Dodger

by Terry Pratchett

  Dodger did like the wine, and because he was Dodger he thought, Well, this is pretty good stuff so I will drink it very slowly. After all, he very seldom drank wine, although Solomon used to buy some stuff at Passover which was so sweet it made your teeth ache. Dodger generally liked beer or stout, especially stout in the winter; they were simple drinks for simple people, and Dodger did not wish to become a complicated person, which he certainly would become if he drank more than one glass of this wine.

  Solomon had told him beforehand that there could be a different wine with every course with meals like this; he had to wonder how on earth people would get back home. So, while Angela spoke to Sir Robert Peel and Simplicity delicately finished her own bowl of soup, he treasured the little glass, taking a small sip at a time. Oh, he had been rascally drunk occasionally, but while it had looked a good idea at the time it never looked quite the same later on when you woke up, and it was very hard to go on the tosh without your mind being clear. Of course, not throwing up a lot helped too, and more than anything he didn’t want to disgrace himself in any way in front of all these nobby people, and while Simplicity was watching. And she was watching.

  So was the turbot, which came past on a silver tray before being distributed among the guests. It was big and fat, but you had never seen such a sorry expression on the face of a fish before, although perhaps it might have been cheered up by the fact that along with the rather piquant sauce it tasted very nice. Dodger was more at his ease now; the dinner was going well, people were chattering to one another, and it was all rather jolly. It was still jolly when the roast saddle of mutton turned up, slightly yellow and rather greasy, and to a lad as energetic as Dodger, pure pleasure, although he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten so much. In the attic, the meals prepared by Solomon were . . . wholesome, and enough. Meat came in small amounts, more a seasoning than the whole meal, and generally the basis of a thick soup or nourishing gruel. He was aware now of a general tightness of the stomach; but good mutton was the food of the gods, and therefore it would be totally unrighteous not to do it justice.

  Things were going well; he had listened to Solomon on the subject of which knife and fork you should use for each course,2 he had tucked his napkin in his neck, and he could definitely do this sort of thing every night. But he knew that he had been ignoring – how could he? – Simplicity, who was, he saw, very politely listening to one of Solomon’s stories now, with every semblance of interest, which was right and proper because Solomon could surprise you every time.

  Just as he turned to look at her, she turned to look at him, and said, ‘It’s rather droll, Dodger, that you appear to be dressed like a slightly smaller version of Sir Robert.’ Here she lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Much more handsome, and you don’t scowl as much. But I must say you look like two peas in a pod.’

  Dodger said, ‘He’s a lot older and bigger than me.’

  A remark which caused Simplicity to smile and say, ‘Sometimes I think English people don’t always think about what they say; if you look inside any pod of peas, you will see that they are all sizes. The pea pod shapes them differently.’

  He stared at her with his mouth open. Because firstly, he realized he often shelled peas for Solomon and had never really bothered what shape any of them were, and secondly, here was Simplicity telling him something new. Not for the first time, he thought, Yes, Simplicity is not simple.

  She laughed softly. ‘You don’t know anything about me, Dodger.’

  ‘Well, I expect that someone will let me find out some more at some time, please?’

  ‘I have very fat legs!’ she announced.

  The chances of getting very fat at all in the rookeries were small, but Dodger had never heard of any girl saying that her legs were too thin, and so he said, in the silence that followed her remark, ‘I don’t want to be indelicate, miss, but that is a matter of opinion – your opinion obviously, but alas I have as yet been unable to form one for myself.’

  It wasn’t quite an uproar, he thought, more like a halfway up roar, but Dodger heard variations on the theme of ‘I’d say!’ And quite a few examples of that hard-to-describe noise that people make when they are pretending to be shocked, but really are just rather amused and possibly also relieved. It was probably Charlie who said, ‘Excellent, worthy of the famous Beau Brummel himself!’

  Solomon’s face was absolutely blank, as if he hadn’t heard, and Angela, God bless her, was chuckling. This was very useful, Dodger thought, because she was the hostess, and an incredibly rich woman, and quite clearly to everybody there she was perfectly happy about what was going on, thus defying anyone who thought otherwise. After all, who would want to disagree with one of the richest women in the world?

