tormentor. It gave new layers to the concept of corruption.
Who had paid Oliver Rathbone to defend this man in court? And why?
Monk was on the open dock now, not far from Wapping. The tide was rising, and the water lapped over the stone steps, creeping higher and higher. The smell of it was harsh, and yet he had become accustomed to it, welcomed it. This was the greatest maritime highway in the world, beautiful and terrible in all its moods. At night its poverty and dirt were hidden. Lights of ships from Africa and the Pole, China and Barbados, danced on the tides. The city, domed and towered, was black against the stars.
At dawn it would be misted, softened by silver, fast-running waters glittering. There were moments in the flare of sunset when it could have been Venice, the dome of St. Paul 's above the shadows a marble palace floating on the lagoon towards the silk roads of the east.
The sea lanes of the world met here: the glory, the squalor, the heroism, and the vice of all humanity, mixed with the riches of every nation known to man.
He faced the question deliberately.
What would Monk have done were it someone he loved who faced exposure and ruin from Phillips? Would he have protected them? Belief in your ideals was one thing, but when it was a living human being who trusted you, or perhaps deepest of all, who loved and protected you in your need, that was different. Could you turn away? Was your own conscience more precious than their lives?
Did you owe loyalty to the dead? Yes, of course you did! You did not forget someone the moment the last breath left their lips.
He looked around the skyline to the north and south, and across the teeming water. This was a city of memories, built of the great men and women of the past.
Around midafternoon of the next day, Monk faced the opulent receiver known as Pearly Boy. He had been known that way for so long nobody could remember what his original name had been, but it was only since the death of the Fat Man the previous winter that he had taken over a far larger slice of business along the river, and prospered to the degree of wealth that he now possessed.
He was slender and soft-faced, and he wore his hair rather long. He always spoke quietly, with a very slight lisp, and no one had seen him, winter or summer, without his waistcoat, which was stitched with hundreds of pearl buttons that gleamed in the light. He was the last man one would expect to have a reputation for ruthlessness not only for a hard bargain, but if necessary, with a knife- pearl-handled, of course.
They were sitting in the small room behind Pearly Boy's shop in Limehouse. The shop was ostensibly to sell ships’ instruments: compasses, sextants, quadrants, chronometers, barometers, astrolabes. Set out in order on a table was a variety of dividers and parallel rules. But Pearly's main business took place in the back room, largely concerning stolen jewelry, objets d'art, paintings, carvings, and jewel-encrusted ornaments. He had already taken over most of the Fat Man's territory.
He looked at Monk blandly, but his eyes were as cold as a polar sea. “Always ‘appy to ‘elp the police,” he said. “What are you looking for, Mr. Monk? It is ‘Monk,’ isn't it? ‘Eard word, you know. Reputation.”
Monk did not take the bait.
“Yes, indeed,” he said with a nod. “Something we have in common.”
Pearly Boy was startled. “What's that then?”
“Reputation.” Monk was unsmiling. “I understand you're a hard man too.”
Pearly Boy thought that was funny. He started to giggle, and it grew and swelled into rich chortling laughter. Finally he stopped abruptly, wiping his cheeks with a large handkerchief. “I'm going to like you,” he said, his face beaming, his eyes like wet stones.
“I'm delighted,” Monk replied, sounding as though he had smelled spoiling milk. “We might be of use to each other.”
That was language Pearly Boy definitely understood, even if he was dubious about believing it. “Oh, yeah, an’ how's that then?”
“Friends and enemies in common,” Monk explained.
Pearly Boy was interested. He tried to hide it, and failed. “Friends?” he said curiously. “‘Oo's friends o’ yours, then?”
“Let's start with enemies,” Monk answered with a smile. “One of yours was the Fat Man.” He saw the flash of hatred and triumph in Pearly Boy's eyes. “One of mine too,” Monk added. “You have me to thank that he's dead.”
Pearly Boy licked his lips. “I know that. I ‘eard. Drowned in the mud off Jacob's Island, they say.”
“That's right. Nasty way to go.” Monk shook his head. “Would have fished the body up, but it was hardly worth it. Got the statue, which is what mattered. He'll keep down there nicely.”
Pearly Boy shuddered. “You're a hard bastard, all right,” he agreed, and Monk was not sure whether he meant it as a compliment or not.
“I am,” Monk conceded. “I'm after several people, and I don't forget either a good turn or a bad one. Who is Mary Webber?”
“No idea. Never ‘eard of ‘er. Which means she's not in my business. She int a thief nor a receiver nor a customer,” Pearly Boy said flatly.
Monk was not surprised; he had not expected her to be. “And I'm after a boy named Reilly, and even more than that, I'm after whoever was forced into looking after him, seeing to it that he didn't get hurt.”
Pearly Boy opened his eyes wide. “Forced?
“Mr. Durban would have done it,” Monk replied steadily. “Because he didn't like having boys murdered.”
“Well, I never.” Pearly Boy affected amazement, but his curiosity overcame his judgment, as Monk had hoped it would. Pearly Boy dealt not only in stolen goods but in rare or precious information as well- that too at times stolen. “‘Oo could stop that ‘appening, then?”
“Someone with power.” Monk said it as though he were thinking out loud. “And yet someone who had a lot to lose as well, a lot in danger, if you understand me?”
Pearly Boy was still two steps behind. “‘Oo'd be killin’ boys, then?”
“Jericho Phillips, if they get out of line, rebel against…” He stopped, seeing Pearly Boy's face go suddenly pallid and his body in its decorated waistcoat stiffen until his arms were rigid. Suddenly Monk was as certain Pearly Boy was one of Durban 's informants against Phillips as if he had written it in his notes. He smiled and saw in Pearly Boy's eyes that he had read the understanding, and it knotted his stomach with terror.
“One of Phillips's clients,” Monk went on, his voice quite casual now. He leaned elegantly against the mantel, watching Pearly Boy's discomfort. “I can imagine it happening, can't you? Durban would have followed the man until he could confront him, maybe somewhere near Phillips's boat. Perhaps it would be just after this man, whoever he is, had left a night's entertainment, and the excitement and guilt were still hot inside him.”
Pearly Boy was motionless, eyes on Monk's face.
“No lie would come to him easily then,” Monk continued. “No matter how often he had prepared for such a moment. Durban would have chosen a place where there was enough light to be sure the man recognized his marks of office, his uniform, his cudgel. Yes, he'd definitely take a cudgel, just in case the man was desperate enough to fight. After all, he would have a lot to lose-public disgust, ridicule, loss of position, friends, money, power, perhaps even his family.”
Pearly Boy licked his lips nervously.
“Then Durban would make the offer,” Monk said. “‘Use your power to protect Reilly, the boy most in danger because of his age and his courage, and I'll protect you. Let Reilly die, and I'll expose you to the whole of London.’”
Pearly Boy licked his lips again. “So ‘oo was it then?”
“That is what I want from you, Pearly Boy,” Monk answered.
Pearly Boy cleared his throat. “An’ if I don't? It could ‘ave been lots o’ people. I dunno ‘oo's got that kind o’ weakness. It could be a revenue man, a magistrate, a rich merchant, an ‘arbormaster. They got all kinds o’ tastes. Or it could ‘ave been another policeman! Ever thought o’ that?”
“Of course I have. Who could have protected Reilly? That's the key to it. Who had the power? Above all, who was important enough to Phillips that he would listen to him?”
Understanding flashed in Pearly Boy's soft, clever face, and the excitement of knowledge. “You mean ‘oo's got
