Kerry and Owens stood in the darkness, under the awning of a shuttered shop, watching the entrance to Jericho. The rain made a roaring sound, hammering on the wooden awning, churning the fifty yards of open space between them and the opening in Jericho’s walls into a sticky sea of mud. The big, bearded sentry that Kerry had seen earlier was still in his place by the entrance, huddled under a small lean-to, wrapped in a heavy cloak.
Kerry shivered and shifted her feet on a plank that was just wide and thick enough to keep their feet out of the muck. “What are we doing here?”
Owens was wearing a long coat that he had taken from one of his men. It was buttoned to the neck, to cover his white shirt. He had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and he ignored the rainwater that leaked through the awning and ran in a thin stream off his head. “You said you wanted a look at Jericho. Here we are.”
“I’ve already seen this much.”
“And what did you see?”
Kerry shrugged. “Some cove selling shawls. Another standing guard. A single entrance in a high wall, and no way of seeing inside.”
“So what does that tell you?”
“I don’t know. That your man knows how to build walls? What does it tell you?”
“It tells me old Absalom has something to hide.” He nodded at the sodden sentry on the entryway. “And the fact yon hackum is still sat there in the rain tells me he either pays his crew well, or he’s put the fear of God in ’em.”
The deluge seemed to slacken for a moment, but then the sky made a sound like a heavy cart being dragged along a cobbled street, and the rain redoubled in strength. It pounded the soaked ground, bouncing up and soaking Kerry’s hose to the knee. The sodden wool began to sag down her calves, and she bent to pull them up. “Blast your top lights, Lew. I know there’s a real reason we’ve been standing here for the last hour in this grubshite. Why don’t you spill it?”
Owens grinned. “Aren’t you wondering where I sent the lads?”
“Not really.”
“We’ve been trying to find what other ways he has to get in and out of the place, but no luck. So this weather’s perfect for having a proper snitch about. Hugger-mugger-like. Even if old Absalom’s got men on his ramparts, they won’t be even half as sharp as normal. And they won’t see anything through this bloody rain.”
“Are you sure? I can’t see that new gorilla of yours moving about unnoticed, even if it was pitch black outside.”
“Who, Jonty?” Owens tutted. “That’s not very nice of you, Kerry. Jonts is a good lad. He’s had a rough time of it. He was a slave on an apple farm outside of Roxbury, until he got freed a few months back. His owner had a horse that dropped dead of overwork, but rather than buy a new one, the bastard put Jonty in the harness instead. Treated him just like he did the nag. Flogged him. Kept him in a stable. Even put a nosebag on him.”
Kerry imagined Jonty curled up on a pile of muddy straw, shivering in the cold.
“Anyway, you’re right about him being useless for night work,” Owens went on. “He’s got his hands full with young Mister Lispenard, who you met earlier.”
“The gent with the floppy hair? You know him?”
“I wouldn’t say I know him. But I know who he is. We’re standing on his land.”
Kerry blinked. “I thought he was English.”
“Aye, well, he was born here, but he lives in London now.”
“He doesn’t seem too bothered about people squatting on his land.”
Owens chuckled. “Oh, he cares. He’s spent all the inheritance his father left him, and he needs to sell up, if he’s to keep living in style. He wants to give our people the hoof just like all the other landowners.”
“What’s he doing down here, then? Spying?”
“Not at all, geneth. He just likes a bit of dark meat every now and then. Can’t help himself.”
Kerry wriggled her toes in her wet shoes. “How do you know all this?”
“He keeps some rooms down on Liberty Street. Only comes over once a year, but keeps them staffed with a brace of mop squeezers. One of whom does a little work for me on the side.”
“I wondered why you pulled your punch on him earlier.”
Owens’ grin flashed. “I had to put on a bit of a show.”
“Jonty too?”
“He knows how to make some convincing enough sounds, make the crowd think he gave the dirty mutton-monger a pasting. He’ll have had Mister Lispenard back to Liberty Street by now.”
“So much for laying down the law.”
“You don’t kill the goose what lays the golden eggs, geneth.”
There was a tearing sound above them, and water gushed over Owens’ head.
“Dumb glutton!” He stepped sharply to the side, and his heel slipped off the narrow plank. He lost his balance and fell back against the doorway of the shop, soaking his breeches.
Kerry giggled. “So much for hugger-mugger.”
“Your brown arse.” Owens struggled to his feet. A sheepish grin made him look suddenly like the lanky, scrawny teenager that Kerry had played with when she was a child.
“Come on.” She pulled him onto the plank and shuffled sideways so that he could fit under the shelter beside her. She put her arm around his waist and pulled him close. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She smelled the coconut oil that he used as an emollient on his scalp.
They stood for a moment, watching the entrance to Jericho, listening to the rain.
“What’s got you so charged here, geneth?” Owens’ words thrummed against her arm.
Her chest tightened. She saw the girl on her side, the gray ropes of her entrails. “I saw the lass die, Lew.”
“That’s not it. Folk die all the time in this city. Black folk more than most. That’s not enough to get you dressed up in those duds, trigging it from school, and standing about in this weather. You should have been off to your libben and a nice warm fire long ago. So what is it?”
His arm was a warm, heavy blanket on her shoulders, his hand on her upper arm.
“I think she was with child.” Her voice was small against the dull roar of the rain.
“What makes you say so?”
“Just something about the way she held herself.”
“You think him that killed her knew?”
“I don’t know. Could be. But either way, it was two lives taken that night, not one.”
The rain was a wall of sound around them, hissing on the rooftops and gouging trenches in the muddy street.
“I miss him too.” Owens’ voice was a low rumble.
She had to hold herself, her nose tingling, the breath high in her throat, her body like a string wound tight. She thought about her son, her darling Daniel, his high forehead and his tiny feet, and the smell of him, warm milk and crushed cookies. His skin like silk against her lips.
Owens’ arm tightened, hugging her against him, and she let the tears slide down her face, fat and silent in the dark.
“So what will you do?” Owens asked.
She waited for the cramp in her throat to ease. “I don’t know. What can I do?”
He nodded across the lake of mud at the sentry shivering in the rain. “Like you say, you could get in there. Find out for sure who the girl was, and why she was hushed.”
“How? You’ve said yourself you can’t find a way in.”
“Not me. But I reckon you could walk right through that gate, if you had the right story. If you happened by one of Absalom’s sermons and pretended you’re a curtezan looking to escape your splitter, he’d welcome you, like as not.”
“You said he only wanted white girls.”
“You could say you’re Spanish, or Italian. That’s white enough, wouldn’t you say? I could get you set up. You already talk flash, and you’ve plenty of experience putting yourself out of twig. Shouldn’t take much for you to learn how to act the mab.”
She twisted out of his embrace and stared at him.
He shrugged. “Just a thought.”