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By Root 587 0

it had been known, the Reception Room) apparently not only remained in good condition but also was still as luxurious as it ever had been, dust and cold notwithstanding. Pictures and gas brackets alternated on the striped tapestry above the easy chairs of the former waiting room. A frozen fountain with a fish basin, now empty, was laid out in the middle, a stopped clock stood at one end, and there was even a piano, smothered in dust, disconsolately untuned. A cylinder-shaped silver car was waiting below a staircase, its door open, and in front of it, framed by two torch-holding bronze Inuit, the perfectly circular tunnel opened toward nonexistent destinations. There was something Pompeiilike to it, though the catastrophe here had only been low rent-ability. But that was apparently enough to freeze worlds in time and turn them into literal Neverlands.

On the platform, Blankbate opened a door revealing a room furnished as a first-class businessman’s office.

“This will be your home, Ms. Lenton,” announced Blankbate. “There’s a folding bed there. Bathroom’s off the waiting room. You will be safe here, and once it is heated, it should be fairly comfortable.”

Chipp was already fumbling with an Eclipse gas stove, which soon started to purr.

“The Gentlemen of the Night know of this place?” asked Gabriel.

“They know enough to never come around and not enough to see why they should.”

“This will be perfect. Thank you very much,” said Lilian, passing her gloved finger over the dusty desk.

“You have a pneumatic tube, if you need anything. We’ve connected it directly to the Fisheries.”

As Gabriel’s first glimpse of the Scavengers’ secret operations, this was certainly impressive. He wondered about the nature of their underground activities. If they were not a criminal organization (though they were notoriously trafficking in some sort of black flea market economy: the Scavengers were reputed to be able to find and deliver almost anything), they certainly could turn into one at the very first occasion. It reassured Gabriel to think of them as Brentford’s confederates, although Brentford had made clear that he needed them more than they needed him and that dealing with them was a rather delicate business that could get out of hand at the slightest mistake. But at least this was a world free of the influence of the Gentlemen of the Night, and Gabriel took a deep breath to celebrate this.

Blankbate turned toward him.

“Now, the dead lady.”

Lamp in hand, he took them down the stairs and led them through the Tunnel, not minding that Lilian was blending her echoing steps and curved shadow with theirs. Gabriel tried to strike up a conversation.

“Sorry to have mistaken you for Sandy Lake,” he said, with, he hoped, more complicity than indiscretion.

“Oh. No offence. I am even a little flattered that you recognized her. Miss Lake has been a long time gone. Who’d have thought anyone would remember her?”

“Musical memories are not easily forgotten. Nor is someone who wore luminous garlands in her hair. And so, if I may ask, what happened to Sandy Lake that she became Lilian Lenton?”

There was a little pause before Lilian answered, which she did with a gravity Gabriel had not expected.

“Sandy was a bit of a shallow, superficial girl, wasn’t she? She needed to grow up and to grow old. In a foreign country, she met someone very courageous, and she wanted to become like her, or if not, to pay homage to her. And then she had the inspiration that this admiration would be better directed if she could put it to use in her own hometown. She just took her friend’s name so that her spirit might accompany her on her way back. Or I should rather say, might accompany us.”

“Us? Your new band?”

“The band is just an advertisement for another us. The U.S. of Us, if you like. Your best enemies and your best friends,” she added, lightening a little.

“It seems a bit cryptic to me,” admitted Gabriel.

“I’m afraid it has to remain so for a little while,” she said, her slightly husky voice now striking an amused note, as they reached the other end of the