Though it was still not clear why Maya had been talking to a beggar, Maisie felt slightly proud that she had at least made some progress and forced her into making embarrassing lies. With time, she figured, she would be able to eke out complete truths from her room partner. She didn’t know why but she felt slightly scared of the prospect.
14
The Indian Pub
Ernst Wilhelm bought himself a mug of ale and found a dark table in a corner of the pub. He was dressed in a dirty cotton shirt and patched trousers which he had traded from the sweeper of his apartment for 2 cowries. His garments were now in a state that even the sweeper would refuse to wear them. Ernst made a mental note to put them in the laundry when he got time, their smell had become obnoxious enough to make him noticeable even in the squalid pubs that he had bought them for. That wasn't something he could afford if he was to be successful in his endeavor. He had learned during the last week that his job was hard enough without the smell. It was paramount to blend in with the crowd if he had to stand any chance of finding the bone thief.
Ernst adjusted his flat cap and hid his service leather boots in the shadows. He had forgotten to change his shoes and if anybody around got a sniff that he was a High Guard he wouldn't enjoy the effect. Most men around were criminals, petty thieves, burglars, murderers, and rapists who would enjoy nothing more than slitting the throat of a Peacock for dinner. Ernst took a sip from the mug and tried to take in his surroundings. The place was more decrepit than the other dozen places that he had ventured during the past week. Pigs and cows ruminated in street outside the door and drunken men thrown out after exhausting their pockets, loitered on the road slinging profanities at the passersby. Inside the pub, which smelled strongly of piss, an overweight barmaid with a scowl on her face scurried between tables collecting coins and pouring liquor in empty glasses. A great din hung about the place, people played cards, sung songs, some discussed their family problems crying and laughing in rapid succession and others, lonely like him, occupied tables in the corner trying to drown grief in a drink. Ernst tried to focus, he was here to eavesdrop on people. Looking for some clue about a short man with a scar on his face who played Three Kings and bet stolen fingers. But it was hard. After spending more than half a dozen nights doing just that (this was his 13th pub), the exercise felt ridiculously futile.
He had begun to harbor the feeling that Odoi had lied, perhaps that story about the pub had been made up. A careful tale crafted solely to keep him occupied as the two weeks given to him by the director passed. There could be a possibility that Odoi was actually acting on the orders of the director. Ernst had begun to suspect that assigning him to this case and giving him so little time to find the thief was all a ploy to throw him out of the job. Perhaps, Horace Ibrahim did not like him and just wanted to get rid of him. There was no way to find out, not before the two weeks passed anyway. Till then he had to try.
Ernst took a sip more of his glass.
His efforts of the past week, spending nights in taverns across Old Cardim, had produced only one tangible effect. He had developed a taste for cheap ale. The obese waitress refilled the mug of a man on the table next to him. When the bald man put a silver Cowrie on the table she smiled and put it gleefully in the money pouch which hung upon her waist by a string. Ernst was surprised to see that she was capable of smiling. He took a large gulp from his glass and summoned her to refill it.
He kept a silver coin on the table and the woman smiled at him. She bent unnecessarily low to pour the ale, giving Ernst a fulfilling view of her ample bosom. Ernst scavenged his pocket to produce another silver coin.
“Why don’t you sit here for a bit?” he asked
“If you can wait for my shift to end in half-hour, I can do more than just sitting,” she kept her dirty wet hand upon Ernst’s.
“Just a few words would do for now,” Ernst insisted.
The woman smiled and settled herself into the chair ignoring the summon of an old man looking for more liquor. The woman let her hand stray upon Ernst’s legs and she gently massaged his thighs. Ernst straightened himself feeling uncomfortable. He was facing trouble remembering what he wanted to ask the lady. The High Guard clenched his fists and focused.
“Do you work here every evening?” he asked finally taking her hand in his and kissing it just so he could remove it from his legs.
“All but Wednesdays,” she said smiling, “I have a day off.”
“Then you must hear a lot of people tell you you’re very beautiful.”
The woman blushed. The old man was now making a clamor for more liquor. Ernst had to act quick.
“Do you happen to know a man, a small man with a scar upon his face, on his right cheek.”
The woman was slightly taken aback by the sudden change of discourse. But she maintained her smile.
“A small man you say, with a scar,” she scratched her eyebrow, “Many people come here like that. Criminals often have scars and cuts and missing limbs and eyes.”
“He would be a big gambler I think. He loved his games, The Three Kings specifically.”
The woman was now displeased. She had figured out that Ernst had called her beautiful just so he could extract some information from her, she got up.
“I gotta work,” she said crossly, “As I said, if you want me I am available after half an hour.
Ernst tried to hold her but stopped short. She wouldn’t know anyway, he reasoned. He looked around to find someone else. The babble in the place had increased so much that it was difficult to make out what anyone was saying. The High Guard observed the crowd for some more time. A part of him wanted the waitress to return just so he could talk a bit more to her. He might even let her hands do anything they wanted. At least he could get something in return for this futile exercise. But the woman, affronted, was now keeping her distance and refused to listen even when Ernst called her to refill his mug.
