The Flesh Market

by Richard Wright

  After helping load the cart he sealed the promise of that blank expression by slipping more coins into the porter's hand than had been promised, then watched him drag his load back up the path before going back inside. They were committed now. The coffin was away, but that was only the first of the problems they'd made for themselves. William was coming down the stairs, a hand to his shoulder. "Glad the women are out," he said.

  "If they'd been here, do you think we would have started on this in the first place?"

  William conceded the point. He glanced at Bill's room, in which the revenant lay writhing on the floor, still bound. "How do we get rid of it?"

  Bill clenched his jaw. The question had rolled over in his mind the entire time he had walked in search of M'Culloch. How were you supposed to destroy these things? Rumour had them as impossible to kill, which made a twisted sense given that they were dead already. A fire would be conspicuous, if it was even possible for them to build one hot enough for the purpose, and he had no idea how long it took a body to burn to nothing or where they might do so discreetly. They could use tools and cut it into tiny pieces, but that would be messy work. Maggie and Nelly would no doubt be home from the market long before they were finished, and though they had not seen Joseph all day and hoped that he had found work, he too could return at an unexpected moment. He didn't relish explaining the events of the afternoon, not to anyone. If they could have tied the thing securely enough to prevent it squirming, he would have nailed it back into the crate and let the waiting grave have it. William would not hear of it though. Trade enough had been lost through Donald's death without the lodging house becoming known as the haunt of revenants.

  It had taken longer than it should to recall Merry Andrew, and the night he had stayed on to drink with him at the Hart. His drunken queries had yielded little to sate his morbid curiosity about the resurrection men and their grim trade, but some of the darker hints came rushing back to him. There were men of science in the city, Andrew had told him, who would pay a premium for corpses still twitching. Bill had not understood at the time, for the Cadaver Riots were before his time in the city and revenants did not prey on his mind in the same manner they must for those who had seen them. When pressed for details Merry Andrew had clammed up, leaving only a lingering impression that he had been on the verge of a tremendously dangerous admission. Bill could guess now what it might have been.

  If he was wrong, then he risked the full weight of the law crashing down on him. Taking a deep breath, he considered again that he and William had been penalised by a higher power already. Having already suffered their punishment, there was no further reason not to complete the mortal sin they had embarked upon. They would sell the revenant. It was a public service. They couldn't destroy it themselves, and he had no other notion of how to safely be rid of it. Better to put it in the hands of somebody more qualified, and more discreet than the police would be, than risk it becoming free and attacking again.

  It all sounded very public spirited, and he could even pretend that he believed it, but at the back of his mind he heard the chink of coin against coin.

  "The plan hasn't changed, William. It's scared the daylights out of me, and torn off a chunk of you. We're selling the damned thing."

  "Who to?" William sounded tired and unsure, and Bill couldn't blame him. He looked grey.

  "Same people as want the corpses, so I'm told. Medical men. They want to cut these things up and find out what makes them go."

  William shrugged. "Fine by me. Who, though?"

  Merry Andrew had clammed up long before any talk of names and addresses. "I've no idea. Are you up for a walk, William? I think we should scope the lie of the land."

  #

  Rubbing his hands on his trousers, phantom sensations of clammy rot itching between his fingers from having hoisted the still twisting cadaver into the unused stable beside the house, Bill conceded that he was out of his depth. Exhausted and battered, the ache from his struggle with the revenant starting to properly sink into his muscles, he teased himself with the promise of the drink he was going to dispose of when the day finally ended. He had almost stopped off in a tavern while searching out M'Culloch, but panic had stayed his hand. It had been a sore temptation though, and he wished he had indulged it and taken the edge off his anxiety.

  Standing there on South Bridge, an icy breeze running the length of the street and making him shudder, he felt exposed. On the far side of the road, the first of the University buildings towered up, its pillars like something from an austere myth. He didn't understand how such a place worked, and so could not fathom how it might be infiltrated. The University was unknowable, and scared him even more than wrestling with the ravenous horror that had not too long before been a frail old soldier.

  Young men in smart attire, students he supposed, bustled past the building on both sides of the road, some emerging from within, others vanishing into its shadows. Nobody passing could be in doubt that the two of them did not belong. William's lethal stare, which he directed at anybody who even glanced at them, did not help matters. "We should go," William said, and his tone made clear that he had done more than his share of scoping.

  "Less haste, more speed."

  "When we show them the goods we'll soon see if they're interested."

  Bill pictured the scene, and almost smiled. "True enough."

  "It's right there. We just walk in."

  "You think that's it? Jesus, William, that's one building. This is just the edge of the University grounds. It goes back a way from here."

  "Fine. Your man, though. Important, isn't he?"

  "That he is." Not just an important medical man, but the most important. Professor Alexander Monro. Merry Andrew had said nothing to make him conclude for certain that this doctor might be a buyer, it was the only name Bill knew. Monro featured frequently in Edinburgh broadsides describing the execution of condemned criminals, for as a professor of anatomy he often inherited their bodies for subsequent dissection. While there were several anatomists practicing near South Bridge, Monro's professorial chair seemed to give him a position of privilege and power. Even a commoner like Bill was aware of the towering medical reputation that Edinburgh University maintained, and the professor seemed to be the first among the men of science who toiled there. A professor of anatomy must necessarily have an interest in acquiring dead bodies. Bill had one to sell that bettered any of the maggoty deviants slaughtered in the name of justice.

