34

Friday, June 18, cont.

Herman was pleased to see his landlord come to call that morning with a couple of hot sausages covered in mustard, a small loaf of bread, and a quarter wheel of cheese. “You are a man of your word as well, Herr Keys,” Herman said.

“Nah. I just like getting paid. It’s easy enough to snag you something to eat. Anything else?”

“A half-dozen candles would be nice. The rats avoid the light.”

“Still going on about them rats? I thought you’d all be getting on well by now. Fair enough. Six candles tomorrow, with food. How’s that?”

“Would later today be possible? The short candle you left me is used up.” Herman gritted his teeth, not wanting to beg. “I wouldn’t want to face the whole night in the dark. Please. And a box of matches.” Malone wasn’t overfond of rats himself and relented. “Right you are, then. Candles and matches. Give me an hour or two, but I’ll be back today before noon.” He cleared his throat and added, “Five more pounds.”

“Done,” Herman said, and he paid, handing the money over without thinking about it. “Thank you,” he put in, but Keys was already gone.

Josh Fisher, the youngest of Peg Leg’s acknowledged progeny, noted the door Malone had knocked on. The door was solid, and the window beside it was covered by a filthy muslin curtain. Did he take this to his da, or should he try to get a look at whoever was inside? He’d get the back of Billy’s hand for wasting his time if it wasn’t the man they were looking for. Best try to sneak a peek.

Josh waited for the Irishman to leave and followed him for a halfmile, just to make sure he wasn’t coming right back, then he made his way to the corner he’d hid behind previously. No change. He summoned up his courage and knocked at the door. No answer. He knocked again, and called out, “It’s all right. Keys sent me.”

“Open Sesame” could not have been more effective. The door opened, and a powerful arm seized his and snatched him inside. The man staring at him was different than the one in the papers. No mustache, bald . . . Then he saw the square chin and looked up into gray eyes. Josh swallowed hard. He’d planned on some made-up conversation outside, then he would go, but he had no idea what to do now that he was inside the room, alone with the man.

“Yes? Do you have them?” Herman asked.

“Uh, no. Not yet. What kind did you want again?”

Herman smelled a rat, and not the ones frolicking under his bed. “What kinds are there?” he asked, noting his visitor’s eyes darting about. A liar, he thought.

“Is white all right?” Josh said, licking his lips. The man had a broad chest and the thick arms of a laborer. Picking pockets and sliding through open windows hadn’t given the thief a comparable physique. He was overmatched and knew it.

Both started when there was another knock at the door.

Herman sidled past his nervous guest to stand between him and the door. “Who’s there?” he asked, his fists clenched.

“Who would it be? Are you daft? Let me in,” Keys whispered.

Josh waited until Herman turned his back to open the door, then sprang forward, an open straight razor in his right hand. Herman sensed the attack and ducked. Keys walked into the blade, and his nose spouted blood.

“What the hell!” he screamed, as Herman, underneath his attacker’s arms, sent Josh flying with an elbow. Keys kicked the door shut and pulled out his own razor.

The cramped room gave no space for fancy maneuvers. Josh, with the bed frame pressing against the back of his knees, was unsteady. He waved the razor in the air between them. “Back away! My da knows I’m here. We’re with Inspector Ethington. If I go missing, they’ll know who to look for. One more step, and I’ll shout out for all I’m worth, I swear I will.”

Malone laughed. “And who’ll care? Someone screams in this courtyard at least once a week. You know no one will come. So talk. What’s this about an inspector?”

Josh saw no way out. He pointed at Herman with his razor. “The inspector says he wants to kill the queen. If he does, the bobbies will tear Whitechapel apart. We’ll all lose business.”

The Irishman whistled low and looked to Herman. “That so? You here to kill Her Majesty?”

Herman kept his fists up but nodded. “Ja. That’s so.”

“Well, boyo, why didn’t you say so? After what the Brits ’ave done to my people, a little payback would be a welcome sight.” He looked at the young man waving his razor at him and pressed a rag against his bleeding nose. “Just one problem. What to do about little Josh here?” He winked at the young Fisher. “You think your da will miss having another mouth to feed, especially one as worthless as yours?”

Keys removed the rag and scowled at the blood that soaked it, then spat at the young man’s feet. “You’d best tell us what you knows, if you wants to live. What else did the inspector say? What does he know about my new friend here?”

Josh’s razor hand began to shake and his mouth was so dry he could barely speak. Keys was known as a man not to cross, and Josh could see in his eyes he’d killed before. Josh swallowed to get enough spit in his mouth to talk.

