Lamia climbs out of the hansom at a more leisurely speed, and goes round to the back, to look up at the driver in his perch. “There they go again,” she says. “If they think they see a new mushroom, they have to stop and look at it. They’re obsessed with the idea of discovering a new one.” The driver looks confused that Lamia is dawdling and making conversation with him.
“It’s terribly boring,” Lamia confesses. “Do you mind if I chat with you until they’re done? This may take a while.” She pats her coiffure and sighs, smiling wryly. “How long have you been a driver? You must have had some interesting customers in your day.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it,” the driver says, leaning down to close some of the distance. “I do believe I ‘ad the honor to take His Amused Lordship to the music hall once… he’s ‘ard to mistake, that one. That laugh!”
“His Amused Lordship? Really? And who was he with?”
With the driver distracted, all Casey had to do was try to quickly switch out the signs. The current one was held fast by screws, and in a panic, Casey felt around in their coat pockets for an appropriate tool. The new sign was shoved under their arm as they searched, finally turning over a dagger in their hand. A flat edge is a flat edge.
Using the edge of the blade, Casey started to try to unscrew the old sign as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the scant passerby that occasionally passed through their peripheral vision. The real one finally came loose, and it wasn’t long before Collingwood Street was unceremoniously renamed to Coulburg Place.
“No new samples over here!” They huffed loudly, trying to make the now-stolen sign disappear into their bag. “Just your typical city-types of… it’s not even worth naming them,” They wave their hand dismissively. “You can see them everywhere.”
Lamia gives the driver a playful look, as if to say ‘see what I mean?’
“Well, the next one will be the real find, I’m sure of it,” she says soothingly. “I don’t understand how you can even see them from so far off.” There’s admiration and affection in her voice, now. Lamia might be taking her temporary role a little too far. She turns and thanks the driver, and then slips her arm through Casey’s. “Lead the way, dear.”
“Thank you, darling, thank you…” Casey hangs their head in a way so that their hair falls more into their face, wavering as they shake their head in a dejected sigh. Once it felt far enough to do so, their head snaps up and they laugh, their hand wrapping over Lamia’s to give it a victorious squeeze.
“Not even the most seasoned mycologist would find something worthwhile in these streets,” They giggle. “He believed the whole story?”
“He never suspected a thing,” Lamia says, eyes twinkling, squeezing their hand back. “Most likely he’s had stranger passengers. Do you know he once drove His Amused Lordship to the music hall?” She laughs. “So, what’s next, my mycologist?”
“Mycologist by day, petty criminal by night. There’s one more street just a few blocks from here, a quick turn after that, and straight on until we smell coffee. We’ll be seeing the mists of the Forgotten Quarter around that time too.” Casey says, a lightness to their step as they walk with Lamia. A few steps later, Casey glances over their shoulder to see if they could spot the lumbering shapes of the Clay men. Nothing yet, not even a rumbling of footsteps. Still, they wouldn’t be far behind.
“I used to be frightened of Clay Men,” Casey quips suddenly, as if they’d just remembered a word they were trying to say. “when I first came here. Too human, and yet not even remotely human enough.“
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