Infernal Devices - KW Jeter [25]
So the thoughts marched through my head, in proper order. I cannot excuse my later actions with the plea that I had no idea of what course I should have followed. All men, reaching back to Adam in the Garden, plead Ignorance as their defence; when, if we were but honest, we would admit that the apple was hedged with every warning imaginable. So I too fell; perhaps all sins are not causes but effects, being the result of that first sin, Boredom.
I gazed down into that dark hole and the glittering machinery that had been hidden there, as though I were gazing into the secret workings of my own heart. Some new thing had entered into my existence; I was spellbound by it, reckless of any consequence. That which should have set my pulse trembling with a natural apprehension, instead hastened it with excitement. I put the thought of constables out of my mind. The Law would have to wait; as though already a fellow criminal, I found it to my advantage to let the authorities' ignorance continue. I resolved to take just a few more small steps – as all progress along a slippery path is initiated – towards penetrating these enticing mysteries.
My blood was up; why wait further? Once restraint is loosened, the chase is afoot. I replaced the concealing stone over the Brown Leather Man's device, then supervised the revivified Creff in boarding up the scullery window. With no explanation to him, I was out to the street, the fever in my brain warming me as much as my greatcoat against the night's damp air.
As I strode along, shouldering my way past the evening's revellers, I recalled the words spoken to me before I had returned to the shop: "You might find some other cabby who would take you there – but not this one." True enough; I was evidently engaged in a dark business; matters that one person might be squeamish about, others might find to their taste.
I had, in the course of my day-to-day errands, noted the particular clientele gathered at one of the Clerkenwell public houses. A former coaching inn, it was now given over completely to the furnishing of drink, the only sleeping accommodations offered being the stone kerb outside as a pillow for the total inebriate. It still retained its yard, which provided ample space for the deposit of cab and horse while the driver was inside slaking his thirst. At no time of day or night were there ever fewer than a dozen such vehicles thus cooped about the welcoming door. No place better, I had decided, for finding the intrepid guide I desired.
Once there, I made my way past the ranked hansoms and the patient horses, their large, blinkered heads lowered in sleep, hooves now and then pawing the cobblestones as if their dreams had restored them from the grey city to pastures greener. The steam of their breaths mingled with the fog blurring the public house's yellow windows. I pushed open the door and entered, passing from the cold into the warm stench of spilled ale and stale tobacco.
The smoke from the clay pipes present at every table was thick enough to hide the