by James McGee
Sawney recalled more than one occasion when, after a night’s successful retrieval, Sal’s excitement had manifested itself in a way that had left both of them bathed in sweat and hotter than a farrier’s furnace. When Sal got excited, she got inventive; and Sawney had to admit that an inventive Sal was almost as enjoyable as cash in hand. She had stamina, too; there had been times when Sawney had found himself hard pressed to keep up with her.
Sawney accepted that Sal went with other men. In fact, he found her independent streak a relief after some of his other liaisons. Sal needed sex like some people needed alcohol. She thrived on it. She was a whore; it was her nature. Sal would laugh and say that she needed the exercise. Besides, she said, it helped keep her supple, and she knew that Sawney liked her supple. Supple like an eel.
But Sawney drew the line at police officers. Sal had told him she’d been joking when she’d hinted that she fancied the Runner, but for a second there he hadn’t been so sure. There had been a light in her eye that suggested she might have been half serious. Sawney’s threat, on the other hand, had been real. He’d rather she entertained Maggett than a bloody Runner. Having seen the way Maggett looked at her sometimes when he thought no one was watching, Sawney wondered if the two of them hadn’t been at it behind his back anyway. He wouldn’t have put it past them.
They’d met a year or so back, when Sawney had picked her up in Covent Garden one night. He’d just sold a brace of cadavers to an anatomist over on Webb Street, south of the river, and was feeling flush and looking for company; right place at the right time, as far as he was concerned. Sal had been on the game for a while by then, working out of a three-storey brothel on Henrietta Street. The place had catered for clients who liked them young, and Sal’s looks, smooth skin and firm body had meant she’d rarely been without company, although she wasn’t as young as she led her customers to believe. Even now, Sawney wasn’t sure of Sal’s true age. He wondered whether she knew it herself. Twenty or thereabouts, he reckoned, though she had an old head on her. She told him she’d lost track of the number of times she’d been passed off as a sweet virgin looking to be deflowered by a kind gentleman. It was amazing the rewards that could be enjoyed by concealing a tiny balloon of sheep’s gut filled with pig’s blood in the palm of the hand and puncturing it with the sharp edge of a ring at just the right moment.
In reality, she’d lost her virginity at the age of thirteen, to one of her father’s drinking pals, a labouring man over in Shoreditch. Her father’s mate had told her not to tell anyone, that it would be their special secret. So Sal had never told a soul, until she told Sawney. She went on to reveal how she’d slit her abuser’s throat with her father’s razor before emptying his pockets and heading for the bright lights. Sawney wasn’t entirely convinced that she’d been telling the truth; you couldn’t always be sure with Sal. She had a temper on her, no doubting that. He’d witnessed it often enough, usually at the expense of some luckless moll who’d made a play for one of Sal’s regulars.
The first time she’d gone with Sawney she’d asked him about the set of teeth he’d been folding into a handkerchief as he got dressed. So beguiling was her expression that Sawney told her.
After their third time together, she asked if he’d take her with him on the gang’s next job.
“I could be your lookout,” she’d told him. “No one’ll suspect a girl.” Then she had grinned and taken him in her mouth. Sawney, breathing heavily, had decided it might not be a bad idea.
Convincing the others had been the challenge. Unsurprisingly, the initial reaction of Maggett and the Ragg boys had been somewhat less than positive, but the more they went at it, the more the idea seemed to grow, because no one would suspect a girl. A female loitering on her own was more likely to be suspected of touting for custom than acting as a sentinel for a crew of resurrection men. Right from the start her looks had proved a positive bonus. Like the time she’d been surprised by a night watchman outside St Sepulchre’s burying ground. While a quick-thinking Sal entertained the watchman up against the front wall of the graveyard, Sawney and his boys were able to haul three stiffs over the back wall. Everyone had profited from that night’s efforts, including the watchman, who’d been so overwhelmed that it was a good five minutes after resuming his patrol that he remembered he’d left his lantern on top of the wall. That same evening, Sal’s inventiveness had taken Sawney to places he’d only visited in fevered dreams.
