Another quarter hour of grilling the milladen provided no further information. I would need something more persuasive than mutilation to convince the monster to flip on its Pride. Eventually I decided that I was just wasting time. Ajax was over the river somewhere and the sun had already set.

My only option was to go after the Decoction Killer before he had a chance to escape or get murdered by the milladen. If Ajax had somehow found out about the Marshview Hotel, that’s where he would be. If not, he could be anywhere and we would both be better off if I went after the killer anyway.

By the time I finished with the milladen and stepped out of the interrogation room, Curate Ben was waiting for me.

“I pulled the 1841 city directory from the church records. There was in fact one Marshview Hotel south of the river,” he said.

“Great, thanks Ben. Could you mark the location on my map?” I asked, pulling out my journal. “Oh, and can I borrow a cloak?” Now I just needed a way across the river.

As I trudged down the rain slick street, I silently thanked whatever developer created Curate Ben. The rain had picked up during my interrogation, but the hooded cloak he had fetched was large, warm, and kept me from getting soaked. Gas powered streetlights lit the way, and it didn’t take long to find my way to the deserted beach.

It was the sad strip of sand where I had seen the River Rats kill a zombie. “Over here flash bag,” called a young voice. Roach stood across from the beach under a dilapidated awning. The kid looked like he had bit into a lemon, but at least he had shown up. “You better be proper grateful, making me walk in this piss,” he said, gestring at the rain.

I hurried over to awning. “Don’t worry Roach, you’ll be compensated. You got my note?”

Roach glared at me reproachfully as rainwater dripped from his rat’s nest hair.

“Right,” I said. “I need a way across the river. All the bridges will be closed this time of night and my business is time sensitive.”

Roach thought for a moment, chewing his lip. “The old horse ferryman. He’s a boozer ‘n mad as a loon, but he might take you across. Won't be cheap though.”

“I can make it worth his while,” I said.

“Come on then,” Roach said. “Sooner started, sooner done.” He stalked into the rain.

It said a lot about the development of our professional relationship that Roach hadn’t tried to shake me down before offering the information. After all the coin Ajax and I had given him over the past week, he knew I could be trusted to pay up. Not necessarily liked, but trusted.

“How far is this ferry?” I called to Roach’s back as we cut down an alley.

“South most bit of town, ‘alf hour maybe,” he said and we continued walking in silence. A half hour, on top of the hours Ajax had already been alone in the Dead City. It seemed increasingly unlikely that I would find my friend alive.

The ferryman’s ‘house’ was more of a wooden shack. Roach pulled a cudgel from somewhere and pounded on the flimsy door. He wrapped on it hard over a dozen times. I was worried that he would break the damn thing down when the door finally sprung open.

“What!?” roared the large man that answered the door. His unkempt beard and long hair were white with age and he had the stocky build of a man with heavy muscle under layers of fat. He was also belligerently drunk and clutching a sawn-off shotgun in one hand.

I twisted away from the muzzle and pushed it up and over to get out of the line of fire. Ignoring the gun completely, Roach stepped in and jabbed his cudel into the man’s gut. The breath went out of the ferryman in a huff.

“Stow it Jackie, it’s me,” Roach said, waving the cudel in the man’s face. The man blinked owlishly with watery eyes before lowering the gun.

“Roach? The hell lad? What are ya doing here so late?” the man said with a light scottish accent.

“Work for you, ya drunk. Let us in.” Roach turned to me. “This ‘eres Jack, the horse ferryman.”

Jack scowled, but stepped aside to let us in. I watched the shotgun warily, but Roach just rolled his eyes. “It ain’t even loaded.”

I followed them into the shack. It was small, just enough room for a wood stove, a table with two chairs, and a ladder going up to the loft. The table was covered in booze bottles in various stages of empty.

“He needs a ride across the river,” Roach was saying.

“You into some kind of shady business lad? Who is this fop? A pig?” he said, staring at my cloak suspiciously.

