The Phenomenals: A Tangle of Traitors Read Online Free PDF Page A

the tar bubbles like a pot of overdone porridge day and night, and spews out poisonous gas, like stinking belches.’
    ‘Oh, so that’s the smell!’
    Wenceslas nodded. ‘But ever’ cloud has a silver lining. The tar lights the city, and powers the Manufactory. Why, it keeps the Kronometer going in Mercator Square. The governor,
Leucer d’Avidus, owns the pit. He has pumps working night and day, sucking up the tar, filtering it and stirring it and who knows what else. One day it’ll run out and then he
won’t be so smug.’
    ‘And that’s where the, er . . . Lurids are?’ said Vincent, bringing him back to the point.
    ‘Oh yes, and they ain’t happy! They floats about the pit with evil still in their rotten, murderous hearts. But they’re trapped, surrounded by the salt marsh. Salt burns
’em like fire.’
    ‘The purses of salt,’ murmured Vincent. It was all starting to make sense now.
    ‘You mean Brinepurses. They’re full of brine crystals, ’vaporated from the Turbid Sea, for protection from the filthy beggars.’
    ‘But they’re trapped.’
    ‘But it’s the lunar apogee soon.’ Wenceslas saw Vincent’s blank expression and explained. ‘When the moon is furthest away in its orbit from the earth. You see, the
pull of the moon also makes sure the Lurids stay put, but when it’s far away its influence is weakened and it’s possible a dark-hearted person could set the Lurids free.’
    ‘And how would a person do that?’ asked Vincent, deciding to play along.
    Wenceslas shrugged. ‘Nanyone knows. It’s one of ’em secrets lost down the centuries. Anyhoos, at the end of the Festival of the Lurids we all dresses up and goes to the Tar Pit
and tosses in offerings – chickens and sheep, a sort of ’pology for keeping them there – then we goes home and feasts.’
    Vincent laughed. ‘Sounds like an excuse for a shindig.’
    Wenceslas looked down at Vincent’s belt. ‘You mock, but I see you’ve got yerself a Brinepurse.’
    Vincent quickly pulled his cloak together. ‘I . . .’ he began, but suddenly the door was thrown open and there was an angry shout.
    ‘Wincheap! Where are you, you cheating swine?’
    A tall man in a fur-collared cloak was standing in the shop doorway. Instinct – or the glint of silver around the newcomer’s neck and wrist – inclinated Vincent to stay out of
sight. He shrank back into the shadows and was rendered almost invisible. The man’s cloak flapped about his lower legs, revealing intermittently a shimmering green lining. The hood, also
trimmed with fur, fell in soft folds upon his narrow shoulders. Rather well-dressed for this establishment, thought Vincent from his hiding place.
    Wenceslas, having moved surprisingly quickly, was now at the door. His bulk prevented the man from coming in any further. ‘An’ a good evenin’ to you too, Mr Kamptulicon,’
he said coolly. ‘Is there a problem?’
    ‘Here’s the problem.’ Kamptulicon threw a gas mask at Wenceslas’s feet. ‘It’s a dud. I want another.’
    Wenceslas stroked one of his chins, causing all three to wobble, and took another mask from the basket. He dusted it off and handed it over.
    ‘This had better work,’ said Kamptulicon, ‘or I’ll be back.’ He turned on his heel and strode away.
    Vincent stepped out into the light as Wenceslas shut the door. ‘Who was that?’
    Wenceslas chewed thoughtfully on his lip, all talk of Lurids and festivals forgotten for the moment. ‘His name is Leopold Kamptulicon. He has a lamp shop on Chicanery Lane, not far from
here, but if that man’s a lamp merchant then –’ here he looked slyly at Vincent – ‘I’ll climb the Kronometer and clean the clock!’ He sighed. ‘I
wouldn’t trust him as far as I could drag his skinny rump. Anyhoos, lad, it’s near closing time. Are you here to sell or buy?’
    ‘To sell.’ Vincent rummaged through his pockets and produced a considerable haul (which would have greatly upset Constable Weed)