Anne Perry's Christmas Vigil (26 page)

“They want the poppy, or cocaine.” Henry summed it up. “To give them the dreams they can't create for themselves. Then what are they going to do when they wake up, and all that is left is ashes?”

“Take some more,” Lucien said huskily. “I know that. I didn't do what he wanted, which may be why Niccolo might be dead. To teach me the cost of disobedience.”

“So Niccolo was dispensable?” Henry asked with a touch of bitterness.

Lucien looked angry, and his expression was answer enough.

Squeaky stood up, his knees creaking. He was cold and sore and so tired he could have slept almost anywhere, except this filthy sty.

“Right. Then we've got to find Niccolo, or Rosa, whichever of them is still alive,” he said to all of them. He pointed at Lucien. “You're staying here. You're too sick to be any use, even if we trusted you—which we don't. And someone's got to look after you, which had better be Bessie. You do whatever she says.”

He lowered his voice to a grim whisper. “And if you hurt her, or let anyone else hurt her, believe me, you'd rather fall into Shadow Man's hands than mine. He has some use for you, so he probably won't kill you. You're nothing to me, so I'll kill you in a heartbeat—except I won't. I'll do it slow. Got that?”

Lucien smiled, a little crookedly, but there was
warmth to it, no self-pity. “I believe you,” he answered. “If Shadwell gets you, which I expect he will, I suppose you expect me to get her back to some kind of world above this one?”

Squeaky was startled. It was the last answer he had looked for. “Yes,” he agreed. “That's just what we expect.”

Lucien's very quiet laugh ended in a cough. “Poor Bessie. God help her.”

Bessie stiffened.

“Never mind God!” Squeaky snapped. “You're all we've got—so you'll do it!”

They bought a good supply of food: mostly bread, cheese, and a little sausage. Henry found enough firewood to keep the stove going, barely, for a couple of days. Crow rebandaged Lucien's wound, then Henry, Squeaky, and Crow left the room quietly and set out on the quest to find Shadwell.

They descended farther into the world of pleasures.

“It's pointless,” Squeaky warned. “Even if we find this Shadwell, he can't help Lucien, and he isn't going to try.”

He was walking beside Henry as they came to the bottom of a flight of steps and turned left
along a passageway with little alleys off to either side. The sound of laughter drifted from the left, along with the smells of wine, smoke, and human sweat, and something else indefinably sickly.

They both stopped.

“This Shadwell isn't keeping Lucien here against his will, you know,” Squeaky said to Henry. “Finding him isn't going to do any good.”

Henry ignored him, walking again with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. It was bitterly cold down here and they were eager to reach a place crowded with people.

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?”

“How the hell do I know? Look, I never dealt in this kind of thing!” He was indignant now. Did Henry really think this was commonplace to him? “What kind of a …”

Henry shook his head. “The question was rhetorical.”

“What?” Squeaky was hurt.

“A question that does not expect an answer,” Henry explained. “I don't really imagine that you know, any more than I do, what creates this out of people who must once have been … normal.”

“Oh.” Squeaky was relieved. A heavy, stifling weight had been lifted from him.

He was straightening his jacket and beginning to look around him when he saw her. She was standing almost ten feet away from them, leaning slightly backward against one of the pillars that held up the ceiling. It was not her laughter that had caught his attention, or any movement of
the man facing her, it was the extraordinary grace of her body. Her face was lifted to look at the man, her profile delicate, her long white throat smoothly curved. Her hair was jet-black and her lips artificially red. She was the only person in the noisy, hysterical room who was absolutely motionless. And yet her very stillness was more alive than any action of the rest of them. It was Sadie. It had to be. Which meant Rosa was dead—or Niccolo.

“Crow!” he hissed urgently. “Crow!”

Henry looked at him, then turned to Crow, touching him on the arm.

Crow swung around, then froze. His eyes widened.

“Go on,” Henry urged. “Now.”

“But she's …” Crow protested.

“We've got no time to waste,” Henry told him. “Do it now, or I'll have to.”

Crow hesitated.

Squeaky moved behind him and gave him a hard shove in the middle of his back.

Crow shot forward with a yelp and stopped a yard short of Sadie.

She looked at him, smiling with amusement. “That's original—even inventive.” She looked him up and down, quite openly appraising him.

The young man she had been speaking to snatched Crow's arm hot-temperedly and said something almost unintelligible to Squeaky, who was watching.

Henry was clearly anxious. He started to intervene.

“No!” Squeaky said sharply. “Leave him!”

Crow gave the young man a dazzling smile, all white teeth and wide-open eyes. Then he kicked him very hard in one shin. The young man howled with anger and surprise. Crow seized Sadie and marched her away to a moderately empty space hard up against the wall.