Infernal Devices - KW Jeter [26]
Standing between the turned backs of two cabbies pointedly maintaining their conversations with their fellows, I laid a shilling on the raw planks that formed the serving bar. The aproned landlord produced a small glass of some vile-smelling clear liquid, presumably gin. The shilling disappeared, leaving no progeny.
Setting the glass down, I stepped back from the counter and cleared my throat ostentatiously. Upon repeat of this performance at a more insistent pitch, I was rewarded with the cabbies on either side breaking off their talk and turning to look at me.
"Pardon me, gentlemen," I said. "I require some small assistance, and perhaps the hire of a vehicle and driver, for which suitable recompense will be made." Their eyes brightened at the mention of payment. "I seek transportation to a certain borough of the city. I am, however, ignorant of its exact location. Therefore, I must trust to the expertise of one of your number in these matters of navigation."
One of the men nodded gravely, gathering the intended flattery more from the tone of my voice than the actual words. "Right enough," muttered a cabby beyond him, having listened along with the others nearby.
"Here," said the cabby on my right hand. "What's this borough you want to go to? Just you name it, and we're off."
"Wetwick," I said.
The man straightened up, raising his gaze from the dregs in his glass in order to train his slitted eyes at me from a greater height. On either side, and in back, I felt the others draw back a fraction of an inch. The room fell quiet, all conversations ceasing in circles around me, as the ripples from a stone dropped in water die out and are still."
For a few moments longer, the cabby stared at me, then turned away. I looked about: every face was averted from me. The noise of voices grew again, as broken conversations resumed, but subdued from their previous level.
"Pardon?" My voice fell as if against brick walls. None of them responded as if they'd heard.
I looked down to see the house's landlord snatch up my glass from in front of me and fling it, contents and all, into a slop bucket behind the counter.
"Now see here; this is very extraordinary." I felt justifiably annoyed at the general treatment I had received. "I demand–"
"Eh, bugger 'em all." Another voice broke in, from close at my elbow. "Fine lot they think 'emselves, but I warrant cheese wouldn't choke 'em, if you get my meaning."
I turned about, adjusting the level of my gaze to the height of the one who had addressed me; the brim of his tall hat, a battered piece even shabbier than the usual cabby's gear, barely came up to my shoulder. Underneath it was a face wizened with age and visibly lewd thoughts, winking and grinning at me. "What was that?" I said. "I don't quite follow–"
The brown-toothed leer grew wider. "'Follow', aye, that's good. Follow me you haven't yet, perhaps, but follow me you might – if I just happened to be going where you wanted to go. Eh?"
His words barely concealed their true intent. "To Wetwick, then?" I said. "You know the district?"
"Hold your clapper, for Christ's sake. I know this place as well, and I believe our welcome's at an end." He nodded towards the landlord, who was advancing along the length of serving bar, rolling his sleeves up over his thickly muscled arms. "I'm only in here to collect a wager; lucky for you – you'd have got no help from this tight-arsed bunch. Bozzimacoo!" The last was said to the landlord leaning threateningly over the counter. "I wouldn't touch the billy stink you push here, anyway!