  Around them there grew then a sort of comfortable buzz as people finished their drinks and in some cases started them again anew, and at this point Dodger realized that he certainly needed the jakes, and he had no idea where they would be, except of course they would be downstairs. In a world of unmentionables – real, erratic and sometimes invisible – he was not going to ask a lady where he could go to take a piss.

  Then he found himself looking into the eyes of Sir Robert Peel, who was grinning round Angela like a cat who has seen a mouse, and the boss of the peelers said, ‘Ah, Mister Dodger, I rather suspect from the way in which you are searching about that you are looking for a place of some easement; allow me to escort you, because I myself am noticing the same urgency.’

  Dodger was in no position to refuse. Sir Robert exchanged a nod with Angela and piloted Dodger out of the room and down some steps, ushering him eventually into something like a paradise made of mahogany and gleaming brass and copper.

  It sparkled; it was a palace. The jakes in the rookeries were crowded, dark and stank; you would be better off going outside, and many did – which meant that walking along an alleyway at night was a very big adventure. Solomon, always fastidious about this sort of thing, had his own portable bucket with a little well-scrubbed wooden lid for those moments when a man just wanted a nice sit-down. One of Dodger’s chores was to take the bucket to the nearest cesspit, but these were overflowing most of the time; anyway, every night the honey wagons came round, which did a little something to improve matters when the workers shovelled up the stuff and away it went, along with the horse muck too. But however often the honey wagons came along, and however hard the dunykin divers scoured the septic tanks, you were never very far from yesterday’s dinner. But this place, well, this was amazing, and although he knew what the hole in the shiny mahogany was for, it seemed like sacrilege to use it. And what was this? Sheets of paper, all cut out ready for use, just like Solomon did with the Jewish Chronicle, and there were mirrors too, and little soaps in a large bowl, soft and smelling nice on the hands. Dodger couldn’t help pocketing some – despite the company – because there were so many of them.

  He took a few moments to be stupefied, despite the pressure on his bladder and a certain nervousness about being cooped up in the same room as the boss of the peelers who, he noticed, was now sitting quite happily in a very expensive chair and lighting a cigar.

  Sir Robert Peel smiled at him and said, ‘Please don’t stand on ceremony, Mister Dodger; I am in no hurry and, of course, as you must have realized, I am also between you and the doorway.’

  This information, just as he was addressing himself to the ornate and gleaming pan in front of him, dropped Dodger into a state where the business in hand was turning out to be impossible. He glanced over his shoulder. Sir Robert wasn’t even looking at him, but was simply enjoying his cigar, like a man with all the time in the world. But since nothing actually bad was happening now, Dodger got a grip on his . . . fears and had to admire the perfect workings of this wondrous new contraption. When he had finished, the voice of Sir Robert, still in his chair, said laconically, ‘Now you pull the porcelain knob on the chain to your left.’

  Dodger had been wondering what that was for. It was surely waiti
ng to be pulled, wasn’t it? But why? To let people know that you had finished? Did it ring a bell so that people didn’t come in and disturb you? Oh well, he gave the nice little ceramic knob on the end of the chain a casual but hopeful pull, then backed away from the bowl, just in case this really was the wrong thing to have done and despite everything he was going to get into trouble . . . except the water gurgled around the pan, leaving the place spotless. Now that was a thing worth having!

  He swung round and said, ‘Yes, sir, I know what to do. And I know you are having a little game, sir. I am wondering what you want from me.’

  Sir Robert looked at the tip of his cigar as if he had not seen it before, and said very casually, ‘I would very much like to know how you did that murder in the sewers this afternoon.’

  Inside Dodger, the turbot and all his little friends rushed to escape the sinking Dodger, and for a moment he thought he would make a terrible mess on that shiny floor until he reminded himself, I never murdered anyone, didn’t want to, didn’t have time. So he said, ‘What murder would this be?’ quelling the turbot and telling it to mind its manners. ‘I never murdered nobody, never!’

