“That’s right, Josh. Pleased to make your acquaintance. This is quite a novelty, meeting a pair of Purgatorials that Cutter and his ilk haven’t robbed and cobblestoned, or the Hoodies taken off for their own particular requirements.”
“Well, the fact of the matter is that we didn’t really come from Purgatory,” said Josh. “We came from London … only it’s kind of a different London.”
“Oh, I know that,” grinned John Farbelow. “Only children and idiots believe in the Purgatory story. You found one of the six doors; and you found out how to jump through it. People do, from time to time. Scholars, usually, who think they’re the first people who ever found out what the nursery rhyme referred to. Or people looking for somewhere to hide, because of something rascally they’ve done in that different London of yours. Which are you two then – scholars, or rascals?”
“Neither. We’re looking for the people who murdered my sister. We think she was strangled here and then taken back through one of the doors and her body dumped in the Thames.”
“Well, that kind of thing happens,” said John Farbelow, with a casual wave of his hand. “Unfortunately, you can’t legislate from one world into the other.”
“I still want to know who killed her.”
“You’re taking a very considerable risk, you know. The Hoodies won’t hesitate to do their worst with you, if they catch you. They’d do some nasty things to all of us here, if they ever caught us.”
“What’s their beef with you?”
John Farbelow sucked deeply at his cigarette, and then crushed it out. “You’ll forgive me, but I don’t know who you are, and I think I’ve already said more than it’s prudent to say.”
“They’re bona, guvnor,” put in Simon. “I can vouch for them myself. Up on the roof at Carey Street, they saved my bacon when the dogs were on me. They didn’t have to, and if I had been them, I would’ve let me drop, and scarpered.”
“I see,” said John Farbelow. “But how do I know that the Hoodies haven’t paid you to bring these two here? How do I know that San is really dead, and that you’re not just stringing me a line?”
“Because I’m the famous Simon Cutter, and everybody knows that the famous Simon Cutter would rather poke his eyes out with a pin than run errands for the Hoodies.”
There was a very long pause. Then John Farbelow took out another cigarette and said, “Your older brother, wasn’t it? Caught breaking into a television shop.”
“I don’t talk about it.”
“They made him play the Holy Harp, didn’t they? And he grassed up all of his friends. Seven people hanged because of him, and eight more in prison.”
“Why are you asking me, if you know?”
“Because I want to look in your squinty little eyes and see that you’re not deceiving me. The Hoodies can make anybody turn. I think they could even make me turn, if they ever caught me – which I hope to God they never will.”
Josh said, “Listen, for what it’s worth, we’re just two people looking for someplace safe to sleep tonight. If you don’t want to confide in us, it’s fine by me. Tomorrow we’ll be out of here early and you won’t have to see us again.”
“So what are you doing tomorrow?” asked John Farbelow, lighting his cigarette with a shocking-pink butane lighter that must have been brought into this world by some unfortunate Purgatorial.
“First, I’m going to visit the house in Lavender Hill where my sister was lodging. Then I’m going to go to Wheatstone Electrics where she used to work.”
“Wheatstone Electrics? You’re not talking about Frank Mordant?”
“That’s the man. He was the one who offered my sister a job.”
John Farbelow slowly shook his head. “Frank Mordant… there’s a man I’d like to see again. Nailed to the floorboards, preferably.”
“You know him?”
“Oh, yes, I know him. He’s a Purgatorial, like you. Well, let’s not use the word Purgatorial any more, but he came through one of the six doors, like you. He’s been here for years, running various little enterprises.”
“How come the Hoodies leave him alone?”
“Because like all of his kind, he’s come to some kind of arrangement with them. I imagine that he supplies them with all manner of goods and services which the rest of this godforsaken world have to do without. He comes and he goes, from your world to ours, wheeling and dealing. There are six or seven like him, that I know of, but he is definitely the slimiest of all of them.”
Nancy said, “Did he hurt you, personally?”
John Farbelow waved the clouds of smoke away from his face. “Well, well. You’re the perceptive one.”
“My grandmother taught me how to read people’s auras. When you started to talk about Frank Mordant, yours grew very dark.”
“You can read my mind?”
“No, but I can see your sorrow. It’s all around you. You look like you’re wearing a muddy cloak.”
“A muddy cloak … That’s poetic. But yes, you’re right. I do bear Frank Mordant a very great deal of ill will.”
“It’s to do with a woman, am I right?”
The young people in the room began to shuffle restlessly in their chairs. They weren’t bored: they were showing their support for John Farbelow; and that they didn’t approve of any questions that might hurt or embarrass him.
John Farbelow turned to a pretty gipsylike girl sitting closest to him and said, “It’s all right, Siobhan. Don’t get upset about it. These people may need our help.” Then he turned back to Nancy and said, “Why don’t you sit down? You look tired, both of you. What about a cup of tea, or something a little stronger?”
“A glass of water would be fine.”
John Farbelow nodded to Siobhan and she went off to fetch them a drink. Simon dragged over a sagging couch and an armchair and they all sat down. A gray cat suddenly appeared, and jumped up on to Josh’s knee. It peered up at him, sniffing, and purring as loudly as a wooden rattle.
“That’s not the same cat we saw in Star Yard, is it?” asked Nancy.
“Couldn’t be,” said Josh. But the cat rubbed its head against him and kept patting his hand with its paw as if it was encouraging him to stroke it.
John Farbelow said, “That animal seems to have taken a shine to you, Josh.”
“Animals always go for Josh,” said Nancy. “He treats them like human beings, that’s why.”
“You think they have souls?”
“Sure,” said Josh. “Just because they have fur and fishy breath, that doesn’t make them any less spiritual than we are. I know a lot of old women with fur and fishy breath, and nobody ever suggests that they shouldn’t go to heaven.”
“That’s Ladslove. She used to be Winnie’s cat. Winnie was the woman that I have such a muddy aura about.”
“What happened?” asked Nancy. Josh had heard her use this tone of voice before: calm, coaxing, and oddly dreamy. She had used it on him when they first met, and it had cast a spell over him immediately. It was like having your temples lightly massaged.
John Farbelow said, “I met her on a number fifteen bus, of all places. I was going to work. I used to be respectable then. Conformist. Collar-and-tie. She was bright-looking. So bright. I remember she was wearing a red coat with bright gold buttons. But she couldn’t work out her bus fare. It was only 7½d, but she was like a child, or a foreigner. She just held out a handful of coins and asked the bus conductor to pick out the right money.
“She spoke in a normal South London accent, but right from the beginning there was something about her that struck me as strange. She used peculiar words, and odd sentence constructions, and when she talked she would make references to things that I had never heard of.