  It was, he conceded, a matchstick tower of increasingly flimsy guesswork, but he knew no other means to be rid of the thing. Faced with the fortress across the road, the challenge was more forbidding than before, and doubts wriggled in his belly.

  "Stay here," he told William. "We need directions, or we'll be wandering for hours."

  Crossing the road, examining the young men scurrying to and fro, he wondered how a medical student might be differentiated from any other. He paused on the first of the crisp stone steps leading into the building. One young man was descending toward him.

  "Your pardon," Bill called out, his best smile fixed to his face. The student looked up, tripped over his own feet as a look of comical fright flashed over his features, and would have tumbled down to the street had Bill not bounced up a couple of steps to steady him. "Are you all right there? My apologies, I only wanted to ask for some directions."

  The boy laughed, his hand on his chest, feeling his own heart race. "No harm done. Oh my, quite a fright." Bill stayed by him while he chortled and gasped, smiling as he watched him recover his wits. "You were looking for directions you say?"

  "I hear there's a Doctor Monro hereabouts. Was wondering if you'd be good enough to point me the right way."

  "Tertius?"

  "Bless you."

  "Ha, no, Tertius. Monro. He's the third one actually, to hold the chair. His father and grandfather did, too. All three of them Alexander Monros. Primus, Secundus, and Tertius."

  Was that what education did to you then? Tu
rned you into a gibbering idiot? Maintaining his smile under duress, half certain that he was somehow being mocked, Bill took a step back and shook his head. "Boyo, I have no idea what you're talking about."

  The student stopped, raising a hand. "My turn to apologise. I can tell you how to get to his lecture rooms, where you might have found him earlier, but his class finished half an hour ago and he'll be on his way home already."

  Bill was crestfallen. They should have nailed the hell-spawned thing back into the coffin, Maggie's trade be damned. It wasn't as though there had been a daily line at the door for beds before Old Donald died.

  "Unless you had an appointment? Perhaps he's waiting for you?"

  "I wasn't expected."

  "Was it important?"

  Bill shrugged. "You could say that. I thought a man with his interests might appreciate some goods I have to sell. I should be away."

  The student fingered his scarf, suddenly nervous. "His interests?"

  Bill would have left then, but for the increasing feeling that this was his last throw of the dice. Get rid of the revenant, and life simplified. Get stuck with it, and things would only complicate. "He's an anatomist, isn't he? Cuts up bodies, and the like?"

  "Oh! Supplies. I see." The student stepped closer, looking round in conspiratorial fashion. There were several people within earshot, but he seemed of the opinion that a secretive expression would preserve all mystery. "You're looking for the wrong man, my friend. Old Tertius doesn't really go in for the practical side these days. He's sitting on a hereditary chair, you see? Doesn't have to make a name for himself. You should think about some of the private tutors."

  "Really? And who would that be?"

  Another cautious glance around. "Knox. Doctor Robert Knox. 10 Surgeon's Square. He should be around now, too. His next lecture's at six, so no cause for him to have gone home."

  Bill gave a cautious smile, some of the weight lifting from his shoulders. "That's ... I appreciate it. And your Knox, he's in the market for supplies?"

  "Of course! He does at least two classes a day, and in the next week or two he'll be adding practical anatomy to his schedule. He'll be going through ... um ... stock? Yes, stock. He'll be cutting through them like Nelson through the French at Trafalgar."

  "10 Surgeon's Square? Down that road there?" He pointed at the steep street leading down towards the hospital.

  Another surreptitious look around. "The very one. I'm on the list for his class. James Cheevers. No spaces yet, unfortunately."

  "That's a shame."

  "It's just that, you know, if you were to mention that I was of help, that I pointed you in his direction ..."

  "Something might open up? Good teacher, is he?"

  "The best. He'll be famous, one day."

  "Well, if he takes our goods off our hands, I'll surely mention you."

  They shook hands, and it was heartfelt on both sides. Signalling for William to join him, Bill crossed the bridge with a new energy to finish the thing and have done.

  Chapter 10

  Burke & Hare

  Saturday, November 24th, 1827

  "Come back after dark," said the three men they had met at the anatomy school. At first William had taken them for employees, but had changed his mind. They were all young, and spoke with a refinement borne of breeding and money. They were privileged and, however they might try to conceal it, aloof. Students. Not worth pissing on.

  They had made no effort to conceal their interest when Bill admitted they might have supplies for Dr Knox. Their postures shifted, and in a heartbeat he had their full attention. When he suggested that the subject was livelier than what they might usually see their instant fears were pungent. William guessed from the furtive way they had glanced at the other buildings in the square that while bodies might be fair trade in such establishments, revenants were in another class altogether. Business as usual had transformed into something more dangerous by far. It was obvious that they had no authority to make a decision on the matter, and that was when he and Bill had been asked to return at a more secretive hour. They were polite about it, had even offered to arrange a porter to help move the thing, but Bill had given short shrift to that idea. William followed his thinking, just about. They didn't want to give their address. This was a dangerous game, and they had to be careful about it.

