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Chapter Eleven:
Chapter Eleven: The “conveyance”, as Ballantine termed it, scarcely deserved the name. Theo concluded this, with some bitterness, after an uncountable number of hours on the road between the Towers and London. Never had ninety miles seemed longer. Already covering no inconsiderable distance, the journey was lengthened (in seeming, if not in reality) by the state of the roads (execrable); by the utter lack of even basic comforts afforded by the squarish box-on-wheels Ballantine pleased to call a coach; and by the behaviour of the curse-book, which chose to imagine itself put-upon. ‘We have abducted it, in a literal sense,’ Ballantine said, an hour or so into the nightmarish journey. ‘We asked no permission, handled it most ungently, and now refuse to grant it its liberty. I think you an
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