Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [70]
Instead of taking a hansom cab to Rotherhithe, Crowe led the two boys to the side of the Thames, where stone steps stained green with algae led down into a foul-smelling brown river. The far bank was hidden by a haze of smoke and a brownish miasma that seemed to be rising from the river itself. A boat was bobbing up and down on the water. Its owner sat in the bows, smoking a pipe.
‘Rotherhithe,’ Crowe said grimly, tossing a coin. The boatman nodded, catching the coin deftly and biting it to make sure it was real. Crowe and the boys settled into the stern while the boatman set to, facing backwards and pulling the boat through the water with his oars.
Sherlock found the journey strange and disturbing. Water sloshed in the bottom of the boat and there were things floating in the river that he tried hard not to look at: human waste, dead rats and lengths of sodden wood covered in weeds. The smell was so appalling that he had to breathe through his mouth, and even then he was sure he could taste the smell as it coated his tongue and the back of his throat. It made him gag. At one point another boat emerged from the murk and passed close to them. Someone shouted a curse, and their boatman replied with a gesture that Sherlock had never seen before but could translate pretty well.
It took twenty minutes or so to make the journey to Rotherhithe, and they disembarked on a set of steps that were almost indistinguishable from the ones that they had started from. Crowe led the way up to the top.
A narrow alley cobbled with rough stones ran along the riverbank, curving away to either side. Crowe led Matty and Sherlock along it, past the towering edifices of warehouses and brick walls, following the edge of the malodorous Thames and keeping to the shadows wherever possible. After ten minutes or so he stopped. Opposite them was one of the taverns that could be found everywhere across the metropolis. The jangly music of a badly tuned upright piano emerged through the doorways and the windows, along with a jumble of voices singing different words to the same tune. Several women stood in a doorway and eyed Amyus Crowe with interest before turning away when they saw Sherlock and Matty.
‘I believe the warehouse is just around the corner,’ Crowe murmured. His attention was focused all around them, looking for threats. ‘I suggest we check out the lay of the land and settle down for a while,’
‘What if we’re seen?’ Sherlock asked.
‘I used to be a hunter, back in Albuquerque,’ Crowe said. ‘I tracked some of the most dangerous beasts around. There’s things you can do to minimize the chances of gettin’ discovered. Don’t make eye contact, for a start, cos all animals spot eyes straight away. Look at things out of the corner of your eye – it’s more sensitive than lookin’ straight, although you don’t make out colours too well. Don’t move if you can help it, cos the eye is set up to spot movement, not things that are still. Wear dull clothin’ that doesn’t have any colours that you wouldn’t see in nature – grey for stone, green for moss, brown for earth. And don’t wear any metal, cos metal ain’t found in nature in any great quantities. Follow those rules and you can stand against a brick wall and folk’ll just let their eyes move over you an’ on till they find somethin’ more interestin’.’
‘It sounds like magic,’ Sherlock said, unconvinced.
‘Most stuff does till you know how it’s done.’ He glanced critically at the two boys. ‘Those cuts on your face will help you blend in, Sherlock, but you’re both a mite too neat for this neighbourhood. Need to dirty you up a bit.’ He looked around. ‘OK, I need you to roll around on the cobbles for a while. Get some dust into your clothes.’
‘Won’t that be suspicious?’ Sherlock asked.
‘Not if you got a reason for it,’ Crowe explained. ‘Matty, shove young Sherlock here in the chest.’
‘What?’ Matty responded.
‘Just do it. An’ Sherlock, you punch him on the shoulder right back.’
The light of understanding dawned in Sherlock’s mind.