  The head of all the policemen in London said cheerfully, ‘Well now, it’s funny you should say that, because I believe you, but sad to say we have a dead body in the morgue and two men who say you put the poor fellow in there. And the funny thing is, and you might laugh at this, I do not believe them. There is a corpse, certainly, reported to us by a gentleman known around and about as Manky Smith – probably known to you as well?’

  ‘Manky Smith? He’s a boozer, walks around all the time with wet pants. He would peach anybody for a pint of porter. I bet the other one was Crouching Angus, an old sweat with one and a half legs.’

  The man had said that he didn’t think that Dodger had murdered anybody and that was a good thing, wasn’t it? A very good thing, but nevertheless the chief peeler had that look about him you learned to recognize after you had had a few run-ins with authority. It said that authority wanted you to know that authority always had the upper hand, and that you had just better mind your manners for the moment, because you were the enemy of authority unless authority told you that you weren’t.

  Mister Peel was watching him with a slight smile on his face – you must never ignore the smile on the face of a peeler – and Dodger thought, This one is the king of the peelers, the big Peel himself, so even a dodger knows when not to dodge. He said, watching that smile, ‘You say that you don’t think I murdered anybody, but there are two people saying I done it, right? Who’s the body what was murdered? And why ain’t you taking their word against mine?’

  Very calmly, Sir Robert said, ‘Frankly, my men know them and say that they wouldn’t take the testimony of those two if the Archangel Gabriel was standing beside them and had given them a reference.’ He smiled the smile of a policeman, which was only slightly better than the smile of a tiger, and said, ‘And I’m not taking your word as anything, Mister Dodger, but I am inclined to take the word of Solomon Cohen, who is very well thought of in the Jewish community. While I engaged him in conversation earlier this evening – and quite clearly he knew nothing of this accusation, nor did I say anything of it to him – he was kind enough to mention that you have spent almost the whole day in his company, a fact which can be verified by a number of reputable merchants, including my own tailors, which I can see with my own eyes. But I ask myself, if this murder took place only a few hours ago, why did this allegation reach me instantly, do you think?’

  Before Dodger could say anything, Sir Robert continued. ‘I think that you have made enemies because, as Ben tells me, you appear to be compounding your heroic deeds by keeping a certain young woman safe while she is in our country. I salute you for that, but this situation cannot go on for ever. There are indications that . . . others involved in this affair are growing increasingly impatient.’

  He drew on his cigar and lazily blew out a cloud of blue smoke; it drifted and curled around Dodger’s head like an aromatic fog.

  ‘There has clearly been a murder,’ the head of the peelers stated, ‘and indeed I must make certain that somebody is brought to justice – despite the fact that the corpse concerned was a gentleman who was known as a man who got things done, for a fee, with no questions asked and certainly no questions answered. He was a lawyer until the other lawyers found him out, and then he became what we call an accommodator, and a particularly good one because he knew all the lawyers’ tricks. He was very good at introducing people who needed crimes committed to people who wanted to be paid for committing crimes and, of course, he would skim something off the top for his expenses without ever getting his hands dirty. Now he turns up quite professionally dead, meaning neat and clean and not involving any third party. A very neat job. And a very silent corpse. They might as well have done the washing up and fed the cat before they left. His name was Sharp Bob.’

  Sharp Bob was dead! So someone had got to him, Dodger thought. But now he had other questions. What had this Sharp Bob known? Had he been working on his own, just to make some specie . . .? Or under the orders of someone else? For that government Mister Disraeli had spoken of?

  ‘All the policemen know about you, Mister Dodger,’ Sir Robert was saying, ‘and the old Bow Street boys did as well: always suspected, never impeached, never had to stand in front of the beak. One old lad I knew said some people believed you were protected by the Lady of the Sewers, and I believe that you may now need all the protection you can get. We are not the Bow Street runners, Mister Dodger; we are clever men – your friend Charlie Dickens is in fact quite fascinated by our procedures.’ Sir Robert sighed, and went on, ‘Indeed, I sometimes suspect he would love to be a peeler if I let him; he’d make a good copper if he didn’t scribble, scribble, scribble all the time, I am sure. We know what goes on, Mister Dodger, but sometimes we don’t see the need to tell people everything that we know.’

