Dodger

by Terry Pratchett

  Dodger – because the old lady was indeed Dodger – felt rather happy about all this. And also slightly ashamed since, after all, the coroner of Four Farthings himself and his officer had come out to help the old lady with the cart and had assured her that the remains of her niece had been treated with veneration at all times. It warmed the cockles of your heart, so it did.

  Then, of course, there was the return journey, this way against the tide, and the lighterman could see that he was not, as it were, going to become a rich man in this situation, so he said gruffly, ‘OK, dear, in for a lion, in for a lamb, a farthing each and let’s call it quits.’

  The journey across the water wasn’t that long, although it was a bit choppy, and after the man helped the fussy old lady to get the little cart over the cobbles he was amazed beyond belief when the old girl handed him a shiny three sixpences, calling him the last gentleman in London. For a long time afterwards he remembered the incident fondly.

  Once back on the right side of the Thames, a watcher would have seen the old lady pulling her cart in a haphazard way along a dark and foggy alley where there was a shadow and a great smell of gin, and a very drunken, very dirty and very nasty-looking man who said, ‘Got anything for me in your bag there, Granny?’

  This little tableau was witnessed through the gloom by a bootblack who was sitting down on the kerb to eat his breakfast. Just as he began to think that he should do something about the ambush further on, something very strange eventuated in which the old lady seemed to vanish in a whirl and the man was on the ground while she was kicking him merrily in the fork, crying out, ‘If ever I see you around here again, sonny, I’ll have your giblets on my griddle, just you see if I don’t!’ Then, after adjusting her dress somewhat, the old lady once again became, well, an old lady in the eyes of the bootblack, who had watched with his half-eaten jacket potato neglected in his hand. Then the old dear waved at him cheerily and said, ‘Young man, who’s doing potatoes around here today?’

  This led to Dodger continuing his journey with quite a lot of jacket potatoes in his bag, which he distributed to any old ladies he saw sitting pitifully on the kerb; it was a kind of penance, he thought. And God, who must surely have looked kindly on this act of charity, seemed to have arranged it that a lavender girl had set up right in the next street, which meant that Dodger was spared the chore of going out to find one, not a difficult task since in the stink of London everybody liked to buy some lavender now and again. In this case the lucky girl sold all of the stock to the old lady with grateful thanks and went to the pub, while the old lady, smelling far more fragrant, trundled on her way.

  Moving a dead body is never easy in any case, but in the murkier part of Seven Dials Dodger treasured an alley with a drain in it that was just the job; and of course, once he was in the sewers he was in his element. He could go about his business unrecognized by the people walking about above, and the chances of meeting another tosher were small. Anyway, as the king of the toshers, he could do as he pleased. In sewers, if you knew where to look for them, there were places that would make a good-sized room – places the toshers had given wonderful names to, like Top and Turn Again.

  Splashing his way into one of the tunnels, Dodger set about the nastier piece of the enterprise. This particular stretch had so far never been given a name; it got one now: Rest in Peace. Death was always around in the darker places of London, and it was an unusual day when you didn’t see a funeral procession, so this engendered a kind of pragmatism: people lived, people died and other people had to deal with it. At this point, because he very much wanted to live, Dodger pulled off his disguise to reveal his normal clothes hidden beneath the rags, and pulled on a pair of large, well-greased, leather gloves, just as Mrs Holland had advised, and he was grateful for the advice, and grateful too that he had spent so much on the lavender, because however you looked at it, the dull, heavy, cloying smell of death was something that you didn’t put up with for any longer than you had to.

  So with traffic a few feet overhead, he pulled, pushed and levered very thoroughly until he had got things looking just right. All was well right up until when, as he was just positioning the remains of the young lady in her nook, she sighed as her head moved. Dodger thought, If something like that is going to happen it’s a good job you are standing in a sewer. It was nothing; he knew the dead could be quite noisy at times, as Mrs Holland had said. What with gases and so on, corpses might be said to speak long after they were dead. He opened his carefully prepared little bag of camphor and cayenne pepper, which ought to keep the rats away, for long enough at least.

