Mister Creecher (8 page)

And he had a protector. Sticking around the giant had paid off so far. Fletcher might be gone, but his sidekick, Skinner, was still out there somewhere and he wasn’t the kind to let bygones be bygones.

But then Billy thought of old Wicks, who used to live down by the Fleet Ditch and who had a fearsome bulldog that terrified the living daylights out of everyone who saw it. And then one day the dog had leapt at Wicks and bitten half his face off.

Frankenstein and Clerval finally emerged and, after a moment, Billy followed in their wake. He had followed many people in his time. It was all part and parcel of being a thief. Just as the wolf or the lion picks a target from the herd, so too does the thief learn to spot a potential victim in the crowd.

Life as a pickpocket had made Billy a keen observer of people – and he could tell that Frankenstein walked with the hunched gait of a guilty man. But what was the source of that guilt? Was it for something he had done or for something he was about to do? And how did Creecher fit in?

Whatever it was, it was clear that Clerval knew nothing about it and that Frankenstein had another secret life, hidden from his friend.

Billy had come to like Clerval over the few days of following him. As guilty and world-weary as Frankenstein seemed, by contrast Clerval seemed carefree and full of life and hope. Billy had been amazed to find that he had noticed things in London that he must have walked past a thousand times and not seen, simply because he was now allowed to share in Clerval’s excitement and enthusiasm for the city.

But seeing the city through Frankenstein’s eyes was a different matter altogether. As soon as he was apart from Clerval, he had the air of an escaped convict.

Not far from Charterhouse Square, the two men separated. Billy dropped Clerval and stayed with Frankenstein, keeping far enough back from his quarry to avoid any suspicion, given that Frankenstein turned around frequently as he walked.

The crowds slowly began to thin and following him became more difficult. But Billy knew these streets by heart and took shortcuts and detours, confident that he would not lose this foreigner on his home turf.

The more they walked, the more Billy began to wonder where on earth the Swiss was taking them. Indeed, he began to wonder if the man was lost. The area they were entering was a long way from the tourist trail.

But Frankenstein appeared to know exactly what he was doing, and occasionally took out a piece of paper – a map, Billy supposed – and consulted it, making sure of his bearings before proceeding.

Frankenstein paused at the intersection of a crossroads and walked diagonally across, so intent on where he was going that he was almost hit by a wagon and certainly felt the full force of the driver’s annoyance. A little ruffled, he continued on his way and, once safely across the filthy street, he made straight for a covered alleyway.

Billy waited a few moments for him to disappear from sight and then crossed the street himself, stepping straight into a pile of horse dung, courtesy of the passing wagon. A few whispered curses and boot shakes later and he was peering into the alleyway.

Frankenstein was in the courtyard beyond, seemingly eyeing up the place. One building in particular occupied his attention and he walked its length, looking at the walls and up at the roof, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bunch of keys.

Frankenstein looked round, causing Billy to duck out of sight. When he felt he was able to look again, the Swiss had gone.

Billy crept forward. The door was still swinging back and forth on whining hinges. He came as near as he dared and peered inside.

There was no sign of Frankenstein, but he could see that there was a set of steps leading downwards just beyond the door. The building looked like a warehouse that would be filled with barrels and clutter, but from what little Billy could see of it – there were no windows save for greasy skylights high above – it was in fact surprisingly tidy and clear except for two or three large tables and several crates. What was Frankenstein doing in a place like this?

While this question was still forming in Billy’s mind, Frankenstein suddenly began to ascend the staircase. Billy’s heart leapt into his mouth. He ran out of the alley as fast as he could and stood panting in a doorway nearby, his back pressed against the door, praying that the shadows would conceal him.

A minute later, the Swiss emerged from the alley. Billy heard his familiar footsteps clip across the cobbles. After a nervous few moments, he peered round and saw Frankenstein’s silhouetted figure walking away and then disappear round a street corner. Billy waited a second and set off in pursuit.

CHAPTER XI.

That evening, when the sun was setting and the clouds were blood-soaked swabs and the chill of night had begun to descend on the city streets, Billy and Creecher made their way back to Clerkenwell to collect their clothes from Gratz’s nephew.

For the first time, Creecher had been pleased by one of Billy’s reports. When he had told the giant of Frankenstein’s mysterious visit to the warehouse, Creecher clapped his hands together.

‘Finally,’ he said. ‘This is good news, mon ami. This is excellent news!’

But he had given Billy no clue as to why this was such excellent news. For his part, Billy was happy to enjoy the giant’s lighter mood and saw no reason to ruin it.

Gratz’s nephew was standing outside as they arrived, his sharp shadowy form like a stick man drawing. There was a group of children with him.

‘All right, then, boys and girls,’ he said, seeing Billy and Creecher approach. ‘Off you go.’

Billy looked at the ragged urchins who clustered around the doorway, with their tattered clothes and filthy, half-starved faces. A small boy turned to face him and Billy felt as though he were looking at his younger self. He smiled, but the boy simply stared back at him, dead-eyed. When the children noticed Creecher, a couple of them stared up in wonder, until they joined the others in running away as fast as their legs would carry them.

‘And make sure you work hard,’ Gratz’s nephew called after them, ‘or I might have to set the giant on you!’

He cackled as the children disappeared. Billy stared after them. Was he ever that young? He felt a chill go through him, as if the blood was freezing in his veins.

‘Gentlemen,’ said the nephew, peering at Billy. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

He opened the door and they followed him through to the main room. Billy looked around for Gratz, but there was no sign of the old man. The air smelled of dust, damp clothes and decay.

‘Uncle sends his apologies,’ said the nephew, with a hunch of his shoulders. ‘He is feeling a little bit under the weather and has taken to his bed early this evening.’

