The Dark Assassin (20 page)

Scraping her
hair back into a knot and clipping it tight so it appeared short was not
difficult, but it was certainly unflattering. But there was no help for it. A
flat cap on her head covered most of it anyway, even down over her ears. Sutton
had been thoughtful enough to provide a thick woollen muffler that made her
feel considerably warmer. The coat, which came almost to her knees, was the
last item, apart from a pair of weather-beaten and awkwardly fitting men's
boots.

She left the
room where she had changed and walked self-consciously along the passage
towards the staircase.

"Yer done
wonders," Sutton said approvingly. "Come on, Snoot! We got
business."

She explained to
him as they walked what she and Rose had learned about Mary Havilland.

"That's
funny," he said, considering it carefully. "Were she lookin' fer
streams an' the like, or trying ter find out wot 'er pa knew, if 'e knew
sum-mink ter kill 'im for? But why fer? Streams in't no secret, leastways if
they cross one an' it makes a cave-in, the 'ole world's gonna know!"

"It doesn't
make any sense," she agreed, walking quickly in order to keep up with him.
"There's something major in this that we don't know. Either that, or
somebody is very stupid."

They traveled by
omnibus again, until they reached the northern entrance at Wapping. Hester was
startled to see that the building in which it was situated was large and very
handsome, so much so that she felt as if she were entering the hall of some
concert chamber. She glanced sideways at Sutton, who bent and picked up Snoot,
then solemnly carried him down the long, circular steps to the level below,
where the tunnel itself opened onto something rather like a hallway. With a
dawning of amazement she realized that no vehicle could get out into the open
air. The only way up or down was the great stair.

Sutton put Snoot
down and the little dog trotted obediently at his heels across the paved floor
to the tunnel entrance. Because of the many windows there was plenty of light
in this part, but Hester realized that as soon as they were any distance inside,
there would be only such light as was afforded by gas jets.

"Stay close
to me," Sutton warned. "There's lots o' folk down 'ere, an' most is
'armless enough, but the livin' is 'ard an' people fight for a scrap o' food or
a yard o' space, so don't do nothin' but look."

She kept pace
with him obediently. The light became dimmer as they progressed. The air took
on a hazy quality, and she was acutely aware of the damp on her skin and the
changed smell. The ceiling was far higher than she had expected and after a few
yards it was lost from sight, giving a sensation of being closed in that was
felt rather than seen. She knew that only a little farther on above it was the
teeming, filthy water of the Thames. She refused to dwell on how the arch
resisted the weight of earth and then the river itself, not to mention the
currents and the tides.

The air smelled
stale and was bitterly cold. But then one would hardly heat the tunnel with
fires. There was no possible ventilation here. To create any sort of outlet to
the open air would undermine the safety of the tunnel. If it fell in, they
would be entombed here forever!

Hester chided
herself for the ridiculous thought. If you were dead, they buried you anyway,
so what difference would it make? Or perhaps Dante was right: death was not a
ceasing to exist, but an endless journey through hell-a pit like this, full of
strange, half-heard noises, whispers without words, not human anymore.

All senses were
distorted. Damp clung in the nose and on the skin. There were gas jets on the
walls, and in the dusklike light she could see people moving like shadows, most
of them women. They seemed to be buying and selling, by touch as much as by
sight in the flickering gloom, as if it were one nightmare arcade of stalls, a
sort of hell's market. Sound was heavy and unnatural, a susurration of feet and
skirts and snatches of voices.

"Don't
stare!" Sutton warned her under his breath. "Yer 'ere ter catch rats,
not sightseein', Miss 'Ester."

"I'm
sorry," she apologized. "Who are they all? Do they come down here
every day?"

"Most of
'em don't never go up," he answered. "We might 'ave 'alf a mile ter
go."

"Whom are
we looking for?"

They were
keeping to the middle of the way, but as her eyes became accustomed to the
gloom she was more aware of alcoves to the side. Those hollows must be where
people might eat and sleep and-from the rank odor that now filled the
air-conduct other aspects of their lives. It was a whole subterranean world, always
damp and yet without natural water. She tried to ignore the scurrying of
inhuman feet, the rattle of claws, or the pinpoint of red eyes in the shadows.

