Read Online Silhouette by Justin Richards - Free Book Online

it. She felt a little uneasy, sat on the bench seat with nothing to stop her pitching forwards and out if the horse stopped suddenly. The driver was above and behind her, completely out of view. She only knew he was there from the twitch of the reins, and the occasional words of encouragement aimed at the horse.
    The suspension, Clara thought, could do with some work too as they clattered over cobbles and rattled down side streets. She thought she knew central London quite well, but with the restricted view and the absence of many of the landmarks she could have recognised on the admittedly rather logical grounds that they hadn’t been built yet, she was soon completely lost.
    The cab finally came to a halt with a drawn out ‘Whoa’ from the driver. Oswald had insisted on paying the man in advance. Clara did have some money the Doctor had given her, but she was glad to be spared having to worry about sorting through unfamiliar currency.
    ‘Alberneath Avenue,’ the driver said, touching his hat as Clara clambered down.
    They were at the end of a long street. There was no need to ask where Milton’s factory was. Even in the smog, Clara could see that while there were terraced houses down one side of the street, there was only one building on the other. It was a huge, monolithic, unforgiving brick façade. What windows there were seemed blank and opaque.
    ‘Where’s the best place to find another cab?’ she asked, just in case Oswald failed to join her.
    ‘Best to try down there.’ The cabbie pointed back the way they had come. ‘Turn left at the end and that’ll bring you to Motherton Street. You should get a cab there.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Not that way, though,’ the cabbie warned, pointing down past the factory. ‘You won’t find nothing good down there, miss. Mind how you go now.’
    As if to emphasise the point, the driver turned his cab in the road and headed back the way they had come. Clara could hear the wheels rolling over thecobbles long after the cab was swallowed up by the smog.
    Clara had thought – as much as she had thought about it at all – that there would be somewhere to wait for Oswald. A bench perhaps. Maybe even a small tearoom or coffee shop. But there was nothing. Just the faceless factory, the houses opposite – which all seemed to be empty and about to fall down now she looked at them more closely – and nothing else. Nothing except the smog.
    She walked slowly down the street. There was no sign of anyone else. Also, surprisingly, there was no sound from the factory. Surely she should be able to hear equipment, machinery, people? Or was it so solidly built that no sound escaped. There were windows – high in the walls, and dark. No light inside, unless they were shuttered … Was she even in the right place, Clara wondered? The cab driver had seemed friendly and helpful enough, and he had to know his way round London.
    Clara made her way back to where the cab had dropped her at the end of the street. Sure enough there was a sign attached to the end of the factory: ‘Alberneath Avenue’ it said in faded lettering. This was the right place. But there was no sign of life, and no sign of any way in to the factory either. The entrance must be on another street. Maybe that was why it was so quiet – this part of the factory simply wasn’t in use.
    In which case, it made sense to walk round the building and see what she could find–people, activity, a way in … It made sense, another part of Clara’s mind told her as she set off down a narrow side alley, to wait for Oswald. But he could be ages yet. She didn’t know how long it would take him to excuse himself from his tutorial duties. Or if he couldn’t, then how long would he be? Better if she’d cased the joint already and at least found the way in.
    The alley was dark and claustrophobic, the smog making it seem even narrower and the walls either side closing in oppressively. Clara hurried along, her heels echoing on the