Paul Lawrence - Hearts of Darkness

‘You cannot play games with him, Harry,’ Dowling said quietly, laying her straight upon the stone floor.

I pushed the hair off her face and stood back to look at her. She wore a plain cloth dress, lying heavy upon her body. I took one of her hands and held it gently, turning it over so I saw her red rough palm. ‘I couldn’t think what else to say,’ I answered. ‘He left, didn’t he?’

Dowling scrabbled in the folds of the sodden material afore extracting a short blade. ‘God save us,’ he exclaimed. ‘Withypoll stabbed her in the side.’ He looked up, mouth curled in angry dismay. ‘Such a wound would not have killed her.’

I stared into her face again, light freckles on white skin. Her blue lips rested slightly open, eyes wide. ‘She drowned?’

Dowling nodded, resting on his knees. He placed the knife on the floor. I picked it up.

‘We must go,’ I said, thinking of Jane. ‘I don’t trust Arlington. We will tell the soldiers at the gate about this woman, whoever she may be.’

I helped Dowling to his feet and took one last look about the square cellar. The woman lay motionless upon her back, staring at the

ceiling. Dowling climbed the stairs slow, like he carried his wounded soul upon his shoulders, and I followed.

The wooden door swung in the breeze, banging against the frame.

I prodded him in the back. ‘Make haste.’

Just as he turned to remonstrate the door crashed open, smashing against the stone. There was a flurry of movement, a flash of steel, then Dowling’s face staring over my shoulder, mouth open wide. He stood crouched, clutching at his belly, then fell backwards out onto the cobbles. Behind him stood Arlington, short dagger dripping Dowling’s blood.

‘You haven’t made any copies,’ he snarled. ‘You made it up while you were talking.’

I stepped backwards. He blocked the way like a short fat demon, burning eyes and yellow teeth standing out against his blackened skin.

‘I made three copies,’ I said, only in a whisper. I lied and he knew it.

He kicked Dowling’s prone body to one side and filled the doorway. ‘But you will make copies, won’t you Lytle? If I let you go.’ He took another step closer to me, dagger pointing at my throat.

I took another step back. ‘I told you, I am sick of this whole business. I want nothing more to do with it, only to be left alone.’

Arlington smiled, his lashless eyes blinking furiously. ‘I will leave you alone, Lytle, alone at the bottom of one of those wells.’

He leapt at me from above, blade headed straight to my chest. I twisted to my right so his blade hit the stone and grasped at the hand which grabbed my shirt. He stabbed at me again with savage strength, cutting the skin below my ear. I deflected the next blow with my elbow, then twisted again, sending him sprawling down the stone staircase. Yet he clung onto me with his left hand while he scrambled to his feet. Then he let go, pushing his left hand against the wall to steady himself. He crouched, breathing shallow, pure hatred shining in his black eyes. Stepping up with his right leg, he readied to launch himself again. I watched him coil like a cat preparing to leap at a bird. As he sprang I withdrew Withypoll’s knife from inside my jacket and aimed it at his shoulder.

.

I found them on Tower Hill, Jane holding hands with Lucy, both of them peering anxiously through the crowd. When Jane saw me, her face exploded with delight. She opened her mouth wide and gazed with bright green eyes, waddling towards me with one arm across her little belly.

Lucy brushed the hair from her forehead, half smiling, half afraid. ‘Where’s Davy?’

‘He’s been hurt,’ I told her. ‘Arlington stabbed him in the belly. I fetched him outside the Bulwark Gate, but dared not make him walk further.’

Jane pushed me backwards. ‘You made him walk?’

‘It wasn’t safe to leave him,’ I protested, hurrying back the way I came.

Jane followed as quick as she could, while Lucy ran ahead.

‘What happened?’ Jane demanded, poking me in the ribs. ‘Why did he get stabbed and not you?’

I felt my temper beginning to simmer. ‘He got stabbed because he was at the top of the stairs when Arlington ambushed us. We didn’t know he was there.’

She pulled at my sleeve. ‘And what did you do about it?’ she asked, scornful.

I stopped, turned, and grabbed both her wrists. ‘I stabbed Arlington in the heart, Jane, and left him to die,’ I spluttered, holding her hands too tight. Her mouth formed a little ‘o’ and I released my grip. ‘I was aiming at his shoulder, but I missed.’

She took a step away from me while I reflected on how miserable I felt.

‘Where were you, anyway?’ I asked.

‘Locked up at Fleet Prison,’ she replied, tears pricking her eyes. ‘By a great oaf who said he saw me stealing.’ She rolled up her sleeve to reveal an ugly, green bruise upon her arm. ‘He said his name was Withypoll and that he was a friend of yours.’

‘He’s no friend of mine,’ I sighed. ‘Anyway, he’s dead as well.’ I turned to follow Lucy.

‘How many men have you killed?’ Jane exclaimed, trotting after me like an angry goose.

‘Just one,’ I replied. Unless Dowling died. I prayed God had other plans and ran to the Tower wall where Lucy knelt at Dowling’s side. He leant against the flint wall where I had left him, gazing about with head still. He attempted to smile when he saw Jane.

Lucy tore at his shirt and exposed the wound for all to see. It was only a small hole, but ugly; purple and swollen.

‘How do you fare?’ I asked, kneeling next to Lucy.

He sighed and nodded. ‘I will be fine,’ he said. ‘I have a belly like a boulder. God knows it takes more than a prick to kill David Dowling.’

Did he call me a prick? ‘It wasn’t my fault, you know.’

Jane snorted, and Dowling’s eyes widened.

‘Of course it wasn’t your fault,’ he whispered. ‘I knew Arlington before you did. If anything, ’tis I who is to blame.’

‘Be quiet, Davy,’ Lucy scolded.

Jane clicked her tongue and scowled. ‘It is your fault,’ she hissed into my ear.

‘How is it my fault?’ I hissed back, keen not to disturb Dowling.

‘You had a good job at the Tower,’ she said. ‘Then you gave it all up to go gallivanting about England trying to solve murders.’

‘Solving murders cannot be a bad thing.’

‘How can it be anything but a bad thing?’ Jane retorted. ‘How many men have you brought back to life? When a man is murdered it is because someone murdered him. You go sticking your great nose into other men’s business and what do you expect will happen?’ She let loose a great sigh of exasperation and edged closer to Lucy, studying carefully what she did in tending to Dowling’s belly.

I sighed too. How had I ever thought of marrying this woman? I might as well cut off my balls and soak them in vinegar.

‘We can take him to my aunt’s house,’ Jane said to Lucy. ‘She lives on the bridge. She will not mind us staying there a while.’

Lucy reached out a hand and brushed Jane’s cheek. ‘Thank you, my dear,’ she said. ‘Can we take him there now?’

‘Of course,’ Jane replied, licking her top lip with her tongue.

Lucy smiled gratefully. ‘God watches over us.’

‘Watches and wonders,’ said Jane, casting me another poisonous stare.

Dowling coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Harry saved my life, Jane. I thought God forsook us, but instead he worked through Harry. We travelled to Hell and back, men and women falling dead at our feet even as we walked. Ask yourself how it is we return, unharmed. There can be only one explanation.’ He closed his eyes and grimaced.