Since then, they had never looked back. Sal had proved her worth. In any case, she was Sawney’s woman and Sawney was top dog and his word was law. That was all anyone needed to know.
Sawney finished his counting. The others would be along shortly to divide the spoils and plan their next sortie. With the anatomy schools well into the stride of the new term, the demand for bodies was bound to increase. Sawney felt a warm tingle of satisfaction at the thought and treated himself to a sip of porter to celebrate his good fortune and the promise of profits to come.
“You are Rufus Sawney.” It was a statement, not a question.
Sawney started in his seat. He had not heard anyone approach. He turned.
The figure behind his right shoulder was standing straight and eerily still. One hand grasped a walking cane, the other hung by his side. The face was colourless, the skin drawn so tightly over the cheekbones and jaw, it appeared almost translucent in texture. And yet it was not the outline of the face that caught Sawney’s attention but the colour of the man’s eyes. In contrast to the pale flesh that encased them, they were the deepest set, darkest eyes Sawney had ever seen. So dark it was difficult to determine where the pupils ended and the irises began. Their raptor-like gaze was made even more pronounced by a triangle of hair that was combed back from the high forehead like a sharp, pointed beak.
It occurred to Sawney that the stranger must have been seated in the adjacent booth, concealed behind the dividing wall. How long he might have been there, Sawney didn’t know. He wasn’t sure why, but he found that thought, rather like the alluring quality of the stranger’s voice, vaguely unsettling. He took a quick look round for reinforcements, but Hanratty was nowhere to be seen.
Sawney found his voice. “Who’s askin’?”
“My name is Dodd.”
Sawney didn’t like being blindsided, especially in what he considered to be the heart of his personal domain. What was that stupid sod, Hanratty, doing, letting a stranger get so close without so much as a by your leave?
“You are Sawney?”
For a moment, Sawney was tempted to deny it, but if the stranger had been in the next booth he’d have overheard his conversation with Hanratty and would therefore have been well aware of his identity before initiating the enquiry.
“What’s it to you?” Sawney asked truculently.
“I wish to hire your services.”
“Is that right?” Sawney’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And what would that be for?”
“Procurement.”
Sawney blinked.
“That is your forte, is it not?”
“My what?”
“Your area of expertise.”
“Nah,” Sawney said quickly, shaking his head. “Sorry to disappoint you, squire. You’ve got the wrong man. Not sure I know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“Really?” Dodd looked genuinely surprised. “I had it on very good authority that you were the man to ask for.” Without waiting for an invitation, and ignoring Sawney’s glare at his temerity, the newcomer lowered himself on to the opposite bench and rested the handle of the cane against his knee.
“That so?” Sawney’s eyes narrowed warily. “An’ who might that ’ave been then?”
“Thomas Butler.”
Sawney tried to keep his face neutral.
He knew he hadn’t succeeded from the half smile that played along the lips of the man seated opposite, who continued: “A gentleman who is currently employed as head porter at the dissecting rooms at St Thomas’s Hospital.” The smile faded. �
�But then, you knew that; after all, Butler is your middleman, is he not?”
Sawney stiffened. It was as if the dark eyes were boring into his soul. Over on the bench by the hearth the two whores had begun to stir, perking the interest of the Smithfield boys on the next table who were nudging one another at the prospect of some early-morning exercise. The women’s faces were pink from the heat of the burning logs.
Dodd’s voice broke into Sawney’s thoughts.
“I see my words have unnerved you. Forgive me. Though, were I in your shoes, I suspect I would be just as circumspect. Indeed, your friend Butler suspected this might be your response. It was his suggestion that I furnish you with a snippet of information only the two of you would know, to prove that I have his trust. Can I assume such a gesture would vouchsafe my character?”
Sawney said nothing. He picked up his mug of porter. It kept his hands occupied and, more importantly, it provided him with several vital seconds in which to think.