“Said this man Ott was a German, an electrician, and he was here to kill the queen with some sort of strange rifle. I didn’t understand that part. Da said for us to hunt for him, to keep the peace down here. I’d heard you’d come into some money, so I followed you here to see if you was being paid to hide him.”

Malone leered at him. “Clever of this inspector to get your da to do his dirty work. Anything else?”

“No, I swear! Let me go and I’ll tell no one. Not even me da.” Malone shook his head. “He’d smell you were hiding something. Pity you’re not as clever as your father. If we let you go, the police’d be here in less’n an hour looking for Mister Ott here. And me.” He turned to Herman. “What do ye say? Shall we let the rabbit go, or kill it?” Seeing his moment, Josh barreled into Malone and knocked him back. He was leaping for the door when Herman’s solid right fist slammed into the boy’s face, and he collapsed.

Keys straightened up and looked down at Josh, who lay face down on the floor. “Nicely done.” He smiled. “Well, that certainly makes things easier.” Before Herman could react, Malone slit the young man’s throat like a farmer slaughters a hog. “Might want to stand back a bit,” he advised, “to keep it off your clothes. It’ll stop directly.”

Before Malone could say anything else, however, the sudden return of Herman’s breakfast sausage joined the spreading pool of blood on the floor.

Keys snorted. “Some killer you are! Will I have to hold your hand when you’ve got Her Majesty in your sights? Come on, man! This’s what you came to do. If you can’t stand the smell of blood, you’d best go back home and leave me your fancy toy. I’ll find a use for it.”

“I’ll be far enough away I won’t see the blood,” Herman managed to say between gasps, “and I’ll be running away before she even falls. You don’t know what I’m fighting for, or you wouldn’t doubt me.” He took a deep breath and looked down at the dead young man. “What do we do with him?”

The Irishman rubbed his chin. “Can’t leave him ’ere, that’s for certain. Wait ’til night, then you won’t ’ave to carry him far. Nothing to tie him to us. Dump him a few alleys away and be done with it.”

“Me? You killed him.”

“Aye, and with no help from you. Well,” Keys allowed, “you did lay him out. That was handy.”

“But why me?”

“’Cause I ain’t sticking around. If Peg Leg Fisher’s looking for you, he’ll find you, ‘specially now his son’s missing. You could hide from the bobbies down ’ere forever, but Master Fisher has friends everywhere. I’m feeling a sudden fondness for the Old Country. Stay ’ere as long as you want. I’ll not be coming back for some time.”

He turned to go, but before he could exit, he stopped, reached into his pocket, and handed Herman a small parcel. “Your candles and matches. Light one for little Josh ’ere . . . to keep away the rats. Good hunting, boyo. Don’t miss!” With that, he was gone.

Herman dropped onto the one chair in the room, as far from the dead man and the pool of blood as space allowed. He considered his situation. He looked over at the mess and consoled himself with one piece of Malone’s wisdom. He’s right about one thing. It does stop, eventually.

Herman grabbed the moth-eaten blanket and mopped up the blood as best he could, then he wrapped the dead boy in it. He sighed and lit two candles, placing one on each side of the corpse. He cursed Grüber and the day he’d met him. He thought of little Immanuel. Would he still be fit to hold him when all this was done? He looked out the window, but the shadows had barely moved. He dared not leave the room in daylight.

He took out the pieces of the rifle, carefully cleaning and oiling every part that moved and tightening every part that shouldn’t. Not that the weapon needed maintenance, but it was something to do. Giving his hands a purpose calmed him and took him back to the mechanical world, where everything made sense. He hated this device, this Liberator. He snorted. Until now, it had only enslaved him to the will and purpose of others.

Sometime later, Herman looked out and saw it was finally getting darker. The two candles had concealed the approach of night. He counted the toll of a nearby church bell. Eight. Still too early. To his surprise, his belly grumbled. Maybe I needed this, he thought. Maybe Malone was right about that, too. I need to get comfortable with death if I am to bring it to another.

He ripped off a stretch of blanket and tied it like a scarf around the dead boy’s neck to hide the wound. Soon it was nine and fully dark. Herman raised the corpse to its feet and was grateful the boy was so slender. He draped the right arm over his neck, opened the door, and together they staggered down the street like two friendly drunks.

Herman was surprised how easy it was to walk with a dead man beside him without attracting attention. Drunks were commonplace in Whitechapel, and most people didn’t give them a glance. After fifteen minutes of shambling away from the room, he found a narrow passageway and collapsed against a wall with his pale, silent companion. He propped the dead boy up, patted his cheek, and mumbled—loud enough to be overheard, “I’ll go get us another drink, my friend. You wait here.” Herman had to remember to stagger now that he’d been relieved of the corpse, while the body faithfully did as it was told, and waited right there.