Printer's Devil (9780316167826) (14 page)

“How do you know?”

I told him the story of the Cockburn poster.

“Lots of ’em about,” said Nick, sounding grimly grown-up all of a sudden. “Murderers, I mean. My Pa knows plenty of them,
and I wouldn’t wager against his having a few murders to his own name down the years.”

There was silence while I contemplated this. I could easily imagine the powerful bosun murdering someone … crushing the life
out of them, or strangling them with a length of rope…. The images
which came to mind were so vivid my knees began to knock together.

“Has he still got the camel?” I asked.

“Far as I know”

“Well, I think we should shift it,” I said.

“Shift it where?”

“Anywhere. You know that tramp I said was in the stable this morning? He must have been spying for Coben and Jiggs. There’s
a little stool there and a peep hole where somebody’s been watching this house pretty often, I reckon. They know that camel’s
here, Nick, and they’ll try and get it, I know they will.”

“Well, that’s why Pa left Ma Muggerage on guard,” said Nick, in a tone of voice that suggested I was being stupid not to have
realized that myself. “Pa’s getting scared. I heard them talking this afternoon. He won’t have the place left empty. It was
that note put the wind up him, the one about the eyes.”

“Well, there
are
eyes,” I said. “Somebody’s going to kill somebody to get that camel.”

Suddenly there was the clatter of a footstep, and a bright lamp swung deliberately around the corner and exposed us as we
stood in the passage. For the first time I heard Nick swear, in the language he’d picked up from sailors. We couldn’t see
who was carrying the light because its sudden glare dazzled us — but whoever it was evidently wasn’t interested in us, because
after inspecting us briefly, they moved on and we were left in shadow again.

“This isn’t very safe, is it?” I said.

“Come back in the tunnel a bit further,” Nick whispered.

Now the darkness was virtually complete. Nick was nothing but a low voice and a hint of warm breath on my face. He spoke quickly.

“What are we going to do then? How do we get the camel down, and where do we take it? Anyone watching the place will see us
making off with it, and murder
us
.”

“I thought
you’d
have a suggestion,” I said. “You’re the thief, after all.” I could tell he was losing interest in this adventure. His father’s
violence had seen to that.

“Look,” he said, “I know what my Pa’s like. This isn’t the first time people have been out to get him and it won’t be the
last. I was minding my own business till you suddenly popped up, and within five minutes of meeting you I was getting a beating.
Now it looks like you want to get me in even
more
trouble.”

But I was too excited to think about what he was saying. “Nick, I can’t just leave them to it,” I said. “I can’t really explain
it, but — I feel sure all of this
means
something.”

Nick said nothing. He didn’t understand, and I
didn’t blame him. But my mind was racing. I’d remembered something he’d told me earlier.

“You said today,” I whispered, “you often write your Pa false notes, pretending they’re from other people.”

“Sometimes,” he said, a bit sullenly.

“Well! You can make it look like someone else took the camel, by writing him a note from someone else!”

“Mog,” he said, “you don’t get it, do you? This isn’t a game. The sort of people my Pa’s mixed up with don’t play games. They
harbor grudges while they’re at sea, and then when they come ashore, people they don’t like just — disappear. They settle
scores, Mog, years later if need be. People who cross my Pa might think they’re safe the moment he sails out of the river
mouth, and so they might be till he comes home again. But one day they go missing and end up being fished out of the river,
all green, half-eaten up by worms. If they’re ever found at all.”

He’d finally made me listen to him. We stood in the dark, saying nothing. I was terrified: even now my heart was pounding;
but something inside me was still desperate to work out what on earth was going on.

“You don’t need to get mixed up in this, then,” I said eventually. “Just go back and get the camel from upstairs, and I’ll
hide it. You needn’t get in trouble.
Just let me take it, Nick. I’ll do it myself. I’ll write the note. I can’t just give up now.”

I heard him draw in his breath, and there was another long silence before he said anything.

“You know something?” he finally said. “I think you might be the stubbornest boy I’ve ever met.”

It was the dead of night when Nick went camel-hunting.

I stood watch in the pitch-dark yard while he moved like a cat over the walls and low roofs of Lion’s Mane Court, seeking
a way in to burgle his own house. A quick listen at the scullery door was enough to assure us that Mrs. Muggerage was still
snoring: all Nick had to do was find an upstairs window he could creep in through. As the formidable woman snored purposefully
downstairs, dreaming no doubt of winning a famous victory in the All-England Cleaver-Throwing Championships and being congratulated
by a whole navy of amorous bosuns, Nick’s light feet moved on the floorboards above her head, and his fingers felt softly
for the neck of the brass camel in the darkness.

I revolved, slowly, trying to keep an eye on all angles at once. I was paying particular attention to the corner of the stable,
where I knew it was only too easy for an observer to lurk, completely unseen,
behind the flimsy wall. Were murderer’s eyes even now fixed firmly on me? Was someone waiting to pounce? Was there a —

A hand closed over my mouth. I almost died of shock.

Nick’s voice hissed into my ear. “What kind of lookout
are
you? I could’ve been
anybody
.” He’d been so stealthy I hadn’t realized he’d emerged from the house.

“Have you got it?” I asked.

“Sh! Keep your voice down! Yes, here it is — and I brought you a cloth to wrap it in.”

With trembling hands I took the shapeless bundle he passed me, feeling the awkward contours of the camel inside the cloth.

