Ivory (21 page)

Martin stepped
into Ebony’s path outside the gate to the house. “You say you care
about Ivory?” Martin had exclaimed as an announcement of his
presence, attempting to keep his voice even and calm despite the
fury that gripped his chest. “You say it pains you to know that
Ivory does what she does, but I don’t understand how you can let
her do it!”

“
Mr Roberts, I do not believe I asked for your understanding.”
If the ambush confrontation shook him he hid it well behind his
stone like mask.

“
No, you didn’t, but
I
need to understand.”

Ebony shook
his head vigorously. “I can not and will not discuss this with
you.” He unhooked the gate and swept his club-like staff through
the opening, feeling for obstacles, but with a stern grip and a
determined swipe that would have cracked Martin’s shins had he not
jumped backwards. “I have errands to run. Out of my way.”

Martin stepped back into the space the staff had swept
through, blocking the direction Ebony wanted to travel in and not
giving Ebony the space for a second sweep with his staff.
“Financially, how much money do you require? I have given Ivory
nearly,” he leaned closer to Ebony’s ear and hushed through gritted
teeth,
“three thousand pounds.”
The shame made him feel sick. “All to sit for me
and to keep her off the street, to cover the money she would have
made, to keep her at mine and keep her safe, but she is still going
back onto the street to earn money. For you. You don’t appear to
have the lifestyle that reflects that income.”

“
The money is for my work. I am just on my way to make some
purchases at this very moment.”

To Martin’s
surprise Ebony sidestepped gracefully out of the check position
Martin had placed him in, and Martin had had to run round him to
block his changed direction. “Your work? Your art?” He eyed Ebony
with disgust, forgetting in his rage that the gesture was lost on
him. “Tell me; are you able to see the beauty in your art when you
know the acts that have occurred to make its creation possible?”
Martin jerked back and forth in front of Ebony blocking each
direction that he seemed to be going to take. Ebony stopped dead in
his attempts to get round Martin and rested both hands atop his
timber staff.

“
It is not the money that is the issue here, Mr Roberts. It is
the continuation of Ivory’s work that upsets you.” His blind eyes
fixed on Martin’s face and twitched furtively, as if they were
fingers feeling brail on his face. “You have great feeling for her
and you want her to remain with you, but she continues to sell
herself. That is the issue.” His sympathy darkened with the tone of
his voice. “I warned you that she will always return to
me.”

“
Until your work is done? So, can I see some of this
work?”

“
You already have.”

Martin was
unnerved by Ebony’s skewed smirk. “The portrait of your wife? Even
my students can afford canvas and oils. But you work in sculpture
now don’t you? Do you work in marble? Granite? Is that where the
expense comes from?”

“
Many mediums.”

“
May I see an example of your work?” He snapped, insistent on
Ebony justifying his need for so much money.

“
The only example I have is my current creation and I never
allow anyone to see my work until it is finished.”

“
You part with all your work?” Martin’s brow steepled in a
furrow of surprise. “Then don’t your sales support the purchase of
new materials?”

“
I do not sell my work. It is free.” Martin’s face tensed
against his swollen frustration at another cryptic response. “As I
said before, it is not my work that is the issue here, nor is it
the loss of the money.” Ebony spoke, seemingly in response to
perceiving Martin’s dissatisfaction. “It is your disappointment
that she continues in her work and that she has betrayed your trust
and lust. I warned you she would return to me…” He peered over his
staff and into Martin’s face, his white eyes solidified into
marbles, his voice a low taunting growl, “and if you doubt this
then withdraw your funds.”

Ebony was
right. It was the way to find out if there was any incentive beyond
money for Ivory to be with him, but Martin also knew that she would
leave him if he stopped paying her.

Martin had decided he would follow Ebony to where he was
heading to purchase his art materials and ascertain if this was
true and see for himself what his money was used for. He followed
Ebony to Angel tube station and onto a train. At first he had
watched Ebony from the next carriage, but when Ebony changed from
the Northern Line at Moorgate for the Hammersmith & City Line
he had nearly lost him amongst the travellers crowding the
platforms, and had decided to travel with him after that. He had
dared himself to take up his position next to Ebony.

The train slowed as it pulled into the Aldgate East stop and
Ebony alighted. Hanging back a couple of metres, Martin followed
him from the train car onto the quiet platform, and from there out
of the station and onto the streets. He shadowed him, occasionally
walking abreast of him on the opposite side of the street as he
stalked through streets that Martin was unfamiliar with. Martin
knew that Whitechapel was Jack the Ripper territory and could see
large portions of grey bricked terraced houses tucked away in side
streets that appeared as they did back in that period. Other
buildings of that era were hidden behind gaudily colourful shop
frontages with signs branded with Chinese symbols, or Urdu, Hindi,
and Arabic scrawls. Ethnic shops, markets and restaurants of the
foreign cultures that dominated the area today. He was sure Brick
Lane with its curry houses wasn’t far away. He was conscious that
this was Tower Hamlets and an area associated with poverty and
danger, and with nearly every face being a different colour to his
he was aware of being an outsider.

They reached a rundown parade of shops in a nameless side
street. Two shops were sealed up with corrugated iron and muldering
plywood and the pavement before them was crammed with the wares of
neighbouring shops; exotically coloured fragrant fruits and
vegetables from a grocery on one side, and equally vibrant silks
and patterned fabrics from the cloth merchant and haberdasher on
the other. Between the two derelict shops and the overspill from
its neighbours was a shop with glossy purple painted brickwork and
woodwork painted in matt muted silver. The sign above the shop was
carved into the wood with the letters picked out from the purple
paintwork in silver; ‘Agatha’s Emporium Arcanum’. The windows
concealed their wares behind a layer of dirt from the road and
further browsing was discouraged by heavy mesh shutters padlocked
over them, making the very fact that this was a shop easy to miss,
especially between the shops that dominated the pavement with their
eye-catching displays. The panelled door was equally uninviting,
with only one panel of thick glass at head height.

