Dodger (38 page)

He was a wiry boy, but he held the man more or less fixed to the ground as if he had been nailed to it, and pummelled every bit of the man that could be pummelled. Even as the man struggled,
Dodger
pressed cold steel to his throat and whispered, ‘If you know anything about me, then you know that pressed to your neck is Sweeney Todd’s razor – wonderful smooth, so it is, and who knows what it could cut off?’ He allowed the prone man to at least lift his mouth and nose out of the muck for a moment, and added, ‘Upon my word, I was expecting rather more of an assassin than this. Come on, speak up!’ Dodger grabbed the stiletto and flung it into the darkness.

The man below him spat out mud and a piece of what might once have been part of a rat and tried to say something that Dodger couldn’t understand, so Dodger said, ‘Come on, what was that again?’

A voice – a female voice – said, ‘Good evening, Mister Dodger; if you look carefully, you will see that I am holding a pistol, quite a powerful one. You will not make a single move until my friend here stops throwing up so unpleasantly, whereupon I expect he will wish to do unto others that which hath just been done to him. In the meantime, you will stand where you are and I will pull the trigger if you move so much as an inch. Later I will kill your young lady friend . . . By the way, I can’t say I like that gentleman very much, not the best assistant I’ve ever had. Oh dear, oh dear, why is it that everybody assumes that the Outlander is a man?’ The owner of the voice stepped nearer and Dodger could now see both her and her pistol.

There was no doubt about it. The Outlander was attractive, even in this gloom, and Dodger could not pinpoint the accent. Not Chinese, certainly not European, though very fluent in English. He had Sol’s pistol strapped in his boot; that had been for use later, for the plan which was now of course in tatters, and so he said, ‘Excuse me, miss, but why do you want to kill Simplicity?’

‘Because I will then be paid quite a considerable sum of money, young man. Surely you know that? Incidentally, I have no particular quarrel with yourself, although Hans – once he can stand up straight – almost certainly would quite like to have a brief, very brief, conversation with you. We just have to wait for the poor man to recover.’

The girl – and the Outlander looked like a girl not much bigger than Simplicity and, he had to admit, slightly thinner – gave him a charming smile. ‘It won’t be long now, Mister Dodger. And what is it that you are staring at, apart of course from myself?’

Dodger, almost swallowing his tongue, said, ‘Well, miss, not staring, miss, just praying to the Lady.’ And indeed he was praying, but also watching the shadows shift. They lingered even here.

‘Ah yes, I have heard tell of her . . . the Madonna of the sewers, the goddess Cloacina, the lady of the rats, and I see so many of her congregation here with us this evening,’ the Outlander continued.

The shadows behind her quite subtly changed again. And hope, which had disappeared for some time, suddenly returned. Although Dodger made certain to keep it out of his face.

‘You are a fervent believer to turn to the darkness in supplication, but I am afraid it will take more than rats to save you now, however hard you stare into the darkness . . .’

‘Now!’ screamed Dodger, and the quite hefty lump of wood in Simplicity’s hands was already in flight, hitting the Outlander on the back of the head and knocking her straight to the ground. Dodger jumped and slid and snatched up the pistol, banging his head on the side of the sewer in his haste as the rats ran and squeaked in panic.

He gave Hans another swift boot to ensure he stayed on the
ground
a little longer and Simplicity, with great presence of mind, sat on the woman. Dodger thought, Thank goodness for all that heavy German sausage, then he shouted, ‘Why did you come back here? It’s
dangerous
!’

Simplicity gave Dodger a bewildered look and said, ‘You know, I looked at the ring that I found, and on it I saw it said in tiny writing:
To S, with love from Dodger
. So of course I had to come back, but I kept quiet, because you said we should keep quiet in the sewers. I told them I was going to wait until I saw you come out of the sewer, and I thought something was wrong. Well, you told me that the Outlander always had a good-looking lady with him, and I thought, well, a good-looking lady who went around with somebody like that assassin would be a very powerful woman. I wondered if you realized that; it would appear, my dearest Dodger, that I was right.’