“He’s a posh fuck,” Roach agreed heartily. “But not a bad sort. And not a pig, a clothy.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Eh, sorry for the language Father. Where are my manners, would you like a seat?”

“No, thank you,” I said. The chairs looked like they could give me splinters even through the heavy cloak. “And I’m not a priest. Inquisitor Silver, at your service.” I held out my hand.

He shook it firmly, his hand warm and steady, despite the drink. “Always a pleasure to serve the church sir.”

“Focus Jackie, a ride across the river,” Roach reminded.

“I sold the horses years ago, but there is still me old rowboat. Dangerous to go over at night though.”

“You will be paid for your trouble,” I assured. “This is a time sensitive matter and it needs to be tonight.”

Jack glanced at Roach. “One pound, up front, and it’ll be a one way trip. All the coin in the Queen’s knickers wouldn’t convince me to hang about in that cursed place.”

“Half a pound and we leave now,” I countered.

“Done.”

I counted out ten shillings for Jack and gave Roach another two for the introduction. Roach disappeared into the night while Jack and I headed for the river. As we got close to the water we passed the old horse ferry, lying on its side in permanent drydock.

The huge boat was filthy, the boards cracked and rotting.

“What happened?” I asked, gesturing at the farry.

“The Night o’ Jagged Teeth of course. Not much need to cross the river these days, eh? What’s a tourist going to go see? The Archbishop of Canterbury’s zombie arse?”

I had no reply to that. We quickly made it to a shoddy dock housing an equally shoddy rowboat. I eyed the flimsy craft. I didn’t really want to trust my safety to a boat that could sink any moment and a drunk ferryman, but I didn’t have much choice.

What’s the worst that could happen? Probably drowning horribly in filthy water as my chainmail dragged me to the bottom. With that cheery thought, I followed Jack into the boat.

He took a long pull from a flask, then started rowing. Water lapped the side of the craft with every stroke. I waited, stomach roiling, as we slowly made our way across.

We landed at a crumbling stone jetty. I got off the boat carefully and inspected the Dead City. Thankfully, there were no zombies around, but I realized I had a problem. With the stars blocked by the rain, and no working streetlights, the city was pitch black.

“Jack,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Do you have a spare lantern?”

“You can take mine lad,” he answered and unhooked the light from the end of the rowboat. “I can get back without it.”

I took the light gratefully and thanked the ferryman. The light would probably attract all kinds of unwanted attention, but going in without it would be suicide.

“Good luck Inquisitor,” Jack said quietly before pushing off.

Turning away from the river, I started down the street at a jog. With the lantern giving me away, stealth was out of the question. I would just have to hurry and hope I could make it before I drew too much attention.

On my left Lambeth Palace lay in ruins, as if torn apart by a giant toddler. Hopefully whatever had caused the destruction was long gone. Anything that could do that much damage would make short work of a lone inquisitor.

I saw the first zombies moments later. Three of them, moving towards me in a lurching run. Far faster than during the day. I drew my shamshir, but couldn't draw my buckler without dropping the lantern. Trying to fight in the dark sounded worse than fighting without a shield, so I would have to make do.

I tripped the first zombie with a well placed push and met the second with a cut to the head. Without my shield though, I couldn’t use any of my multi-weapon skills. Well, I could use the lantern, but if that broke I was as good as dead.

My blow cracked the zombies head, but didn’t penetrate enough to kill. Fighting my instinct to shield bash, I kicked the zombie off instead and spun away as it tried to claw at me. The third zombie slashed me across the back, jagged bone cutting into my nice new cloak.

I disengaged from the zombies, falling back. A lucky slash activated my shamshir’s enchantment cutting through a zombies forearm and the top third of its head. It fell dead, but the other two were advancing quickly.

I heard a noise behind me, and risked a quick look back. A half-dozen more shapes were moving towards me. Screw this. If this was during the day, it would be no problem, but with the zombies moving faster, and me unable to use my shield, I was at a major disadvantage.