Ernst decided to leave as the clock turned 12. Another night had ended in failure. Perhaps he ought to change his plan.
He had just gotten up from his seat when the babble inside the pub dropped suddenly. He looked around to find the cause and saw it in the form of a woman who had made an appearance at the door of the pub. She looked like she did not belong here. She was dressed in a white blouse and a long black skirt, her hair was held in an untidy bun and there was no hat upon her head. Ernst had trouble reasoning why the woman was here. Prostitutes often came to the pubs to seek customers but generally, the woman matched the squalor of their intended customers. Though the woman at the door wasn’t very pretty, she was too well dressed to be seeking customers here. But there was no other reason for any respectable woman (or man for that matter) to come here. Especially at this time of the day.
As soon as they saw her, the drunken men of the place gave up their games and conversations and began to court her. A man in the shadow suddenly jumped up and shouted a price.
“Two cowries, for the night, missy”
“2 and a half,” said another.
“3 Cowries and all the clothes upon my body.”
“Go take a bath first Glock, she would come to me for 4 Cowries.”
But the woman did not seem to enjoy her auction. In fact, she seemed like she was looking for the exit but the door had been blocked by two topless burly men who tugged insolently at her skirt. The woman backed off but bumped into another man.
“5 Cowries,” he breathed and kept a hairy hand upon her shoulder.
+!6;
15
Maya's Auction
Maya pressed herself against a building as a cow charged towards her. A drunken man had chucked a stone at the animal causing it to panic. The cow was followed by an army of piglets who scampered down the street clad in dark sewer muck from the overflowing drains. Maya stood back straight once the cow had rushed past her and into an adjacent street. She covered her nose from the revolting smell and continued her pursuit of the Mustapha Lane Tram station.
T
he night was dark and the street empty. She hadn’t thought about it in the excitement of finding more about Bernard, but it wasn’t safe for a woman to be out alone so late in this part of Cardim. Though she had often spent entire nights on the street, they had usually been in the disguise of a man. Today, however, she had gotten so excited at the prospect of solving Bernard’s mystery, that she had ignored her safety completely.
But now, walking alone in the dark street, she suddenly felt very exposed. A long row of decrepit timber houses stared into each other from either side of the narrow unpaved street littered with rubbish and stray dogs, pigs, and cows. Half a dozen pubs, each similarly squalid and loud were spread all along the street. They seemed to be the only place still showing signs of activity. All the other houses were firmly asleep, their windows shut carefully. Maya wove her way through the animals holding a scarf upon her face to keep the drunkards on the street from noticing her. She held a knife in her other hand. Maya had an ominous feeling that she would need to use it today.
The Mustapha Lane Tram station was at the end of the street and the pub directly in front of it was called The Indian Pub. A grim orange glow poured out of the window onto the street where a group of drunken men indulged in a game of cards. They eyed Maya curiously as she made her way to the door. A huge noise hung about the place which was crowded even at this time of the night. As soon as she opened the door, though, the babble subsided greatly. Men playing cards dropped their hands, rouges dropped their fight, clamoring elderlies gave up their arguments and all focused their eyes on the new arrival. Maya found the glare of a hundred eyes unsettling. She hastily scanned the place for the barman but a group of men had crowded around her. It seemed like they had taken her to be a prostitute. A bald bearded man came behind her and touched her lewdly upon her waist. She shrugged him away but he returned back smiling insolently.
“How much for the night,” he said and that sparked a bidding war. Men upon men got up from all corners of the pub and brandished money at her. Maya was being auctioned in a company of drunken lustful men. She turned for the exit, her heart thumping frantically.
But it was too late.
A group of men had gathered around her and were now touching and probing her body. She had never felt so threatened. A large dark man suddenly tugged at her skirt, she kicked ferociously to push him away but soon another hand slipped at the back of her neck. It was too much. She pulled her knife out of the folds of her dress.
“Move away,” she threatened the men who only jeered her. They didn’t think she was capable to wield her weapon. The mocking infuriated Maya further and she lashed wildly at the nearest man. It struck him right on the cheek and left a deep gash. The man faltered back in agony and his sudden injury thrilled the crowd even more as the men ogled more menacingly at her. One of the younger boys bravely stepped forward to face her. Maya kicked him in the legs throwing him down at her feet then gave a tight kick at his nose which squirted blood and the boy rolled away unconscious. It was the turn now of two of the older men who charged at her together, Maya backed off till she was pressed against the wall. The bawdy men walked slowly towards her, one of them actually unbuttoning his shirt.
“Stay away,” she shouted picking up a chair lying beside her and bringing it down upon the head of one of the men, who collapsed in a heap upon the impact. His injury disturbed the other as well who stopped in his tracks to observe him, allowing Maya some time to rush past them. But she couldn’t go far. A few yards from the door, Maya found her hand grabbed from behind and her knife was snatched from her grasp. More hands reached upon her waist and hips. A man with a long bushy beard and dirty yellow teeth brandished her own weapon in front of her face. He reeked of alcohol and Maya felt like she would vomit. The man moved the blade close to Maya’s blouse. The cold tip touched just above Maya’s neck and she felt the metal tug at her garment. She closed her eyes screaming.
