The Thieves' Labyrinth (Albert Newsome 3) (15 page)

‘Where? Where have you seen this?’ said Mr Newsome, loud enough to be heard.

‘O, down Wapping and Lime’ouse . . . Middlesex side.’

‘What do they look like, these prints?’

‘A monster! It ’as fingers, three or four of ’em – only bigger than a man’s ’and. And deep, too – it’s a big brute. Come from the sewers, it
does.’

‘The hag is a lunatic,’ murmured one of the constables.

‘The prints go to the sewers, do they? Have you seen the beast itself?’ said Mr Newsome, seeing that the fleeting light of sapience was soon to ebb from that creased walnut face. He
pulled the yellowed tooth from his coat pocket and held it up for the woman to focus on. ‘Does it have teeth like this?’

She peered at the incisor, but her awareness had faded and it seemed she had already forgotten both the question and the context. ‘Did yer find it by the river?’ she said.

‘Never mind that, woman. Have you seen this animal?’

‘The monster? I have seen its prints down Wapping and Lime’ouse . . . Middlesex side.’

The mud-caked youth shrugged as if to say that he had warned the inspector.

‘Very well.’ Mr Newsome put the tooth back in his pocket. ‘I will not delay you people longer. Please – go back to your foraging.’

The oars banged against the gunwale once again and the galley pushed off from the bank, moving out mid-stream to continue east and leave that band of unfortunates to their sodden labour. There,
in that ancient ooze, they trod the very stuff of London’s history between their toes: composted Elizabethan suicides, rusted nuggets of long rotted ships, martyrs’ ashes, corroded
Roman currency, bones of Atrebatean battles, and the poet’s humble turd.

‘Is that really a tooth from the river, Inspector?’ asked the first constable as they passed under the shadow of London-bridge.

‘Perhaps. I aim to discover precisely that,’ said Mr Newsome.

‘Does it touch upon a crime you are investigating?’

‘That is no concern of yours, Constable. We are heading for Hermitage-stairs.’

‘May I enquire why, sir?’

‘No. Take care of the ferry’s wake there . . .’

The galley was rocked by the heaving wake from a westbound steamer, causing their oars to slap the surface. Moored ships crowded thickly about them now. The sky was crisscrossed with masts and
the air thick with the scent of coal. Here were the entrances to St Katharine’s and the London Dock, those great and venerable basins towards which men and vessels from across the world made
their way.

But not Mr Newsome. When he stepped onto the slippery stairs just beyond Hermitage Dock (leaving, once again, his constables to the chaffing of the watermen), it was to visit that curious street
weaving north between the immense warehouses of the docks on each side: Nightingale-lane.

Heavy wagons and drays formed almost the entire traffic here, their sturdy wheels crunching ceaselessly as they loaded and unloaded the commerce of the globe. During the day, its blank, canyon
walls gave it the sense of a street out of the common pattern – a channel that was neither here nor there, seemingly not ending or originating anywhere of note. At night, however, one did not
venture this way, where the lofty blank-faced walls made shadows darker still and where the noise of the unending carts might mask a gargling cry.

There was, nevertheless, one notable address at which Mr Newsome might find an answer to his persistent question concerning the tooth. He heard the place long before he saw it, and smelled it
even before that.

Jehosaphat’s Extraordinary Bestiary was only one of a number of such wild-beast emporia about the docks, but it was certainly the most celebrated for its variety of stock and the esteem in
which it was held by those private collectors for whom a barely credible oddity of nature was the most fashionable thing one could wish . . . at least until it died for want of its native
sustenance, to be replaced by something more outlandish still. It had been Jehosaphat’s that had first brought an elephant to London, and the first also to exhibit a rhinoceros. Those
glorious days had passed, but it remained the only place one might purchase a jaguar or hyena – or where sun-browned mariners may bring their feathered, scaled, hairy or otherwise-furnished
captives for a healthy sum of rum money.

The bell on the door rang as Mr Newsome entered, but he did not hear it over the ornithological cacophony that greeted him. Cages were everywhere: on shelves, on hooks, on twine hanging from the
ceiling and upon the floor itself. And in each was a bewildering diversity of parrots, parakeets, cockatoos and macaws letting forth their respective screeches, creaks, croaks, rattles, screams and
whistles. Within that general maddening din, the inspector thought he could additionally hear some shrill but indistinct
words
, which these birds were alleged to utter. Beside the counter, a
cord-tethered pelican pattered its feet and looked down its long beak at the visiter as if in mutual disapproval.

