The Affidavit
A carriage pulled up: red, with the seal of the Memory Boys upon its side in gold. The horses were Hackney stallions, like those that pulled the taxi-carriages, but the tack on these horses was red and gold.
Tony said, “What’s this?”
“I called for a Memory Boy before breakfast. Pearson must have told them it was urgent.”
“Is it? What’s going on?”
Acevedo’s howling could be heard even out here. I took his hand, just for a moment. “Nothing bad, I hope.”
A grown footman wearing the red jacket of the Memory Boys came round to open the carriage’s door, but the outfit he wore more resembled livery.
I said softly, “Are you available later today?”
He shrugged. “Anything you need, I can make the time for.” He smiled at me. “You know that.”
Did I?
The Memory Boy Werner Lead c
