Alex Scarrow - City of Shadows

‘Can we not just have a little talk?’ asked Liam. ‘If you’ve got a spare room somewhere in there? Or perhaps you know of anybody else who does? That’s all.’

‘We have money,’ added Rashim. ‘We could pay a very generous rent.’

The man gulped, looking more like a toad than a frog now. ‘Generous rent, eh?’

‘Aye,’ said Liam. ‘Bob? Why don’t you let this nice gentleman’s arm go before you crush it to a pulp?’

‘As you wish.’ Bob loosened his grip and the man snatched his arm free, flexed his neck again and straightened his ruffled waistcoat indignantly.

‘Well.’ His bug eyes remained warily on Bob. ‘I suppose a little talk won’t hurt no one.’

1 December 1888, Holborn Viaduct, London

They stepped inside, through the double oak doors, and the tall young man called Bertie pulled them closed. He was wiry-thin with short dark hair parted on the side, long sideburns and a pitifully wispy attempt at a walrus moustache.

There was a glare on the face of his short, frog-like boss: a stern look at his young assistant very much along the lines of we’re going to have a little talk later on, you and I.

Liam looked around. In one way it was very much like the home they’d left behind in Brooklyn: an arched ceiling of dark red bricks. But this archway was stuffed with stacks of wooden packing crates and casks of whisky and liquors, barrels of beer, bottles of wine, sacks of mysterious goods, even a rack of army-surplus rifles and small foil-sealed boxes of ammunition.

Off this main archway, through walkways between mountains of boxes, he could see other archways and alcoves receding into the gloom. It looked almost labyrinthine. An Aladdin’s cave.

The rotund little man sat down at a small round table in the middle of his ‘warehouse’. A gas lamp glowed in the middle of it. He cut a small wedge of cheese from a block the size of a shoebox.

‘So you mentioned a generous rent, eh?’

Liam sat down opposite him. ‘If you’ve got an archway spare somewhere among all this,’ he said, gesturing at the receding gloom. ‘Then, yes, we can pay.’

‘Oh, there’s plenty more of this maze beneath the viaduct available for tenants.’ He chewed energetically on his cheese, looking casually up at the low ceiling. ‘If you know the right bloke to talk to.’

‘And you’re that right bloke, I suppose.’

He shrugged. ‘That’s what they say around this manor.’

Liam offered his hand across the table. ‘The name’s Liam O’Connor.’

The man eyed it warily for the moment, finishing his mouthful of cheese, then wiped his hand on his sleeve and shook with Liam. ‘Delbert Hook. Imports and exports is m’business.’

Liam looked around him and wondered how much of the stuff in here was strictly legitimate business. And how much of it had ‘fallen off the back of a wagon’. There’d been a somewhat suspicious haste in the way Mr Hook and his assistant had been loading up the wagon.

‘The lanky drip standing over there by the door is my assistant, Bertie.’

The young man stepped forward. Offered his hand tentatively to Liam. ‘It’s Herbert actually. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Bertie’s what I calls him,’ said Delbert. ‘He’s brighter than he looks.’

‘Actually, I have a part-time job teaching mathematics,’ replied Herbert. ‘I do Del’s accounts for him on weekdays and — ’

‘ Mr Hook to you, lad!’ He glared. Although his expression quickly softened. ‘Or Hooky. Or, if I’m very, very drunk… then, and only then, you can call me Del.’

Liam suspected there was something of a bond between the two men, despite the mutual glaring.

‘And these other two?’ Delbert’s gaze rested on Bob. ‘Who’s this giant?’

‘That’s Bob, and this fella’s my good friend Dr Rashim Anwar.’

Delbert pursed his lips appreciatively at Rashim. ‘Doctor? A physician is it, eh?’

‘Not that kind of a doctor, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh?’ Delbert sounded disappointed. ‘Anyway.’ He cut another hunk of cheese. Liam noticed he wasn’t offering any around. ‘For the right price and so long as you can convince me you ain’t snipes working for the police… I might be able to find you your very own archway.’

‘We need privacy,’ said Rashim.

Delbert looked at him. ‘Well, of course. What decent businessman don’t?’

‘There’s a power generator located somewhere under this viaduct,’ said Rashim. ‘Isn’t there?’

Delbert nodded at Rashim. ‘Oh, you mean the Bell Electrical Voltaic Generation Machine! Yes, indeed. The first of its size in the world, so they says. There was a big parade and marching bands an’ the like here five or six years ago when they switched the ruddy thing on. Damn noisy it is too! Sounds like a bloomin’ locomotive comin’ through the walls. You might want one of the archways well away from the ruddy thing if you don’t want to listen to it boomin’ away all day an’ all night!’

‘No,’ cut in Liam. ‘Close to that’s fine for us, so it is.’

‘Close to it?’ One of Delbert’s bushy eyebrows rose suspiciously. ‘You actually want the noise, do you?’

Liam shrugged. ‘It won’t be a problem for us.’

‘Hmm…’ Delbert stroked his bottom lip, both bushy brows lowered, almost a scowl. ‘You gonna tell me what yer business is?’

‘It’s private,’ said Liam.

‘ Private covers a multitude of sins, lad. I may not be entirely above the board here, but there’s some things I won’t be a party to. You understand what I’m sayin’?’

Liam figured he might have to feed the man a titbit of information. Just enough to satisfy his beady-eyed curiosity.

‘Science experiments.’ He nodded at Rashim. ‘Dr Anwar here is something of a… a scientist.’

‘Science, is it?’ That seemed to appeal to Delbert. ‘What are yer… some sort of inventor?’

‘I… err…’ He looked at Liam. Liam nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose. Yes, an inventor.’

‘Good Lord!’ said Herbert. ‘Might I ask what kind of things you invent?’ He looked eager. ‘See, I also have quite an interest in the sciences, sir.’

‘Not now, Bertie!’ Delbert sat back in his chair and wiped his hands and finished his mouthful of cheese as he gave his visitors some silent consideration.

‘All right, then. I’ll show you what I got. Then you and me, lad… we’re gonna need to talk about the money.’

Delbert got up, reached for the lamp’s brass handle, lifted it off the table and waved for them to follow him. He led them down through a tight squeeze between packing crates, along a narrow tunnel, low enough that Bob had to stoop down to enter it.

They turned a corner to see by the dim glow of Delbert’s lamp an archway almost as large as Delbert’s main one. Along the left-hand wall were a few stacks of goods. Along the wall opposite were three evenly spaced alcoves.

‘The one on the left leads directly out on to Farringdon Street. I don’t use it myself, but I got keys to it. You can use that access, just so long as you’re mindful to lock it secure at night. That way you don’t need to be disturbing my business all the time. The middle one’s a small storage room. I don’t use it. The right one is the one you can have.’

He walked over towards that alcove. It receded further along than it first appeared to. Ten feet, a low, narrow tunnel. At the end a small arched oak door with a thick padlock on it. Delbert fumbled in his trouser pocket and pulled out a jangling keyring.

‘I’ll give you this key, of course,’ he said as he picked out the keyhole and inserted the key.

‘That is the only copy of the key?’ asked Rashim.