Whitechapel Gods Read Free Page B

“Unless you’re game to see where this door goes.”
    Oliver retreated from the street into the alley’s darkness. He found Tommy leaning easily on the door frame, arms crossed. The man’s shoulders stuck out like knife-points under his coat. His iron hand glinted in the half-light as he tapped his fingers on the door.
    Oliver looked past him. The alley ended at the rear wall of another apartment, which provided no entrance but a blackened window. The manhole they’d come up through led to such a maze that he balked at the time required to navigate it, especially if Missy was in trouble.
    “Can you do it quietly ?” Oliver asked.
    Tommy grinned toothily and put a finger to his lips. Oliver gave him a nod.
    The big man placed his iron hand flat against the door at the approximate height where a locking bolt would sit, then leaned in with his shoulder and hip. One sharp push later, the bolt clattered to the floor on the inside and the door swung open on squealing hinges.
    Oliver grimaced. Tommy just shrugged.
    From the slip of light bleeding into the room, Oliver surmised it to be a storage room or pantry, of sufficient size to service the whole building. He set a cautious foot upon the floor within and tested it with increasing weight. The boards did not squeak. He entered and pattered swiftly across. Tommy followed, placing each step with great deliberation to avoid clanking, with moderate success.
    Oliver felt his way to a door, then scuffed his foot to guide Tommy over to him. In absolute silence Oliver tried the latch, only to find it locked.
    In the dark, no less. He knelt, drew a set of lock picks from his vest pocket and set to work. Probably did duck for a peck, damnable woman.
    In thirty heartbeats the lock ticked. Oliver replaced his lock picks and tried the latch. This time it opened smoothly.
    Oliver pulled the door open an inch and peeked through. Beyond stood a spiral staircase with a thick oak banister that circled up to the higher floors. A candle flashed upon the stairs: a watchman.
    Oliver slid back from the door. He heard the watchman take a few hesitant steps down to the main floor.
    Oliver shrank back against a shelf, wrapping himself in shadow and the scent of cabbage. A few more steps sounded from beyond. Oliver heard the door handle jiggle.
    The door shrieked again as it swung open. A candle poked into the room, followed by an extended hand holding a billy. Oliver realised with horror that he could clearly see the shine of his own boots in the candlelight.
    A pointy nose appeared, followed by a set of shrewd eyes flicking their gaze about the edges of the candlelight. Oliver balled his fists and tensed for a quick leap.
    The eyes turned his way. Just as they began to widen, and the billy to rise, a monstrous shadow a full head taller than the watchman materialised behind him.
    Tommy popped the man sharply across the back of his head. Oliver darted forth and caught the man as he collapsed. Burning wax splattered across his hand as he wrested the candle away. The billy clattered to the floor.
    They set him down comfortably, then wasted no time crossing into the hall beyond. They found a series of dormant pumps and machines in the room across the hall. Oliver led Tommy through to a door on the far wall. The bolt slid clear easily and the door opened in silence.
    They found themselves on a narrow side street devoid of residents and streetlights. Directly across, a lamplight flickered in the window of a countinghouse. Through the diagonal crosshatch of the glass, Oliver could see a familiar statuesque figure.
    He dashed across the street and silently pulled the door open. He stepped through and Missy nearly put a knife through his eye.
    Oliver clamped his fingers on Missy’s wrist before she could finish her thrust. “For Jesus’ sake! Michelle, it’s us!”
    She wrenched her hand away. “Well, had you announced yourselves like gentlemen, I might have been more accommodating, but that is a fair