Seeing Francesca holding her hands to her ears, struggling to blot out the horror of the report, Geraint yelled at Serrin to kill it. A few last words came through before the mage flicked the screen into silence.

"-neighbors state that Ms. Stride received visits from many males and suffered from alcoholism. This is Sian Masterson for the-” and then there was no more.

Geraint drew Francesca’s hands gently from her face and held them in his own. “Sorry, Fran. I didn’t-”

“It’s all right, really. It’s just that it reminded me of what happened. You know, poor Annie.”

A shock went through him that felt like he’d been kicked hard between the legs. His stomach formed into a tight knot and a clawed hand grabbed his heart and squeezed tight. The concerned words of his dinner guests seemed far, far away.

Serrin realized something was wrong, and seemed to be saying, “Geraint? You all right?”

He couldn’t seem to get an answer out. Wanting to hide his distress, he went for the water jug on his desk and, as he did, the sleeve of his dinner jacket caught on the pack of cards he’d left out earlier that afternoon. A single card went flying off the surface of the table. Gripping the water jug with shaking hands, he hardly needed to look down to know what it was.

The card landed faceup. Of course.

Death.

It was a day that improved the longer it went on. Some time around five, Rani began to feel more like an ork again, after plenty of food and the self-indulgence of what claimed to be a bagel with smoked salmon. Whether or not it was, it cost the same as the real thing, and it tasted bloody wonderful. She was feeling good about a lot of things right now, and fairly secure about her destination for later that evening. She’d done some advance checking of the streets and alleys around the Finchley Road exit.

The nuyen had given her confidence, and she’d managed to pick up a new clip for the Ceska. She’d also purchased a couple of trauma patches from Mohsin’s nephew. He’d charged an inflated rate, but she knew the sterilized packs wouldn’t have any pinpricks because the boy would never cheat family.

And Imran still wasn’t showing his face. Sanjay had found himself a white girl, probably some spotty-faced little thing from the streets who he’d fool around with until he got bored. If the girl was white, then it couldn’t be anything serious, and besides, Rani was glad not to have him underfoot in the house. Best of all, he wouldn’t be doped to the nines all day. Can’t rub a slinky snakegirl if you’re smacked out of your tree, Sanjay baby, she reflected cynically.

She checked the gun for the umpteenth time. She also rechecked the canister meter, which showed it still ninety per cent full, and cleaned her jacket. Time I got a new one, Rani decided.

But she had met Mohinder on a street off Brick Lane and he’d come up with some body armor for her, delivered to her door for a little extra. It hadn’t left her very much of the money he’d paid her for the Predator, but the vest and thigh guards were good and strong.

She fantasized about a stream of gear coming to her door. It was foolishness, of course. She hadn’t the money to become a Street samurai, and where she was going at midnight she would be among friends anyway. But she did have boosted reflexes, just enough hardware to get excited about on the day after her eighteenth birthday, and tonight was another adventure.

One step closer to the truth.

Rani did not see the evening news. She had no idea just how exciting it was all about to get.

19

Francesca and Serrin had their arms around him, holding him up. Geraint fought hard to keep his breathing regular and maintain his posture. He felt light-headed, spinning, at the same time aroused and excited and faintly sick. He needed to be able to do a dozen things at once. He hadn’t any lime to explain. lie sat down and jacked in.

"I’m all right. Give me a minute. I know what I’m doing” he complained in a voice suggesting that he obviously didn’t.

Francesca plugged in the hitcher jack to accompany him, her observer icon appearing as a comely maiden, while his Knight ventured forth a little unsteadily. Wolves and reconfigured squire at his heels, they headed for a public datanet.

First Geraint checked the tourist guide for the basic story, then he browsed the Rumbelow book in the textual library and downloaded what his squire selected from that. Standard reference, giving him the list of names, dates, places, and some of the post-mortem material. It would be enough for now. Then he system-hopped into Births and Deaths, looking for Polly Nichols.

There she was, poor wretch. He didn’t need any details, but he noted the date. Two weeks ago. Polly on the eighth. Annie on the fifteenth, Elizabeth on the twenty… first?

The name came to him even before he had time to check the data from the books. Eddowes; Catherine Eddowes. He felt as if he was falling down a pit so deep it had no bottom.

He jacked out and reached into the top drawer of the desk. He thought a GABA agent would do the trick and maybe also a dopamine regulator. Synthesis stimulator took too long, ditto neuromodulator. This called for an enzyme inhibitor, and he thought he’d add a shot of amino agents as well. What the hell, let’s have a real cocktail.

Geraint applied the coded green and blue vials to the cannula, and within about forty-five seconds began to feel much more sober for now. Francesca and Serrin were both standing a little unsteadily after the evening’s indulgences. Giving them a thumbs-up, he jacked back into the Matrix. Unable to confirm the address he knew, he got up from the desk after a few seconds, leaving trailing electrodes behind him.

"Right.” He snapped his fingers to get their attention. "Focus as best you can.” He emphasized his words with sweeping movements of his hands, the elegant long fingers extended straight before him. “East End of London, Eighteen eighty-eight. Quick history lesson.”

“Jack the Ripper. Murdered five prostitutes. Some say seven, but the first two are questionable. Forget them. First true victim, one Polly Nichols."

Francesca took a sharp intake of breath. She saw what he'd been hunting for.

“Second victim, Annie Chapman. Yes, Fran: Annie Chapman.” She was gasping with shock, totally disbelieving. "Fran, what did Annie do? I assumed she was just a friend, What’ve you got?”

Her head was bowed, her body rocking slightly forward and back in the armchair. Her voice was hushed.

“She was a call girl, Geraint. A high-class hooker.”

He’d known, of course, from what the police had told him, but something in him wanted to pull it out of her, make it real for her. He was looking for confirmation, needing them to accept and believe him.

“Right. Third victim, Elizabeth Stride. What did we see on the news tonight?”

Francesca’s head was down, but Serrin was alert to what his friend was saying. Now it was the mage’s turn to gasp slightly.

“Yes, there are a dozen Ripper-style copycat murders every year in the East End,” Geraint went on. “Some joker dumps a mutilated body on the streets for a laugh. There are plenty of sick people out there who do that kind of stuff. But I get a distinct feeling that we’re dealing with something entirely different here. And I have a problem with it.”

“Like what?” Serrin was all eyes and ears. He could almost see the energies flowing in the man.

“In the original slayings, the fourth murder was committed the same day as the third. Double event. The fourth victim was a woman named Catherine Eddowes.” He paused, waiting to deliver the final bombshell.

“So?” Serrin was uncertain, knowing Geraint had more to say, and waiting to hear it.