The newcomer did not seem at all intimidated either by Sawney or the nature of the surroundings. In fact, it was Sawney who was experiencing disquiet. Somehow, this Dodd, as he called himself, seemed to have gained the upper hand. As if to emphasize the subtle shift in authority, the man leant close. Sawney felt himself trapped in the dark gaze. “He told me to tell you that he would have paid another five guineas for the Chinaman.”
Sawney took a sip of porter and slowly lowered his mug to the table.
“He also suggested, should you be in further doubt, that I address you as …” Dodd paused and his voice dropped “… Private Sawney.”
Sawney’s fingers tightened around the handle of his mug. The silence stretched for what seemed like minutes. A sudden crackle of laughter from the two whores eventually broke the tension.
“Nobody calls me that,” Sawney breathed softly. “Not now, not any more.”
Dodd held his gaze for several seconds before sitting back and nodding in brisk acquiescence. “Quite so, quite so. A man’s history is his own affair. It does not behove a person to dwell on the past. Let us say no more about it.” He placed his hands palm down on the table. “So, now that the tiresome introductions are over, do I pass muster?”
Sawney’s pulse began to slow. He frowned; not at the question, nor the lingering tone of condescension, but at the interesting use of words. Muster? Not a term you generally heard away from the parade ground. Was Dodd making fun of him? He stared at the man across the table, but if there was another, deeper message in those dark eyes it remained resolutely out of view. Sawney thought he saw a slight movement at the corner of Dodd’s thin mouth, the ghost of another smile perhaps, but it did not linger. He looked down at the man’s hands. The fingers were long and tapering, matching their owner’s stature. Moving his eyes along, Sawney couldn’t help noticing that the man’s wrists, though slender, were tight with sinew.
“All right,” Sawney conceded, “so you’ve proved it was Butler who sent you. What’s it you want from me?”
Dodd hesitated, as if formulating his reply. Finally he said, “I wish you to procure a certain item for me.”
There was an expectant pause. “You mean a thing?” Sawney said.
“A thing?” Dodd frowned at the term, then nodded in understanding. “Ah, yes, of course, that’s what you call them, isn’t it? How original. I suppose that’s one way of distancing yourselves from the nature of the merchandise. Yes, I do indeed wish you to procure a thing for me.”
Perhaps it had been the note of sarcasm, Sawney could not put his finger on it, but Dodd’s knowing manner was beginning to grate.
“Retrievin’ don’t run cheap.”
“I did not suppose otherwise.” The corner of Dodd’s mouth twitched. “Which is why I’m prepared to offer generous remuneration.”
Sawney frowned. “Come again?”
“You will be well paid.”
Too bleedin’ right, Sawney thought.
“And just so we understand one another,” Dodd continued, “you may address me as Doctor …” The words, again softly spoken, sounded almost like a warning. “I should also inform you that, subject to your performing this initial endeavour to my satisfaction, it is probable I will have further work for you.”
Sawney’s ears pricked up. “What sort of work?”
“I will require you to provide me with several … specimens … things.”
Sawney did not respond. He could tell from the doctor’s tone that there was more to come.
“I have but three stipulations …” Dodd paused, and then said, “They must be fresh, female, and young.”
“Young?” Sawney asked.
“Not mature. Ideally less than twenty-five years of age.”
Sawney considered the brief. He had no qualms about fulfilling the order. The doctor wasn’t asking for anything out of the ordinary. Over the months he’d been in business, Sawney had had far stranger requests. But it didn’t do to let the customer know that.
“Stealin’ to order’ll cost you,” Sawney said.
Dodd’s expression did not alter. “It would also be on the understanding that our agreement is mutually exclusive.”
“Eh?”
“You are to work solely for me.”
Sawney raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Sorry, squire – er, Doctor. That ain’t possible. I got other commitments.”
“It would be for a limited period.”
“Don’t make no difference,” Sawney said. “I got my regular customers.”
