased with himself.
    ‘But it’s got to be killed, Mr Bunce!’ Before Alfred could even respond, Purdy abruptly changed tack. ‘If it lives in the sewers, could we not trap it down there?’ he demanded.
    Alfred paused, then shrugged. He was straddling the windowsill. ‘Mebbe.’
    ‘Then that’s what we’ll do.’ Purdy spoke with energy and purpose. ‘I’ll have a word with my friend Sam Snell, the flusher. He’ll get us in. That’s if you don’t object, Mr Bunce?’
    ‘I’ve worked the sewers before,’ Alfred said wearily.
    ‘Good.’ Purdy seemed to think that the matter was settled. He didn’t bother to ask Jem how he felt about sewers. Neither did Alfred, but that didn’t surprise Jem.
    After being underfed and overworked by his last two employers, Jem wasn’t expecting Alfred to treat him like anything but a dumb animal.
    Just as long as he don’t truss me up for slaughter , Jem thought, on his way back downstairs.
    One day, he reminded himself, Sarah Pickles was going to pay for doing that.

10

ST SEPULCHRE’S CHURCH
    Hugh Purdy insisted that they all go straight to the Viaduct Tavern. ‘Sam Snell allus drinks a pint there after his morning shift,’ Purdy said. ‘It’s the best place to catch him, this time o’ day.’ He then offered to buy Alfred a brandy while they were waiting for the flusher. ‘I daresay you need one, after your spell on the roof.’
    Alfred agreed. So it wasn’t long before he and Jem were sidling into the taproom of the Viaduct, trying to ignore the looming bulk of Newgate Prison nearby. It astonished Jem that people could swill down their gin within yards of such a terrible place. How could they not feel guilty and hunted? It was like having a judge breathing down your neck.
    ‘Why, if it ain’t Mr Bunce!’ A familiar voice greeted them as they stepped into a room that Jem barely recognised. The crowds had melted away; the gas-lamps were burning very low; the air smelled stale and sour. But Mabel Lillimere was in her usual spot behind the bar, wiping and shelving pint-pots. ‘And Mr Purdy, too!’ she piped up. ‘So you found each other! I am glad. Here . . .’ She reached under the bar and produced a bottle of brandy. ‘You’ll not be paying a penny in this establishment, Mr Bunce. I’m to tell you as how Mr Watkins just hired his new pot-boy, and won’t be fretting about his safety,