George lifted the lamp high. The opening to a narrow lane yawned between two crumbling brick buildings nearby. Of course it would have to be a narrow lane. A thief with a demon at his disposal would hardly live anywhere else, like a well-lit, broad street for example.
"Perhaps you should remain here with the carriage," George said. He let go of me so he could hold the lamp in one hand and the pistol in the other.
"I'm not sure the carriage is any safer," I said, glancing around. It was too foggy to see very far ahead but I had the feeling we were being watched by dozens of pairs of eyes. "Let's go."
Just as I said it, a loud crash came from the lane. Someone shouted, another scream followed it, and four small people ran out of the lane. They were children, barefoot and dressed in little more than rags that hung from their thin bodies. They took one look at George and his pistol, screamed again, and ran off.
"I think the demon's still here," George said without moving.
"And Jacob has already found it. Come on." I wanted to run but the lack of light meant I had to keep near George and his lamp. But he was so slow, and Jacob could be...
The stench at the mouth of the lane made me recoil. The stink of urine, excrement and degradation cloyed at my throat. I coughed into my hand. George retched and buried the lower half of his face in his arm.
"God," he said, "how can anyone live here?"
Another crash had me moving again. The fog hung in misty tendrils but through the veil I could just make out the shape of two people fighting. "Jacob," I said to George. "Come on."
But he caught my arm and pulled me back. "Where's Finch?"
I squinted into the farthest shadows and could just make out the figure of someone sitting on a crate, his back against one of the high brick walls looming up on either side of the lane. "There. Chanting probably."
"Giving the demon the advantage in the fight," he murmured. "Fascinating."
"This is not the time to be scholarly, George."
"Right. Of course. So..."
I took the lamp off him and turned down the gas. "Follow me."
I counted on the fog and darkness covering us, and Finch having his attention on the fight and not the entrance to the lane so that we could sneak up and knock him out. I didn't want to use the pistol. Taking a life was not something I ever wanted to do. Although I knew the dead still existed elsewhere, I'd spoken to enough souls troubled by their death to know I didn't want to send one to the Waiting Area. The pistol would be a last resort.