Another short Rivers of London novella, this one being based in prohibition era New York, complete with jazz clubs, mobsters, and lashings of bathtub gin. The protagonist is the Bertie Wooster-esque Augustus “Gussie” Berrycloth-Young, an alumnus of Casterbrook school who has moved to a swanky apartment in New York after pulling one too many pranks knocking off policemen’s helmets with a cheeky spell or two.
In best Woodhousian tradition he is therefore somewhat discombobulated when old school chum Thomas Nightingale turns up unannounced on his doorstep claiming to be investigating the provenance of a certain unusual musical instrument, to whit a magical saxophone that enhances the abilities of anyone who toots it. Crikey, a rum do and no mistake, but what’s a chap to do but lend a hand (and some ready cash when required).
The first part of the story is something of a magical maguffin hunt, but then things become considerably more interesting when certain secrets about Gussie himself and the speakeasies that he frequents come to light. There is a darker undertone to this subplot, dealing with racism and prejudice, and the resolution of the rest of the story is satisfyingly done, with one particular reveal being especially juicy (and I would love to read Peter Grant’s reaction if this tale ever comes to light).
On balance I preferred this one, mainly for the narration of Kobna Holdbrook-Smith who turns out to be a dab hand with switching between his familiar voice of Nightingale, an upper class toff and an array of authentic sounding New York accents. Good stuff, but I’m still waiting for the next full length novel, please and thank you!
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