Mordew

by Alex Pheby

  It was too distant to be clear, but it was certainly a man, and he was certainly calling for something. It wasn’t Gam. Padge? It could have been Padge. The room the door opened into was scarcely more than a corridor, distinguished from one only by a low wooden bench and a huge mirror on one wall. When Nathan reached a door on the other side the thought of Padge stopped him, and he pressed his ear against the wood and listened.

  Now the voice had stopped. Not knowing whether Padge was on the other side, Nathan got down on a knee and peered in through the keyhole. He could see nothing on the other side.

  Now the voice came again, perhaps more distant this time. Nathan turned the door handle and walked into a dark room, larger than all the others, that echoed his footsteps on flagstones and that rippled with barely any light reflected from a pool of water.

  As he stood, blinking, the darkness became granular, and in this grain, details started to emerge – a darker patch here, a lighter one there, until, as his eyes widened, the place took on form.

  It was hexagonal in shape, each side with a doorway flanked by caryatids. In the middle of the room was a pool, and in the middle of that a figure rose – a devil, goat-headed, goat-legged, but with the body and arms of a man. It was a statue, lit from below by a light so faint and red that it might have been the reflection of blood, but then, beside it, Nathan saw something else, lit by the same light.

  It was a man, thrown into shadow, only parts of his face visible – the underside of his chin, the hollowness of his cheeks, the sockets of his eyes. He was standing marmoreal in his solidity, not moving even as much as a man needs to move to breathe. Nathan let his eyes move from the face down, across the strangely ornamented clothes, beribboned in grey and trimmed with doily down to the silver buckles on his shoes and the high block heels.

  He was standing on the surface of the water without causing waves in it.

  Then he spoke. ‘Boy!’ he said in the same voice Nathan had heard. His face was still but now wore an expression like that of a blind man who senses someone is there despite not having the eyes to see them: anxious and imploring.

  Nathan stepped away; his breath caught in his throat.

  ‘I know you are there, boy.’

  Nathan’s back hit the door; it had closed behind him without him noticing.

  ‘What did they name you, boy?’

  When Nathan didn’t speak, the man came towards him, walking heel and toe through the air above the water, then above the ground. When he groped sightlessly for Nathan, he cried out his name. ‘Nathan!’

  The figure stopped and smiled. ‘My name. Good.’

  He reached for Nathan’s cheek, and Nathan wanted to move back, but now he was pressed against solid wood. The man’s fingers stretched out, stiff, mouth open as if in anticipation of a kiss, but the fingertips passed through Nathan’s skin and his face fell. The man pulled back his hand and regarded it, turning it in the air, as if it was disappointing.

  The man drifted on a breeze, away, and though he tried to claw his way back, he kept going. ‘Use it, Nathan!’ he cried. ‘Use it. Follow your desires.’ This he repeated ever more quietly and anxiously until he drifted out of earshot.

  As soon as he was gone Nathan ran, back the way he had come, tripping and stumbling, and though he wanted to leave the clubhouse entirely, he was soon lost.

  XXII

  How long it was until he heard Gam, he couldn’t be sure – nor whether he slept or woke in that time: the place was so dim and close that it felt like sleep even when he was awake. The mood was like that of a nightmare, febrile and thick. Gam’s coarse shouting cut through it in a moment and left Nathan rising to his feet and trotting to the door. Gam’s voice was loud and clear – detailing the moral failings of some poor girl to the tune of a brisk reel – and when Nathan opened the door it was Gam who was surprised to see him, not the other way around. ‘What are you doing? You didn’t sleep in here, did you? The place is teeming with ghosts; you know that? Right?’

  Nathan stepped back and looked away.

  ‘What did you see? One of the girls? Running starkers down the corridor, like a fox in front of a dog? Or one of the old boys, with his crop in his hand, chasing after her.’

  ‘I didn’t see either of them. He was old and thin, and he looked like a statue.’

  ‘Sure you weren’t dreaming? It’s just dead sportsmen and their dead sport down here. Usually.’

  ‘No, none of that. He floated over the water and tried to stroke my cheek.’

