THE JOURNEY WAS EVEN WORSE THAN LAPSEWOOD had expected. He loathed the indignity of the Paternoster Pipe, making his smoky self intermingle with all the other commuters. Enforcers and Prowlers were heading out into the living world or returning with shackled spirits destined for the Vault. Lapsewood was relieved when he flew up and out of the chimney.
Entering the physical world was a shock. Lapsewood felt things he hadn't felt in decades, yet the elements had no effect upon him, and the cold, wind, and drizzle passed through him as though he were nothing.
Hazy lamplights and fires burned within the dense fog that hung over London. Lapsewood drifted down with the raindrops and wondered how much his fellow spirits were responsible for the thick fog enveloping the city and how much of it was due to the winter fuel burned to battle the biting cold of the night.
He rematerialized on a cobbled backstreet. He rubbed his temples to rid himself of the spinning sensation in his head. He had picked a quiet lane, hoping to have a moment to gather his thoughts, but as he stood gazing at the brickwork that surrounded him, two men stumbled through him, giving him a brief but disturbing glimpse of the inside of one of their heads. Both men reeked of alcohol.
"Why not the Old King?" said one.
"I've not been allowed in there since that incident with the landlord's missus. What about the Trafalgar?" said the other.
"Neither of us is allowed in there."
"Then the Coach and Horses it is. Don't forget, it's your round."
"My round? I bought the last one."
The two men staggered to the end of the alley and onto the main thoroughfare. Lapsewood had gotten so used to the quiet life in the Bureau, he had forgotten what the living world was like, how full of smells and noises, sights and sounds. It was awful. He would have felt nauseated if he still had a stomach. He followed the two men out into the street.
The early-evening darkness of winter had led him to believe it was much later than it was, so he was surprised to find the Strand so alive with activity. Tradespeople were selling their goods. All manner of folk were making their way in search of food, entertainment, or one of the many other diversions provided by the city. Lapsewood felt fearful of stepping out into such a bustling street. He pulled out the London Tenancy List and looked at it, but with no map of the city, how was he to find these addresses?
General Colt was right. He was unqualified for this job. He felt sick with dread. He needed somewhere to sit down, somewhere to gather his thoughts and decide upon the best course of action. He saw the two men from the alley go into a public house and decided to follow them, if only to get away from the chaos of the street. Out of habit, he tried to open the door, but his hand went straight through, and he stepped inside.
It was even more chaotic and lively inside the pub than in the street. Everyone shouted over one another. With so many people talking, he wondered if there was anyone left to listen to what they had to say. The place was full of the thundering laughs of the men and the high, shrill shrieks of the women, all of them either drunk or on their way. In life, Lapsewood had never been one for drinking. Liquor represented everything he found unsettling about life: its unruly wildness, its loss of inhibition.
In among the throng, his attention was drawn to a small boy. For a moment he wondered whether he might be a pickpocket, but his translucence revealed him to be a ghost. The boy was standing next to the two men from the alley. He noticed Lapsewood looking at him, winked, and nudged the smaller man's arm, sending the contents of his glass over his friend.
"What did you do that for?" demanded his friend.
"Me? You knocked my hand," shouted the first man.
"You think I wanted to douse myself in beer?"
"No, I think you're a clumsy oaf, and you owe me a fresh pint."
"I already paid for the last two, you skinflint."
The first man punched the other in the nose. The other came back at the first with a blow to the stomach. Neither noticed the small boy who had caused the argument in the first place. The fight spread like fire through a dry wooden cabin, and soon fists were flying in all directions until the entire pub had descended into a chaotic brawl.
Lapsewood watched as the boy slipped unnoticed through the crowd and straight through a brick wall. "Hey," he cried. Lapsewood followed him into a side alley. "Hey," he repeated.
"What?" replied the boy.
"Why did you do that?"
"What's it to you?"
"Let me see your Polter-license," demanded Lapsewood. "You can't cause such a ruckus in a public place without permission from your local administrative officer, plus the signature from his superior and a stamp from the Department of Polter-Activity. All of which is a considerable amount of work for the sake of a moment's havoc."
