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The door to the pub slammed open, and a tall Chinese man dressed in black came in, followed closely by another one who was wearing white robes, somehow unaffected by the pouring rain.
The first one was complaining loudly. Saul couldn’t blame him: the weather was horrendous, it was All Hallows, which meant that all manners of restless spirits were roaming the streets and the Green Men had taken temporary refuge in an empty pub (Randolph had paid the proprietor to go fetch them some better scotch from the cellar) to try to figure out their next step.
“Lan Zhan, it’s my birthday,” the black-clad man finished. He was dripping wet, waving a flute around. “Why won’t they all fucking sleep?” There was something odd about the way his words reached Saul’s ears, in a way that suggested perhaps Camlet Moat was helping.
“Wei Ying,” said Lan Zhan, indicating his head minutely at Saul and his friends, seated close enough to overhear them.
“Ah,” Wei Ying said, and turned to them. “My apologies,” he said, bowing minutely, and now he was actually speaking a lightly accented English. “This one is Wei Wuxian, and my companion is Lan Wangji. We apologise for the disruption.” Why different names, Saul wondered.
“No need,” Randolph said smoothly. “Plenty of room in here.”
“Who isn’t sleeping?” Saul blurted, and the two men stared at him, as did Saul’s friends.
“You speak Chinese?” Wei Wuxian said. His posture shifted minutely, and next to Saul, Isaacs tensed. Randolph also grew that extra bit taller that Barney called “the Glyde inch”, which came out when he was about to do something aristocratic or occult. (To Randolph, of course, those things were closely related.)
“No,” Saul said, honest, “but I sometimes understand things I shouldn’t.”
Wei Wuxian grinned at him. “Don’t we all,” he said. His eyes slid over the Green Men, and his eyebrows raised. “You’re a very interesting group,” he said mildly, twirling his flute. “What do you think, Lan Zhan?”
Lan Wangji inclined his head. “Those two are carrying spirits,” he said. His voice was surprisingly deep.
“Yes, I saw,” Wei Wuxian said. “Very interesting, practically—“ he said a Chinese word the Moat told Saul was closest to “symbiotic”. “Are you all out for the same purpose as we are?”
“Probably,” Saul said. He met Randolph’s eyes, and nodded, at which point Randolph relaxed. Isaacs was still tense, but Saul saw him fix his gaze at a point on the table and mutter under his breath, as if to calm his inner monster. If he could.
“Well, then,” Wei Wuxian said, and pulled a chair out, sprawling in it. Lan Wangji stayed standing, slightly behind him. “Shall we join forces? I cannot play every restless spirit in London to sleep, it’s impossible. They keep getting back up! And I have things to do. Birthday things.”
Saul thought he’d probably best not ask about the birthday things. The way Wei Wuxian was grinning—well.
“I think that would be a good idea,” he said. “Randolph, the map?”
Randolph nodded, and pulled the map back out, clearing his throat. “See, this section we’ve cleared, but over here—“
Outside, the wind picked up, and the rain fell heavier, but they might just have a more manageable evening in front of them now. Saul thought he himself might have the energy left for some plans, and grinned down at the table.