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Maybe he had not even looked like this.  Maybe he had really been a fat old letch, like the Prince.
    Whatever he was like, he had probably thought his statue was going to stand for ever, and now here it was, snapped and cracked and gawped at by tourists in London. Billy smiled at this idea. It was pleasing to see the mighty laid low, even if they were from another country and another time.
    There was a man standing nearby. He was young, fashionable, but unkempt in the way that only the upper class could ever be. He had the soft-skinned look of a man who had never worked a day in his life.
    He was pale and thin and his hair was long and a little wild. His eyes were like those of a bird, bright and intense. He was staring at the statue and muttering to himself under his breath, as though chanting some kind of spell. Then suddenly he seemed to snap out of his trance, and he turned to walk away, crashing straight into a stout woman. He apologised profusely before continuing on his way. Billy chuckled to himself.
    ‘Run along now,’ said an old man, looking down his nose at Billy. ‘Go on. I simply can’t understand why they would let a boy like you in here.’
    Billy scowled at him.
    ‘I got as much right to be here as you have,’ said Billy.
    ‘Such insolence!’ said the man, grabbing Billy by the arm. A small crowd began to drift towards them. ‘How dare you speak to me in that manner? I’ve a good mind to have my man flog you.’
    ‘The boy is doing no harm, I think.’
    Billy and the old man both turned at the sound of the voice and Billy was taken aback to see Clerval standing beside him.
    ‘I would thank you, sir, to look to your own affairs,’ said the old man briskly.
    ‘I meant to cause no offence, sir,’ said Clerval with a small bow. ‘But surely it is to be welcomed that a boy such as this would come and spend his time looking at things of beauty?’
    ‘Pah!’ said the old man. ‘Beauty? Beauty? He’s here to thieve, like all his kind. Perhaps where you come from, sir, you take a more lenient view of scum like this, but this is England and we know how to deal with his type.’
    There were murmurs of agreement among the onlookers at this outburst. Billy saw Clerval’s usual smile leave his face.
    ‘With respect, sir,’ said Clerval. ‘I saw this boy myself not ten minutes ago, staring in wonder at the Parthenon sculptures. I noticed because it seemed so moving that a boy of his kind would come to a place like this.’
    ‘Ha!’ said the old man. ‘You wouldn’t last five minutes in this city with that attitude, sir. God bless you for your good nature, but kindness will cost you dearly in London.’
    The small knot of listeners muttered and nodded. An attendant arrived but Billy was already walking towards the door.
    ‘And I don’t want to see you in here again!’ the attendant called after him.
    Billy strode away and did not look back. He was annoyed with himself. He had allowed himself to become distracted and now Clerval – and maybe even Frankenstein – had noticed him. Following them would become harder.
    He stepped out into the courtyard, blinking in the sharp sunshine, and walked towards Great Russell Street. He would simply have to wait outside for Clerval and Frankenstein to emerge.
    Despite the sunshine, it was cold and Billy hugged himself, shivering, opting to walk up and down the street rather than freeze in one place. The sun was still low and the shadows long and dark. The street muttered with the usual morning chorus of horses’ hooves and creaking handcarts. A delivery boy whistled at a maid and she blushed and quickened her pace.
    The minutes ticked away and, though Billy had no watch, he felt he could hear their dull and tedious passing inside his head. And even if he could have shut that out, the church bells were there to remind him of just how long his wait had been.
    Billy’s boredom soon gave way, as youthful boredom will, in time, to frustration and annoyance.