Edwin Dry walks the streets of Edwardian London, with his coat neatly buttoned and his bowler hat at just the right angle. He is always available, and always delivers what is required. In his own way. But his latest venture brings complications. Others are there before him, with a different agenda from his own, and so is something far stranger, far darker than Mr Dry himself.
London has many inhabitants. Some wear faces that are not theirs; others have no need of them. Few have names, but all have needs, in this life and beyond. If there is any comfort to be found, then be thankful that there are men and women who know what must be done. And there is always Mr Dry, of course.