  ‘Well, that sounds more like it. Dirty bunch of so-and-sos they are, and sometimes they forget who’s a ghost and who’s flesh and blood. I keep trying to get an ank-machine in here, me paying, but Prissy and Joes say it’s cruel.’

  ‘He knew me, Gam.’

  Gam frowned. ‘Now you’re just being silly. That lot are long dead; they don’t know anyone. They roam around down here after nightfall, up to their unfinished business. That’s why we don’t come down here at night – no one likes getting spooked off a ghost, do they?’

  Nathan nodded, but that was more for Gam’s benefit than anything else.

  ‘You need somewhere to stay, Natty, you come and see me first. I’ll sort you out, and there won’t be no disembodied spectres lurking about neither.’

  ‘I don’t want to owe Padge any more favours.’

  Gam looked like he was about to object, but he nodded after a little while. ‘I suppose that’s fair. But Padge isn’t everything. I’ve still got my own contacts. Anyway, you look like you could do with getting your teeth around a chop or two, remind you of what it is to be alive.’ Gam raised his hands and in each there was a thick slab of meat, dripping and pink against the black filth of his fingers. ‘Come on, these aren’t going to fry themselves, are they? And I can’t send a boy to work on an empty stomach.’

  ‘We got another job? Because I need it.’

  ‘Right. How’s your old man?’

  ‘He seemed a little better, but he needs more.’

  ‘Well, let’s see if we can’t get you a regular supply coming in. We’ll talk over dinner.’

  ‘I haven’t had breakfast.’

  Gam looked at him.

  ‘What are you talking about? Sun sets in an hour. Anyway, first we’ve got to go shopping for Prissy’s and Joes’ share.’

  XXIII

  The sewer gave out in the Entrepôt, at the back of the warehouse, and Gam indicated where they should stand. All around were buildings higher than Nathan could ever remember seeing, made of black bricks and chimneys, with slits for windows. There were wooden cranes on the roofs lifting crates up from courtyards. Everywhere smelled of smoke, or, when the wind blew, burning oil, and the quick rhythmic chug of engines beat in the air.

  They stood by a pair of closed wooden gates topped with spikes, sheltered from view by sacks stacked on top of each other, six feet high.

  Soon, a delivery of empty boxes was made. The warehouseman paid the drayman at the gate before sending for muscle to bring the boxes inside.

  Once the drayman and the warehouseman had both gone, the boxes were briefly left unattended. Gam ran over, gesturing for Nathan to follow, then he did two things – firstly he jemmied the side panel of one of the boxes until it came a little loose, but without removing it, and then he daubed a dot of red wax from his pocket on the loose side, to mark it. When Gam was done, he silently handed the tools to Nathan and gestured that he should do the same, which he did, after first swapping the jemmy to his good hand.

  When they heard the muscle opening the gate, they darted back into the shadows behind the sacks. The muscle took the boxes inside, dragging pallets of them twenty at a time, and slammed the gates shut behind them.

  Nathan looked blankly at Gam. ‘What was the point of that?’ Nathan said. Gam tapped the side of his nose, as if that was supposed to mean something. They both crouched, waiting, until their knees ached, but nothing changed, not even the self-satisfied look on Gam’s face. Then a new cart pulled
up, and the driver went to ring the bell.

  ‘Right,’ said Gam, ‘I was here yesterday, marking boxes, and now those boxes have been filled ready for collection. They don’t check the boxes, since they’ve been using the same supplier for aeons and know they’ll be up to scratch.’

  Here came the warehouseman, who spoke to the cart man.

  ‘Warehouseman wants the money,’ said Gam, ‘cart man wants the bacon – now they argue for a little bit.’

  The two men performed their roles, chests out, shoulders back, spitting on the floor to the side in turn. One of them threw their hands up in the air, then they both retired to their corners.

  ‘Thus endeth round one,’ Gam said, and picked up his tools. ‘Time to sneak closer.’

  Gam beckoned and Nathan followed him, not away but towards the factory wall, crouching low behind gathered planks and rotting dead-life swept out from the yard. There was a pile of sacks and rusting pipework by the gates and Gam and Nathan took up position, breathing through their mouths and remaining perfectly silent.

