Resurrectionist

“Watch your backs,” Hawkwood said, thinking, even as he uttered the words, that it was unnecessary advice.

They began to climb.

19

Declan Hanratty had just released himself from his breeches when the interruption occurred. The moll, whose name was Sadie, was bent forward, head down, gripping the edge of the table, her skirt up over her rump, when she felt Hanratty’s weight shift.

For what we are about to receive, she thought wearily and, hearing the grunt behind her, braced herself. When nothing happened, her second thought was that he was taking his bloody time, which wasn’t like the Declan she knew and despised. It took a second for her to realize that Declan’s hands were no longer around her waist. She looked back across her shoulder, fully expecting to see him hunched over, about to change grip, only to discover that wasn’t the case at all.

Declan was still there, but from the expression on his face it was obvious sex was no longer uppermost in his mind. The new focus of his attention was the pistol pressed against his forehead, and the man holding it. The man was tall. He was dressed in a long, dark coat. It was his face that made Sadie catch her breath. Two scars marred his left cheek. One was small and ragged and looked old. The other was fresh and raw and weeping blood. A second man, with a hard face and pewter-coloured hair, was alongside, a finger on his lips. His pistol was pointing at Sadie’s chest. He took his finger away. “No screamin’. Understand?”

Sadie nodded mutely, her heart beating fast.

“Good girl. Now pull your skirt down. I think young Declan’s lost his appetite.”

Sadie did as she was told, hands shaking. She noticed that the pantry door – which had been propped open, Declan having been in too much of a hurry to close it – was now pulled shut.

The grey-haired man took hold of her arm. When he spoke, his voice was calm; almost reassuring. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Sadie told him.

“All right, Sadie, you stand there and be quiet. We just want a few words with young Declan here.” The speaker turned to his companion. “He’s all yours.”

The dark-haired man’s face grew hard. The smaller scar on his cheek whitened. “I’m looking for Sawney and Sal Bridger,” he said, grasping Declan by the collar and placing the muzzle of the pistol squarely against Declan’s brow.

Declan screwed up his face. “What?”

“You heard.”

“Don’t know ’im. Ain’t no Sawney here.”

The man raised the pistol barrel and smashed it across the bridge of Declan’s nose. There was a crack. Blood spurted. Declan yelped and raised his hands.

Sadie opened her mouth to scream, only to find herself stifled by the grey-haired man’s callused palm. “Remember what I said. Quiet now.”

“Wrong answer,” the scarred man said. “And I’m not in the mood. I’ll ask you again: where’s Sawney?”

“You’re a dead man,” Declan spluttered. His eyes were watering copiously. Blood and mucus bubbled from his nose and dribbled down the cleft in his chin.

“Last time,” the man said. “Maybe I should shoot your balls off instead. What’s it to be?”

Declan squirmed at the possibility. “Don’t know if they’re bleedin’ here. Didn’t see ’em. I’ve been out. Got back late. Honest,” he added nasally, and spat a mouthful of blood and phlegm on to the floor. He dabbed his upper lip with the back of his hand in a vain attempt to staunch the flow and stared at the dark crimson smear across his knuckles.

Sadie made a moaning sound, trying to free her mouth from the hand clamped over it.

“Think she might be trying to tell us something?” the older man asked.

“Ask her,” said the scarred man.

The hand was removed.

Sadie threw Declan a look that was part venom, part triumph, and part fear. “They’re upstairs; all of them – Sawney and the rest. Top two landings. They’ve been up there a while.”

“You stupid cow,” Declan spat. He made to lunge forward.

Sadie flinched, but the grey-haired man had already pulled her out of Declan’s reach.

The scarred man jerked Declan upright, then, as Declan’s head came up, he slammed the pistol barrel into the exposed throat. A look of pain and astonishment flooded the sallow, blood-smeared face. The scarred man released his grip and Declan went down gasping for air. By the time he hit the floor, it was too late. He was already drowning in his own blood.

Sadie felt as though she was going to faint.

“All right, lass.” The older man gripped her shoulder. “No one’s going to harm you. We’re looking for a girl; blonde, pretty, name of Molly Finn. Sal might have brought her.”

Sadie stared nervously at the scarred man’s face. “The Raggs’ve got a girl with them. Didn’t see who it was, though, poor little bitch.” She took in the body on the floorboards. She wasn’t sure whether to grieve or gloat.

“Where are the other girls?”

She dragged her eyes away. “Workin’. Hanratty don’t like us skivin’ off if there’s customers out front. Not that there’s many in tonight. I only came in ’ere for a slice of bread an’ cheese. Ain’t ’ad a bite all bleedin’ day. Then that sod decided he wanted a free feel.” Sadie looked again at the dead man at her feet and shivered. Her face suddenly crumpled. “Hanratty’s goin’ to kill me.”

“No, he’s not,” the older man said. “Because you didn’t see anything.” He jerked his head towards a door in the corner of the room. “Larder?”

“What?” Sadie followed his gaze, then nodded dubiously.

The older man ushered her across the floor and opened the door. “Get inside and stay there. Don’t come out. No matter what you hear. You got that?” He didn’t wait for an answer but pushed her in before she had a chance to protest, then closed the door behind her.

Jago looked down at Declan’s body without pity. “If you hadn’t, I would’ve. There’s no way he didn’t know what’s been going on.”

Hawkwood said nothing. He paused, opened the door and Jago followed him out. Lomax and Billy materialized from the shadows beneath the stairwell. They had forsaken the lanterns and were reliant on the candles along the walls. It left their hands free to carry weapons.

“We need to move now,” Hawkwood said. “We’ve been lucky to make it this far. Everyone’s out front. Nathaniel, you’re with Billy. He knows Molly, so the Raggs are yours. Gabriel and I will take care of Sawney. I want him for the murder of Doyle. He’s also my link to Hyde. You ready, Major?”

“I’d say we’re wasting time,” Lomax said, in a voice as hard as stone.

Lemuel Ragg pushed himself away from the girl’s bruised and inert body, half covered by the grubby sheet, and glanced across at his brother, who was sprawled across the opposite end of the bed, legs akimbo. Samuel was clutching a half-full bottle of grog to his chest, as if protecting it against pilferers. He looked at Lemuel and grinned.

“Give us a snort,” Lemuel said, and held out his hand.

Samuel looked down at the bottle as if seeing it for the first time, and raised it to his lips. Taking a swallow, he tossed it the length of the bed. Some of the drink sprayed out and landed across the girl’s naked breasts. She did not react.

Lemuel took a swig. Then he dribbled some of the contents into his cupped palm and rubbed it around his penis. “Stops you gettin’ the pox,” he said.

“Bit late for that,” Samuel said, and then thought about it. “Give it ’ere, then.”

Lemuel passed the bottle, reached out a foot and nudged the girl’s thigh with his toe. He was rewarded with a low whimper.

“Still with us. Thought she might have pegged it. We’ll let her get her breath, eh?”