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Dr. Almont, who he had seen haunting the library on several occasions, and who was apparently an expert on Polynesian tradition insofar as that was possible without ever having left England.
“Good-oh. What we going to do?” “Break his legs, I suppose,” Crane said. “Or offer him five hundred quid to fuck off. Or both.” “Better not break his legs if you want him to fuck off on ’em. What’s Mr. Day say?”
“Does he know that?” said Merrick. “I mean, he’s a shaman, but he’s only human. No family. On his own. Always has to watch his back. And then along you come, with all that stuff I said, plus you don’t give a shit about anyone knowing you like blokes. The biggest problem he’s got and for you it’s nothing. He’s terrified, you couldn’t give a monkey’s. And you’re all, like, ‘I’ll buy this, I’ll dress you, I’ll fix it, I’m in charge—’”
By the time an inspector arrived, Crane was ready to damn Rackham’s soul to hell for dying in such an aggressively unpleasant manner.
Inspector Rickaby turned Crane’s card over and back as though he expected to find a clue on it. “Earl Crane. Shouldn’t there be an ‘of’ in that?” “No. It’s like Earl Grey.” “The tea?” “The lord.”
“This is typical of you, Steph,” said Dr. Gold bitterly. “Typical. Of course you can’t just be unnatural like everyone else. Go on, get this overgrown magic lantern out of my way, this is a surgery, not a circus. Out!”
“Since when did you talk to the law?” demanded Leonora in Shanghainese. “Since his nobility’s been fucking it,” Merrick returned. “You want the shortarse on your side.”
My life changed four months ago, and I utterly failed to understand that until just recently, and therefore...I may have omitted to tell you that I love you.” He took a breath. “That’s all.”
Oh, hellfire. I love you, Lucien. It wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking if I didn’t.”
The weather broke one late August night, the sultry heat that had lain across England like a quilt for months finally giving way to torrential autumn rain that drummed on the dry roofs and baked pavements and desiccated earth of London. It was monsoon rain, the kind that fell in huge, juicy droplets and moved in warm sheets of water through the dusty air. It felt like home.
“That’s giving me ideas.” Stephen’s eyes widened. “Not in a church, Lucien.” “I’ll have ideas anywhere I damned well please.”
