Either he’d thumped a policeman in the course of resisting arrest, or Leo had sent gunmen after him. Neither of those was good.

He looked around, orienting himself to the Whitechapel streets. If ever he’d seen a place where policemen trod carefully, this looked like it. The street he was on was pretty mean, and a chaos of tiny, dark, deeply uninviting passages sprouted off it, obscured by barrows and stalls and sacks. It was all rank: low, filthy houses, blackened with coal smoke and industrial grime; crowds that were equal parts bustle and hustle, and lounge and watch. Joblessness had been a blight since the war ended, but it wasn’t nearly as obvious in Charing Cross as it was here. Pinch-faced children, hard-eyed women, idling men with hands in pockets looking for the main chance, or maybe just waiting till the pubs opened again.

There were, Will knew, Whitechapel streets you would be very ill advised to walk down even in broad daylight—Flower and Dean, and Dorset Street, for two—but he had no idea where else in the area was no-man’s land. He was reasonably confident of his ability to look after himself, but looking after yourself included not getting into damn fool situations in the first place.

He’d intended to find a dosshouse for the night, thinking he’d go unnoticed, but now he decided that was a mistake. There would be a lot of different accents around here, but most of them would be from a lot further afield than the Midlands. He’d sound like a stranger, and to a lot of people that meant ‘victim’, which in turn meant he’d have to make trouble, which would attract attention...

Or perhaps he was fretting for no reason, these people were all minding their own business, and the sense of hostile eyes on his back was entirely created by his own fears. He couldn’t tell, because he’d never been on the run before.

Will cursed internally, and set off to tramp the streets a bit. He wanted to familiarise himself with the lie of the land, identify somewhere to stay, and with luck find a telephone box. All the while sticking to the broader thoroughfares because he wasn’t plunging into the Whitechapel labyrinth for anyone’s money.