James McGee - Resurrectionist

“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?”

“Jesus,” Samuel said, wincing, his hand in his lap. “Bleedin’ smarts a bit.”

“Means it’s workin’,” Lemuel said. He lay back against the pillow and closed his eyes.

The door crashed back on its hinges.

Lemuel’s eyes snapped open. He tried to raise himself but in his haste only succeeded in entangling his feet in the bedclothes. Samuel, also slow to react, found himself caught with one hand on the grog bottle, the other round his cock. Snatching his hand away from his crotch he fumbled for a corner of the sheet to cover his nakedness.

“You’ll be the Ragg boys,” Jago said, stepping over the threshold. He had a pistol in one hand and his cudgel in the other. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” His eyes dropped to the tumble of bedclothes and the unmoving form beneath and his face turned to stone. “On your feet, you bastards. Don’t bother with your breeches. We ain’t strong on formality. Billy! Get in here!”

Billy Haig sidestepped through the door, his hands gripping the blunderbuss. His eyes darkened when he saw the small, blonde figure curled foetally on the bed. He stepped forward quickly and turned the girl’s face gently towards him. He stared up at Jago and shook his head. “It’s not her.”

Shite, Jago thought. He turned to Lemuel, who had managed to extricate his feet and was trying to sit up. “Molly Finn. Where is she?”

Lemuel blinked. “Who the ’ell’s Molly Finn?” He looked towards his brother for guidance, only to see Samuel’s confusion mirroring his own.

It suddenly occurred to Jago that the Raggs might not know. He had no proof the brothers were involved in the girl’s disappearance. He had assumed they were complicit by virtue of their association with the Bridger woman. Maybe their professed ignorance was genuine.

“She’s the girl Sal Bridger picked up this morning. Don’t bloody tell me you don’t know what’s happened to her.”

And then he saw it; at the mention of Sal’s name, a flash of understanding in Samuel Ragg’s eyes that disappeared so fast he could have been forgiven for thinking it had been a trick of the light. But it had been enough.

At that moment, the girl on the bed groaned and opened her eyes. She did it slowly, as if every movement was an effort of will.

“All right, darlin’,” Billy said and looked back at Jago with a mixture of anger and pity.

Which was when Lemuel brought his left hand from beneath the pillow and slashed the open razor across the side of Billy Haig’s throat. As blood from Billy’s severed artery fountained across the bedclothes, Samuel threw the corner of the sheet aside and clawed for the pistol that lay on the nightstand by the side of the bed.