The boy laughed. "'A moment's havoc,'" he repeated. "I like that. You got a way with words, mister. I'm Tanner."
Lapsewood was unsure what was so funny. "I think I should speak to your local administrative officer," he said.
Tanner laughed. "I'm a free spirit, mate."
"Even free spirits have assigned local administrative officers. Show me your paperwork."
"I ain't got no paperwork, and you ain't no Enforcer. That's plain enough to see."
The color would have drained from Lapsewood's face, had there been any in the first place. He followed Tanner along the alleyway, down a set of steps, and onto a road by the side of the Thames. The river was dark, murky, and un-inviting. He lowered his voice. "You mean, you're a Rogue ghost?"
"I didn't answer to no one in the last life, and I ain't gonna start in this one," said the boy. "I ain't ready to go through that door yet. There's too much fun to be had here."
"By 'fun' I presume you mean contraventions of the extensive regulations regarding Polter-Activity and necessary haunting?"
"I suppose I would mean that if I knew what half of it meant."
"How did you even manage to knock that gentleman's arm without a Polter-license?"
"You Bureau lot are always on about licenses, but poltering just takes concentration. You ain't gonna find a better poltergeist than me, license or no license. I've even unlocked doors. That takes real skill."
"How have you avoided capture by the Enforcers?"
"I'm too quick for them clumsy oafs," said Tanner. "What about you then, Words? What you doing down here in the grime?"
"I have a special mission."
"What mission?" asked Tanner.
"I'm working for the Housing Department. I'm looking for a ghost called Doris McNally. She's an Outreach Worker for housebound spirits."
"How do you plan on finding her, then?"
"I have a copy of the same list of haunted buildings she was working from. I plan to check each one and ask the Residents when they last saw her."
"You don't want to be messing about with haunted houses these days, mate," said Tanner.
"What do you mean?"
"The Black Rot."
"The what?"
"The Black Rot. All us Rogues know about it," said Tanner. "It don't surprise me it hasn't reached the Bureau, though. You'll all be searching for a form to fill out about it."
"What is it?" asked Lapsewood.
They were walking along the riverbank. Tanner was casually strolling without a care for the living people passing through him, while Lapsewood was leaping around, trying to avoid everyone heading toward him, constantly looking over his shoulder for people coming from behind.
"The Black Rot sets in when a house loses its ghost; then it traps the next ghost to step inside," said Tanner.
"How can a house lose its ghost?" asked Lapsewood, wondering why General Colt hadn't mentioned any of this. "And how will we find Doris if we can't risk entering the buildings?"
"'We'? I ain't helping you."
"But I need help locating these addresses."
"Not my problem, chum."
"You are a Rogue spirit, an illegal ghost, without license or authorization," said Lapsewood. "If you don't help, I'll make sure that you're tracked down and thrown into the Vault."
"Yeah, right. By an Enforcer? Good luck with that. They never caught me yet."
"By a Prowler, then."
"Prowlers wouldn't bother with a littl'un like me."
Lapsewood stopped walking, failing to see the taxicab behind, which went straight through him, giving him a fleeting, frightening glimpse of the inside of the cab and its passengers. He shuddered.
Tanner laughed. "All right. I'll help you out. Not because of your threats but 'cause I've always had a soft spot for helpless creatures. Give us that list."
Lapsewood handed it to him.
Tanner examined it closely. "Looks like the Drury Lane Theatre is the nearest one. I'll meet you outside in ten minutes."
"But where is it?" asked Lapsewood.
Tanner threw him another pitying look. "You never been to the theater?"
"Well, no, I …"
Tanner laughed. "A ghost that's never even lived. If that ain't funny, I don't know what is. Drury Lane's up that alley and to the right."
"Where are you going?"
"I've had one of my ideas, ain't I? You're lucky you bumped into me, Words. Make sure you don't go inside until I get back." Tanner handed the list back to Lapsewood.
A thought struck Lapsewood. "So you can read?"
"What, I suppose you think a poor little urchin like me wouldn't have had no schooling?"
"No, but, well, yes …"
"As it happens, I learned to read after I died. See you in a minute."
