Ikey handed him a shilling. 'Master Brodie, your straw's damp with piss and alive with all manner o' vermin, and it ain't been changed in three months. A bowl o' cold gruel in the mornin' ain't what you calls 'summit to eat' and I'll wager the two villains what's sharing the room 'as paid no more'n sixpence apiece for the privilege!'
Brodie tested the coin Ikey had given by biting down on it, then he shrugged, placed it in the pocket of his filthy waistcoat and beckoned for Ikey to follow him. They made their way through the dark shapes which seemed to be lying in every available space, some penny-a-nighters asleep seated, while tied about the neck with heavy twine to the banisters of the rickety stairs.
Panting with the effort, Brodie halted as they came to the upper reaches of the house and stopped outside a door no more than four feet in height.
'It be top room and there be no grate in there, so you'll be wantin' a blanket. That'll be sixpence extra.' Brodie pulled open the door to reveal a tiny attic with a dirty dormer window through which a pale slice of moon was shining across a window ledge crusted with snow. The window rattled loudly, and Ikey felt the freezing draught as the wind forced its way through the cracks in the frame. One of the men at his feet ceased snoring and moaned, then commenced to snoring again. The rhythm of the two men's rough breathing filled the space around them, so that there seemed not an inch left for another person to occupy. Ikey, observing the moon, sensed that time was running out for him, that before it reached its fullness he should be safely on a ship to America.
Ikey declined Brodie's offer of a blanket, knowing it would be infested with vermin. He stepped over the two sleeping bodies to reach the straw pallet nearest the window where the cold seemed at once to be at its greatest. His nocturnal perambulations had been thrown into disarray for a second day running as Ikey lay down on the filthy straw. Wrapping his coat tightly about his aching body, he fell into an exhausted sleep.
The following day Ikey went out early and purchased quill, blacking, paper and sealing wax, whereupon he hired the landlord Brodie's tiny private parlour for a further shilling, with sixpence added for a fire in the hearth to burn all day.
Ikey had also arranged with a small jeweller's workshop to make him a copper cylinder nine inches long by an inch and a quarter wide in its interior, with a cap to fit over one end rounded in exactly the same manner as the end of a cigar cylinder. Ikey stressed that the cap should screw on and when tightened fit so snugly that it had the appearance of being one object with no separation, that should a finger be run over the point where the cap fitted to the body it would barely discern the join. Ikey instructed that the cylinder be ready late in the afternoon of the following day.
Despite his outward appearance of complete disarray, Ikey was possessed of an exceedingly tidy mind. He liked his affairs to be well ordered, and the fact that he'd been forced to leave London at a moment's notice left him with a great deal undone, the most important being the fortune which lay beyond his grasp within the safe in his Whitechapel home.
For almost the entire coach journey to Birmingham his mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of how he might get his hands on all of the money he and Hannah jointly owned, leaving only the house and the stolen goods stored within it for her and the children.
Ikey's greatest fear was that she would send him packing without divulging her half of the combination of the safe, and then later have it drilled and tapped so that she might possess its entire contents. Genuine tears of frustration ran down his cheeks as he contemplated this ghastly possibility.
Ikey sat down to the task of tidying up his affairs before leaving Britain. There would be no time in London, which he might be forced to leave after only a few hours. There were the little ratting terriers he kept, he must take care of their welfare; instructions for Mary should he not see her again; and letters to his contacts in London and on the continent. On and on he worked in his arachnoid hand, and it was quite late in the afternoon when Ikey had finally completed these business matters. He placed the letters in his great coat and went looking for the landlord. Ikey found him over the communal hearth stirring a large cauldron of cabbage soup, and carrying a steaming kettle in his free hand.
'Ah, there you are,' Ikey exclaimed. 'It might be most profitable for you to step into your own little parlour, if you please, Mister Brodie.'
'What? Right now? This very moment?' Brodie answered, without looking up. 'Can't now! This soup what is blessed with 'erbs and spices and all manner of tasty ingredients is about to come to the simmer. Then I must add a fine shank o' veal and extra onions and potatoes to gift 'er with a most delicate degustation.'
