“Can I ask you something? And I don’t mean this as a judgement.”
She had rolled her eyes as she checked her make-up in a compact mirror. “That means there’s a judgement coming.”
The judgement had already arrived – for Martin anyway. “No, really it’s just a question.” She nodded permission to continue, scattering raindrops from her hair and spotting the mirror. “Why do you do what you do?”
The drumming rain filled her thinking space and she hesitated before the mirror, as if she was telepathically asking the question of her reflection. “Because.”
“Because?”
She shoved her mirror deep into her pocket, cutting the introspective connection and flashed a grin. “Well, it’s obvious I didn’t sit around as a kid with my crayons and Barbie thinking I want to grow up to be a prostitute.” She stared at the windscreen, watching the world distort into shifting ripples through the rain. “A one night stand gave me money once.” Her face had become blank, her tone flat. “Turned out he was married. Maybe making it a business deal eased his conscience, I don’t know, but it came at a time when I needed money. It’s just something I fell into. It’s easy and the money’s good.”
“And you have stayed with it?”
“Does the need for money ever go away?”
Martin could only nod at her cause and effect justification, and accept its simplicity, but Candy didn’t do it every day like Ivory did, just enough to set her up for the week. Questions squirmed like fat grubs in his head. Just how much money did Ivory and Ebony need? And what did they use it for?
“Have you got a boyfriend?” She nodded. “So you love him?”
“Jeez – you training up to be one of them counsellors at the outreach project?”
“Sorry, if that’s intrusive.”
She shrugged and tilted an open hand in his direction. “It’s just that I’m used to going along with whatever I think will turn the punter on.”
“I just wanted to understand if… if you can love someone and do what you do.”
“Course I can. I’m no freak you know. Business is business. Sex can be sex just like if you have a one night stand. There’s no love there. If a punter is good at what he is doing it’s gonna feel good for me physically, and I can enjoy what I am doing but I don’t care for them or anything. If I cared for them I would be telling them to go find a girlfriend or go back to their girlfriend or wife and make things work out. It’s different with Brendan, my boyfriend, because I love him.”
It hadn’t answered his question. But the question of what Ivory felt could only be answered by Ivory. A car arrived in the street that Candy recognised as a regular customer and she had thanked him for the shelter, checked her make-up again and braved the torrent for a dash to the car.
Martin withdrew within himself. He had driven from Arven Road to a road that neighboured Ivory’s. There had been a sense of inevitability attached to this next move, as if he had been moving within a world of déjà vu, but he had to see if his prediction of Ivory’s next stop was right. He had walked to the point in this street that was roughly level with Ivory and Ebony’s house in the next street over and entered the nearest alley that divided the terraced houses, he picked his way through the wild weeds and dumped rubbish until he had found a turning that lead into Ivory’s road. He found an alley that was opposite the path that led down the side of Ivory’s house to the main door. There was plenty of cover from bushy weeds breaking from the ground and falling foliage from a willow tree lamenting over a battered garden fence, and he was able to linger there without being spotted by the surrounding houses. He had been right to wait. Ivory had returned to the house from Arven Road, looked about her cautiously and then headed to her front door. She reached into the letterbox with a well-practiced snaking arm and when it withdrew he saw a glint of gold that was her door key. She used it and disappeared into the house.
She had returned to Ebony with her earnings. The money Martin had given her to make up for lost earnings through staying at his house, and her actual earnings for the day. It confirmed his prediction and realised his fears. A while later she reappeared, gave the street the same wary respect she had given it upon her arrival and headed back the way she had come. She would be back at Martin’s before his expected return, as she undoubtedly had been doing everyday. It explained why Ivory left no appearance of activity in Martin’s house, and why it seemed that she didn’t eat anything at his place during the day. However, these answers gave little comfort.
Ebony appeared at the side of the house, his staff brandished before him like a totem. His sudden appearance broke Martin from his resigned stupor and Martin stalked through the scrub and rubble of the alley in a determined course to intercept Ebony.
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 i
n 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 lopsided 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.
“If you’re referring to the fact that the man you were following went through there, then you are correct. But it’s open to him, private to you.” She sniffed, her head still cocked in a bow and her eyes fixed upon him. “Don’t mean any rudeness. Just how it is.” She followed the statement with a broad disarming smile.
Martin looked around him. “Okay. I think I am done looking around.”
The woman shrugged. “Suit yourself. Can’t tempt you with nuthin?”
Ivory Page 15
