Title Page

THE HANGING
TREE

BEN AARONOVITCH

GOLLANCZ
LONDON

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all librarians everywhere – for they are the true keepers of the secret flame and not to be trifled with

Through the streets our wheels slowly move;

The toll of the death bell dismays us.

With nosegays and gloves we are deck’d,

So trim and so gay they array us.

The passage all crowded we see

With maidens that move us with pity;

Our air all, admiring agree

Such lads are not left in the city.

Oh! Then to the tree I must go;

The judge he has ordered the sentence.

And then comes a gownsman you know,

And tells a dull tale of repentance.

By the gullet we’re ty’d very tight;

We beg all spectators, pray for us.

Our peepers are hid from the light,

The tumbril shoves off, and we morrice.

Tyburn ballad as transcribed by Francis Place

Contents

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

1 One of Sir Roger’s Lesser Works

2 Teenage Kicks

3 Driving While Cheerful

4 Obligatory Audience Participation

5 Mother’s Little Helper

6 On the Comparing of Watches

7 The Intrepid Fox

8 Uninvited Guests

9 The Tiger Hunting Committee

10 Picking Up the Pieces

11 Under the Spreading Chestnut Tree

12 The 100 Metre Nonchalant Stroll

13 Angry Birds

14 A Walk in the Park

15 State Six

16 Pleased to Meet You

Acknowledgements

Technical Note

Also by Ben Aaronovitch from Gollancz:

Copyright

1 One of Sir Roger’s Lesser Works

1

One of Sir Roger’s Lesser Works

I dreamt that I heard Mr Punch laughing gleefully by my ear, but when I woke I realised it was my phone. I recognised the number on the screen and so wasn’t surprised by the cool, posh voice that spoke when I answered.

‘Peter,’ said Lady Ty, ‘do you remember when we spoke at Oxford Circus?’

I remembered her finding me after I’d managed to get myself buried under the platform. I remembered her leaning over me once they’d dug me out, her breath smelling of nutmeg and saffron.

‘One day I will ask you for a favour. And do you know what your response will be?’

‘Yes ma’am,’ I said, remembering what I’d said then. ‘No ma’am – three bags full, ma’am.’

It was five in the morning – still dark – and rain was smattering against the French windows at the far end of Beverley’s bedroom. The only serious light came from the screen of my phone. The other half of the big bed was empty – I was alone.

‘One of my daughter’s friends has had an accident,’ said Lady Ty. ‘I want you to ensure my daughter is not implicated in the subsequent investigation.’

Oh shit, I thought. That kind of favour.

She gave me the address and what she knew of the circumstances.

‘You want me to prove your daughter wasn’t involved?’ I said.