Julian grasped Matthew’s shoulder. “Listen to me,” he said. “You go in there and find out who he’s meeting. Take a good look, come back out and describe him … or her. Britt didn’t see you at the Garden, so you’ll have a free moment, but only a moment. Understand?”

“I do.”

“Go. I’ll be around the corner.”

Matthew nodded and went down the steps. Opening the Green Spot’s door gave him a faceful of strong pipesmoke, the odors of spilled ale and wine and the smells of men who have gone a bit too long without a wash, but also the aroma and warmth of the fireplace that was brightly crackling wood opposite the door. Matthew entered, let the door close behind him, and walked between the tables and past the bar to stand before the fire. He turned around, the better to warm his backside and get a view of the room, which held perhaps ten or twelve patrons. There were no roach races running, so it was a quiet group intent on their drinking and their guarded conversations. The place was rather shadowy with stingy illumination, but quite suddenly Matthew realized he was standing about eight feet from a table where Britt had drawn up a chair to sit across from a second man.

By the fire’s glow Matthew took stock of this individual: a slender man wearing a white suit—odd for this time of year, but there it was—and a white shirt with a black cravat around the thin neck. The man looked to be maybe in his late forties or early fifties. He had a stripe of gray hair down the middle of his head but the rest of his scalp was shaved bald. A small gray goatee was set in the center of his pointed chin, and he had a small hooked beak of a nose. But the most arresting thing about the man were his eyes; they were almost disturbingly large and slightly bulging as if they were being forced by pressure from the setting of the sockets. And their color: as golden and sparkling as the guineas in Julian’s money belt.

Matthew saw Britt leaning forward, the man’s face half in shadow and half painted orange by the fire.

Then, suddenly, it happened.

The man Britt was addressing turned his head to the left, the golden eyes still wide and quite strange-looking, and began to twist his head around in that direction. Matthew’s heart jumped; in another few seconds the man was going to break his own neck, for the head was being twisted nearly back around to his shoulder blades.

The man’s head gave a slight jerk, Matthew saw the neck’s muscles clench and relax, there was a quiet pop and to Matthew’s amazement the twisting head continued to turn … to turn … to turn … until the freakish gent was looking behind himself … and yet the head still continued to swivel. Matthew almost stepped back and seared the heels of his boots on the burning logs, for this man in white with the golden eyes had turned his head only just short of all the way around on the neck, and now as Matthew watched the man’s head began to slowly swivel back the other way … more and more … more and more … as the golden eyes glinted with firelight and Britt’s shadowy face just kept talking as if this were the most natural sight in the world.