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London. A genuine doctor, he is.” Worms tugged lightly at my sleeve. “Good thing you've got a fine new coat.”
    We were not in the sort of place where a gentleman would live. The street was sloped, narrow, almost evil in its darkness. Somewhere a baby cried, and a woman laughed hysterically. But the buildings looked abandoned, every window dark save for one. A single candle flickered in a little pane below the street, down a flight of stairs.
    Worms set his hat straight He adjusted his hood, and wiped his hands on his coat. “Look sharp, Tom,” he said. “The street arabs will steal you blind here. They'll slice your throat for a farthing.”
    I watched him go—so shabby, but thinking himself so grand—straight toward the one lit window, down the steps as though into the ground. I decided that the moment he went inside, I would take his shovel and head back to the graveyard. I was afraid to go alone, but afraid to stay as well; I scarcely knew which was worse. The street arabs seared me, but so did old Worms. I wanted my father, and I wanted my diamond.
    Worms knocked on the door. The sound echoed up and down, back and forth.
    I climbed down very casually and strolled to the rear of the wagon. I hadn't seen exactly how Worms had opened the drawer, so I leaned against the wood and furtively felt for the latch. In the stairwell, chains rattled and bolts creaked open. A light spilled out that wasn't much brighter than the candle. I stretched up on my toes, curious to see who would keep such a mysterious place.
    It was a mysterious man, of course. Dressed for the city, in a eape and a ruffled shirt, he had a beard like the devil's— black and pointed—but wildly unkempt hair. He seemed surprised to find Worms on his doorstep, though there was little wonder at that “Oh, Lord, not you,” he said. “Not now.”
    “Wal-ker! That's a fine welcome,” said Worms.
    The doctor peered past him, craning his neck. “I'm on my way out.”
    “I see that,” said Worms. “To the rat fights, is it?”
    “To the opera,” said the doctor, reaching his hands across the doorway.
    “Take him in,” I whispered, as though I could will the doctor to open his door, I wanted Worms out of sight when I took his shovel and fled up the street. My hand groped below the wagon. I found something thick and bent that moved when I pulled on it But when no latch clicked open, I realized that I was only tugging on the dead boy's toe.
    “A cab is coming,” the doctor told Worms. “It will arrive any moment. My friends are … They're important people. It wouldn't do for them to see you here.”
    “Oh, it wouldn't do? said Worms. “Walker!”
    “Well, what have you brought?” snapped the doctor.
    “A good-looking boy,” said Worms. “Fresh as a daisy, and another besides.”
    My fingers brushed over slats and bars. Something moved, something rumbled, and the drawer lurched open. The boy's feet came out, white and sickly-looking. Beside them was the shovel, but I had no chance to take it.
    “Fetch them in,” the doctor said. “But hurry.”
    Worms came back at a run. Though large mid heavy, he came so quickly that he caught me with the shelf pulled open. He stood and stared down, then raised his eyes to me. “Do you want all the world to see?” he asked.
    He took the newly dead boy, my naked double, up on his shoulders, then pushed the drawer with his hip. It locked itself shut as Worms went off again at the same lumbering trot, with the dead boy riding him backward, slapping at his hips. Then, before he even reached the foot of the steps, a carriage came rumbling up the street behind me. It was the doctor's cab, a big four-wheeler pulled by gray horses.
    It startled old Peggy. She rapped her wooden leg on the street and tugged at the wagon. I didnt know if a three-legged horse could bolt, but I was afraid she would try. I ran up to her head and took hold of the bridle as the cab came to a stop just behind the wagon. Its door flung