Fortunately, it wasn’t very late in the day, and many of London’s street children were still about. Barnabus kept his eyes peeled, hoping to see one he knew was part of Fletcher’s network.

Fate seemed to be on his side: Henry, an eight-year-old bootblack who often whispered things to Fletcher, stood on a corner, his shoeshine kit tucked firmly under his arm.

“Care for a shoeshine, guv’nuh?” Henry asked.

“If I toss you a half-crown, would you give a shoeshine to a friend of ours when next you see him?”

Henry nodded. “If I think of it.” Though he gave no indication he understood Barnabus’s request, there was no doubt he did.

“Any chance you’ll see our bloke sooner rather than later?”

Henry tossed his satchel over his shoulder. “Could be. He lingers about this corner now and then.”

“His shoes are in urgent need of shining.”

Henry gave a single, quick nod. Though the boy casually sauntered off, Barnabus knew he could be counted on to see to the matter urgently. Barnabus continued his path to the DPS headquarters.

The front door was unlocked when he arrived, a sign that Nolan was at his post. The man lived at headquarters, making his room in what would have been the butler’s rooms if this had still been used as an actual house, but Nolan’s employment didn’t require him to sit all day and night by the door. During his hours off duty, members depended on Fletcher to let them in. Only he and the Dread Master had a key. And no one other than Fletcher knew who the Dread Master was.

Barnabus stepped through the door and into the entryway. Nolan was in his seat. This time, though, he wasn’t sleeping or reading the newspaper. In fact, he had the most recent installment of Barnabus’s own penny dreadful in his hands.

Before Barnabus could decide if he wanted to ask if Nolan was enjoying “Bodies of Light,” the man coughed, and not the light variety arising from a dry throat or a bit of dust causing a fuss. The rumble sat deep in his chest.

“I don’t like the sound of that, Nolan. Are you feeling poorly?”

“I were a couple days ago. Better today.” He’d always been a man of few words but of absolute reliability.

“Are you feverish? Fatigued? Pained when you breathe?”

Nolan shook his head. “Not now.”

Barnabus leaned against the wall near Nolan’s bench. “I mean it when I tell you that you should send for me if you’re ever feeling even a little ill. None of us would want anything to happen to you.”

His toothless smile popped up. “I ain’t going nowhere anytime soon, Doc. I’m looking after the lot of you.”

“On behalf of the lot of us . . . thank you.”

Nolan gave a quick nod, then took up his reading once more.