Unable to keep his eyes open any longer, Harry fell into a deep sleep. Despite his fears and experiences, he seemed peacefully oblivious to reality. Strax carried him – surprisingly gently – upstairs to one of the many spare rooms in Vastra’s large town house.
Also feeling the effects of a long day, Jenny agreed to stay with Harry. She settled down in a small armchair close to the boy’s bed.
‘We will lock up as we go,’ Vastra assured her maidservant and friend.
‘Allow no one access unless they know the pass code,’ Strax instructed.
‘What is the pass code?’ Jenny asked.
Strax opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. ‘Allow no one access,’ he decided.
‘Is that the code, or another instruction?’ Jenny asked, suppressing a tired smile.
‘Children,’ Vastra chided gently. ‘Come, Strax, we have work to do.’
It was the darkest time of night as Strax and Vastra ventured forth from Paternoster Row. Vastra eschewed the carriage as she wanted time to think. The cool night air cleared her head, and there was once again a flurry of snow.
Strax stomped along beside her. Every seventeen steps, he turned in a full circle to check they were not being observed. Satisfied that they were not, he then resumed his stomp.
As they arrived again at Ranskill Gardens, the moon appeared from behind the clouds though the snow was still falling. Strax glared up at the moon, as if daring it to stay visible, looking down at them. Within a few moments, clouds had once more obscured its crescent-face, and Strax breathed a satisfied sigh as if he had just won a staring competition.
Vastra strode over to the remains of the boys’ snowman. It was now little more than an uneven pile of snow. More had fallen over the top, further obscuring the shape and location.
‘Here, Strax, help me.’
She brushed away the top layer of snow with her gloved hand. More snow fell to take its place, but she brushed that aside also. Strax crouched beside her, and she motioned for him to scrape more of the snow.
‘But carefully. We do not know what may lie beneath.’
‘A heat ray would complete the task more efficiently,’ Strax said.
‘And it might damage whatever is hidden here. This is best.’
They continued to feel their way down through the snow until Vastra felt the frozen ground beneath. She sighed with disappointment.
‘There’s nothing here.’
‘No,’ Strax agreed. ‘Would you care for a toffee?’
Vastra shook her reptilian head, still staring down at the hole they had so unproductively scraped in the snow. ‘Not at the moment, thank you, Str–’
She broke off, turning to look up at Strax standing behind her.
‘A toffee?’
Strax held up a battered tin. ‘I found this. It says “Lovelock’s Famous Treacle Toffee” in human writing, look.’ He pointed with his other hand to the faded printing on the rusty surface. “‘Would you care for a toffee? Only if it’s Lovelock’s. The Original and Still the Best”.’ He hesitated a moment before asking: ‘What is toffee?’
‘Don’t open it!’ Vastra called, getting quickly back to her feet and taking the tin from Strax.
‘Toffee is a weapon?’
‘In this case, that is entirely possible,’ Vastra agreed. ‘Show me where you found this.’
Strax indicated an area where the snow had been wiped away, in dose proximity to where Vastra had herself been searching. More snow was already settling and obscuring the impression.
‘Strax,’ she said slowly, ‘what do you think we were looking for?’
Strax considered.
‘It is not a trick question,’ Vastra told him after a long pause.
‘We were looking for whatever the Felicity human was holding.’
‘Which was?’
‘I… don’t… know…’
‘No, none of us knows.’
Strax looked relieved at this revelation.
‘So,’ Madame Vastra continued, ‘is it not possible that she was holding a toffee tin?’
Strax’s eyes widened slightly and he took an inadvertent step backwards, crushing a postnasal carrot.
‘A toffee tin into which she had perhaps placed whatever evidence it was that she wished to bring to me?’
Strax pointed dumbly at the tin Vastra was holding, his lower lip shaking slightly in an unformed question.
‘Indeed,’ Vastra agreed. ‘I suggest that as the snow shows no sign of letting up, we return to Paternoster Row and open the tin under controlled conditions.’
This Strax could understand. He strode ahead of his mistress. ‘I shall provide a security escort for the evidence toffee. Once safely locked inside Paternoster Row, I shall instigate an exclusion zone and organise frequent patrols as well as establishing an observation station and surveillance regime.’
‘You know,’ Vastra said as she followed her henchman, ‘for once you may not be overreacting. I have a feeling whatever is inside this tin will require treating with the utmost caution.’
She brushed a thin layer of snow from its surface. As if in reply, the tin in her hands vibrated and shook – for all the world like something inside was trying to force off the lid …
The glass tank was airtight. Through two holes in the sides, rubberised gloves reached inside, the wrists sealed to the glass. Since the containment vessel had been designed and manufactured specifically for members of the race of which the troll-like Strax was a member, it was Strax whose bifurcated hands were thrust into the gloves.
Inside the tank lay the rusty toffee tin recovered from the scene of the murder of Felicity Gregson. Carefully, Strax lifted the tin in one large hand. With the other he grasped the lid. Gently he eased it off the main body and lifted it clear.
Vastra, Jenny, and Harry all peered closely through the glass.
‘There’s nothing in it,’ Harry proclaimed, echoing Jenny’s thoughts.
‘No – there is something,’ Vastra breathed.
It was thin and ethereal – as insubstantial as mist, as inchoate as the London fog itself. A curl of smoke licked out of the tin, as if exploring the surrounding air. It lifted lazily from the tin, thinning and drifting across the tank.
‘Is that it?’ Strax asked. ‘Not much of an enemy. A good sneeze would see that off. Not,’ he added, ‘like Moonites!’
‘What are Moonites?’ Harry asked.
‘A figment of whatever Strax has instead of imagination,’ Jenny told him.
‘The Ancient Enemy,’ Strax proclaimed.
‘I thought that was the Rutan Host,’ Vastra said.
‘I believe the two are in league.’ Strax nodded. ‘A formidable alliance.’
‘It looks like smoke,’ Harry said. ‘Like that smoke they tried to lower me into. With a face, and everything.’
‘A face?’ Vastra turned back to the glass tank.
Jenny gasped. Strax reached for a weapon he did not have.
In the tank, the smoke had indeed drifted into a vague, round shape. Darker patches might have been eyes. A slash of emptiness could be a mouth.
‘What do we do with it?’ Jenny asked.
But her words were interrupted by the jangling of a distant bell.
‘Keep it in there, Strax,’ Vastra said. ‘And Jenny – see who’s at the door.’
Harry followed Jenny. He was not at all interested in who might be calling, but he wanted to get as far from the smoke creature as he could. He trusted and liked Jenny, so he felt safer close to her. He stood at the back of the hall, in the shadow of the staircase, and watched her open the door.
Then in a moment, he was running forwards – towards the visitor now framed in the entrance.
‘Jim!’ he exclaimed, for it was indeed his friend who stood on the threshold. He might have betrayed Harry, but that was out of fear which Harry understood and forgave. He was happy just to see the boy alive and safe.
Except…
As Harry reached the doorway, he saw what Jenny had already noticed – and which had frozen her momentarily into inaction. He shared her feelings of surprise and dread.
For the boy Jim’s eyes were devoid of pupils. Instead a pale, foggy discolouration drifted across the iris. He raised a hand, and wisps of smoke curled out from the ends of his cuffs. More smoke was escaping from the gap between his neck and the loose collar of his grubby shirt.
When Jim opened his mouth to speak, it emitted a cloud of smoke, like an expulsion of steam.
‘It’s all right,’ the boy said, his voice gravel-rough and entirely without inflection. His whole form was now wreathed in smoke. ‘I escaped. Please let me in.’