David Liss - The Devil's Company

“I’ll get it back,” he called over, “and you’ll find it soon enough lodged in your sweet-smelling shitter.”

“No doubt,” our boatman called, “for it is but a shitten stick you wield, and it seeks the fundament the way a baby or a whoremonger seeks your mother’s bubbies.”

“Your mother has no bubbies,” the other called back, “for she was naught but a hairy he-bear who conceived you after being swived in the arse by a libertine hunter who knew neither arse from cunny-such a man being your father, or perhaps an ape of Africk; who can tell the one from the other?”

“And your father,” our boatman returned, “was the whoreson bum-firking daughter-”

“Quiet!” I cried, loud enough to be heard not just by our boatman but by the other as well.

In that instant, I heard the other’s oars quiet and when I looked over, even in the dark I could see them lifting out of the water. From the boat I heard a strange and yet familiar voice shout, “Weaver, is that you?” The voice contained hope and humor-and nothing at all unpleasant.

“Who is that?” I answered back.

“’Tis Aadil,” he said. And then he let out an enormous laugh. “Here I have been exhausting myself, fleeing as though there were someone dangerous after us, and all along it was only you?”

I could not but note his speech. Every time I had heard him open his mouth, he had grunted his words like a beastly savage. Now, though he spoke in the same musical accent he had always used, his speech was refined, grammatically proper, and on an equal footing to anyone born here.

I hardly knew what to say. “What is this?” was the best I could manage.

He let out another rich laugh. “I think,” he called over to us, “it is time we talked to each other in somewhat more frank terms. Let’s meet at the docks, and we’ll find someplace to tell each other our stories.”

MERCIFULLY, OUR BOATMEN seemed to understand that something most unexpected had passed between us, and they remained quiet for the remainder of our journey. Elias gave me searching looks, but I hardly knew how to answer his unspoken questions. I merely pulled my coat around me, for it suddenly seemed to grow much colder as the light, steady rain fell upon us.

Their boat landed first, and I did not entirely believe that Aadil’s offer to treat with us was not a clever trick-not until he stepped out and waited patiently as we docked and climbed out as well. This side of the river was as crowded and noisy and lively as the other, and it was a very strange place for us to talk, but Aadil merely smiled at us and then offered us a deep bow.

“I have not been entirely honest with you about myself. Of course, you have not been entirely honest with me either, or anyone else at Craven House, but that is no matter. I’ve since concluded you mean me no harm and, indeed, your presence has been a most interesting catalyst.” He looked at the sky. “Sir, this rain continues apace, and if I have learned anything of your English weather, it shall get more unpleasant before it clears. Shall we find some warm and dry shelter?”

I ignored the pleasantries, though I too was anxious to get out of the rain. “Who the devil are you?”

He let out another of his thick laughs. It sounded as though it echoed about his chest before being set free. “My name is, indeed, Aadil. I am Aadil Wajid Ali Baghat, and, though unworthy, I must endure the unbearable honor of being a contemptible servant of his most glorious majesty, the Emperor Muhammad Shah Nasir ad Dîn, shah an shah , king of kings, Mogul of India.”

“Rabbit it!” Elias whispered. “The filthy bugger’s an India spy.”

“Hardly filthy, but a spy all the same. Yes, I am an agent of the Mogul. I have been sent here to deal a blow that will, I hope, curb the power of the East India Company. Would you like to hear more?”

Elias appeared as dumbstruck as I felt, yet I managed a few words. “I am not certain I wish to deal any blows against the Company. I have no love of the men of Craven House, I promise you, but I’m not sure its destruction is my affair.”

“Perhaps,” Aadil said, “you hardly know your affair, or the faces of your enemies, or the nature of their malice.”

“No,” I agreed. “I don’t.”

“Then come with me to a nearby tavern if you wish to find out. I shall increase the offer of warmth and dryness with food and drink.”

“Now that,” Elias said, “is the offer you should have made in the first place.”

AS A JEW AMONG ENGLISHMEN, I have ever felt out of place in my own native city, but I soon learned that to be a Jew is a very easy thing compared to being an East Indian. We could hardly walk three feet without someone calling to Aadil or stopping him. Children called him blackbird with the meanest contempt or else ran up to him to rub his dark skin and see if it would come off. Men moved out of his way, holding their noses, though he smelled far cleaner, and indeed more floral, than any of their lot could hope. Whores called out to him, telling him they gave special prices to Africans or else that they had never a black privy member and wished to gaze upon one.

I believed I should go mad with rage or simply distracted with chatter were I asked to live his life, but it was clear that Aadil had long since grown familiar to such usage, and he took no note. Nevertheless, I soon discovered that there was one way in which Jew and East Indian were very much alike: the merchant, no matter what prejudices he might hold in his heart, regards the silver of all nations equally. We found our way to a crowded tavern, and though the publican gave Aadil an unwelcoming look, he changed his mind soon enough when the East Indian offered an unwarranted measure of silver for a private room, food, and drink.

Aadil must have known his taverns well, for it was a comfortably appointed room, with two unboarded windows, ample sconces for light, and a handsomely laid table. The food was set before us, though Aadil would have none of it. The meats, he said, were not prepared in accordance with his religion. The same faith, he explained, forbade the consumption of spirituous liquors.

“No liquors, quotha!” Elias cried out. “By the devil, Weaver, I’ve finally discovered a more unappealing religion than yours.” He would not allow our host’s abstinence to slow his progress, however, and quickly poured himself a glass of wine and began to inflict serious harm on a plate of cold chicken.

Through all of this, our friend Mr. Teaser sat quietly, hands in his lap. He shook his head when offered food and drink. I though it not entirely surprising. After all, he had heard terrible news and witnessed some remarkable events that day. Nevertheless, I could not understand his passivity in the hands of this black-skinned giant. There was naught to conclude but that Teaser had enjoyed dealings with Aadil Wajid Ali Baghat before and had been given cause to trust the Indian spy.

This supposition was borne out in the sequel, for though Mr. Teaser sat in utter dejected silence, Aadil nevertheless poured a healthy portion of wine into a pewter cup and handed it over to the unfortunate. “Drink it, sir. I know you English find it restoring.”

Teaser took the cup in his hands, but he made no motion to drink. “I can’t believe she’s dead,” Teaser intoned. “And poor Mother Clap and my friends-what will become of them? We must go back to help them.”

I own I had not expected such brave sentiments from a man who would marry another man, but the night was already full-freighted with surprises and would, I was now certain, yet contain many more.

“We cannot go back, and there’s nothing to be done for them,” I said. “I am sorry to put it to you so, but it is the truth. With the constables and Reformation men there, it is out of our hands, and from their behavior I gathered they were in the service of some other power, one with money to make certain the business was done. We can only hope that when their dark purpose is fulfilled, they will lose interest in the prosecution of your friends.”