“The note,” I whispered.

“I’ll leave it under the scullery door,” Nick said. “Just get lost before Pa comes back.”

“Or anybody else,” I said. I squinted at his face in the dark, trying to make out his expression, thrilled that he’d decided
to give me so much help after all.

“Well?” he said, after a pause. “What you waiting for?”

“Thank you, Nick,” I said.

“Don’t thank me! Just buzz off!”

Clutching the bundle close to my chest, I tiptoed the length of the stable wall and scuttled through the
passageway into the inn yard. After casting a careful eye in either direction, I began to run through the dark, whispering
streets towards Clerkenwell.

There was no sound at Cramplock’s as I let myself in, except for the hum of the gas lamps in the square outside, and the familiar
snuffle of Lash greeting me as I slipped through the heavy door. Once I was inside, his muzzle filled my palm, and I went
to fetch a pitcher of milk from the cupboard to give him something to drink. I’d been gone a long time, and he was whimpering.

“Hang on,” I said, “it’s coming, it’s coming!”

Then, before going upstairs to bed, I turned up the lamp on the table, the better to inspect the bundle in which the camel
was wrapped. Lash’s nose appeared at the table edge, sniffing inquisitively at the old cloth as I unwrapped it.

I held the camel in my hands. It really was most unimpressive: tarnished and scaly, about the size of a hen. Why on Earth
was half the criminal population of London running around after this?

Lash was jumping up and scrabbling with his front paws at my shirt in his curiosity, and I held the camel out for him to sniff.
“What’s up, boy?” I asked him. “It’s a camel. Seen a camel before? Mmm? It’s a funny old thing, isn’t it?”

He seemed to be trying to gnaw its head off.

“Stop it,” I said impatiently, pulling it from him, “get down, you silly dog.”

He’d left its head smeared with his saliva. I dried it off with the old cloth I’d wrapped it in, and then folded the cloth
back over it.

Lash was still looking up, alert and expectant, his eyes following every movement of my hands. I bent down and hugged his
shaggy head close.

“Well, what a day,” I said to him. “Quite a lot’s happened, hasn’t it, boy?”

As I held his head tight against mine, he was trying to stick his tongue out of the side of his mouth to lick my face. I took
hold of his muzzle and looked at him square on.

“Did you like Nick? You did, didn’t you? Do you think he’ll be our — friend?”

I hesitated a little before I uttered the word; and when I did, it sounded strange on my lips. Since I’d left the orphanage,
I’d learned to look after myself, really. There hadn’t been many people my own age whom I trusted enough to call “friends.”
It was me and Lash — and it had been, for almost as long as I could remember. But something about Nick had made me feel different:
I had the unfamiliar sense that I’d discovered somebody I really wanted to spend time with. And it was more than this, too:
as I’d tried to say to Nick, this adventure we were now both involved in
somehow felt important, for a reason I couldn’t begin to explain.

I thought about the note we’d forged for the bosun; and I couldn’t help grinning in satisfaction as I imagined him finding
it, and barging up the stairs to find his precious camel missing.

D
EAR

D
IDNT WATCH CLOSE ENOHG DID YOU

I was rather proud of our imitation of the villains’ dreadful spelling. What made me smile especially broadly was the thought
of Mrs. Muggerage trying to explain to a furious bosun how the thief had managed to remove the treasure from under her nose
while she’d been on guard downstairs. What kicks might she sustain to her vast rump? I pictured him chasing her around Lion’s
Mane Court, making the buildings shake, like a couple of trumpeting elephants.

I got up to climb the stairs to bed, picking up the lamp and the camel from the table. I expected Lash to scamper up after
me; but when I was nearly at the top of the stairs I realized he was still sitting at the bottom.

“Come on,” I said, impatiently.

But he just stayed there, his head on one side, and gave another small pathetic whimper.

“Come on!” I said again, more encouragingly this time. But he wouldn’t budge. Something was wrong. For some reason he was
refusing to come upstairs. Had he hurt himself? Had something frightened him while I was out?

I suddenly felt uneasy. Pushing open the door of the upstairs room, I stood for a moment peering inside. Was there something
up here that was frightening him? I lifted the lamp to light up the room in front of me, but everything seemed to be in its
place, just as I’d left it this morning. Lash was just being silly. Yawning, I put the camel down on the bed and pulled my
grubby clothes off, briefly splashing some chilly water onto my face and forearms from the bowl on the low bedside table.
I realized I was utterly exhausted. Shivering slightly, shaking my hands to dry them off, I reached for my nightshirt; and
before sinking into bed I picked up the camel again and opened the cupboard to put it away.

Suddenly I leapt back in alarm. There in the cupboard, something was moving. Crawling about among the old ink bottles in the
bottom, making them chink against one another unmusically. Was it a rat?

I couldn’t see the inside of the cupboard properly and I reached over for the lamp. My shadow loomed huge on the wall beside
me. Now I could see right to the back of the cupboard, and when I saw what had
been making the noise I thought at first I was hallucinating and had to rub my eyes.

Curled up on the shelf, at my eye level, was a snake.

Its scales shone like polished metal in the lamplight. It lifted its tiny head, as though it were suspended from an invisible
cord fixed to the ceiling. In a flash, a tongue appeared and disappeared, like another snake, blacker and more slender, trapped
inside the body of this one.