Anne Perry - A Christmas Odyssey

In one of the cellars it was definitely warmer, but the air was so thick with opium fumes it made Henry gag. Even Crow put his scarf around his mouth. In the dim light they saw more than twenty figures sprawled in a mockery of repose. Some seemed conscious, though not fully aware. Their eyes were glazed; they saw nothing of their surroundings, only the hectic world within their own minds.

Henry tried speaking to one or two of them but received no answers of which he could make any sense.

“Don’t bother,” Squeaky told him. “They wouldn’t know their own mothers. Come to think of it, they probably never did. We aren’t going to find Shadow Man here. The poppy’s his servant, not his master. We’ll do better going after the whorehouses. At least the customers will still be conscious.”

Crow peered into the faces of some of the smokers. They were mostly men but included a few women. “He’s right,” he conceded. “This lot can’t tell us anything.”

They turned to leave, but found their way blocked by a bald-headed man with tattoos on his neck and the parts of his hands that they could see. His right thumb was missing.

“And what would you be doing in ’ere?” he said with a pronounced lisp, as if his tongue were malformed. “Yer lookin’ ter come ’ere without payin’, then? That ain’t the way it works, gents. Yer come in, yer pays.”

“We smoke, we pay,” Squeaky told him tersely.

“Yer come in, yer pays,” the man repeated. He jerked his hand sideways sharply and another figure loomed out of the haze to join him.

Henry put his hand into his inside pocket to find money.

“Yer wanna watch ’im!” Squeaky warned, seizing Henry’s arm and holding it hard to prevent him from moving. He felt him wince. He would apologize later. Right now he must stop him from revealing that he had any money, or they would all be robbed blind, and lucky to get out uninjured. His instinct was to fight, and they couldn’t win. These men would be armed with knives and razors, and possibly garottes as well. Opium was expensive, and therefore worth protecting. Henry had no idea what he was dealing with. With an ounce of a brain Squeaky could have stopped this idiocy before it got this far. He was getting slow, and that was his own fault. He was out of practice. Out of brains, more like.

“ ’E works for Shadow Man,” he said to the others, but nodding his head at Henry. “ ’E looks like ’e’s a gent, and ’e was, once. And them that started as gents, when they hit the gutter, they’re worse than them as was born in it. ’E used to be a surgeon. What ’e can do with a knife,” he held his finger and thumb a couple of inches apart, “just a little, very, very sharp knife,” he said, shuddering, “you wouldn’t want to know about.”

Henry froze, his jaw dropped in amazement.

Crow smiled, showing all his teeth. “We call him the Bleeder.” He caught the spirit of the act. “Looks like butter wouldn’t melt, don’t he?” He regarded Henry admiringly. “Looks like that until he gets right up close to you. Then it’s too late.” He raised his right hand so quickly the bald man did not even see it until it was almost at his throat, and then gone again before he could thrust it away.

Crow’s smile widened.

“Oh, really!” Henry protested.

Squeaky looked at Henry sternly. “No, Bleeder! Not this time. ’E’s only trying it on. ’E don’t mean it.” He turned to the bald man. “Do you, sir? Say you don’t, an’ I’ll get ’im out of ’ere, no trouble, no blood. Blood’s no good for business. People come ’ere for a little peace, a little escape. Blood puts ’em right off.”

“Don’t you come back, or I’ll get you next time!” The bald man said it grimly, but there was no conviction in his voice. He stepped back, leaving them plenty of room.

As one, Crow and Squeaky took Henry by both arms and swung him around. Then they marched him back up the stairs into the alley, right to the far end and out into the narrow square before letting him go.

The fog was growing thicker, and the cobbles were slick with ice. The lamps in the street ahead were almost invisible, little more than smudges against the darkness.

“That was preposterous!” Henry exclaimed, but even in this dim light it was clear to see that he was smiling. “What on earth would you have done if he’d not believed you?”

“Put me fingers in his eyes,” Squeaky said without hesitation. “But that could have ended real nasty.”

“We’d better keep moving,” Crow advised. “We can’t afford to have one of that lot catch up with us.”

“We want either Rosa or Sadie, whichever of them is alive,” Squeaky said. “I’m thinking they aren’t bought by just anyone with enough money. I’ll wager anything you like that they do the choosing, not the clients, although they might think they do. Shadwell doesn’t find their customers for them, they find them for him.”

“You’re right,” Crow agreed. “So how do we get to where they’ll find us?”

Squeaky gave him a disparaging look, which was largely wasted because the light was too dim for Crow to see it.

“Yeah? An’ which one of us is a woman like Sadie going to go for, then?” Squeaky asked sarcastically.

“Definitely Crow,” Henry replied without hesitation. “You and I are too old, and don’t look the part anyway.”

Crow’s jaw fell. He struggled for words but none came to him. For once even his smile failed him.

Henry patted him on the shoulder. “Your turn,” he said cheerfully. “I think we had better fortify ourselves with as good a meal as we can find first. It’s going to be a long night.”

A s it turned out it was two long nights and many wasted attempts before they found the right place—a small, very discreet club where an excellent champagne flowed and both men and women made their availability startlingly plain. There seemed to be endless doors to side rooms, curtains, laughter, farther doors beyond with locks. People wore all kinds of costumes. Some were colorful, even picturesque, borrowed from history or imagination. Others were merely obscene. In some cases it was easy to be deceived as to whether the wearer was male or female. Some appeared to have bosoms and yet also wore large and very suggestive codpieces.

Almost every distortion of appetite was catered to. Two or even three men together was illegal, but commonplace enough here. A near-naked hermaphrodite, clearly possessing rudimentary organs of both sexes, turned even Squeaky’s stomach.

A slim, pale boy offered himself for sexual asphyxiation, and Henry averted his eyes, his face white. Squeaky wondered how long it would be before someone lost control and the boy ended up dead.

“Would you fancy something to eat, gentlemen?” another young man asked. “What’s your pleasure, sirs? Oysters to spark the appetite a little? Champagne? Chocolate, perhaps? Soft, dark chocolate to lick off a woman’s body?” He giggled. “Or a man’s if you prefer? Got a nice young boy that nature was generous to …”

For once Henry was lost for a reply.

Crow shook his head.

“We’ll find our own!” Squeaky snapped, surprised to hear how hoarse his voice was. “Don’t worry—we’ll pay.”

The man swiveled on his heel and went off in a pettish temper.

Squeaky looked at Henry’s too-evident distress.

“Take that look off your face!” he hissed, digging his elbow sharply into Henry’s ribs. “Yer look like you just bit into a rotten egg.”

“I feel like it,” Henry said, gasping and coughing. “What in God’s name has happened to these people?”