It was at that moment that a booming sound echoed around the pub and a curtain of red blood cloaked her sight. She stumbled back as the man with the knife collapsed in a heap in front of her. He had been hit in the head by a baton. The man who had done that now stood facing Maya. From his garb and smell, he too looked like a vermin from the street, but he seemed intent at helping her, if only to have her all for himself. He swung the baton around to make a clearing, then holding the knife in his other hand brandished it at the men grasping Maya, “leave the lady,” he commanded. The men did not loosen their hold, “Leave or I’ll push this knife in you.”
Just to show that he meant what he said he then stabbed the thigh of the man standing closest to him. The other men let Maya go as soon as the echoes of the wounded man rung in the pub. Maya shrugged her captor and drifted closer to the stranger with a knife. He smelled even worse than the others around.
The man held Maya’s hand, “When we reach the door,” he breathed into her ear, “We need to run. Fast.”
With this, he swung the knife around to make a clear path to the door. The two drifted slowly to the exit, keeping a careful eye on the men behind, who stood rooted to their spots. As soon as the dirt paved street emerged below their feet, the man shouted “Run!” and tugged hard at Maya’s hand. Maya glanced back to see an angry mob pouring out of the pub.
The two ran frantically into the night, going past dark, dingy streets and curious stray animals. They did not stop running till they reached the Cochin gate, at which point Maya shrugged off the man’s hand and collapsed upon the pavement panting heavily.
16
Unexpected Luck
The man tugged at Maya’s arm, pulling her up.
“This is no place to sit,” he said, “It is not safe, let’s go into one of the darker by-lanes.”
Maya had trouble hearing him. There was too much blood in her head, she was feeling hot and scared.
It wasn’t something that she was used to.
With shivering hands, she reached over to her bag to produce a paper bundle of cigarettes. She did not smoke often, only when her mind seemed to be getting out of her control when the itch became too unbearable. It was the first time that she was smoking to keep herself calm and make her heart slow down. She seemed to be on the verge of crying, and she could not let that happen, not in front of a stranger.
“You can smoke somewhere else,” said the man but Maya had no ears for him.
Her hands shivered as she lit a match and the cigarette. The hazy smoke lingered in the wet air. It wasn’t tobacco inside the cigarette but a concoction of weeds and herbs which she sourced from a troupe of natives in Anthill. She only found these suitable to keep her mind from eating herself. As the smoke flowed inside her, she felt her head grow lighter, the images of the lurid men in the pub grew hazy and the tears welling up inside her subsided. Within a minute, Maya had come back to her senses and the man’s voice rung in her ears.
“Come on lady. Get up. This place is not safe, those men are still behind us. At least let us get up from the main road and shift to a side alley.”
The man’s face swam into her sight again. He wanted her to follow him to a dark by-lane. But Maya was wary. She did not want to be alone in a dark back alley with a complete stranger (who looked and smelled much like the men who had harassed her in the pub). She had heard of madmen who decapitated women in the dark. Maya did not intend to be a victim.
But the stranger had a point, if the mob from the pub was following them, they would be better off hiding in a dark by-lane than wait for them out in the open. Gingerly, Maya got up and followed the man into the nearest side alley. It was narrow and flanked on both sides by tall timber buildings. Wooden crates and piles of domestic rubbish littered the place. The two ventured far enough inside the alley so as not to be visible from the main street.
“That wasn’t the best place to seek customers,” said the man once the two had settled themselves on a wooden crate. A curious cat rose from behind one of the boxes and Maya found its refulgent eyes glare at them doubtfully. She coul
d hear a mouse squeak and scurry in the dark and the occasional cry of a pariah dog, ring into the empty night.
“What do you mean?” cried Maya crushing the cigarette under her sandals, “I wasn’t looking for a customer. Who do you think I am?”
“Well…” the man hesitated, “Aren’t you a prostitute?”
“What?” Maya couldn’t control herself. The tumult of the night, the lewd hands upon her body, the insolent grins of drunk men, and the proximity to personal disaster suddenly rose in a huge storm inside her gut. She tried hard to subdue the emotions but she could not. It felt like a stone in her gullet, heavy and cold. Maya took a deep breath, a final effort to restrain herself. But failed. A single drop of tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She quickly put her face inside her palm and turned away from the man, there was no way any man could see her cry.
The stranger did not know how to react. He felt that calling the woman a prostitute must have upset her.
“I am sorry,” he said, “That place didn’t seem right for any other sort of woman, so I assumed you must be one. But please forgive me, it was never my intention to hurt you.”
Maya looked up at the man wiping her cheeks. She had not felt so helpless and lonely in a long time. It was not her habit to fret over things or to cry, she usually dealt with each situation in a logical way, but today was just different, she didn’t know why she was feeling all this upheaval.
“I am sorry,” said the man firmly. Maya took out a handkerchief from her leather bag and blew her nose in it, then wiping her cheeks, faced the man once again.
“I am not a prostitute,” Maya made herself clear, “I was there on personal business.”
“Were you looking for your husband,” ventured the man and Maya gave him an angry glare.
The Anatomist (Maya Mystery Book 2) Page 8