Chapters (35)
- PART ONE SCHOOL
- EXAMINATION
- THE TRIP
- INFECTION
- SWEETS
- PART TWO THE MANOR
- LESSONS
- LIVIA
- SPARRING
- LABORATORY
- PART THREE COMMONERS
- IN THE WOODS
- IN DARKNESS
- LIZZY
- THE LIBERAL
- CAESAR
- QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
- HEADMASTER
- PART FOUR ANGEL
- THE COUNTRY AND THE CITY
- FARMER
- BONE MUSIC
- DELIVERY
- CAPTAIN
- SCAR TISSUE
- PENCIL AND PAPER
- CAESAR
- PART FIVE ABOVE AND BELOW
- DEMONS
- FACTORY
- FUSE
- BAPTISM
- PART SIX CLOUD
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
So, Thomas now says to himself, I have come into my patrimony. All I needed was a bit of priming. Then I took to it like a boar to his rut.
But the ease of his corruption, it isn’t really the worst of it. He has known he is susceptible all his life. A boy with a temper; rage, like a pet, always faithful by his side.
The worst of it is that it was fun. Being consumed by the Smoke. Letting go of all restraint. Stripping naked as the day you were born and becoming a creature of pure want. For Thomas discovered something. At the heart of the Smoke he found waiting for him the unselfconsciousness of childhood, of those years before speech. How perfect, how natural it felt to live there, in a place that knew no consequence. His fists swollen, the heat of Livia’s body pinned under his weight.
Just as he is thinking this, squirming in his seat with the power of the thought, Livia turns to him, her head thrown forward so she can see him across Charlie. Thomas looks away. The coach veers, his bladder strains. He wants to talk to her, explain himself. He wonders where to pee so she won’t notice.
He is, in short, confused.
Then they arrive: a dank street without lighting.
The coach races off as soon as Livia has paid the driver.
ф
It might be Ratcliff or Southwark: Thomas did not pay attention to the way. All he knows of London are a dozen or so streets and a score of names he has overheard. Lambeth, Hammersmith, Wapping. Limehouse. Shoreditch (always mentioned in a hush). They remain close to the river in any case; he can smell its stink. A great grey slab of a building rises before them, looking more like a fortress than a factory. Initially Thomas thinks that it is here they are headed. But it is the smaller, red-brick building growing out of its flank that wears the name of Ryman’s Fine Tobacco. There is no fence at the front, just a sturdy green door at the top of a short flight of steps. For the third time that night they try a door handle and find it does not move. The knocker rings through the building beyond but fails to summon either a doorman or a guard. They are alone.