Dark Assassin - Anne Perry [61]
“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.
“ ’Allo, Sutton!” he said with surprise. “Not enough rats fer yer in the Palace, then?” He grinned, showing strong teeth.
“ ’Allo, 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,