Mister Creecher (6 page)

From across the street, Billy watched him lean over to kiss her. An elderly couple tutted in disgust and Shelley and Mary burst into laughter.
What must it be like?
Billy thought.
What must it be like to be happy?

CHAPTER VIII.

Billy got back to the museum gates in time to see his two targets leave, and he followed them for the rest of the day as they wandered the shopping streets of Piccadilly.

As the sun went down that afternoon, and the chill of night was once more ushered in, Creecher’s invisible grip on Billy returned and he was in no mood to test its potency.

He made his way back to the bakery attic and found the giant standing waiting for him. Billy sat down and began to tell Creecher about his day. He told him that he had been thrown out of the British Museum, but not that Clerval had become involved. Nor did he mention his odd encounter with the man outside. He did not think the giant would look favourably on his risking arrest by a return to pickpocketry.

Besides, Creecher did not seem best pleased as it was. He had gazed at Billy expectantly when he had begun his report, but his expression grew grimmer and grimmer, as though a great shadow was passing across his face.

When Billy had completed his observations about the two men’s shopping expedition, Creecher sat in silence for a long while. Billy could sense anger, but there was also disappointment – as though he had hoped to hear something but had not.

‘You need new clothes,’ said Creecher finally.

‘No, I don’t,’ said Billy defensively. He looked down at the threadbare rags he was wearing and sighed. ‘Well, maybe a coat wouldn’t go amiss. Some better shoes maybe.’

‘You need
new
clothes,’ repeated the giant. ‘You are following two gentlemen tourists. You need to be able to go where they go without being thrown out.’

‘Yeah?’ said Billy. ‘Well, if you don’t mind me saying, you’re no Beau Brummell yourself.’

It was Creecher’s turn to look at the poor and ill-fitting clothes he was wearing. He nodded, pouting a little.

‘Agreed. We
both
need new clothes.’

‘And you’ve got money, have you?’

Creecher shrugged.

‘I have no need for money,’ he replied.

‘Well, ain’t you the lucky one,’ said Billy. ‘You might be able to snatch a pie or what-have-you, but you can hardly stroll into a tailor’s and make off with new suits for us both now, can you? Besides, you ain’t exactly your standard measurements.’

Creecher took a deep breath and stared hard at Billy from under his hat. Billy caught his breath, wondering if he had spoken too boldly.

‘Do you know a place where we can get clothes?’

Billy nodded.

‘Somewhere discreet?’

Billy nodded again.

‘I know just the man down Clerkenwell way: Gratz is his name. He’s all right. He’ll sort us out, I reckon. But he’ll want money or the like in things he can sell. He gets a good price.’

‘Let’s go, then,’ said Creecher.

‘What, now?’

But Creecher was already through the window and Billy felt compelled to follow.

‘How shall we get the money we need,’ said Creecher, when they were in the alley, ‘to pay for the clothes?’

‘Well,’ said Billy. ‘As it happens, I think that might be the easy part.’

He grinned. For once it was going to be him taking the lead. Billy had spent days doing whatever Creecher told him to do – now he was going to get some fun out of this terrifying giant, on his terms.

He walked to the end of the alleyway and peered round the corner. It opened on to a street where he knew there was a gambling house frequented by the Mayfair set when they wanted to slum it a little. Two dandies were strolling towards him at that very moment, cravats wound round their necks, corsets pinching their waists. Billy looked back at Creecher, put his finger to his lips and then stepped out in front of them.

‘Give us your money,’ he said matter-of-factly.

The two men had been startled by Billy’s sudden appearance, but seeing that he was alone and unarmed they turned to one another and laughed uproariously. Billy smiled.

‘I asked nicely, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Now give us your cash. I ain’t got all night.’

‘I really would rather not,’ said the taller of the two, ‘if it’s all the same to you.’

‘Yes,’ said the other. ‘If it’s all the same to you.’

‘And now I think I’m going to thrash you, boy.’

The dandy stepped forward, bringing his cane up over his shoulder. He was about to swing it down in an arc that would have ended in the splitting of Billy’s skull, when an arm reached out and grabbed it, snatching it and pulling the man with it into the alley. His friend opened his mouth to shout, but he, too, was grabbed and pulled off the street.

Billy smiled to himself and followed them into the shadows. The two men were staring, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, at the giant who stood before them. Billy could smell that at least one of them had urinated.

‘This is my associate, gentlemen,’ said Billy. ‘Now I’ll ask again – your cash, if you please.’

The men could not move quickly enough, thrusting their purses towards Billy as if they were on fire, all the while staring incredulously at Creecher.

‘I’ll have your watches, too,’ said Billy. ‘And your neckties and handkerchiefs.’

They were as happy to part with these as with their purses if it meant getting away from Creecher.

‘And your boots,’ said Billy.

The two men paused and looked at each other.

‘Your boots!’ repeated Billy fiercely.

They jumped into action, whimpering as they did so, looking at Creecher while they clumsily removed their boots and held them out with shaking hands for Billy to take. They stood there quivering with fear, the cold seeping into their stockinged feet. Billy bowed elaborately.

‘My associate and I will bid you farewell, then, gentlemen,’ said Billy.

The two men took their chance and ran away as fast as their legs would take them. Billy hopped about, yelping with excitement.

‘Ha!’ he cried. ‘Did you see their faces? I thought the one with the red nose was going to keel over!’

Billy chuckled to himself as he and Creecher walked away with their haul. Once they had gone a sufficient distance and Billy was confident they had turned enough corners, they stopped and Billy looked through the goods, making the odd appreciative noise as he did so.

‘You are cruel,’ said Creecher.

‘What? That’s rich coming from you.’

