‘You’re right. He should.’ He reached down and hauled Sefton to his feet, finished his own cup of tea, then threw it down to smash on the pile of rubbish. ‘I am for rebellion. I stand against order. I don’t build anything. I criticize what’s been built. I am never satisfied. I look for you people to try harder. A lot of people think of me as a villain. I often am.’

‘So … are you what’s making the riots happen?’ Sefton suddenly wondered if he’d been trapped by an enemy.

The Rat King looked at him as if he was a foolish child. ‘I don’t make things happen. Too much like hard work. I am what those who are not satisfied look to; I am what they have in the back of their minds, pray to, sort of. I intercede with the power of London and send some of it their way. If I’ve a mind to. In roundabout ways. If I can be bothered.’ He looked again to the woman. ‘I didn’t really like saying all that. Bit too concrete for me.’

‘So you’re … a god?’ Sefton had been an atheist all his life, but he didn’t know any other way to say it.

‘There are no gods. But that’s what all the gods say.’ He looked again to the woman. ‘That’s better. More cryptic.’

‘If that’s what you stand for, why did you save me?’

‘Because, while I don’t know much about your case, I do know that things up there –’ he pointed to the roof again – ‘might be about to get a lot more orderly. This is the way the British do things, you see: too much chaos, then too much order, swinging from one extreme to the other, always giving them something to complain about. They say they want a happy medium. They really don’t. If you lot manage to nick the Ripper, then things will continue to tick along, with chaos in the mixture. If you don’t, then…’

‘You’re talking about the extreme right taking power?’

‘The British always love to flirt with that nice Mr Hitler, but they’ve never quite decided to take him home. Yet.’ The Rat King stared his off-kilter stare at Sefton, and he got the feeling that his mind was being searched again. There was no sensation to it at all, and for some reason, what was terrifying and intrusive in dreams was fine here. ‘Yes, you’ve had similar suspicions. Someone is waiting in the wings to save you all. Someone likes chaos only up to a certain point, the point where they can march in and make it all better.’

‘Who?’

The Rat King shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You’re the policeman.’

‘What’s the Smiling Man’s part in all this?’

‘Ah, you’ve met the new boy?’

Sefton was startled at that word. ‘New?’