Chapter 19
19. The Catacombs
Securing a conveyance at the witching hour proved no arduous task. Our sole requirement was to intercept an oncoming merchandise wagon.
"No, good sir, this vehicle serves as a transport for the departed."
Our driver's discomposure was evident. Despite the lack of reverence shown to mortality in our city, London, there existed certain expectations of decorum. To place a living soul adjacent to one void of life was a glaring violation of such proprieties.
"But what recourse do we have…?"
"We are rather engaged. Is there truly no other course?"
Deftly overlooking the senseless utterances of Augustine, I presented the driver with a piece of coin. He evaluated its worth beneath the dim glow of the carriage's lantern, subsequently erupting in mirth. The lamplight revealed a grin of scant and weathered teeth.
"In our dear London, no predicament exists that the correct sum cannot ameliorate. Pray, ascend."
"Commendable comprehension. Let us proceed."