  He paused to take another puff on his cigar, before continuing, ‘I do know, however, that one or two people with associations to the aforesaid Sharp Bob are said to have recently run up against a gentleman known to all and sundry as Dodger, and ended up the worst for it. One . . . employee, shall we say, appears to have had an unfortunate and terminal accident only yesterday morning – the kind involving his being run over by a coach and four in a busy street not too far from your own neighbourhood. Run over twice, it would appear . . . with no witnesses whatsoever.’

  Dodger’s mind was racing. Someone else had got to the other cove who had beaten Simplicity, then – someone who hadn’t held back from killing. Now it began to seem that everyone connected with this affair was ending up dead . . .

  ‘We are rather wondering,’ Sir Robert mused, ‘if there might be another player here now; people are getting restive and want to see this whole matter cleared up. Of course, a keen policeman would still automatically think that said Mister Dodger, being somewhat annoyed by the lackeys of Sharp Bob, might see that some harm came to him or his associates. However, as all London knows, you were otherwise engaged yesterday morning at Mister Todd’s establishment. You appear to be a lucky man, Dodger. A man who is normally invisible has become surprisingly visible at just the right moments.’ He paused. ‘Although my informants do tell me there is a further known associate of both of these two late gentlemen who was seen sporting a broken nose this morning, whilst also walking in a rather peculiar fashion . . . this may need further investigation. Are you with me? I see that you are remaining quiet; very sensible of you.’

  The boss of the peelers stood up, knocking the ash off the end of his cigar into a small silver ashtray. ‘Mister Dodger, I am the head of the police force, which makes me a policeman, but I am also a politician. I am sure that someone as smart as you is aware that politicians – who in theory wield a great deal of power – can sometimes get somewhat tangled up when it comes to using it, knowing that their every move is going to be watched and questioned. Agents watch every port – good h
eavens, you yourself must know that; there isn’t a mudlark or an urchin on every quay who wouldn’t keep an eye open for anyone for a cost. But there are indeed some of us who, whilst publicly toeing the government line, feel that an innocent person who has sought sanctuary in Britain should not be sent back to where she does not want to go. Good Lord, man, we are British! We should not bow to the demands of anyone. There must surely be a way to resolve this situation without risking a war.’

  Dodger’s mouth fell open. A war? Over Simplicity?

  ‘Mister Dodger,’ the head of the peelers continued, ‘you and Miss Simplicity appear to be a reason why people are being killed. And why more people might be, unless we can resolve this, and very soon, since you must by now also realize that this affair has ramifications beyond Miss Simplicity and yourself. Now I know that you are very keen to see that the young lady in question comes to no harm, and as your friend Charlie has said, when the kings and queens and knights and rooks find it difficult to move, the pawn may win the game. Like Charlie, I therefore believe that somebody not so readily associated with the government could indeed be the very man to help us find a solution.’ His voice dropped as he said, more softly, ‘You are the freest free agent that I can possibly imagine, and frankly, Mister Dodger, and I will deny this if ever you repeat it publicly and you may be sure that my word will be taken against yours, one of the reasons I’m talking to you now is to tell you that whatever you may be planning, you must not break the law. Since I have just now stepped out of this room and any voice you may be hearing cannot possibly be mine, I must, however, point out to you that there are times when the law may be somewhat . . . flexible.’

  He moved closer to the door and said, ‘And now, without another word, we will both stroll back to the others as if we had just been discussing the very latest in modern sanitation, and I will find you again when I need to. We will’ – he paused – ‘be watching you with interest.’ The head of the peelers looked at Dodger’s panicked expression and smiled again. ‘Don’t worry unduly; in the meantime, we have a homicide – that just means a dead body really. Who knows? He might have been meeting a client in rather insalubrious surroundings and banged his head on something and some people got the wrong idea. And, Mister Dodger, this conversation and everything to do with it has never existed. Do you understand?’