Free The Shadow Cabinet by Maureen Johnson Page B

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    Sport: Rowing
    Admitted to Trinity College, Cambridge, department of Natural Sciences (Chemistry) [did not attend]
    Languages known: French, Latin, some Italian
    Recruited: via hospital
    Notes on first interview: Dene presents as highly intelligent, competent. Does not appear to have many outside interests outside of reading and some sport. Does not appear to have wide social circle. Speaks of Eton and parents with flat affect. When asked about sister, will not reply beyond fact that she is deceased.
    Recommendation: Exceptional intelligence and sterling academic record make him natural candidate. Recommended for stage two at Hendon immediately following discharge.
    There was an addendum at the bottom of the page:
    Instructors at Hendon note that Dene is highly competent and progressing well. However, in standard risk-assessment simulations, Dene either fails to notice or discounts certain dangers. He seems to have a certain lack of regard for personal safety. Despite some reservations, recommended for stage three. Continue monitoring.
    Which told me exactly one thing—they knew. They knew that Stephen was exactly the kind of person who would throw himself into the line of fire. He’d done it
twice
with me, the second time being the one that really counted.
    Someone had known he was like this and had let things go on anyway.
    This is when the rage began. It came down on me like thunder—like a big Southern summer storm, taking over everything, cracking through the sky. Thorpe, and whoever else Thorpe worked with, they let this happen. Thorpe, who was matter-of-factly dealing with the body. The
body.
    Last night’s tears were this morning’s current of electricity. I was leaving this house. I would look all over London. I would burn London down if I had to.
    But I
still
didn’t have a plan.
    I stood, hands on hips, heart pounding, staring down at the piles I had created around the room. I grabbed the
A–Z
and flipped through the book. I turned to where I thought we were now, Highgate. There were a few notes on this page, but the one that caught my eye was this:
    4 April
    Found in Highgate Cemetery/tree, subject “Resurrection Man.” Mid 19th c. Clearly well informed. Left to remain. Possible contact.
    A possible informant, around where I was currently staying. Resurrection Man was a weird name, but one that sounded promising. This was enough for me.

7
    C ONVENIENTLY , THERE WAS VERY LI TTLE WAY OF MISSING Highgate Cemetery. All I had to do, according to the map, was walk up a street called Swain’s Lane, and I would be in the middle of it. This street was very quiet, and the tree count went up considerably. On my right, there was a low wall with a fence of black spikes, and tombstones were clearly visible. The road eventually led to a gatehouse that looked like the entry to a Gothic church. It cost a few pounds to get in, and I paid a little bit more for a map. There was a warning at the bottom explaining that the cemetery was huge and in some places unstable, so there were areas no one was supposed to enter. This was quickly explained when I saw what the place was like inside. It was wild, so broken. There were so many gravestones, rarely two of them alike. There were the standard slab ones you expected to find if someone was drawing a cartoon of a graveyard. Along with those, there were Celtic crosses, plain crosses, pillars, columns, urns, human figures. They were pressed together, with barely any space between. Many had been pushed up or had sunk over time, and most were at least a bit crooked. Many of the shorter ones had ivy clumped on top of them like mad, ill-fitting toupees. There were trees everywhere, shooting up from clusters of graves, all bare of leaves. Some of the roots had snaked out of the ground and clutched at the monuments, hugging them with long, thick tendrils. It reminded me of a show I once watched about what the world would look like if humans stopped