David Liss - The Devil's Company

Once more, I called Annie over, and bade her bend down low and close, and I set a hand upon her inviting bottom. “Laugh,” I said, “as though I had just said something of the greatest amusement.”

To my great surprise, she let out a laugh without further question.

“Now, pray don’t turn around, but there is a bookish sort of fellow in the far corner. Do you know who I mean?”

“What’s this about, then?”

“It’s about you earning another shilling.”

“Oh, all right then. Aye, he’s been here all night, that one. Same as you.”

“And what’s he been drinking?”

“Nothing but milk, if you can credit such a thing. A grown man, him, drinking milk with no bread, like he was a child.”

I could believe it indeed. The boy to whom I had entrusted the letters no doubt had other chores to complete before setting out, but I now saw him leave the tavern. In an instant, the scholar rose to follow. I waited a moment, until he was just stepping past the door, and, even as I put another piece of silver in the girl’s hand, I took to my feet and after the sham academician.

When I came out to Market Hill, the scholar was already coming up hard by the boy. The ground was hard with packed snow and I should hate to have to run upon it, but run I would, if it were required.

“Hold there,” the scholar called after the boy. “Hold there, my fine young man. A word with you, and a reward for it too.”

The boy turned to look and saw, instead of a smiling and harmless fellow, a pained face as I struck the man in the back of his head and sent him down into the muddy street.

“He meant you no good, but only injury,” I told the boy. “Go deliver your messages. I’ll take care of this rascal.”

The boy continued to stare, however, fascinated by the raree-show before him, but, the villain being quite incapacitated, I thought little of the delay. The scholar, for his part, was in discomfort and disoriented but still quite alert. I stood over him, putting one of my shoes upon his hand so he would not be tempted to rise. Though I offered no instructions, he quickly observed that any movement he made met the response of added pressure.

“Now, sir, tell me for whom you work.”

“It is an abominable thing to strike a man of the universities. Once the world learns this crime was done by a Jew, there shall be terrible consequences for your fellows.”

“And how would you happen to know I’m a Jew?”

The scholar said nothing.

“Whether you are a man of one of the universities or no is not my concern. It is my concern that you have been observing me and that you meant to stop that boy from delivering my correspondence. Now, will you tell me who employs you?”

“I shan’t tell you anything.”

As it happened, I believed him, nor did I particularly think that knowing it was Cobb or Ellershaw or anyone else would much change my plans, so rather than try to force him to speak, I knocked his head against the ground until he was unconscious. I then searched his things and found little except for a ten pound note issued by the very same goldsmith whose notes Cobb used to pay me.

I looked up and saw the boy had not yet departed but stood still in fear. “Give me the notes,” I said. “If there’s one villain about, there may be another. I shall arrange to have them delivered differently.”

The boy gave the notes to me and ran off, leaving me alone in the street. I held them in one hand and continued to stare at the still form of the scholar, wondering if I had lost my temper too soon with him and whether he might have had more to tell me. The subject was perhaps moot, however, for in an instant I felt a hand upon the back of my head, pushing me hard into the snow and sludge of the road. I went down, though not hard, and recovered myself in a moment, though a moment too late. When I looked up I saw the figure of a man running off with my notes in hand.

IN AN INSTANT I was on my feet and after the thief, but he had already gained a considerable advantage. I could see him far ahead, a bulky man who moved with improbable grace. I, on the other hand, having years before broken my leg most severely, could not run with the same speed, and I feared that, despite the most diligent effort and my determination to ignore the pain of my old wound, the villain would escape.

He turned and ran to Virginia Planter Hill and was about to enter upon the Shadwell, which I considered a stroke of good fortune. The street was wide and well lighted but would be largely deserted this time of night and I might have some small chance of overtaking him there.

As I struggled to gain upon him, or at the least not lose him entire, he ran onto Shadwell but in an instant threw himself back, nearly toppling over, as a speeding phaeton barreled past him, its driver shouting an insult at the man he almost destroyed.

Now again on his feet, he crouched like a great cat, and when another phaeton had nearly passed him, he leaped out and into it, giving the driver cause to let out a startled cry, just audible over the trample of hooves and the roar of wheels. What manner of man, I wondered, is so reckless with his life that he would attempt to leap into a speeding phaeton? It enraged me, for his having done so necessitated that I do the same.

I redoubled my efforts for speed as another phaeton passed, and another yet; it seemed to be as many as eight or ten involved in this race. Reaching Shadwell just as the straggler of the group came upon me, I was determined not to lose it. In the dark I could see it was green with gold stripes, one in the symbol of a serpent. I had just time enough to realize that this was the same machine that had run down Elias’s accuser some days ago, a man who would have run down a child if not for that worthy’s intervention. The phaeton was driven by a self-absorbed coxcomb, a man who considered his foolish race more important than human life. And he must be my companion, for I hurled myself in the air, hoping most earnestly to land inside and not be caught under his wheels.

In that, at least, I was successful. I landed hard in the phaeton, crashing into the driver, who let out a little shriek.

“What madness is this?” he demanded, his wide eyes reflecting the light of street lanterns.

I stood quickly and took the reins from him. “You are a fool, a monster, and a poor driver as well,” I said. “Now be quiet lest I shove you out.”

I spurred the horse hard with the whip and discovered it was capable of greater speed than its owner would allow. The man suffered, I saw, not from a lack of power but a lack of courage, for as the horse increased in its velocity he let out another little shriek.

“Slow down!” he cried, in a voice that cracked like dropped crystal. “You’ll kill us!”

“I observed you run down a man a fortnight ago and respond with nothing more than a laugh,” I called to him, making myself heard above the hooves and the rush of cold air. “I hardly think you deserving of mercy.”

“What do you want?”

“To overtake another man,” I said. “And, if time permits, to punish you.”

I raced hard and recklessly, urging the horse on to speeds most unsafe, but I had little choice. I passed one of the other phaetons, whose driver looked upon me and the cringing man at my side with the greatest confusion. I passed another after that, and then a third. If I had a mind to, I thought, I might win this race.

Ahead of me, the phaetons turned the corner onto Old Gravel Lane and slowed accordingly. If I were to overtake my letters, however, I would have to set aside my concern for safety, so I slowed hardly at all as we turned. As the phaeton turned up on one side, I clutched the reins with one hand, reached out with the other, and grabbed my unhappy passenger, pushing him toward the elevated side of the conveyance. This had little effect, but little was enough, for though we came close, we did not tip. In the process of rounding the turn, we passed three more of the racers, so that there were now only three ahead of us.