‘Yes, sir?’ said a human voice.

Mr Newsome looked towards the counter but saw nobody.

‘Here, sir,’ came the voice again from an open doorway leading to a room deeper within the shop.

The inspector removed his hat and ventured towards the door to look inside, where a man wearing thick spectacles, a worn black suit and a battered hat with bird ordure upon it sat hunched over a
cluttered desk of papers.

‘How did you know I had entered the shop?’ asked Mr Newsome, noting the ubiquitous grey splatter and replacing his hat with alacrity. There was no clear view of the street door from
this anteroom.

‘Why, I heard the bell, sir. And Gerald told me,’ said the man, turning from his business at the desk to face the new customer.

Mr Newsome looked around to see if he had missed the gentleman named ‘Gerald’. Instead, a rusty shriek assailed his left ear:

‘———
copper!
———
copper!
’

‘You must forgive Gerald,’ said the bespectacled man, in fact the eponymous Jehosaphat himself. ‘It amuses the sailors to teach crude words to the birds on their voyages and
Gerald has a vocabulary that will earn him no respectable home. I admit, I do wonder how he recognizes the uniform. Still, we do not mind working together, do we, Gerald?’

‘———— ———
!
’ said Gerald.

‘Well, that is quite enough profanity for one day,’ said Jehosaphat, shaking his head. He placed a blanket over the cage to the sound of squawked blasphemies. ‘Now, sir –
you do not strike me as a bird man. What is your pleasure . . . or are you here on police business?’

‘Indeed I am. I have come into the possession of an animal tooth and I was hoping you might be able to identify the animal from it.’

‘Of course I will look if you have it with you now, but I fear there are so many animals that . . . O, that is a very large incisor! Most definitely from a carnivore. May I look
closer?’

Jehosaphat took the tooth and shifted papers aside on his desk to find a magnifying glass.

‘Yes, yes – a large carnivore. A crocodile, perhaps, or one of the large felines . . . or the largest of the lizards.’

‘Might it be a swimming animal?’

‘I cannot speak for the piscine varieties, alas. The earth and the air are the natural habitations of my animals, though I will say that looks like no fish tooth to me. Theirs are more
aculeate. Even the fearsome shark has a more triangular weapon, and . . . hmm, this is also no cachalot ivory.’

‘Could it be from some beast native to these shores?’

‘O no! No, no . . . even our island’s largest dogs cannot boast a weapon such as this. In fact . . . will you accompany me to the yard? Perhaps I can show you something
similar.’

The two gentlemen exited through another door into an enclosed courtyard of multiple iron-barred cages, which reeked unlike anything Mr Newsome had yet encountered on the streets or on the
river. It was a pungent, feral smell that seemed to mingle urine, droppings and matted hair. Without quite knowing why, the inspector paused and felt an uncharacteristic shiver of fear.

‘You need not worry,’ said Jehosaphat. ‘All are safely locked away, see?’ He indicated a sleek black cat that glared back at them with imperious disdain.

‘A jaguar,’ said Jehosaphat. ‘He has the kind of tooth you showed me, albeit somewhat smaller. Perhaps his neighbour . . .’

They looked in the next cage, where an enormous tiger lay on straw staring at the sky. Its gaze flickered at the arrival of the visiters but remained otherwise fixed.

‘These beasts seem not at all dangerous,’ said Mr Newsome.

‘Ah, they bide their time, sir. While caged, they soon learn that it is futile to rage and roar against their fate. So they merely wait. There is food and water; I light a brazier on cold
nights to warm the courtyards. But if I were to unlock the cage of this tiger, he would rip out your throat in an instant and feast upon your still living body.’

‘Has such a thing ever happened here?’

‘We had a boy once – a foolish boy – who put his arm in the cage. He lost a hand.’

‘Have you ever had an animal escape?’

