The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [35]
On the left, its walls adjoining the Adelphi, was, of course, a pub. There were always pubs, Orphan thought. Wherever you turned in the capital you would find one, and in the unlikeliest of places. They were the glue that held society together, a fixture of history and culture, as permanent and as pervasive as the gloomy weather.
This pub was a small, nondescript building that merged into its surroundings like a smear of coal-dust on the grey walls. Small, rectangular windows looked like dark glasses worn by a retreating professor. The pub used to be called the Bull's Head, but under the edict of its mischievous new owner the name was changed to the Nell Gwynne, and the sign above the door depicted the famous actress – who grew up in Covent Garden, performed in the Theatre Royal, and was whisperingly told to have been a mistress to Charles II, who people still called the Merry King – entwined with a smiling lizardine gentleman, neither of them dressed, her pale flesh startling against his bright scales. It was a typical sign for his friend to have had commissioned, Orphan thought; and, shaking his head, he reached for the low door and knocked.
He had to knock several more times, and more and more loudly, before the door finally opened, and a ruffled-haired Tom Thumb stood in the doorway, looking at first annoyed and then, as he spied Orphan, concerned.
"What happened to you?" the little man said, and he grabbed hold of Orphan's arm and pulled him into the dim interior, closing the door behind them with a practised kick. "Sit down, china. You look terrible."
He propped Orphan on a red velvety chair before the fireplace, where a comforting blaze was slowly consuming a large tree log. Orphan sat down gratefully and felt the exhaustion overcome him. The warmth from the fire threatened to send him to sleep, and his eyes slowly closed.
A giggle made him open his eyes again. On the other side of the small room (the inside of the Nell Gwynne, Orphan had decided on his first visit there, was about the size of a large wardrobe) a large bed covered most of the raised area which would have once held, perhaps, a couple of tables for the pub's customers. Two young women – each easily twice the height of his friend – were sitting up in the bed now, their nakedness covered half-heartedly by a blanket. Behind the long bar counter Tom was pouring a drink. "We was having a bit of a party before you showed up," he said. "Orphan, I'd like you to meet my dear friends Belinda and Ariel – girls, this is Orphan." He turned to Orphan and offered him a sheepish grin. "I was telling them about youse only last night."
"You poor thing!" the two girls said in unison and, rising from the bed – the blanket falling to reveal two perfect Rubenesque nudes – came over to Orphan and began fussing over him. "It's so sad," said one of them – he couldn't tell which was Belinda, and which was Ariel – and the other said, "You have been so brave!" She turned towards the bar and bellowed, "Tom Thumb, stop mucking about there and bring your friend something to drink! Look at the state of him!"
"I'm getting it!" Tom growled. "You can't rush the drink, you insufferable doxy!"
Orphan, who felt rather confused, looked on helplessly as the two girls set about plumping pillows for him, taking off his shoes, and then sat down on either side of him and looked at him with large, sorrowful eyes. "You look terrible," one of them said, touching a cool hand to his forehead. "You're so pale and weak." She nodded and her hand sleeked the hair off Orphan's brow. "It's a broken 'eart what does that to you. I know."
"Leave him be!" Tom Thumb bellowed as he approached from behind the counter, a large, round glass held in his hand. "Here, laddie, drink this."
Strangely, the drink in the glass looked like the skies in sunrise, red and yellow hues suffusing the liquid with an internal glow. Tom Thumb, as if reading Orphan's mind, said, "It's one of me own little inventions. I