The Captain scraped the dried blood from under his fingernails with a small, rusted metal tack that he had found on the floor. He could see that someone else had been to the London Necropolis recently; they had left their footprints in the dust everywhere. It was clear from the scuff marks at either end of the platform that they had explored the tunnels nearby too. They had brought lights with them and had left them on the platform, portable lights with broad yellow bases and black handles. They were very powerful, and he didn’t like the way that they reached into the far corners of the station, so he picked them all up, one by one, and smashed them to pieces.
He was angry because he’d been sloppy and had grown careless. He should have realised that turning that gloomy little boarding hou
