The carriage rolled smoothly through the streets of the Southwark District, and beyond the window the view shifted by degrees, from the noise and bustle of the commercial quarter to a quiet, respectable stretch of housing.
At Charlotte's insistence, the two of them got out a full block short of Clement Street.
"We'll stop here," Charlotte said.
"Any closer and we'd make too much noise. At this hour, no carriage would have any business going down that street."
Russell dug out the fare and paid, and the two of them climbed down one after the other.
The Southwark District at night was still. Hardly a soul on the pavement.
Only the occasional passing carriage, and the lonely silhouette of a constable making his rounds somewhere in the distance.
They avoided the main road, slipping instead into a narrow side lane and cutting through it to reach Clement Street.
Before long, the Hannigan estate rose into view.
The front gate was shut fast, a seal pasted across it. The doors and windows were the same.
Hugging the wall, the two of them circled around to the rear of the Hannigan estate.
A high boundary wall, smothered in ivy, blocked their way.
Behind it lay the small garden that had gone untended since its owner's death.
"We'll have to go over," Charlotte said, keeping her voice low.
"You first, or me?" Russell asked.
Charlotte shot him a glance, said nothing, and took two steps back.
Then, with Russell watching, she took a short run-up, planted a foot on a jutting brick, pushed off with both hands, and swung herself lightly onto the top of the wall.
The whole thing was clean and effortless, like a cat's.
The girl crouched on the coping and reached a hand down to Russell below.
Russell looked up at her, then shook his head.
He shifted his angle, backed up a few paces of his own, and came over in a posture that was both easier and quieter, landing steadily at Charlotte's side.
Charlotte withdrew her hand and pursed her lips, evidently a little put out that he hadn't accepted the favour.
The two of them dropped from the wall without a sound, the turf swallowing what little noise there was.
The garden was small, but months without care had left it tangled and unkempt.
"Split up and find the hidden door," Charlotte murmured. "Quietly."
With that she lowered herself and began searching the grounds.
Russell crouched as well, making a show of glancing casually around him while he worked his way, step by step, toward the back door.
The Southwark District night lay over the garden like a heavy sheet of black velvet, wrapping it up tight.
The moon was all but smothered by cloud; only a few cold threads of silver struggled through the gaps to lend the place the faintest light.
The air smelled of soil and rotting leaves and dead flowers, cut through with the particular bite of early winter.
One on each side, the two of them moved like a pair of cats that had strayed into forbidden ground, light-footed, silent.
Charlotte stayed bent low, her grey-blue eyes uncommonly sharp in the dark.
She swept her gaze along the rear wall of the house, sparing no corner that might hide a door.
Russell, meanwhile, used the darkness as cover and drifted at an unhurried pace toward where he remembered the back door to be.
Now and then he stopped and parted a clump of shrubbery with great ceremony, the very picture of a man conducting a thorough search.
Charlotte worked fast. It took her no time at all to comb her half of the ground from end to end.
Nothing.
The girl lifted her head, her gaze passing over the weeds to the far side.
Russell's outline surfaced and faded in the dark. He was waving her over.
Charlotte crossed to him, quick and quiet.
"You found it?" she whispered.
Russell didn't answer. He simply pointed at the stretch of wall in front of him, buried under a dense mat of ivy.
Charlotte followed his finger.
It was an entirely unremarkable corner. The ivy grew so thick it very nearly covered the whole face of the wall, and there was nothing to distinguish it from anywhere else.
But Charlotte knew Russell never pointed at nothing.
So she dropped into a crouch, leaned in close, and looked properly.
The tell came to her almost at once.
In what moonlight there was, she could see several distinct creases running through the ivy.
Down at the roots of the vines, the earth was softer than the soil around it, and she could even make out a few blurred footprints.
Charlotte reached out and gently drew the curtain of leaves aside.
A small wooden door, painted so as to blend into the wall itself, stood revealed in front of them.
It wasn't locked. Left that way, most likely, to make a quick escape easier.
Charlotte and Russell exchanged a look, and each read the same understanding in the other's eyes.
Russell stepped up, pressed his ear to the door, and listened hard for any movement inside.
Quiet.
No footsteps. No voices.
But there was breathing, coming in broken intervals.
The kind of sound a man makes drawing on a cigarette and letting the smoke out slowly.
An ordinary person might have written it off as wind and thought no more of it.
But to Russell, who possessed [Listening B], it rang out plainly.
He turned his head, gave Charlotte a small nod, and mimed a man smoking.
Charlotte caught his meaning at once, though she looked at him with a flicker of surprise, as if the range of his hearing had taken her aback.
Russell turned back and laid his hand lightly against the door.
[Sleight of Hand B+] did its work. The door swung inward under his palm without so much as a whisper.
In a moment a gap wide enough for one person stood open before them.
Russell was about to take the lead when he felt a tug at the hem of his coat.
He looked back. The girl's grey-blue eyes were fixed squarely on him.
Charlotte pulled again, motioning him back, and took his place herself.
She slipped past him, that slight frame of hers threading through the gap like a wildcat, without a sound.
Russell followed close behind.
Beyond the door ran a narrow, dim passage, though it did not lead straight down to the cellar. It opened instead into a storeroom.
Fortunately the storeroom stood empty now, and they came through it without knocking against anything.
Inside the house the sound of that breathing was clearer, and there was even the faint smell of tobacco in the air.
The two of them exchanged a glance, then looked down at the floor together.
Pilsen was in the cellar.
Which was, in fact, a stroke of luck. There was only one way out of a cellar, and they could cork it up entirely.
Russell pointed at the floor, then at the stairs, and started off first.
Charlotte softened her tread and followed.
Down the stairs they went, until they came to a halt at the cellar door.
It was shut tight. In these circumstances, there was no opening it quietly.
Russell threw Charlotte a questioning look.
So what now?
Charlotte reached inside her coat and drew out her folded cane without a word, extended it, and locked it in place.
Then she gave Russell a look, tipped her chin at the door, and raised one foot.
What do you think?
Russell shrugged.
All that sneaking about, and it still came down to kicking the door in.
Honestly. There's no talking to amateurs.
He sighed, and raised his own foot.
Charlotte lifted her free hand, put up three fingers, and folded them down one by one.
Three…
Two…
One!
Crash!
The thunder of two boots hitting the door shattered the silence of the Southwark District.
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