‘O no, sir. The courtyard is quite closed and the cages sturdily constructed. The occasional bird manages to flee the shop, but they often return when they see the city they find
themselves in. I perceive that you have a particular reason for asking . . .’

‘If not from your emporium, is it possible that such a beast as this tiger could find itself free in the city?’

‘Possible? Why, certainly. Do you recall the incident a few years ago at the menagerie on Exeter-change? Their elephant went insane and escaped into the street, where men shot at it for
hours with muskets. Then there was that outrage a couple of years past when a jaguar like this fellow here was being offloaded at a wharf and its wooden cage was fractured in the fall from the
crane. It ran off into the streets and took a child in its jaws as it went. Such accidents do occur.’

‘What happened to that jaguar?’

‘O, I do not recall. It may have been killed shortly afterwards amid the traffic. Such animals become quite crazed when faced with the noise and the bustle of the city.’

‘I see. Might such an animal survive on the streets, or by the river, if it managed to avoid the traffic?’

‘What curious questions you ask!’ said Jehosaphat, exhibiting a look of concern now, despite his jocularity. ‘The large felines require a quantity of meat to live. If they
could get that from the markets, or hunt it, then I suppose they might survive . . . but would not all of London be aware of a beast stalking horses upon the street?’

‘True. But a man could keep and feed such an animal if he so wished. Certainly, you do so.’

‘It is possible . . . but I admit I am more and more perplexed. Is the tooth you showed me from an animal you suspect to be free in the city? That would be a very dangerous thing
indeed.’

‘You need not concern yourself over that, Mr Jehosaphat. I found the tooth and it intrigued me. Nothing more than that. I thank you for your kind attention and for showing me these animals
. . .’

‘I am happy to be of help, sir. But take care – if you should encounter such a beast, do not attempt to approach it. Rather, stay very still and show no signs of fear or
aggression.’

‘Thank you, but I have no intention of putting myself in danger. Good day to you.’

And so Mr Newsome left Jehosaphat’s Extraordinary Bestiary to return to his constables, musing as he did so that the more he learned about the mysterious incisor, the less sense it seemed
to make. Could it be that it had been purposely left in the corpse as a wilful misdirection?

He was passing the corner with Burr-street and turning the questions over in his mind when he became aware of the same hideous smell he had encountered on Pickle Herring-street. Pausing at the
coincidence, he looked up and saw precisely the same odd little man he had glimpsed at Pickle Herring: the freckled face, the painted emotionless eyes and the hair stiff with dirt. On closer
examination, the clothes also seemed quite saturated with either mud or dirty water.

For his part, the little man simply stared back.

‘You there!’ said Mr Newsome crossing the road to reach the malodorous fellow. ‘I want to speak to you.’

But the challenge was enough to stir the man from his immobile stance and dead-eyed gaze. He turned quickly on his heel and began immediately to run down Nightingale-lane towards the river.

‘Halt! You there! Stop! Police!’

Mr Newsome gave chase, mindful of the fact that they were fortuitously running towards his galley and the two waiting constables. He kept up his cries accordingly.

‘Thief! Stop! You there! Stop that man! Constables! Constables!’

The little man emerged at the end of the street, followed rapidly by the clamorous Mr Newsome. By now, the two constables were standing in the galley to locate the source of the alarm. On seeing
their inspector running, they quickly understood the situation and bolted up the stairs to block the little man’s flight.

Mr Newsome kept up his momentum and ran straight at the back of his quarry, who had momentarily paused in panic to look for means of escape. Thus all three policemen were able to converge upon
the man with a clatter of footfalls.

There was no struggle. Evidently accepting his situation, the reeking fellow wordlessly dropped his arms and allowed the cuffs to be placed around his wrists. Apart from his panting, there was
no emotion to be read in his face.

‘Who are you? Why do you follow me?’ said Mr Newsome, himself quite unused to the exertion.

No reply.

‘What is your name? Are you working for Eldritch Batchem? Speak, man, or you will face the full wrath of the law!’

No reply.

‘I see. Then it is the cells at Wapping for you until we can loosen that tongue.’

Together (and with some obvious reluctance on the part of the constables to touch such a vile-smelling specimen of humanity), the three policemen manoeuvred the man into the galley and cast off
for the short row to Wapping station.

But the prisoner was never to arrive.