  As he stood back to look at his handiwork, he was glad, very glad, that he wouldn’t have to do it ever again. Then there was nothing more to do, apart from packing up his gloves, but he also took great care to leave the sewer at some distance away from the scene of the crime – if such it could be called, he added to himself. Finding a pump, he washed his hands in London water, which he knew was always slightly suspicious unless you boiled it, but good old lye soap was a reliable if caustic companion. Then he strolled back to Seven Dials with the air of a young man just enjoying the sunshine which, in fact, was rather strange today, as if something was going on in the upper air.

  He didn’t think very much about this, however, for as soon as he got home two peelers were waiting for him, and one of them said, ‘Sir Robert would like a word with you, my little lad.’ He sniffed at the leftover lavender that Dodger had chosen to take home because it was always welcome around Onan. ‘Flowers for your girl, hey?’

  Dodger ignored him, but he had been expecting something like this, since once the peelers had got interested in you, they kept on being interested in you, apparently thinking that sooner or later you would break down and confess to everything. It was a sort of game, and the worst of it was when they tried to seem to be friends. And so, like the upstanding citizen he was, he accompanied the two men to Scotland Yard, but making sure that he went with the swagger of a geezer and everyone in the rookeries could see that this wasn’t something he was in agreement with – for Dodger had a reputation to keep down; it was bad enough to be an official hero, but he would be damned if he was going to be seen to go willingly into anywhere where peelers lurked. It wouldn’t be the first, third or tenth time the peelers thought they had got Dodger and would have to think again.

  Sir Robert Peel was waiting for him. Even now Dodger didn’t trust him – he looked like a swell, but had a street gleam in his eye. The head of the peelers regarded him over his desk and said, ‘Have you ever heard of the Outlander, my friend?’

  ‘No,’ lied Dodger, on the basis that you always lied to a policeman if at all possible.

  Sir Robert gave him a blank look and said that the police forces of Europe would very much like to see the Outlander behind bars or, for preference, swinging from the gallows. ‘The Outlander is an assassin. He is a sharp man, Mister Dodger, and so are his knives. We presume from as much information as we can glean that he is very much interested in the whereabouts of Miss Simplicity. And, by association, you. We both know the facts of the matter, and I must assume that someone somewhere is getting extremely impatient, as evinced by the murder of Sharp Bob and his employee. We appear to be running out of time, Mister Dodger. You must understand that the British government would be doing nothing wrong in the eyes of many people if a runaway wife was sent back to her legal husband.’ He sniffed. ‘Distasteful as that would seem to many of us who are cognizant of the circumstances of this whole sordid matter. The clock is ticking, my friend. People in power do not like to be continually thwarted, and can I at this stage also draw to your attention the fact that I am one of them.’

  There was a tapping noise and Dodger glanced down at Sir Robert Peel’s left hand, the fingers of which were drumming on a pile of documents which seemed rather familiar.

  Sir Robert looked at his face and said, ‘I know, because it is my job to know these things, that a certain embassy was broken into two nights ago
, with a great deal of documentation and miscellaneous jewellery stolen. Subsequently it appears that the miscreant, who we are under some pressure to bring to justice, then saw fit to set fire to a coach house.’

  Dodger’s face was all innocent interest as Sir Robert continued, ‘Of course, my men had to go to check upon the details of this theft and this wilful vandalism and it seemed that even before the fire one wheel of this coach was damaged, but the perpetrator appeared to have scratched across the crest of this coach the name “Mr Punch”. I must assume that of course you know nothing about any of this?’

  ‘Well, sir,’ said Dodger brightly, ‘as you know, we were at a jolly dinner party that night. I went home with Solomon, who I am sure will testify should you require it.’ And he thought, I wonder if Solomon would lie for me to a policeman? Swiftly the thought came back: Solomon must have lied to policemen all over Europe, and with God on his side, and would be very unlikely in the presence of a peeler to know if the sky was blue.

  Sir Robert smiled, but the smile had no warmth in it and the drumming of his fingers became a little more insistent. ‘Mister Dodger, I am absolutely certain that Mister Cohen would say exactly that. And since we are on the subject, would you know anything about a Jewish gentleman who called in at our front desk this morning with a little package of documents for me? The sergeant in charge said he placed them on the desk and scuttled off at some speed and most certainly without leaving his name.’ There was the unfunny smile again, and Sir Robert went on, ‘Of course, generally speaking, all elderly Jewish gentlemen in their black clothing look very similar to everyone except their nearest and dearest.’

  At this point Dodger piped up and said, ‘Indeed, I never really thought of it.’ He was enjoying this and so, in some twisted way, was at least part of Sir Robert.

  ‘So you know nothing,’ said Sir Robert. ‘You know nothing, you heard nothing and you weren’t there, of course.’ He added, ‘These are very interesting documents, very interesting. Especially in the light of the current discussions taking place. Which is why the embassy want them back. Of course, I don’t know where they are. Surely Solomon must have pointed out to you the worth of what you brought home?’

  ‘What, sir, sorry, sir. Solomon ain’t mentioned to me anything about any documents and I ain’t seen them,’ said Dodger, thinking, What’s he think I am? A little baby?

  ‘Ye-e-s,’ said Sir Robert. ‘Mister Dodger, have you heard the phrase, You are so sharp that you might cut yourself?’

  ‘Yes, sir, very careful with knives, sir, you can be sure of that.’

  ‘I’m so glad to hear it. You may go now.’ And as Dodger had his hand on the door knob, Sir Robert said, ‘Don’t do it again, young man.’

  Dodger said, ‘Can’t, sir, haven’t done it once.’ He didn’t shake his head, except in the privacy of his brain. Yes, they always wait until you think you are out of trouble and then they fly one on you. Honestly, I could teach them a few tricks.

  He left Scotland Yard, calling out cheerfully as he did so, ‘Told yuz! You’ll never find anything on me, my lads.’ But he thought, So there are clocks ticking. A government’s clock. The Outlander’s clock. And mine. It will be best for Simplicity if mine chimes first.

  As for the Outlander? Here he paused. A man whose only description was that he never seemed to be the same man twice? How could you ever find a man like that? But he comforted himself as he thought, We are so close now, and he’s got to learn all about me and find out where I am. That’s going to be very difficult for him. This didn’t entirely satisfy him, because the thought that came after was that the Outlander was a professional killer, apparently of important people, so exactly how hard would it be for him to wipe a snotty-nosed tosher off of the world?

  He considered this and then said aloud, ‘I’m Dodger! It will be very hard indeed!’

  1 Sights like this were commonplace. Henry Mayhew’s research is full of details of this level of poverty, nowadays unimaginable in cities such as London.

  CHAPTER 15

  In the hands of the Lady

  AS SEVEN O’CLOCK neared, Dodger went over all his precautions and preparations and came up out of the sewer a little way away, in order to be seen cheerfully walking to The Lion public house.

  He was not surprised to find Mister Bazalgette sitting on a bench outside, wearing what might be called serviceable clothes for someone who is going to perambulate underneath the streets of London. The young man looked like a kid waiting for the Punch and Judy show to begin, and had festooned himself with various instruments and a large notebook, and had also very thoughtfully come with his own lantern, although Dodger had made certain to borrow three of these already. It meant calling in a few little favours, but that was surely what favours were for.

  The young engineer was primly nursing a pint of ginger beer, and right there and then he struck up a conversation with Dodger about the nature of the sewers, with reference to the amount of water that Dodger had seen in them, the prevalence of rats, the dangers of being underground and other things of interest to a gentleman as enthusiastic as Bazalgette.

  ‘Looking forward to seeing your Lady, Mister Dodger?’ he asked.

  Dodger thought, Yes, both of them, but smiled and said, ‘I ain’t never seen her, ne’er even once. But sometimes, you know when you are by yourself, you get a feeling that someone’s just walked past, and there is a change in the air, and then you look down and all the rats are running very fast, all in the same direction; and then sometimes, as it might be, you look at a bit of rotted old sewer wall and something tells you that it might just be worth fumbling around in the crumbling bricks. So you take a look, and glory be, there’s a gold ring with two diamonds on it. That’s what happened to me one time.’ He added, ‘Some toshers say they’ve seen her, but that’s supposed to be when they are dying, and I ain’t intending to do that right now. Mind you, sir, I’ll be happy to see her right now if she points me to a tosheroon.’

  There followed a conversation on the legendary tosheroons and how they were formed. Fortunately, at this time a growler pulled up and disgorged Charlie and Mister Disraeli, who was bright and shining and somewhat nervous, as sensible citizens tended to be in the general vicinity of Seven Dials. Charlie sat him down on the bench and headed into the pub, coming back shortly afterwards with a man carrying a couple of pints of beer on a tray, and Mister Bazalgette rubbed his hands and said, ‘Well now, gentlemen, when do we start?’

  ‘Very soon, sir,’ Dodger replied. ‘But there’s been a slight change of plan. Miss Burdett-Coutts wants one of her young footmen to come down with us because she wants to encourage him to better himself.’ He added brightly, ‘Maybe he might become an engineer like yourself, sir.’

  Dodger stopped, because a very smart coach with two beefy coachmen had spun into the pub’s yard, and its doors opened to disgorge the aforesaid young footman, somewhat plumper in certain regions than the average footman, and remarkably – yes, thought Dodger – the signs of shaving around his jaw. Simplicity, and just possibly Angela, was really taking this charade seriously. The rest of them were taking it on the chin.

  It wasn’t at all a bad disguise and quite a lot of young serving men were on the plump side, what with all the leftovers, but to anyone who had seen her in a dress she was Simplicity, absolutely Simplicity, and if you were Dodger, looking more beautiful – even if unshaven – than ever before. But she had been wrong; her legs were not fat! No, in Dodger’s mind, they were perfectly shaped, and he had to fight to take his mind off her legs and back onto the task ahead of him.

  He wasn’t sure what Joseph Bazalgette was thinking, but quite possibly he was thinking about sewers and couldn’t have seen that much of Simplicity at the party in any case. And since Angela was right there, Charlie and Disraeli were seeing – my word, yes! – what they were supposed to see. It was, thought Dodger, a kind of political fog.

  Miss Coutts leaned out of the coach window and said, ‘I will return for my yo
ung footman in an hour and a half, gentlemen. I trust you will take care of him because I have no wish to answer for him to his grieving mother. Roger is a good boy, rather shy and does not talk much.’ She added meaningfully, ‘If he is sensible.’

  The coach window closed again, and Miss Angela was gone. It was left to Charlie to say, ‘Well, gentlemen, maybe we should start? We are in your hands now, Mister Dodger.’

  All things planned in the rookeries had to be carefully thought through, Dodger knew. That was why, just before they left, he threw a handful of ha’pennies and farthings down where they were standing, so that the urchins around the place had more interesting things to do than follow them, so engrossed were they as they struggled against one another for this sudden storm of wealth.

  Dodger kept the pace brisk with a number of unnecessary twists and turns and doubling back until he got to the sewer entrance of his choice, and proceeded to help the party down one at a time with the young footman first.

  When they were all assembled, staring around at the rotting bricks and the curious unnamed growths that hung from the walls, he put a finger to his mouth to indicate silence, walked a few steps and gave out a two-tone whistle, which floated along the pipes. He waited; there was no answering call. He wasn’t expecting any other toshers today, but if there had been any, they would have answered; generally speaking, it was common sense to know if other people were working down there as well.

  ‘And now, gentlemen,’ he said jauntily. ‘Welcome to this, my world. As you can see, in this light sometimes it even seems a little bit golden. It’s amazing how the sun gets through. What do you think of it, Mister Disraeli?’