Ikey laughed. 'All you've ever added to your cabbage soup is the water what's in that kettle! Come quickly, Mr Brodie, or you may be poorer to the tune of five shillings!'
Brodie almost dropped the kettle in his haste to place it back on the hob and follow Ikey into the parlour.
'Master Brodie can you repeat: 'Dick Whittington's 'ungry cat 'as come to fetch a juicy rat!'? Can you say that?'
'Dick Whittington's angry cat come to fetch a Jewish rat!' Brodie repeated, then looked bemused at Ikey. 'That's daft, that is! Rats is rats, ain't no Jewish rats, leastways not in Brum, that I can assure you! Rats 'ere is Christian or not at all!'
Ikey corrected Brodie and repeated the phrase, making the landlord say it over several times before asking him to go to the coach terminus the following morning at precisely ten o'clock, to spend the password he'd just rehearsed on Josh and to receive a note from the boy to be returned to him.
Brodie scratched his head, bemused. 'When I done this you'll give me five shillin's?' He was plainly waiting for some catch.
'If you takes a most round-about route 'ome and makes sure you ain't followed there'll be two shillin's additional comin' to you, Master Brodie!'
'You've found yer man, 'ave no fear o' that – I can disappear in a single blinkin' and you wouldn't even know I was gorn. Ain't no lad on Gawd's earth could 'ave the cunnin' to follow me,' Brodie bragged.
Ikey left soon afterwards to visit an eating establishment in an adjoining rookery only slightly less notorious than the one in which he was staying. Here Ikey had often done deals with thieves and villains and the landlord welcomed his custom and willingly allowed him credit, his bills to be paid at the end of each visit.
This time, though, as Ikey greeted him he seemed less sure, and asked if he might have some money on account as the debt for food supplied to Ikey's guest was mounting by the hour.
The small room to which the landlord escorted him was almost completely occupied by the corpulence of Marybelle Firkin who sat at a table strewn with bones and crusts and empty dishes, as well as the half-eaten carcass of a yellow-skinned goose. She welcomed Ikey with a chop rimmed with a layer of shining white fat held in one hand, and a roasted potato in the other. Ikey looked around anxiously and was most relieved to see the hamper occupying one corner of the room. Marybelle pointed the chop directly at Ikey and spoke with her mouth crammed, a half masticated potato dropping into her lap.
'It was marvellous, eh, Ikey? If I says so meself, that performance on the coach were fit to be seen by the bleedin' Prince o' bleedin' Wales!' She cackled loudly, more food tumbling from her mouth. 'Better than any I performed on the stage in me 'ole career. What say ya, lovey? Was it the best ya seen?'
Ikey smiled thinly, his hands expanded trying to match her enthusiasm. 'What can I say, Marybelle? You was magnificent, my dear, the performance of a lifetime by a thespian o' rare and astonishin' talent!'
Marybelle blushed at the compliment and swallowed, her mouth empty and her voice suddenly soft and low. 'Ah, that's nice, Ikey. 'Ere, 'ave a pork chop, do ya the world, skin 'n bone you is, there ain't nuffink to ya!'
Ikey winced and drew back. 'No thanks, it ain't kosher!'
'Suit yerself, lovey, there's a lot o' nourishment in a pork chop and very little in religion!' Then, pointing to the hamper, she declared, 'All be safe. Paper's come to no 'arm.'
Ikey nodded. 'Thank you, my dear, I am most obliged, most obligin'ly obliged.'
Ikey appeared to hesitate, then continued, 'Marybelle, I needs a favour done and in return I shall put you in the way o' a nice little earner.'
'That's nice, lovey. What is it ya want, then?' She pointed at his coat. 'Sew up the tear in yer coat? I ain't much of a dab 'and at sewin' I warns ya.'
Ikey grinned, though in a feeble way. 'A bigger favour, my dear.'
'Bringin' yer paper, that weren't favour enough?'
'Yes, my dear, and you shall be paid the fifty pounds I promised you.'
'And this favour, it's worth more'n fifty pounds?'
'Much more, if you plays your cards right!'
