K Jeter - Infernal Devices

"Pardon me, gentlemen," I said. "I require some small assistance, and perhaps the hire of a vehicle and driver, for which suitable recompense will be made." Their eyes brightened at the mention of payment. "I seek transportation to a certain borough of the city. I am, however, ignorant of its exact location. Therefore, I must trust to the expertise of one of your number in these matters of navigation."

One of the men nodded gravely, gathering the intended flattery more from the tone of my voice than the actual words. "Right enough," muttered a cabby beyond him, having listened along with the others nearby.

"Here," said the cabby on my right hand. "What's this borough you want to go to? Just you name it, and we're off."

"Wetwick," I said.

The man straightened up, raising his gaze from the dregs in his glass in order to train his slitted eyes at me from a greater height. On either side, and in back, I felt the others draw back a fraction of an inch. The room fell quiet, all conversations ceasing in circles around me, as the ripples from a stone dropped in water die out and are still."

For a few moments longer, the cabby stared at me, then turned away. I looked about: every face was averted from me. The noise of voices grew again, as broken conversations resumed, but subdued from their previous level.

"Pardon?" My voice fell as if against brick walls. None of them responded as if they'd heard.

I looked down to see the house's landlord snatch up my glass from in front of me and fling it, contents and all, into a slop bucket behind the counter.

"Now see here; this is very extraordinary." I felt justifiably annoyed at the general treatment I had received. "I demand-"

"Eh, bugger 'em all." Another voice broke in, from close at my elbow. "Fine lot they think 'emselves, but I warrant cheese wouldn't choke 'em, if you get my meaning."

I turned about, adjusting the level of my gaze to the height of the one who had addressed me; the brim of his tall hat, a battered piece even shabbier than the usual cabby's gear, barely came up to my shoulder. Underneath it was a face wizened with age and visibly lewd thoughts, winking and grinning at me. "What was that?" I said. "I don't quite follow-"

The brown-toothed leer grew wider. "'Follow', aye, that's good. Follow me you haven't yet, perhaps, but follow me you might – if I just happened to be going where you wanted to go. Eh?"

His words barely concealed their true intent. "To Wetwick, then?" I said. "You know the district?"

"Hold your clapper, for Christ's sake. I know this place as well, and I believe our welcome's at an end." He nodded towards the landlord, who was advancing along the length of serving bar, rolling his sleeves up over his thickly muscled arms. "I'm only in here to collect a wager; lucky for you – you'd have got no help from this tight-arsed bunch. Bozzimacoo!" The last was said to the landlord leaning threateningly over the counter. "I wouldn't touch the billy stink you push here, anyway! Come on." He tugged me away by the arm. "It'll take that thick Yorkshireman a good hour to remember his own filthy words – then he'll be hopping."

Outside, in the public house's yard, a small dog gave a welcoming yip when the cabby emerged with me in tow. "Shut up, you," growled the cabby. The dog, a mongrel resembling a ratting terrier more than anything else, nevertheless danced around the man's boots, only favouring the limp in one of its hind legs.

"Come along, then." The cabby motioned for me to follow as he weaved, somewhat unsteadily, between the hansoms. "There's a much friendlier jerry-shop down the way – my usual bin."

The cellar he led me to was scarcely better lit than the alley on to which its gap-planked door opened. A horse, its ribs showing beneath the harness of a singularly shabby cab, stood outside – the property of my guide, I assumed.

The cabby spread his black-nailed hands across a table so rickety that every touch sent the flame of the guttering candle in its middle wavering. "Arduous work, it'd be," he said, winking again, thin leather sliding over the blood-specked eye. "All the way to Wetwick – a long trip, that; very long, and parching, if you understand me."

I did indeed; an aproned figure stood next to the table. I handed over another coin, and the person shuffled away to the cellar's far side. While I awaited the bringing of drink, I gazed about the space, my eyes having adjusted to the gloom. Only a few men ringed the walls, either hunched over the half-empty jars in front of them or sprawled back in their chairs, boot heels slid into the puddles dripping off the table on to the dirt floor. One of the latter was young, a gentleman of position far above mine, as evidenced by the fineness of his coat; his youthful cheek, stretched in open-mouthed slumber, was already hollowed by the habits of dissipation into which he had fallen. In stale beer shops such as these he had hastened his destiny, pennyworth by pennyworth. A cadaverous woman in one of the room's corners slumped forward, grey-streaked hair tangling over her face; at her feet, an infant lay silent in its basket, stricken as if by laudanum or its mother's tainted milk.

Two mugs were deposited on the table, slopping over and nearly drowning the candle. My guide pulled heartily at the frothless murk, rolling his eyes at me over the rim of the vessel. "Very tasty, that," he pronounced, setting it down, a quarter drained.

I left mine untouched. "Now, as to Wetwick-"

"Wetwick," he interrupted. "Yes, indeed; Wetwick; all in good time, sir, all in good time." The word that had raised such abhorrence in the public house, here brought no gaze around to examine the speaker, though the room was small enough for all to overhear us. The sodden drinkers went on staring into the dark spaces that held the residue of their thoughts. "Here, you; leave off that." The small dog had followed us into the cellar, and was now whining and scratching at the cabby's knee. "Leave off, I say, mange-bait; what's got into you?" He looked around to the door and saw a figure making its way down the damp stone steps, balancing an awkward weight across the shoulders. "So that's it, then?" he addressed the dog. "Hungry, are you? Well, well, a bite would not be amiss – for beast or master." He shot another of his slyly calculating glances at me.

The hawking butcher – for such a one it was that had entered – worked his circuit around the cellar, tilting his basket in front of each drinker to expose his bloody merchandise. He found scant trade among a crowd that had lost all appetite except for drink; each inebriate shook his head in turn or continued gazing dully before him. The cabby whistled and signalled the man over. The dog's whining became frenzied as the dark-stained basket approached. My own stomach clenched at the smell of the gone-high meat.

"Samuel, me lad-" the cabby and the butcher were evidently acquaintances of long standing. "What delicacies do you got tonight?" He poked through the uncut joints, sending aloft a few buzzing flies. "A tuppenny chop, then," he decided at last. "And the scraps for the hound." He watched with relish as the butcher hacked off the desired piece. Both men's faces turned towards me when the meat was held aloft on the knife's point; leaning back from the odour, I paid once more.

"Very kind of you, sir," said the cabby, dangling a raw strip down to the dog's mouth. "I do appreciate it." The chop had been carried off to a farther room; a sizzling noise of fire and grease wafted out. "This here gentleman," he said, pointing to me, "wants to be taken to Wetwick. Fancy that, eh?"

The hawking butcher, his basket up on his shoulder again, lowered the jar he had taken from its place in front of me. His wide grin was damp from the stale beer. "Does he, then? Wouldn't have thought him the type, just from looking at him. No wonder he's not hungry for this sort of meat." One blood-mottled finger tapped the side of the basket. "It's some other bit of mutton he's after." His lewd smile twisted even further as he winked at me, then turned and laboured his burden towards the door.