  The warehouseman came back and the gates opened inward. The same muscle that had moved the boxes now dragged more back out. Gam indicated with a tilt of the head – some of the boxes were marked with red dots.

  ‘Right, that’s half of them,’ the warehouseman said, once the muscle had dragged the bacon out. ‘Where’s the money?’

  The cart man scowled and handed him a pouch, the contents of which the warehouseman inspected with a dubious eye. The warehouseman grunted, ‘You can help the lads with the rest.’ He turned and went back to his post inside the walls, the cart man went in with him to help the muscle, and Gam took this as his cue. Nathan followed him up to the first box with a red mark. They crouched beside it; Gam took the jemmy and prised the box open, easy as opening a book. Inside were packets wrapped in wax paper and Gam passed these out, two at a time. ‘In your jacket,’ he whispered. Nathan slipped them in, and they rested cold against his ribs. Gam only took a few and then, with a rubber mallet, he knocked the side of the box back into place and rubbed out the red dot.

  In the yard, wide and clean and overlooked by barns that housed pigs, the muscle and the cart man were arguing as to the proper way of moving precious cargo. ‘Time for another,’ Gam mouthed, and though Nathan looked back to the safety of the sewer, he went with him to the next marked box.

  This one was a little trickier – the jemmy didn’t want to do its job. Whether the side had been knocked back into place during everyday bashing together, or whether some overkeen employee had spotted it was loose and fixed it back in place, it was stubbornly refusing to come away. Gam scowled, took a look into the yard, and applied more force to the lever. Too much force, it proved, because the nails squeaked and the wood cracked, and the cart man turned to look in their direction. He stared straight at them and they froze.

  Fortunately for the boys, the colour of a slum child and the colour of his surroundings is very much alike, and there is no better camouflage – drab greys and browns, mottled curves and dulled edges – than simply to be part of the place in which one finds oneself. At that distance the cart man, with his old eyes, didn’t see them. When he turned away, Gam pulled out more packages and put them in his jacket, then the boys left and returned via the sewers to the den.

  XXIV

  Gam wiped the grease from his cheeks and lit a cigar.

  ‘Eat!’

  In the fireplace the flames burned green, signalling via the devil-head chimney that there was a haul. Nathan pushed his meat around his plate with the tines of a heavy silver-plated fork. The chop was elastic and juicy.

  ‘Stab it, cut it, chew it – do I have to teach you everything?’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Well, you look it – you’re thin as a gambler’s stepson.’

  Gam leaned over the table and sliced a chunk off the chop. He held up the fork and rotated the cube in front of Nathan’s nose. ‘One way or another, this is going down your throat. I can’t have you cutting out in the middle of the excitement, can I?’

  Nathan snatched it and shoved it in his mouth. Through chewing he snapped: ‘Will you shut up about the meat and tell me what it is you think I’m doing tonight?’

  ‘I don’t think, I know. You’ll be snapping the lock on a rich man’s safe, and then carrying his goodies back here in a sack.’

  ‘No – I need to get more medicine.’

  ‘Not no, Nathan, yes. For one thing, this is going to be a big score, more than enough to go to a proper pharmacist and buy as much medicine as they’ve got. For another thing, you’re going to want to do it despite that.’

  ‘I can’t spare the time, Gam.’ Nathan pushed his plate aside. ‘My dad needs the medicine. He needs it now.’

  Gam put his cigar down in front of him on the table. ‘And how’s he going to get it? Padge hasn’t got no more and the pharmacies are all shut for the night.’

  ‘But Gam…’

  ‘But nothing. This gang lark’s not a one-way street, Nat. You need us and we need you. I need you. Prissy needs you.’

  Nathan sniffed. ‘So?’

  ‘Very convincing, I don’t think. She’s coming along, and she needs the money. She’s a girl of strong moral character, your Prissy, and without something behind her, moneywise, she’s going to get someone behind her, moneywise – if you get my meaning. Her sister wants her in the family business, blacking her eyes up at the Temple, so she’s got no choice. And neither have you.’