Ebony strode into the shop without any tentative feel of
direction or location with his staff, and Martin slipped through
the door behind him before it could shut. The shop was crammed full
of display cabinets lined with crystals, candles, incense, books
and ornamental figurines, while the walls were adorned with exotic
carved wooden and stone panels, intricately embroidered throws and
shawls, and large chunks of driftwood and bundled branches. Four
large island tables displayed jars and bags of herbs and dried
goods. It appeared to be the usual paraphernalia of a new age or
occult shop, but the colours were muted and not the normal gaudy
display, while the figurines and books looked aged and antique
rather than glossy or mass produced. Just above head height, and in
some places directly at head height, were trinkets, charms, wind
chimes and various other hanging decorations he was unsure of. The
ceiling itself crawled with a foggy canopy of incense and the sweet
musty smell infused the air.

Ebony
approached the large service counter that ran the length of the
shop to the right. He walked with a determined pace that again
suggested he knew he was familiar with his location despite his
blindness. Martin headed to the back of the shop pretending to
browse, hoping not to attract the attentions of the dark and
stoutly rectangular female shop assistant hunched over the counter,
wreathed in swirls of incense that arose from burners and josticks
on the counter.

“
More?” The aging black woman howled incredulously, arching a
dark and silvery brow on her irregular potato shaped
head.

“
Is that a problem?”

“
Not for me.” She clucked. The woman’s voice, with its faint
Jamaican accent, trailed into a higher pitch. “These kinds of
purchases keep me going, honey.”

Ebony nodded, and she told him to go right through and
measure out how much he needed of whatever he wanted. Ebony walked
along the back of the shop and parted a curtain of purple plastic
beads that hung over a narrow doorway. He disappeared within and
Martin busied himself by looking at price tags with the physical
presence of the black woman’s stare upon him. He was staggered by
the expense of the items.

He spotted a book on tarot cards and remembered the card that
the Great Mephisto had given him. He surreptitiously rooted it out
of his pocket and plucked the leather bound book from the shelf. He
leafed back and forth through the tome to find the meaning of the
card, but was distracted from the text by Ebony re-emerging with a
brown paper bag rolled over at the top. The way the contents
strained at the paper and filled out the bag it appeared to be full
of a heavy powder or some other loose content.

“
How are things?” Ebony asked curtly as he placed his item on
the counter.

The
woman set about weighing it on an antique balance scale set on a
shelf on the wall behind the counter. “Things are good, Eban.” She
paused in placing her counter-weights and looked up at him with a
twinkle in her eye and a lop-sided grin that bunched up one of her
cheeks. “Still alive.”

Ebony
seemed to find some humour in what she said and smiled briefly.
Ebony pointed to a second archway, its black velvet curtain drawn
back from an alcove that contained a dark wooded chair at a table
that held a crystal ball. “Iris?”

The
woman stopped her routine in completing the sale. “If you are
asking after her health then she burns just as radiantly as ever.”
Her eyes and lips widened into smiles as if she was thinking of
something glorious. She turned to an antique crank operated
register and punched in the prices. “If you are asking to consult
her then I am afraid the answer is ‘no’. I don’t know what Iris
said to you, but Mercadian instructed me that she was clear in
saying that she has said all she can to you.” Her voice became
heavy with authority, and then softened again with a pitying
fraction of a smile. “I’m sorry.” The tills ping for the cash
drawer to be opened became a physical full stop to the
topic.

“
It is of no matter.” Yet Ebony’s voice betrayed a contrary
opinion. “You are happy to continue serving me?” he passed her a
thick roll of money.

She
rolled it around in her fingers as if considering his point. “I
thought about that.” She unrolled them and placed them in the
register. “But I figure that you will only find your supplies
elsewhere. It’s better that you fund the cause of light, and I get
to keep a close eye on you and what you are doing in the
dark.”

He
nodded curtly and smiled. “I wish you well, Agatha.”

Agatha
closed her eyes and nodded the same wish in return, but with a
pained expression on her face, a gesture Ebony would not be able to
share in. Ebony turned and left with his goods.

“
You!” Martin was startled by the woman’s sudden call across
the shop from behind her extended arm and her twisted pointing
finger. Her head was slightly bowed so she could study him over the
top of her horn-rimmed glasses. “Yeah you, boy. You find what
you’re looking for?”

“
Er, I’m just browsing,” Martin flustered shoving the book
back on the shelf, and reinforced his excuse by surveying the
nearest island display that offered an array of jars holding dried
herbs and plants.

The woman raised an eyebrow and her eyes narrowed into a
measuring expression and warning of ‘I take no crap.’ “Browsing,
huh? That’s gonna pay my bills. Most folk that come in here tend to
known what they’re coming in for. You sure I can’t help you find
what you want to buy?”

“
No…no I think I’m okay.” Martin headed over to the beaded
curtains.

“
That way is not for you.” She instructed with a firm voice
that reinforced the authority of her solid build.

He paused in the doorway holding the beads to one side.
“Through there?” It was a room the same size as the shop area he
was currently in, lined with shelves crammed full of objects. Much
more stocked than the front of the shop. Just beyond the beads he
noticed that the archway between the shop and the storage area had
a heavy door pushed open and flat against the wall, it was studded
with iron bolts and had several key holes. He was sure the goods
couldn’t get any more expensive, although he had seen the roll of
cash Ebony had handed over.

“
Yes. Private area.”

“
I’m sorry I thought it was part of the shop.” He let go of
the beads and they swished noisily amongst themselves and those
nearest the door frame clattered loudly on the metal
frame.