In the echoes of that little speech, for just one bleary moment, Dodger thought he heard the voice of Grandad, with its cheerful, toothless sound, saying, ‘Told yuz! You is the best tosher I known. You got your tosheroon now. That young lady there – she’s your tosheroon, lad!’

There was nothing for it. Treading heavily on the Outlander, he grabbed Simplicity, gave her a hug and a kiss, one which regrettably couldn’t go the optimum distance because now, surely, there was so much to do.

Simplicity had hit the Outlander quite hard; there was certainly a pulse, but also a bit of blood here and there, and the assassin definitely wasn’t going to get up for a while. The man, however, was, but not with much enthusiasm, since a mouth full of mixed sewer water can slow down anybody. He was groaning, swaying and dribbling – dribbling green slime.

Dodger grabbed him and said, ‘Can you understand English?’ He couldn’t understand the answer, but Simplicity stepped forward, and after a brief interrogation said, ‘He’s from one of the Germanys, from Hamburg, and he sounds very scared.’

‘Good, tell him that if he is a good boy and does what we ask he might see his home country again. Don’t tell him that what he’s likely to see there could be the gallows, ’cos I wouldn’t want him to worry. Right now, of course, I need to be a friend to this poor man led astray by a wicked woman. So he will, I reckon, be very very helpful . . . Oh, and tell him to take his trousers off, quickly!’ They were foreign and pretty good, but as the man sat there, naked, Dodger tore the German trousers to shreds and used them to bind the recumbent Outlander and her employee.

Simplicity was wreathed in smiles, but a cloud passed over her face and she said, ‘What should we do now, Dodger?’ and he replied, ‘It’s like the plan. You know the place I told you about. We call it the Cauldron, ’cos that is what it is like when there is a real storm, but at least it means it’s a lot cleaner than most of the places down here. You remember all the lighter bricks? There’s food up there, and a bottle of water too. And people will come running down when they hear the gunshot.’ He gave her Solomon’s pistol and said, ‘Do you know how to fire one of these things if necessary?’

‘Well, I have seen men shooting, with my . . . husband, and I think I can.’

‘Right!’ said Dodger. ‘You just point the bit at the end at anyone you don’t like, and that generally works. If all goes well, I think I should be able to come and find you around about midnight. Don’t you worry now; the worst thing in these sewers right now is me, and I’m on your side. You will hear voices, but just lie low
and
keep very quiet, and you will know it’s me that’s coming to find you when you hear me whistle; just like we planned . . .’

She kissed him and said, ‘Do you know, Dodger, your first plan would have worked too.’ Very pointedly she put on her finger the ring she had ‘found’ on the tosh, then she left, following the slightly lighter bricks in the darkness.

Dodger worked fast now. He scurried at speed back down through the sewers to the place he most emphatically had stopped Charlie going into, and with care pulled out from hiding – and from the sheaves of lavender – all that remained of the unfortunate girl, yellow-haired and wearing exactly the same breeches and cap as Simplicity was wearing. He slid the wonderful ring on her cold finger – the gold ring with the eagles on the crest.

Now there was the worst bit. He drew out the Outlander’s pistol, took a few breaths, shot the corpse in the heart twice, because the Outlander as a matter of course would use two shots to make sure, and – horribly, and almost without looking – once in the side of the face where the rats had begun to . . . well, do what rats usually do to a nice, fresh corpse. He whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’ Then he took from another hidey hole amongst the junk in the sewer a bucket of pigs’ blood. He tipped it out, trying all the time to not exactly be there, trying to become a disembodied spirit watching somebody else doing all these things, because as often as he told himself that he had done nothing really bad, there would always be a little part of him that would argue.

And then he walked back along the tunnel, sat and sobbed and listened to the noise of splashing feet coming at speed down the sewer, led, interestingly, by Charlie, followed by a couple of policemen. They found Dodger curled up in tears, tears that right now came of their own accord.

‘Yes,’ said Dodger, crying. ‘She’s dead, she’s really dead . . . But I did my best, I really did.’

A hand landed on Dodger’s neck and Charlie said, ‘Dead?’

Looking at his boots, Dodger said, ‘Yes, Charlie, she was shot. There was nothing I could do. It was . . . the Outlander, a right proper assassin.’ He looked up, tears glistening in the lamplight. ‘What chance would the likes of me have against someone like that?’