‘I do what I have to do,’ the giant replied. ‘I take no pleasure in doing harm. I did not choose to be this . . . this . . .’ He waved his hands, indicating his massive form, but words seemed to fail him.

Billy spat and muttered a curse.

‘You think I
chose
to be a thief?’

‘That is not what I meant,’ said Creecher. ‘It is –’

‘You don’t know what it’s like here,’ interrupted Billy, ‘for the likes of us. For the likes of me. I’ve had my share of beatings and cruelty. You’ll get no guilt from me.’

Billy felt Creecher’s limpid gaze on him but did not return it.

‘If you only knew how much I would give to swap places with you,’ said the giant gently.

‘You’d rather be me?’ said Billy incredulously. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘I’d rather be
any
man than the thing I am,’ he answered forlornly. ‘I am jealous of the leper.’

Billy looked across at Creecher and for once saw something other than the fearful freak. For the first time he saw some vulnerability in this monstrous hulk.

‘Let’s go,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘Those dandies wouldn’t come back here for a knighthood, but they may have friends or they may find a Charley –’

‘A Charley?’ said Creecher.

‘A watchman,’ said Billy. ‘Or a constable. Either way, we ought to move. Never linger. That’s the first rule.’

Creecher nodded.

‘For me too.’

CHAPTER IX.

Billy took Creecher on a convoluted route to Clerkenwell. The lamps were already lit in the busy shopping streets of the city, but lights were few and far between in these parts.

The wide, bright thoroughfares of the centre branched and forked into narrower and narrower, darker and dingier streets and courtyards. Rickety bridges arched across stinking black ditches to filthy alleyways.

A drunkard reeking of gin took one look at Creecher as he strode past and fell to the floor, gibbering, his hands clasped together in prayer.

Eventually Billy led Creecher to the end of an alley that opened out on to a wide street of warehouses. The bone-melters, glue-makers, leather-tanners and cloth-dyers were all closed up for the day. The owners lived elsewhere. No one with any money or sense would choose to live amid that putrid stink.

But some people did not have the choice and one such was old Gratz. He was a tailor by trade – or so he had been in the old days, back in Prague where he had lived as a young man. There were more lucrative ways to earn a living in this stinking town.

Billy had known Gratz since he was a boy – since his first days on the street. It was Fletcher who had brought him to the old man.

Gratz had fed him and given him a roof – albeit a leaking one – over his head. All he had had to do to continue taking advantage of Gratz’s hospitality was to bring the old man a steady stream of trinkets. Billy’s life as a thief had begun.

Billy took a long look up and down the street and then nodded to Creecher to follow him across to a small courtyard on the other side. The buildings at the back were walled with rough planks, as rotten as the hull of a prison ship. It reeked of the sewer, of death, of decay. Even Billy’s dulled nostrils were always caught off guard by the potency of it.

‘This way,’ he said, leading Creecher under a couple of great wooden buttresses and into a building that looked as though it was on the verge of collapse. It appeared deserted. It always did.

‘Mr Gratz,’ whispered Billy. ‘It’s me – Billy. I got some business for you.’

At first, nothing seemed to happen, and then a shape began to move towards them in the dark. Its movements were slow and soundless. Billy could sense Creecher tensing. A thin young man appeared, a curved yellow smile on his shadowed face, like a crescent moon at dusk.

It was Gratz’s nephew. Billy had met him a few times before. He was a good few years older than Billy, but so much younger than Gratz that this age difference barely registered. They were wary of each other, but always grudgingly appreciative of how useful the other might be. Billy nodded a greeting.

‘He’s through here, Billy,’ said the nephew and he moved away towards a door nearby and disappeared through it. Billy followed warily, with Creecher behind him. The giant had to stoop almost double to get through.

In the centre of the room sat an old man as lined and time-worn as an old leather shoe, illuminated by an oil lamp – a dim light, but so surprising that Billy found himself squinting as though it were a burst of sunlight.

‘Billy,’ said the old man huskily. ‘Come closer, my dear. Come closer.’

‘Evening, Mr Gratz,’ said Billy. ‘Are you well?’

‘Can’t complain,’ croaked Gratz. ‘Well, I could, but it wouldn’t make no difference now, would it?’

Gratz cackled throatily at this, as he always did – the exchange was an oft-repeated one.

Billy indicated to Creecher that he should stay back in the shadows, then stepped forward into the little bubble of light from the oil lamp.

‘Well,’ said the old man. ‘Have you got something for us, Billy?’

Billy smiled and put the sack down between them. Gratz gave a nod to his nephew, who scurried over and lifted the sack, tipping the contents on to the floor. Billy saw the old man’s tiny eyes widen in their shadowed sockets.

‘That had a nice, healthy sound to it,’ he said. ‘What’s in there, my dear?’

‘Couple of canes, Uncle – good ones. Silver tipped, maybe. Silk handkerchiefs. Neck scarves. Two nice watches, one of ’em gold, or gold-coloured, anyways.’

‘That’s silver and gold and you know it,’ said Billy. ‘But if you ain’t interested . . .’

He made to pick the items up. The old man clapped his leathery hands and said, ‘Billy, Billy. No need for that . . . How long have we known each other now? Three years? Four?’

‘More like five,’ said Billy, without looking at the old man.

‘He was such a skinny young thing when he came here,’ said Gratz to his nephew. ‘He ain’t much to look at now – but you should have seen him then. Always sharp in the head though. Always had a thief’s brain in his skull. You can’t teach that.’

‘Ha!’ said Billy, still gathering the things together. ‘Any thieving brain I have, you put there, old man. I weren’t no thief before I met you. And you’re even worse. You thieve from thieves.’

‘Billy!’ called Gratz. ‘Enough now. You know you’ll get a fair price here. Ain’t I always been fair?’