Putting the lantern in my teeth, I grabbed my necklace and mumbled. “Pfirann.” Good enough. The zombies slowed immediately, their simple brains confused by my sudden absence. Nevertheless, they kept coming straight towards me, just more hesitantly.

I quickly relocated, confident that they would just move to my last known location. I watched with growing horror as instead the zombies slowly turned to follow. I realized suddenly that it must be the lantern. However the necklace’s power worked, the zombies were still perceiving, and thus drawn to, the light.

I cut down the two zombies blocking my way forward, easy to do with them so confused, and hurried forward. It almost felt like cheating, with how simple the necklace made it, but there were more zombies showing up every second and invisibility wouldn't do me any good if they just surrounded and swarmed me.

I sheathed my sword, took the lantern out of my mouth, and started running. A wall of shambling dead blocked the main road, so I ducked left down a sidestreet. The zombie horde followed, unable to see their prey, but more than happy to follow the light.

Right, left, right, I worked my way further into the Dead City. Luckily I have a good sense of direction. I was working off my memory of the map and really couldn't afford to get lost.

I exited an alley onto another side street and was almost taken to the ground as a zombie lunged for me. I twisted out of the tackle, driving the zombie head first into the street while barely managing to keep my own footing. I stamped down hard on the monster’s exposed neck. My sturdy boots cracked vertebrae, and the zombie went limp.

Why hadn’t this one hesitated? Was it special somehow?

I looked back down the alley and froze in horror. The zombie horde charged down the alley, trampling each other in their haste. Gone was the hesitance, every glassy eye was focused on me with predatory intensity.

The power of St. Piran’s relic was expended. I was visible again. I let the spent necklace drop back to my chest, studying the approaching zombies. Then I ran.

The Marshview Hotel couldn’t be far. I didn’t know what I would do when I got there, but at least it would give me a place to put my back to a wall.

The zombies, even bolstered by the night, were far slower than me. With my twelve dexterity I should have been able to easily put them behind me. The problem was the broken uneven street, and my inability to see ahead. The lantern gave off only a small halo of light, and I only had fractions of a second to react to each broken flagstone, pothole, or collapsed building.

I managed to keep from falling, but kept having to slow to recover my balance or navigate obstacles. A zombie I missed came out of a building and tangled itself in my cloak. I tried to kick it away, but the boney fingers and teeth were latched on to the cloth. The horde, over fifty zombies now, was closing quickly.

The zombie hung on like a ferocious gnawing stone, foiling my attempts to drag myself away. With a last look at the closing horde, I took out my dagger and cut the cloak’s ties. The fine outer garment slid to the ground, zombie in tow, and I pushed myself back into a sprint.

The horde was on my heels, but I could see the hotel up ahead. It was easy to spot. In all my trips to the dead city, this was the first building I had seen with working lights. Twin gaslamps, burning with green flame, lit the front porch of the wide building.

I jumped over a broken street light, zombies practically drooling down my neck. Another smaller mob poured out of a side street, trying to cut me off. I put on one last burst of speed, determined to reach the lit area before the way could be blocked.

Three feet from the porch, my foot found the pothole my eyes had missed. Rainwater sprayed as I fell headlong into the porch steps. I hit the wood hard, almost winding myself, but managed to keep from breaking anything.

I scrambled up the steps, gasping for breath. I dropped the lantern, jumped to my feet, tore my weapons free, and spun to face the horde. My elbow pulsed with pain from where it had hit the stairs and my breath was like bellows in my ears.

The zombies stood just before the porch steps. They stared at me hungrily and pushed and jockeyed for position, but none of them stepped forward. It was as if there was an invisible wall, keeping them away from the hotel.

I leaned back against the building, slowly catching my breath. The green lights of the gaslamps gave the world an eerie cast. Even as I watched, some of the zombies slowly lost interest and wandered away.

Looks like I had found the Decoction Killer’s safehouse.