The building, sitting on the edge of the river, was so ugly and misshapen I could not believe Victor had agreed to live here. The mere existence of such a thing—more like a brick-and-stone growth than an actual architectural piece—would upset him. There were no windows on the ground floor, or even on the second floor, that I could see. A narrow line of them marched drunkenly parallel to the roof. On the roof itself, I thought I could see a window that had been cranked open like shutters to the sky. Which was a bad decision, as it was raining. There was also an odd sort of chute from the roof to just past the riverbank.

“Should we knock?” Justine asked dubiously.

“Shouldn’ go ’n there.” We all three jumped, shocked, at the slurred and sloppy voice behind us. The man from the gutter—definitely not dead, then, though he smelled as if he had spent many long hours dancing with death—was leaning precariously behind us. I had not known the human body could be at that angle unsupported and remain upright.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Bad place.”

I did not have the patience for a drunkard. Not when Victor was quite possibly beyond a single door. “As far as I can tell, this whole quarter is a bad place. I do not see why this building should be any different.”

“Tell you a secret.” The man shuffled closer. His breath was as putrid as an unwashed chamber pot. I could not back away, boxed in by Justine on one side and the door on the other. I stepped closer to the man, shielding Justine with my body. He beckoned me even closer.

One of his eyes was filmy white. His beard was patched and unkempt, the skin beneath splotched red and purple. He ran his tongue along his few remaining teeth, eyes darting back and forth as though he was fearful of being overheard.

“Well?” I said.

He moved even closer. “Monsters!”

I jumped in alarm and shock, and he cackled with laughter at his trick. He took a step back, and I saw immediately what would happen—a raised pile of discarded bricks was behind him, and then a steep drop into the river.

I did not warn him.

He stumbled into the bricks and lost his balance, his arms spinning like a windmill. The splash with which he entered the river was deeply satisfying.

“How awful!” Justine covered her mouth in horror. “What if he cannot swim?”

“He fell quite close to the side.” I turned my back on his desperate splashing. “I am certain there will be something to grab on to. Besides, listen to his cursing. That is far too energetic for a man struggling for air. He is fine. And a good soak might improve his smell.”