The man shook his head, impatient with the wrong tack being taken. ‘Don’t like that question. I’m going to answer a different one. Yes, I know all about you. Fortunately, I don’t care.’ Sefton kept his fear in check, making himself look calm once more. But still, this lot would now know there was something dodgy about him. ‘I might know anything about anyone,’ the man continued, ‘with just one look. All the information of this world flows down to me.’ He poked a finger into Sefton’s jacket, and Sefton felt the vanes in his breast pocket jerk at the contact, trying to point towards the gravity of the man. The group had all turned to look at the new arrival, he realized, as if he was some sort of touchstone for them. ‘You’re all right, you are. He’s all right, everybody!’ That had been a call with no expectation that it would have any result, an irony at the man’s own lack of influence, but Sefton could see that it had actually had some effect. ‘Oh, it’s all going pear-shaped tonight,’ the man continued, looking back to Sefton. ‘Our barmaid over there,’ he indicated, ‘I know her name but I will not share it; she made the mistake of continuing with the old ways, of not allowing coin to stay in her palm. The Keel brothers did not like that. The penalty was the loss of her face. Les yeux sans visage, as some pretender once said. The Keels would like her to continue working here, to please the old clientele even as they begin to fleece them. They have promised to give her face back if she’s a good girl. But tonight we’ll see.’ He looked Sefton up and down, an arrogant and yet somehow self-mocking smirk on his face. ‘We all love our masks, don’t we? It’s the only option when a circle has to fit inside a square. When one song has to be sung to the tune of another. The distortion continues. Ever feel you’re being bent out of shape?’ He whirled a finger in the air as if sampling the oppressive quality of the air, and then licked it, seeming to be entertained by the taste. He pointed downwards. ‘The things I have to crawl up through to attend these soirées now. The things you people put up with. The things you allow.’ Now his gaze was fixed again on Sefton. ‘But still we get new arrivals. Oh, sorry, I said the N word –’ he made a quick, scathing glance at the gathering – ‘sorry.’ He suddenly held out his hand to Sefton. ‘I am John, and I was born in London. They call me the Rat King. When they call me anything at all.’