"People 'oo
live in one tunnel often know things about other tunnels," Sutton said in
answer to her question. "Everythin' 'ere 'as to be fetched from somewhere
else. I'll find yer a tosher 'oo knows the 'idden rivers as well as the ones on
the maps, an' mebbe someone 'oo knows a navvy or two 'oo's bin 'urt an' in't so
quick to defend 'is old bosses. Jus' leave the askin' ter me, right?"

"Right."
She said only the single word, keeping her voice low, as if the shadows could
remember her. They continued deeper under the river, where the silence was
broken only by voices so low that they seemed wordless amid the scraping and
the hiss of the gas jets. Every now and then there was the clang of metal on
metal or the duller thud of wood as someone worked. It was an eerie world where
daylight was unknown.

Sutton pressed
on, stopping now and then to greet someone by name, ask a question, make a wry,
bitter joke. Hester hated it. There was no wind, no plants, no animals except
rats and the occasional dog. Snoot trembled with excitement at the scent of so
much prey, looking up at Sutton and waiting for the word that never came.

They had already
spoken to five people and were nearly half a mile under the river when Sutton
found the man he most wanted. In the yellow glare of the gas his face looked
cast of metal. It was scarred down one side, his ear torn and his hair tufted
where the scalp had been ripped away. He was lean, and his hands were gnarled
and huge-knuckled with rheumatism.

" 'Alio,
Sutton!" he said with surprise. "Not enough rats fer yer in the
Palace, then?" He grinned, showing strong teeth.

" 'Alio,
Blackie," Sutton replied. "I done such a good job they're all gorn.
'Ow are yer?"

"Stiff,"
Blackie replied with a shrug. "Can't get arter 'em fast enough no more.
Got 'elp, 'ave yer?" He looked at Hester curiously.

"Not much
use yet," Sutton told him. "But 'e'll do. In't built fer
navvyin'."

Blackie looked
at Hester thoughtfully, and she stared back at him, refusing to lower her eyes.
Blackie laughed. It was a wheezy, cheerful sound. " 'Ope 'e's clever,
then. 'E in't good fer much else, eh?"

Hester wanted to
respond, but she remembered just in time that she could not mimic the accent
she would have if she were really learning to be a ratcatcher. Nor could her
voice sound like that of a boy of the height she was.

"Navvyin
in't so clever." Sutton shook his head. "Too chancy these days.
Railways are one thing, tunnels is 'nother."

"Yer damn
right!" Blackie agreed.

Sutton looked at
him closely. "Yer reckon one of 'em's goin' ter cave in, Blackie?"

"That's wot
they're sayin'." Blackie curled his lip, making his lopsided face look
less than human in the yellow light. "Word is 'em stupid sods is gonna
keep on cuttin' till they cross a river an' drown 'alf the poor devils wot are
diggin' there like a lot o' bleedin' moles."

Hester drew in
her breath to ask him to be more specific, then gasped as Sutton kicked her
sharply. She shut her mouth and bit her lip with pain to stop crying out.

" 'Oose
works?" Sutton asked casually. "I don't wanna get caught in it."

"Go down,
do yer?" Blackie squinted at him.

"Bin known
ter," Sutton acknowledged. "Think it'll be Bracknell and 'is
lot?"

"Mebbe.
More like Paterson's."

"Argyll?"

Blackie gave him
a keen look. "You 'eard summink, 'ave yer?"

"Whispers.
They true?"

"They move
faster'n most, but Sixsmith's a canny bastard. Very careful, 'e is. But the
engines wot 'e uses are big, an' stronger than most. I reckon they done summink
ter 'em, made 'em better. Could slice through an old sewer wall an' bring a
cave-in quick as spit."

Hester was
aching to ask for details, but her leg was still smarting from where Sutton had
kicked her.