  They had returned to Tanner's Close and waited for dark. Now William took the lead, peering into the unlit gloom as Bill huffed along behind him. "Wish you had a porter now?" By dint of having two uninjured arms at his command, Bill had taken the burden of carrying the creature in a big burlap sack they had found at the back of the stable.

  "Quiet with you," Bill muttered, sweat on his brow despite the penetrating chill. "You're supposed to be on the watch." While he struggled to hoist the creature along dark streets and up steep wynds, avoiding the gaslit heights of South Bridge for the stygian maze beneath it, William was on guard for curious eyes.

  "Fog's too thick. Can't see nothing. Nobody seeing us either."

  Bill scowled, then stared back at the flagstones as they climbed from the Cowgate to Surgeon's Square. Old Donald weighed no more in death than he had in life, and at first Bill had managed without difficulty. That was many streets and a grim hill ago, and the strain was showing. It was just as well that the unholy thing in the sack barely twitched as they walked. William wondered what was going through its mind. Did it even have thoughts anymore? Did it remember being Donald? When he had chiselled apart the barrier between death and life, how much of the deceased had crawled through?

  Weighty thoughts, deeper than he had ever indulged before, but it felt important that he find an answer. Reaching out to open the gate to the school's small front garden with his good arm, he turned his mind to what price the revenant might fetch. He was going to have to split it with Bill, so doubted he'd make back his full four pounds, even though he intended to take the larger share. Old Donald had been Maggie's lodger after all, and it was William who had suffered the greater injuries trying to recoup her loss. Eager to get the thing done, he started up the three stone steps to the front door.

  "Hold on with you," Bill gasped. "You think they want something like this through the front door?"

  "Where then?"

  "Got to be a tradesman's entrance somewhere round back. Place like this, they'll get supplies all the time."

  William grunted. Bill was probably right. Leading the way along the neat path bordering the house, the fog and darkness still more impenetrable away from the diffuse halos of the few lamps hung about the square, he found another door. Beside it, set in the floor, was a large wooden trap door. Cellars.

  Bill dropped the sack to the ground with a grateful sigh, putting his hands to the base of his spine while he arched his back. The sack twitched, a low moan issuing from within. William gave it a kick, not knowing whether the thing inside could feel it or not, but taking a last slice of revenge before they were rid of the thing.

  "That'll do," Bill said. "Break it now and they might not want it. I don't want to have to haul the thing all the way back." He knocked the door, a discrete tapping. "Wish they'd given us a time. Don't imagine them sitting around on the other side of this, counting the hours until we decide to pitch up."

  They waited, hunched in the icy cold, stamping their feet for extra warmth. Nobody came, even after Bill had given the door a second, more boisterous beating. "Come on. We'll try round front, and bring them back here. Donald's not going anywhere."

  Together, they traced their way back to the front entrance. Bill skipped up the steps. There was a bell on a rope, but he instead chose to knock again. This time they heard movement inside, and the door opened. It was the tallest of the three they had met earlier.

  "You came," he said, and his relief was evident.

  "A man of my word, so I am," said Bill.

  "And you brought it?"

  "Left it out back. We weren't sure where you wanted it."

  The man's eyes widened w
ith alarm. "It's unattended?"

  "Trussed up tight, by the cellars. Don't worry lad, we've had too much trouble from the thing to leave it free."

  "Good. Yes, that's good. Go back round. I'll open up, and meet you there."

  As the door shut, Bill smiled. "You might get your four pounds yet."

  "We'll see."

  The tradesman's entrance was open when they returned. Their host stood at the threshold, staring with obvious trepidation at the twitching sack on the floor.

  "It's tied and gagged in there, don't fear," Bill said.

  "Can you bring it inside? When the Doctor gets here, he'll want to see what he's paying for."

  William had hoped they might just be given their money then, but Bill seemed resigned to it being a more protracted business and heaved the sack back over his shoulder with a groan. They followed the man along a corridor, to a large hall arrayed with seats. William stared, impressed despite himself. "This where you do your learning then?"

  The man smiled. "In part. When the Doctor is lecturing it fills to bursting."

  William could hardly imagine the patience it would take to just sit there, listening to one man talk. "Takes all sorts," he said.

  On the other side of the hall was a corridor similar to the one they had just left, and they were taken into one of the rooms there. An endlessly scratched table stood in the centre of the room, its daily purpose all too evident from the stains upon it. The room was thick with an unusual scent, and William felt his eyes begin to water. Bill coughed. "What unholiness is that," he said, dumping the sack on the table.

  The man ran a hand through his short brown hair. "Oh, the fumes. Yes, I suppose it's striking the first time. You must understand, gentlemen. In here we learn the secrets of the human body, and to do so we must take subjects apart. The risk of infection is severe, particularly where the subject is not the freshest. We guard against poisons on the air with a fumigating mixture. Black oxide of manganese. Sulphuric acid. Salt. Water. For safety, you understand?"