Charlie looked angrily at Dodger and said, ‘Are you telling me the truth, Dodger?’

Now Dodger looked up with his head held high. ‘It all happened so quickly that it’s all a bit of a fog. But yes, I’d say that’s the truth of it all right.’

Charlie’s face was suddenly much closer to Dodger’s. ‘A fog, you say?’

‘Yes indeed, the kind of fog in which people see what they want to see.’ Was that just a hint of a grin in Charlie’s eye? Dodger had to hope so.

But the man said, ‘Surely there is a corpse?’

Dodger nodded sadly. ‘Yes, sir, I can take you to it right now; indeed I think I should.’

Charlie lowered his voice and said, ‘This corpse . . .?’

Dodger sighed and said, ‘A poor girl’s corpse . . . and I have the culprits and will bring them to justice with your help, Charlie, but Simplicity, I am afraid you will never see alive again.’

He said these words very carefully, eyes glued to Charlie, who said, ‘I cannot say I am pleased by what I hear, Mister Dodger, but here is a constable and we will follow your lead.’ He turned to Disraeli, who almost stepped back, and said, ‘Come along, Ben, as a pillar of Parliament, you should witness this.’ There was an edge
of
command in that suggestion and a few minutes later, they had reached, indeed, the sad corpse of ‘Simplicity’, lying in a pool of sewerage and blood.

‘Good lord,’ said Mister Disraeli, doing his best to appear shocked. ‘It would appear that Angela’s footman is really . . . Miss Simplicity.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, what was a girl doing down here dressed as a man?’ the constable said, because he
was
a policeman, even though right at this minute he looked like a constable who found himself in a position that needed a sergeant at least.

Charlie turned to him. ‘Miss Simplicity was a girl who knew her own mind, I believe. But I beg of you all, please, for the sake of Miss Coutts, let it never be known that the girl was dressed like this when she died.’

‘I should think not,’ Mister Disraeli pronounced. ‘The death of a young girl is appalling, but a young girl in breeches . . . whatever next?’ There was a hint of politician in this little speech; a whiff of wondering, What would the public think if they knew I was here, down here, mixed up in all this?

‘Perfect for a working girl,’ Dodger said. ‘You don’t know the half of it. I’ve seen girls working on the coal barges, and strapping big girls they were too. Nobody told them they shouldn’t, ’cos I remember seeing one that had a fist on her that many a man could wish for.’

Charlie turned back to the corpse. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we are all agreed that this lady, who is wearing breeches, is Miss Simplicity. But her death – what do you think, Constable?’

The policeman looked at Charlie, and then at Dodger, and said, ‘Well, sir, that’s a bullet wound and one more at least with no doubt about it. But who done it? That’s what I’d like to know.’

‘Ah well,’ said Dodger, ‘for the answer to that, I must beg you gentlemen to follow me over here. If you would be so good as to keep your lanterns bright, you will see trussed up a lady who I think you will find is the Outlander.’

Even Charlie looked surprised at this, saying, ‘Surely not!’

‘She told me she was,’ said Dodger, ‘and lying down there is “exhibit B”, her accomplice. Speaks German, that’s all I know, but I rather feel he will be very anxious to tell you everything, since I must tell you that to the best of my knowledge he had no part in the death of Simplicity, and as far as I am aware hasn’t committed any other crime in London. Apart from trying to murder me.’ Then he held up the pistol and said, ‘This was the weapon, gentlemen, and there wasn’t much I could do to stop her shooting Miss S . . . Miss . . .’

Dodger began to cry, and Charlie patted him on the shoulder and said, ‘Well, you couldn’t have stopped a pistol, and that’s the truth of it. But well done for catching the miscreants.’ He sniffed and went on, as an aside, out of the hearing of the constable, ‘You know, clearly you’ve told us the truth, but I have seen a corpse or two in my time – oh, haven’t I just – and this one appears to me to be possibly . . . not very fresh . . .?’

Dodger blinked and said, ‘Yes, sir, I think it’s the miasmic effusions, sir. After all, the sewers are full of death and decay, and that finds its way in, sir, believe me it does, most egregiously, so it does.’