"So I
'eard," Sutton agreed. "But I thought it were just daft talk o' some
girl. 'Er pa were scared o' the dark or summink. Lost 'is nerve an' shot
'isself, they said. Mind, she never believed it. Said someone else done 'im
in."

Blackie's eyes
narrowed and he leaned forward sharply. "I'd keep yer face shut about that
if I was you, Sutton," he said very quietly. "Stick ter rattin', eh?
It's nice an' safe, an' yer know wot yer doin'. Don't go down no 'oles in the
ground, an' don' go askin' no questions. O' course they 'ave safety rules, an'
o' course they don' use 'em. Fastest one through gets the next contract, easy
as that. Better buried alive fer maybe than starved or froze fer sure." He
dropped his voice still further. "I owe yer, Sutton, an' I owed yer pa, so
I'll tell yer for nothin'. Stick ter rattin'. It's clean an' yer don' upset no
one but the rats. There's things about tunnels as yer don' want ter know, an'
people in 'em sure as 'ell's burnin' yer don' want as should know you! One
feller special, so keep yer nose ter yerself. Got it?"

Sutton nodded.
"Mebbe yer right," he conceded. "Don't you go down no 'oles in
the ground neither, Blackie. If they bump inter a river accidental, it in't
gonna care that yer a tosher an' 'ave worked these ways all yer life. It'll
come down there like a train, faster than a man can run, an' pushin' everythin'
in front o' it."

"I don' go
there no more," Blackie said with a twist of his mouth. "I know which
ones is safe an' which in't. But yer listen ter me, Sutton! Water, gas, fire,
an' rats in't all there is ter watch fer! There's money in this, so there's men
as'd commit murder. Keep out o' it, see? Go, an' take that lad there wi' the
eyes out of 'ere. I dunno wot yer come fer, but there's nothin' 'ere fer
you."

"I reckon
not," Sutton agreed. Taking Hester by the arm, holding her hard, he turned
and started back the way they had come. They had gone a hundred yards before
Hester dared speak.

"Mary can't
have come down here, surely?" she asked a little shakily.

"Mebbe,
mebbe not, but they know about 'er," Sutton replied. "She must 'ave
asked a lot o' questions-the right ones, by the sound o' it."

"But they
wouldn't tell her anything," she protested. "What harm could she have
done that they killed her?"

"I
dunno," he admitted unhappily. "But if anyone killed 'er, it must'a
bin Toby Argyll. Thing is, 'oo told 'im ter?"

"I need to
know!" she insisted. "Otherwise, how do we prove that she didn't kill
herself?"

"I 'ave ter
know, too," he agreed. "Or 'ow do we stop 'em from goin' on faster
and faster till they bring the 'ole bleedin' roof in an' mebbe bury an 'undred
men alive? Or worse 'n that, set the gas alight an' start 'nother Great Fire o'
London?"

She said
nothing. She did not know the answer, but it troubled her. If Mary had been
right, could she possibly have been the only one to see the danger? Surely her
questions alone would have been sufficient to alarm other people. Was that what
Alan Argyll had been concerned about, not the actual situation but the fears
and suspicion Mary was stirring up? Was there ever cause to think it could have
started a panic?

"They don't
seem afraid," she said aloud. "They don't really think it'll happen,
do they?"

Sutton looked at
her. "Afraid o' wot?" he said gently. "Think about it too 'ard,
an' yer'll be afraid o' the 'ole o' life. Bein' 'urt, bein' ungry, bein' cold,
bein' alone. Or yer mean bein' drownded or buried alive? Don't think too far
ahead. Just do terday."

"Is that
what Argyll counts on? Poor Mary."

"Dunno,"
he confessed. "But it don't make sense like it is."

She did not
argue, and they walked in companionable silence to the bus stop.

SIX

Monk was
standing in the kitchen when he heard Hester come in at the front door. He spun
around and strode into the hall. He immediately saw how she was dressed and
that her face was pinched and weary. Her hair was straggling as if she had tied
it in a knot rather than bothered dressing it at all, and her sleeves and
trousers were wet.