  ‘She can look after herself.’

  Gam picked the cigar back up and took a long drag which he exhaled into the air above Nathan’s head. ‘You sure of that? We’ve never done a job this big. Might not do it neither if it didn’t provide an opportunity to buy her out. Her sister isn’t full of the loving kindness – she’s a working lady. If Prissy wants out of her obligations she has to pay her earnings up front, to the tune of a hundred gold. When else are we going to get that? So you should eat up, son. Otherwise things might get tricky for all of us.’

  ‘What about Joes?’

  Gam coughed, and cigar smoke came in two puffs from his nose. He wiped his eyes. ‘Jerky Joes and I have had a bit of a disagreement re Mr Padge. They are going to sit this one out on account of the fact that they’ve gone off in a huff and I can’t find them. Hopefully they’ll come back when they see the signal. Anyway, all the more reason we need you.’

  Nathan sighed. ‘What exactly do I have to do?’

  Gam smiled, switched the cigar from one side of his mouth to the other with his tooth and pushed his plate aside. In the dust on the table he sketched a house with a finger. ‘This is the mansion, palace really, right up the hill where the Pleasaunce snuggles close to the Forest. Delacroix family, sorts of the highest distinction, security on every door. There’s no way we could get in there – they’d scope us out soon as we walked onto the road leading up. Except, of course, we won’t be walking up any road – we’ll be using the sewers.’ Gam drew a wobbly line that came up into the foundations of the house. ‘Now, this isn’t going to be a nice little trip, and I’ve nicked some wading leathers, but, all going well, we should be able to pop up in the servants’ dunny. Ironic really: because they don’t let their employees sit on individual porcelain but give them arse-splinters off a shared wooden bench, we can ladder our way up the big pipe beneath, lift the lid and waltz in.’

  ‘Aren’t the servants going to see us?’

  Gam gave him a look. ‘We’ll say we’re hired hands – there’s a banquet on and they’ll need more staff than they’ve got. If that’s no good, my blade will convince them to keep schtum. Anyway, they won’t have time for any of that. With the big do on – all the nobs dancing about, eating peacock beaks and mouse lungs, drinking fermented hummingbird piss or whatever it is they like – the skivvies will be running about, sorting all that out. Meanwhile, we slip in, slip up the stairs, and slip ourselves into the private areas. You Spark the locks, I jemmy them open, and we go out the
way we came in, loaded with your girl’s buyout and as much medicine loot as you can carry.’

  ‘What does Prissy do?’

  ‘Lookout. And carrying. And, if necessary, making a scene, ripping her bodice, turning heads, causing confusion, all the things she does best.’

  Nathan poked his meat.

  ‘Eat up, then. We’re off in a tick.’

  XXV

  The place where Prissy’s sister worked, the Temple of the Athanasians, was on the border between the slums and the Merchant City, near where Nathan had sold the limb baby to the tanner but not so near that the stink of his lime put the clients off their business. There was a gate nearby, one that was constantly attended by guards who could be bribed on the cheap, so that patrons could keep their expenses down and their journey times brief.

  Gam had been here many times, in his capacity as a runner, but Nathan had never seen it before. Below the sign and its motto – Quincunque vult, it said, according to Gam: whosoever wishes – in the windows downstairs there were cheery-looking girls wearing next to nothing, their eyes blacked, sipping at drinks from tall glasses, talking to men in tall hats.

  Upstairs the curtains were drawn shut.

  ‘You wait here,’ Gam said, ‘they don’t react well to strangers – despite their stated creed.’

  Nathan stood across the road and Gam skipped between the pools of standing water, in through the door.

  The cheery girls in the windows spent a lot of their time giggling, and touching things on the men’s chests – their handkerchiefs and buttons – and sometimes they took the men’s ties out from behind their jackets and smoothed them. The girls’ legs were long, their arms goose-pimpled. Every now and then one of them would nod, then she and the man would disappear into the back of the building. Just as often a businesslike-looking girl would come from the back, wiping her hands, arranging the slips of silk that served for her clothes, while a man, suddenly very eager to leave, would empty his coin purse at the desk that stood by the exit.