the Dog and Dray over the other side of Long Lane. Maybe you’ve got the wrong place.”
“Bugger,” Hawkwood said. He clicked his tongue. “Just my luck.”
“What sort of work was it, if you don’t mind me askin’?”
“There’s a man wants some hog carcasses delivered. Only a morning’s lifting and carrying, but there’s a shilling or two in it.” Hawkwood frowned and added glumly, “Looks like I’ll have to find somebody else.”
“There’s plenty in ’ere who’d be up for it.” The girl jerked her head towards the counting table.
Hawkwood followed the gesture. “You’re probably right. Maybe I’ll try a couple of the other places first though, seeing as we’re mates. What was that place you mentioned? The Dog and Dray, was it? If he doesn’t turn up there, I might come back.”
“I’ll look forward to that. Meantime, I can ask around, if you like. If I hear anything an’ you come back, I’ll pass it on. What’s
Hawkwood took a sip of grog. “Matthews.” He kept his face straight.
“What do they call you?”
“Jim.” Hawkwood took another swallow. The porter tasted as if it had been laced with fulminate. He tried not to grimace.
She smiled at him again, indicating that the attempt had not been a total success. “You sure I can’t tempt you, Jim Matthews?’ Cos you were definitely lookin’ a bit lonely sittin’ here on your own.”
“The answer’s still no,” Hawkwood said.
The girl hesitated, then shrugged philosophically, pushed back the chair and stood up. “Ah, well, can’t blame a body for tryin’. Your loss, sweetheart.”
Blowing him a kiss, she headed towards the back of the room. Hawkwood watched her disappear beyond the veil of tobacco smoke and the tightly pressed bodies. He sensed she knew he was watching her by the exaggerated sway of her hips, though she did not turn back to check.
There was a definite easing of tension at the next table, he noticed. The stilted conversation became more animated. A couple of the men were giving him curious looks, presumably wondering why he wasn’t following the girl out. Let them wonder, Hawkwood thought. He considered the girl’s prospects. He recalled a story he’d been told about sharks, sea predators that had to keep moving and eating to stay alive. He thought about the girls plying for trade. Their lives seemed very like the shark’s: every day spent in an endless trawl for prey. In that regard, each of them was as lost in hope as the men lining up at Hanratty’s table.
Following their brief encounter, Hawkwood doubted the girl would be without company for long. She had the looks and she had the wit, and there were plenty of customers in attendance, so the queue for companionship wasn’t about to shorten any time soon.
Hawkwood took a look around. A new batch of woebegone souls had begun to file past the pay-table. Another half an hour, he decided, and he’d call it a night. He caught the eye of a serving girl and held up his mug. He’d convinced himself that the grog wasn’t too bad. In any case, once the first swallow was out of the way, it didn’t really matter because he wouldn’t be able to feel the inside of his mouth anyway.
7
Sawney was in the cellar, stacking bodies by the light of a lantern, when he heard the heavy tread on the stair.
“His ’Oliness ’as turned up, Rufus. Didn’t know we was expectin’ ’im.”
Sawney cursed savagely. The body he’d been trying to prop against the wall was wrapped in a filthy sheet, but the ends of the sheet had come loose and the grey-faced corpse, which was beginning a slow emergence from its state of rigor mortis, was proving to be a bit of a handful.
“Rufus?”
“I heard you, Maggsie. I’m not bleedin’ deaf.”
Sawney tried again. This time, he managed to get the corpse’s arm to stay inside the sheet. Lucky it was a female. A male would have been heavier and more difficult to manoeuvre.
“Come ’ere.’ Old this,” Sawney snapped. “Bleedin’ sow’s all over the place.”
A hulking shape appeared over Sawney’s shoulder. “What do you want me to do?”
Sawney nodded towards the arm, which had flopped loose for the third time. “Just keep the bloody thing tucked in while I wraps ’er up. And mind what you’re doin’. I want to make sure we deliver ’er in one piece.”
“What do you think she’ll fetch?”
Sawney reached for the corner of the sheet. “Four maybe.” He clicked his tongue and looked around the room. “Not a bad night’s work.”
Abel Maggett grunted. “Too right. Mind you, gettin’ ’er over that bleedin’ wall was a bitch. Damned near done my back in.” The big man pressed a meaty hand against the base of his spine and winced.
Sawney studied his companion with a jaundiced eye. He was by no means a small man himself, but Maggett towered over him by at least a foot and he was big with it. A slaughter-man by trade, Maggett was capable of hefting pig carcasses three at a time. The thought that the big man had put his back out lifting a woman’s cadaver over a five-foot wall was laughable. That was Maggett for you: a real caution.
The knot in the sheet secured, Sawney stood back and admired his handiwork. All told, there were five bodies awaiting delivery: two grown males, a male child and two females. Definitely a good haul.
Sawney knew they’d have to move them soon, however. The wintry weather was a boon, the cellar was ice- cold. Even so, it wouldn’t be long before the bodies would start to turn. Sawney was already having doubts about the child’s corpse. He thought he’d detected some leakage when he’d wrapped the thing. The quicker they passed the bodies on, the better. Once decomposition started, prices would drop significantly. True, they could always chop the bodies into bits and sell the parts separately, but it was a messy business and he didn’t want to go down that road except as a last resort.
He turned to Maggett. “Where is he?”
“Upstairs.” The big man nodded towards the five sheet-entwined bodies. They reminded Maggett of caterpillar cocoons. “When do you want to move ’em?”
“It’ll have to be before sun-up. Maybe later tonight. Can’t risk carrying them through the streets in broad daylight. We’ll use the cart.”
Maggett grunted in acknowledgement. His massive chest strained against the material of his shirt and the buttons of his dark moleskin waistcoat.
Sawney lifted the lantern from its hook. “Right, let’s see what the bugger wants.” Taking a last look around the cellar, Sawney led the way up the stairs and entered the room with Maggett at his back. He frowned at the sole occupant, who was pacing the floor like a cat in a cage. “I thought we ’ad an agreement. You weren’t to come callin’, ’less you was invited. I don’t recall sendin’ word that I wanted to see you.”
Verger Lucius Symes stopped pacing and blinked nervously. Lit by the candlelight, his face bore an unhealthy waxen sheen.
“Well?” Sawney rasped. “I ain’t got all bleedin’ night. What is it? You after your cut, is that it? I told you it was on the usual terms. You’ll get yours when we get ours, and that won’t be until later. I’ll get one of the Ragg boys to drop your share round in the morning.”
Sawney turned to Maggett, shook his head and blew out his cheeks. “Christ, all that lifting’s done my head in. An’ I could murder a wet. I’ve got a throat as dry as a witch’s cunny. Verger looks like he could do with a tot of somethin’ as well. Maggsie, you’re forgettin’ your manners. Get some mugs and open a bottle.”
Maggett frowned. “We ain’t got no mugs, Rufus. Ain’t got no booze neither.”
“Bloody hell.” Sawney raised his eye to the ceiling. “We’re in a bleedin’ pub, for Chris’sakes. Use your noggin.”
Maggett’s wide brow furrowed at the change of tone.
As if to illustrate Sawney’s point, a burst of gin-soaked laughter sounded from the other side of the wall, reminding them that the busy, smoke-filled taproom was only a few feet away.
Sawney sighed. “Go and get some, and tell Hanratty to put it on the slate.”
For someone of his stature, Maggett could move remarkably quietly. Sawney watched him steal out of the room and shook his head again, half in amusement, half in weary exasperation. Maggett was a staunch companion