Dodd nodded gravely as if sympathizing with Sawney’s dilemma. “Loyalty to one’s clientele is an admirable quality, and I commend you on it. But perhaps I could persuade you to reconsider …?”
He reached into his pocket. When he opened his hand and laid the cross on the table between them, Sawney stared at it.
The doctor spread his arms in a gesture of apology. “I regret that I am unable to access my main accounts at the moment. However, I trust this will suffice, at least for the time being.” Dodd laid his hands open, as though presenting an offering. “It is not without sentimental value to me. However, I’m sure a man of your talents should be able to realize its monetary worth in some form or another. Perhaps you’d allow me to offer it as a token of – how shall I put it? – my good faith.”
Sawney looked up sharply, searching for a glimmer of humour in Dodd’s face, but despite the obvious play on words, none was apparent.
The cross wasn’t very big, no more than three or four inches in length, but the silver hallmark was clearly visible. Sawney picked it up and ran the grubby ball of his thumb over the tiny indentations. Despite its size, it was probably worth four or five retrievals. Not a bad return for a few days’ work. And just because he might agree to work on an exclusive basis didn’t mean it had to be so. There were bound to be opportunities to earn a little extra on the side; stood to reason.
It was then that another thought leapt out at him: the prospect of killing two birds with one stone. He placed the cross back on the table and fixed the doctor with a speculative gaze. “Suppose I was to agree, how many … things … would you be wantin’?”
Dodd shrugged. “I am not certain at this time. Two or three, possibly more. It would depend on the quality.”
Sawney sucked in his cheeks as if he was giving the proposition some serious consideration. Finally, after what he thought might be an appropriate interval, he nodded.
“All right, Doctor. Don’t see why not. As it ’appens, you could be in luck. I’ve got a couple of items in stock at the moment that’ll be right up your alley, er … given your particular requirements, that is. Already wrapped, too.”
A flicker of interest flared in the doctor’s eyes. “Really? And what might that be?”
Sawney told him.
“I see, and how fresh are they?”
“Day and a half,” Sawney said. He wasn’t sure if that statement was entirely accurate, but it was close enough. He knew their ages were about right. One out of two
was worth a try.
“You can deliver them tonight?”
“Signed and sealed,” Sawney said. “You just tell me the time an’ place.”
Once more Dodd reached inside his coat. This time his hand emerged clutching a small notepad and a stub of pencil. “Do you know your letters?”
“You askin’ if I can read and write? We ain’t all ’eathens down ’ere, Doctor.”
“I am delighted and relieved to hear it.” Dodd tore a page out of the notebook and began to scribble. “Here is the address. Can you read my hand?”
Sawney peered down at the information. He frowned.
“What is it?” Dodd asked, as he returned the pencil and notebook to his pocket. His expression was still.
Sawney shook his head. “Thought I knew all the schools. Didn’t know there was one there, that’s all.” He folded up the page and tucked it into the pocket of his waistcoat. “Right then.” He reached for the cross.
Sawney never saw the doctor’s left hand move. The next thing he knew it was clamped round his wrist. Dodd’s eyes were as hard as stone. When he spoke, his voice was couched low and as brittle as broken glass.
“Be aware of one thing, Sawney …” The doctor’s gaze moved to the silver cross. “Do not think of disappearing with your down-payment. If you run, I will find you. Be assured of that. I expect you to stand by our agreement. I expect my instructions to be carried out to the letter and with the utmost discretion. There is to be no deviation. Is that clear?”
Sawney tried to pull his arm away, but the strength in the doctor’s grip was astonishing.
“Is that understood?” Dodd repeated.
Sawney winced as the doctor’s grip tightened. “Jesus, I said we’d do it, so we’ll do it. And what do you take us for? You think we’re going to stroll up and down the Strand postin’ bleedin’ bills?”
“Your word, Sawney. Do I have your word?”
Sawney found himself transfixed. There weren’t many things that unnerved him, but the coldness in Dodd’s eyes made his blood run cold. He swallowed and nodded.