Billy looked at the door that led to the private chambers upstairs and imagined the bolts and locks that lay on the other side and Gratz trembling above them.

‘Have you got the clothes?’ he asked.

‘Would I let you down?’ said the nephew, hand to his heart.

He opened a wooden chest nearby and brought out two piles of clothes and shoes, placing each on top of the chest once it was shut.

‘I think the cobbler rather enjoyed making your boots, my friend.’

He handed a pair to Creecher, who took them and turned them over, nodding appreciatively.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘They are well made.’

‘Oh – he knows his stuff all right,’ said the nephew, turning to pick up a coat. ‘Now this was a little harder. It took a bit of careful opening out here and there, and a lengthening of the sleeves with these cuffs and so on. It ain’t a bad sort of a coat. And warm, too. That’s good quality that is.’

Creecher took his coat off and dropped it over the wooden counter beside him. He put the new coat on and, again, nodded approvingly. Billy was less sure. The coat was dark and made the ghastly pallor of the giant’s skin even more noticeable. But at least the high collar helped hide his face.

‘And I thought a hat might help . . . well, it might assist . . .’

Creecher took the hat. It was broad-brimmed and, together with the collar, did indeed help. It helped mask the worst of Creecher’s terrible face. It was Billy’s turn to nod with approval.

‘Very good,’ said Creecher. ‘You have done well.’

‘There, you see,’ said Gratz’s nephew, with evident relief.

Creecher picked up a book that was lying on the counter.

‘You are a scholar, sir?’ said the nephew. ‘I thought you might be. I said to myself, there’s a man with a brain if ever I saw one.’

‘How much?’ said Creecher.

‘My gift, my dear.’

‘Good,’ said Billy. ‘We’ll be off.’

‘I hope you gentlemen will think of us should you have anything else you might want to exchange.’

‘Maybe,’ said Billy, without turning round.

‘It’s been a pleasure to do business with you, my friend,’ the nephew called from the doorway as Creecher walked away after Billy.

Creecher looked at him but said nothing. Glancing up, he saw the face of Gratz staring down from a window for a few seconds before the old man jumped back into the darkness, letting the filthy curtain fall back into place. Creecher nodded at the nephew and he and Billy left.

They walked back to the city and returned to the attic to change. They each went to the furthest reaches of the room to strip but Billy could not resist a quick glimpse of the giant’s naked form.

Creecher had his back to Billy and was stripped to the waist. Billy had never seen muscles like it – not even on builders or the bare-knuckle boxers at the fair. Samson himself could not have been more powerful.

But no living man ever looked like Creecher: the rippling muscles that looked as though they had been flayed, the dry, parchment skin more like the casing of a chrysalis than the hide of a human being.

Creecher turned as he picked up his shirt and Billy looked away, embarrassed. It was just a glimpse, but there was something odd about that muscled torso – something not quite as it should be. Billy just could not settle on what, though.

Half an hour later, they stood in their new clothes at the end of the alleyway at the back of the baker’s, illuminated by the mellow light from a window above them. Billy had persuaded Creecher that another robbery was needed to refill his empty purse.

‘How do I look?’ asked Creecher, noticing Billy’s expression.

‘Better,’ said Billy. ‘It’s just . . .’

‘What?’

‘You’ll get annoyed with me. And then you’ll throttle me.’

‘I will not get annoyed,’ said Creecher. ‘I promise.’

Billy took a deep breath.

‘Look, there’s nothing wrong with the clothes,’ he said. ‘It’s more the way you wear them.’

Creecher frowned.

‘I do not understand.’

Billy scratched his chin and tried to think of the best way to word what he was about to say.

‘You need to have a bit more style about you,’ he said. ‘Look at you. You standing there. You’re so . . . stiff.’

‘Stiff?’ said Creecher.

‘Yeah, like you was about to read a sermon or something.’

Creecher looked baffled.

‘If I was your size, I’d really . . . I’d . . . Well, I wouldn’t stand like a trooper on parade anyway. Bend your neck a bit. Get your head lower. Look out from under your eyebrows. Stick out your jaw like you’re daring someone to thump it. Let your arms swing,’ said Billy, all the while miming these words with growing enthusiasm.

‘And when you walk, you should roll,’ he added. ‘Like you’re walking along a ship in a stormy sea. Let that coat flap around like a sail. You need a big walk to go with your size: big, slow steps, like you was wading through mud. You ain’t in no hurry cos you ain’t afraid of nobody. You get what I’m saying?’

Creecher nodded and, taking a deep breath, lowered his head, stuck out his jaw and set off down the alleyway with a big loping stride, arms swinging, coat flapping.

Billy collapsed to the floor, howling with laughter. Creecher slowly came to a halt and turned to face him, glowering from under his eyebrows. It was a little while before Billy could get to his feet and speak.

‘That is the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time,’ he said between pants, holding his stomach as if winded.

‘But you told me –’

‘I know,’ said Billy, patting him on the back. ‘I know I did. You just need a bit more practice, that’s all. I’m sorry I laughed. Really.’

Creecher nodded.

‘Then I would very much appreciate it if you would consider recapitulating for me.’

‘What?’

‘Show me again,’ said Creecher.

‘Oh, right,’ said Billy. ‘We really ought to do something about the way you talk as well.’

Creecher frowned.

‘All right, all right,’ said Billy. ‘One thing at a time.’

Billy’s swaggering lessons continued for the next twenty minutes, the first five of which were mainly taken up with Billy’s efforts to resist laughing.

Slowly, though, the giant seemed to grasp the coordination necessary and Billy sent him away to one end of the alley and told him to strut his way back.