CONTENTS

MAP OF EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY LONDON

Prologue

1 The Gallows Tree

2 The Girl Behind the Curtain

3 Blackguards!

4 The House in Midas Row

5 Mr. Leechcraft

Twelve Years Earlier

6 The House of Mesmerism

7 Black Mary’s Hole

8 Across London

9 The Dark Room

10 The Silver Timepiece

Twelve Years Earlier

11 The Boy Who Did Not Exist

12 The Face at the Window

13 Cirrus, Alone

14 The Scioptric Eye

15 The Hall of Wonders

16 The Moon-Sail

Eleven Years Earlier

17 The Halcyon Bird

18 The Hanging Boy

19 The Fallen Angel

20 The Celestial Chamber

21 Escape!

22 The Breath of God

23 H-O-P-E

The summer of the year 1783 was an amazing and portentous one, and full of horrible phaenomena.…

—GILBERT WHITE

The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne

The boy can hear something scratching at the sides of the boat—a restless scraping sound, as though the sea has grown claws and is seeking a way in. For countless days His Majesty’s Bark the Destiny has been drifting through uncharted waters, crossing new latitudes, until it can go no further south, blocked by an impenetrable reef of ice and fog.

Is this it? the boy thinks. Have we finally reached the edge of the world?

He shifts uncomfortably under the blankets he has heaped on top of himself and tries to sleep, but it is so cold that the hairs in his nostrils stick together, stitched shut. For several hours his dreams have numbed him, carrying him back to London and the fields surrounding the Foundling Hospital, where only a few years ago he was making twine and weaving nets. Now he is awake on the far side of the globe, the blood slowly freezing in his veins.

The cold decides him. He must move.

The boy swings his legs over the edge of the hammock and drops to the ground. All around him men are slumped in sleep, but he takes care not to rouse them as he creeps through the cramped quarters to the stairs. For many it is their second or even their third voyage to the southern reaches of the globe and they are accustomed to such hardships. Their faces have been scoured by wind and rain, and their beards are grizzled with frost.

He finds his childhood companion, Felix Hardy, sprawled against the bulkhead door. By rights Felix ought to be above, on watch, ensuring that the boat does not run aground on the sheets of ice, but the big, burly youth has sneaked down during the night and dozed off in his heavy fearnought jacket. The boy watches him for a moment, but does not have the heart to disturb him. The ghost of rum is still warm on his friend’s breath and a smile is slung across his ruddy face. Instead, the boy bunches his own jacket more securely round his narrow shoulders and climbs the wooden steps to the deck.

Outside, the light dazzles him with its brightness. The icy fog that has dogged them for weeks, ever since they rounded the tip of Cape Horn, has lifted and the sky is a pale powdery blue. Icebergs the size of cathedrals throng the sides of the boat.

The boy has never known such a desolate, beautiful place. Suddenly all of the privations he has suffered—the wretched food, the hard physical labor, the bouts of seasickness—slip away and leave him charged with excitement. Remembering the thrill he first felt when he boarded the ship at Deptford Yard, dreaming of a life of adventure, he skates from one side of the deck to the other, taking in his wondrous surroundings.

And then he senses something. A crackle in the air, a hint of sound, as though the ice itself is breathing.

All at once he can hear Mr. Whipstaff’s instructions in his ear, training him in the arts of navigation: “Invisible forces be at work in this world, boys; and while we cannot always divine their origin, yet can we discern their presence. Let your mind be your compass and it will seldom steer you wrong.”

In an instant, the boy is climbing the rope ladders to the top of the mast, to get a better view. The rungs are braided with ice and slip underfoot, but he is used to scaling such heights, even in stormy weather, and soon he is standing on a little platform high above the frosted deck. Up here, the air is even colder and ice fronds form on his lashes, but he brushes them away with his sleeve and stares into the distance.

Nothing. Nothing but a shining white immensity of ice and water, for as far as he can see.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls