The Fire Within

by Samuel T Clayton

  ‘Manners, young man!’ scolded Sissy, her sudden presence catching him off-guard.

  ‘Pardon me, ma. I didn’t see you there.’ His wide, friendly smile melted away any further rebuke. A hand plucked the hat from his head, and he ran his fingers through his hair, trying to make himself look more presentable. ‘I fixed the shutter,’ he said, pointing at the window, ‘and I started the fire so long. There’s enough wood and coal to last the day.’

  The icy blue eyes that looked up at Sissy had a naughty glint in them. ‘Thank you, my boy.’ She walked over to the hearth rubbing her hands in front of the fire. ‘The girls will cook some frumenty for breakfast. Are you joining us?’

  ‘I have to go, ma.’ Tristan loved the sweet porridge laced with cinnamon and raisins, especially on a cold morning such as this, but he already had other plans.

  ‘So soon? Are you heading to The Smoking Cod today?’ The disappointment was obvious in her voice. It was Sunday after all and one of the few days she might get to see more of him.

  ‘Mr Sullivan wants us to take some pies across the bridge to their stall, in time for the Brick Lane Market’s opening. It might be every Sunday from now on.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Sissy. She had warmed up nicely and walked over to the table. ‘Is anything the matter?’

  ‘No, mother.’ He gave her another smile.

  He stood up, gave her a big hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. There was one thing that had never wavered over the years. His love for her was unequivocal, as was hers for him. Every so often, when she lay in bed late at night worrying, waiting for the backdoor to open and his bedroom door to close, it was all she had to cling onto, and for her, that was more than enough.

  ‘Be careful, son,’ she said, and as she turned around to start her day, the first of the maids entered the kitchen and headed straight for the warmth of the fire.

  The heavy rain had stopped, but the bitterly cold wind gave Tristan a proper slap in the face as he exited through the front door. A few stray raindrops stung his exposed cheeks, and he hastily loosened the scarf around his neck and pulled it higher, covering his mouth and nose. Hope I don’t get mistaken for a robber, he smiled to himself.

  The day might be icy, but at least, his night had been warm. On the coldest of nights when no one dared to wander the hallways, he had an excuse to sneak up the stairs and into Piper’s bed. It was the only time that she would allow his company.

  From an early age, the two had formed a special bond, and in her, he had found a kindred spirit. She was free of will and mind and just like him, her imagination knew no bounds for it stretched well beyond the four walls where they laid their heads each night. Together they could spend hours talking about the world outside La Boutique, outside London and England. Piper was the closest he would ever have as a sister, and on these cold nights, they would share the warmth of their bodies but when his curious hand occasionally wandered onto a place it did not belong, she would slap it away quickly and remind him what his mother would do to them both if she ever found out.

  The scent of rosewater was still strong in his nose and reminded him of the warm bed he had left behind. His left hand strayed to his right side and felt for the familiar bump underneath the jacket. The distinct shape of the stiletto under the coat was always comforting. He thought himself lucky because only twice had there been a need to take it out. Whenever he did deliveries for the barber, he had to watch out for pickpockets and rival gangs, but it was only footpads that had ever caused him trouble, and both times the stiletto had been enough to ward them off.

  Tristan had not told Sissy that he had other business to attend to first. Hale had requested his presence at the barbershop on Stoney Street. Tristan did not know what the man wanted, but when Arthur had met with him at the Two Daggers the day before, he had been adamant that his boss had something very important to discuss. And he needed Finn there too. It had worked out well for Tristan for Stoney Street was on the way to The Smoking Cod.

  Outside the front gate, Tristan set off on a brisk walk and immediately felt the warmth spread throughout his body. At the same time, all of his senses heightened. His eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of sunlight and through the wind gusts, he started to pick up the familiar sounds of a neighbourhood waking up. The surrounding streets were quiet, mostly empty. A few stragglers, mostly drunkards and gamblers, all victims from a night of profuse debauchery that had taken its toll, were making their way home. From the nearby houses, smoke rose up high into the cold air as housewives started the day’s proceedings by lighting up the firepits.

  Further down the road, it sounded like someone was braving the cold to chop wood. Across the street, two nightmen were carrying a tub, which was suspended on a long wooden pole resting on their shoulders. Trying not to spill any, they slowly poured the mixture of human faeces and urine into the barrels on top of a horse-drawn cart and quickly climbed down to take shelter behind the wagon. There they shared a drink from a bottle, no doubt to warm their insides and numb their senses. A suffocating cry for help from their mate still trapped down in the nearby cesspit made them grab their pole, rope and tub, and they scampered back to the hole in the ground. Dawn was almost upon them, and they still needed to deposit their load back at the yard where it would be sold as manure later in the month. Tristan gave the cart a wide berth as he continued down the road, suddenly very thankful for his job, albeit high-risk.

  He was close to Stoney Street when two men suddenly appeared out of a dark alley. They caught him off-guard, and his hand quickly slipped inside the coat and grabbed the handle of the stiletto. Then he recognised the face of the elderly gentleman, a watchman for the local parish. Tristan removed his hand from the handle and with the other, pulled down the scarf to reveal his face.

  ‘Ahhh, ‘tis Tristan.’ The old man was happy to see him. The two men had almost come to the end of their beat and were on their way back to the watchhouse. Any trouble now would not bode well for the rest of the old man’s plans because he was looking forward to a cup of steaming salop to rid his body of the cold. By now, the lady from the street booth would have started brewing the delicious concoction, and as always, he looked forward to her pleasant company, if only for a fleeting moment.

  ‘Good morrow, sirs. How do you fare?’ Tristan greeted them. He liked the old man. He owned a small leather goods shop close to the market and Tristan had visited him a couple of times, always marvelling at his handiwork.

  ‘Splendid, lad! All is well.’ The old man rubbed his hands together. ‘Have you seen anything suspicious up your way?’

  ‘No, sir. ‘Tis too cold. The thieves do not dare come out for fear of getting frozen fingers.’ Tristan made the old man chuckle.

  ‘And what business do you have so early in the morrow?’ It was the younger sickly looking fellow with the ratlike face who spoke up this time. Contempt was obvious in his voice and more so on his face.

  ‘Deliveries for Mr Sullivan, sir,’ replied Tristan, firm and to the point, holding the young man’s stare which did not prove too difficult as he was not much taller than Tristan. Ratface shall be your name, he decided.

  ‘Well, we won’t keep you. Keep an eye out for us, won’t you lad?’ The old man broke the staring contest by pulling on the young man’s arm.

  ‘As always, sir.’ Tristan touched the tip of his hat, nodded farewell to the men and was off.

  ‘What a fine boy,’ said the old man as the two men turned around to head back to the watchhouse. His companion grunted for he did not share the old man’s sentiment.

  Tristan duck into the same alley from where the two men had emerged. He found himself behind the stable on Harrow Corner and proceeded past the slaughterhouse where a pack of stray dogs was sniffing at a backdoor, eagerly anticipating any scraps that may come their way. Next, he scaled the rails of the holding pen adjacent to the slaughterhouse. Once on the other side, he made his way to the high wooden fence which cordoned off the yard. He lifted two loose planks that had
broken off at the bottom and wiggled through the small hole. Not far now, he thought.

  The shortcut took him to a small alley with a dead end that ran between the slaughterhouse and a melancholic building, which some people said housed an unlicensed distillery. As he exited on the other side of the fence, he nearly bumped into a woman who was squatting down on her heels with her dress bundled up around her waist. ‘Pardon me, ma’am!’ shouted Tristan as he brushed past her, letting her get on with her business.

  When the woman’s scream tore through the morning stillness, Tristan glanced back over his shoulder and stopped dead in his tracks. Inadvertently his eyes strayed downwards to the lady’s nether regions. From between her legs, a strange round thing started to emerge. The woman looked up at him and screamed again. Her red face grimaced in pain, her eyes bulging as she clenched her fists and gritted her teeth. Another scream filled the empty alley, and she started to hiss loudly like she was possessed by some evil spirit that was having its way with her. Tristan took a step backwards, uncertain about what to expect next when suddenly tears of dejection started to stream down the woman’s face.

  Down below the round thing grew a body and fell out of the woman’s bottom onto the soft sand, bringing with it some bloody entrails similar to what he had seen in the butcher’s shop. The scene that unfolded in front of him mesmerised him completely and while a voice in his head told him to run, his legs were planted firmly in place. Eventually, he managed to drag his eyes away from the macabre sight and suddenly realised that the woman needed help. The barber! He spun around and ran as fast as his legs could carry him, out of the alley and across Stoney Street. Moments later, he arrived in front of the barbershop with his lungs on fire. He ignored a shivering Finn, who was waiting on the steps and burst through the shop door. Inside, the shop was empty, no hair on the floor, the barber chair empty. Tristan screamed for the barber to come and help.

  A second, more urgent scream for help had the desired outcome. Tristan felt the vibrations on the wooden floor first. Then he heard the loud footsteps as someone raced towards him. Moments later, Hale rushed through the door at the back of the shop, nearly running it out of its hinges. He wore an apron which was stained crimson. In his left hand was a pelican, a nasty-looking liquid oozing from a rotten tooth in its beak, and in his right hand, he held his trusty dagger firmly and ready. From behind the barber, an elderly man suddenly appeared in the doorway, clutching his right cheek. He mumbled ‘I’ll let myself out’ and as the words came out of his mouth, he splattered red all over his clothes while a mixture of spit and blood oozed over his bottom lip and disappeared into his bushy beard. Just then Finn came bursting in through the front door also waving a dagger, but while he had tried to come to his friend’s aid, he nearly ended up knocking Tristan over.

  The barber was the first to react. ‘What in Go—‘

  ‘Woman…alehouse…blood!’ Tristan was out of breath and struggled to put a sentence together. His mind was racing, still trying to figure out what he had just witnessed. He gave up, just pointed at the door and started moving towards it.

  Hale dropped the pelican with the pulled tooth and grabbed a razor from a stand next to the barber chair. Better go well prepared, he thought. He had taught the lads always to expect the unexpected, and he usually followed his own advice. It would not be the first time he had been asked to assist at the alehouse across the road and as usual, he was expecting a crazy late-night straggler who had caused some trouble. Hale and Finn fell in behind Tristan and much to the confusion of the barber, they raced past the alehouse, where all seemed to be well, and into the alley on the side.

  There was no trace of the woman. All was quiet. Even their footsteps were dampened by the soft soil as they made their way further into the alley.

  ‘’Twas here,’ said Tristan, as they came to the fence.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ asked the barber. Then he saw the large dark red stain where blood had soaked into the soil. As he walked closer, he could make out tracks. Imprinted all around it, big paw prints and smaller ones. He crouched down to take a closer look. A bloody trail and tracks ran from the stain to the fence. He leaned forward and pushed on one of the planks, which gave way under the pressure. Then he took a quick peek on the other side and shook his head.

  ‘I’m sorry, lad, we’re too late.’

  ‘’Twas just here.’ Tristan looked at them and pointed at the now-vacant spot. ‘I swear!’

  ‘What was?’ asked Finn, still trying to figure out what happened.

  ‘The baby, lad,’ said Hale. ‘Surely a whore. The little bastard never stood a chance. From the moment he uttered his first scream, he was doomed. The mongrels were here in a trice.’

  ‘The dogs got him?’ Finn could not believe what he had heard. He took another look at the stained soil, moved it around with his boot and felt nausea rising from within his belly. Then he looked over to a pallid Tristan, who seemed lost in his own world, just standing there, saying nothing.

  ‘Let’s head back to the shop and have a drink, lads. We can all use one,’ said Hale. ‘Besides, we have urgent matters to discuss.’ When he saw the two were still dawdling, he insisted, ‘Come!’ As the three of them turned around and slowly walked away from the now-desolate place, the barber mumbled to himself, ‘They like breeding the bastards, but they don’t want to raise them.’

  Tristan did not hear him. He felt numb. He had just witnessed a woman giving birth, giving life to a child, and then she walked away as if nothing had happened. Death was no stranger to him. He had seen many gibbeted bodies or spiked heads on London Bridge. Arthur and even the barber would sometimes, usually in an inebriated state, tell him some terrifying stories. But while these killings or deaths were made out to be part of everyday life, the ease with which an innocent life could be taken had a profound effect on Tristan. Wondering where else in the world an innocent life can be taken so quickly, so cruelly, he walked back in a dreamlike state, but there was one thought that continued to run through his mind, over and over again. That could have been me!

  At the barbershop, Hale poured them each a full mug of sack which they drank in silence, waiting for the sweet liquor to dull the recent memory. The elderly patient, who had his tooth removed, had kindly let himself out and had left a few coins on the stand. Hale had locked the shop’s door and was now sitting in the barber chair, relaxing while he sipped the lukewarm drink. The two boys had made themselves at home on a long bench usually reserved for customers. Backs against the wall, they were trying hard to forget what they had and had not witnessed by taking big gulps of sack.

  ‘Tristan.’ Hale swirled his glass and savoured the last mouthful.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘I need you to listen carefully.’

  Tristan took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind. It was not happening, but he answered anyway. ‘All ears, sir.’

  ‘In two weeks’ time, I need both of you to deliver parcels to two different addresses. These parcels are more valuable and important than all the others combined. You do this for me, and I will pay you thrice your usual payment.’ The barber leaned forward in his chair and looked at both of them. First at Finn, then at Tristan. ‘Lives and livelihoods are at stake here, lads. Do you both understand?’

  It was the first time that Tristan detected a slightly higher hint of expectation in the barber’s voice. Lives are at stake? He was not sure what that meant but nodded nonetheless. Next to him, Finn did the same but only after he had seen the confirmation from his friend.

  ‘Now…both parcels will be heavy, so to make transport easier, we’ll put them in satchels. Keep the extra weight in mind if you find trouble. And remember the rules of our agreement. They all still apply.’ The barber emphasised the last bit. ‘This delivery is of utmost importance, so I will ask you again, do you understand?’ Both boys nodded once more. ‘I need you to say yes.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ they both committed rather sheepishly.

  ‘Gr
eat, just as I suspected. You lads have never disappointed me. Arthur will contact you when the time has come, and until then, there will be no more deliveries.’ They sat in quiet contemplation when suddenly there was a knock on the door. The barber jumped up and hurried them on. ‘Well, lads, drink up. ‘Tis been an interesting day already. Dawn has only just broken, and there’s work to be done.’ He walked them to the front door and when he opened it, the second customer of the day was reluctantly waiting her turn.

  The boys took their leave and immediately headed down the street to The Smoking Cod. They pondered on the gruesome event that had taken place that morning and the upcoming task for Mr Hale. It was Finn who finally had enough. He occasionally referred to it as a fuck-it moment, like when their fishing net broke, sending their catch downstream. Finn timed his attack perfectly and shoved Tristan in front of a pedlar who was on his way to the market. Tristan crashed into the man who nearly lost his footing. His pots and pans clanged loudly as he twisted and turned, trying to keep his balance, not to let his goods crash onto the ground. Finally, he got everything under control and yelled a bunch of obscenities after the two sprinting rascals. Then he shook his fist in the air making sure that they understood what was in store for them the next time their paths crossed.

  Finn laughed as he ran, chased by a furious Tristan who cursed his friend, repeating some of the pedlar’s more colourful profanities and in their little chaotic moment, they forgot all the morning’s carnage.

  Tristan ran as fast as he could. The low brush hit his bare legs with force and made red welts that burned as they oozed blood. He could hear their maddening barks in the distance. It was filled with excitement as the hunting pack realised they were getting closer to their prey.