Below, the torturer was but seconds from turning on his tail and running out to fetch the nearest Guard. Had Niclas kept still, he would have done just that. But it wasn’t going to be that easy, because just at that moment, a tickle of soot decided to settle at the back of his throat. His eyes watered, his nose crinkled and a cough echoed out of his mouth, down the chimney and straight into the torturer’s pointy, rat-like ears.
After a short bout of silence, Niclas stopped cringing and opened his eyes to look down.
…
The torturer’s head shot into the shaft and he growled like a dog.
‘I don’t believe it!’
Niclas replied with a frantic, scuttling climb.
‘Guards!’ shouted the torturer, flustering. ‘Guards! Guards! Guards!’ His shout got louder each time. ‘Guards! Guards!’
Then it stopped, just as quickly as it had started. Niclas stared below. He couldn’t hear anything and that was a great deal more worrying than before.
‘’Ello! Yoo-hoo! You’re gonna regret this.’ Something about the way the man said this made Niclas regret everything all at once. The torturer, to the tune of a sadistic cackle, grasped the bellows and fed the coals. The embers blazed and the fire burst into life.
Niclas felt faint. The air was instantly hotter, thicker, unbreathable and rising faster than he could climb. He felt as though he were trapped in an oven. His skin was pouring with sweat, and his hands slipping on the brick work. His chest was heaving under the weight of dense air and spluttering. A black cloud engulfed him. He couldn’t see or breathe so he closed his eyes and held his breath. Which was just as well, as one breath of that black smoke and the game would be up. He climbed blind, hand over hand, foot over foot. Then, just as he lost the will to go on, light coruscated through his eyelids and his hand shot out of the chimney, pulling him into the city’s semi-fresh air.
After an inconvenient and time consuming coughing fit, he stood, wiped the black from his eyes and stared out at the view.
There were wide canals, busy streets and enormous, extravagant buildings, the biggest he had ever seen. He saw the Royal Palace, a large shimmering mansion encircled by fountains, gardens and statues. Before its golden gates lay the Guard’s Square, around which stood the city’s most prestigious establishments. There was the House of Lords with pointed spires and stone busts carved around its walls. There was the High Court with its huge dome roof and Scales of Justice. And there, beneath his feet, the Guard’s Tower, the tallest tower in the city.
He was north of the river. He’d never been north of the river. The air was… nice.
He wasn’t sure which way was west, but after a bit of squinting and turning he soon spotted the clock tower. It was ringing out on the hour, a loft of pigeons breaking free from its rafters and swooping over the rooftops below.
That was where the cat was. But it was late in the day and Mr K would be waiting far away south of the river. It was probably best to get back to Bog End and not keep the boss waiting.
But…
He had made a promise, and Niclas was a boy of his word.
Down a very precarious, wonky drain pipe Niclas went and into the streets below.
It was a foreign place for a guttersnipe to be. The streets were cleaner north of the river, they were wider and the people going about them were a lot better dressed. Niclas felt like a tourist in his own city, and not a welcome one. The top hatted gentlemen and ladies in blooming dresses stared at him the way they stared at rats.
‘You there, I say, what are you up to?’ One gentleman called. Niclas didn’t reply, he stumbled over his own feet and hurried to the nearest quiet place he could find, a narrow alleyway. It was best to keep off the main streets, he thought, unless he wanted to give autographs.
The alleys Niclas was used to down south were the sorts of places you expected to find trouble. But these ones north of the river were as sophisticated as alleyways could get. No one lived there for a start. Nor was there a designated peeing wall. Nor an entrepreneur with the only roll of toilet paper in the neighbourhood and a purse that was several shillings too light – yes, that was actually a thing.
Niclas waited for a bit, wondering if perhaps he’d misheard the talking cat. He suspected people often misheard talking cats, which was probably something to do with the fact that talking cats couldn’t exist. Or could they?
‘You’re filthy,’ said the cat, appearing at his side. Out of the dungeon’s darkness, Niclas had a better look at his liberator. It was a black cat with a small white patch under its neck, and two unnaturally green, piercing eyes.
‘I will confess, I had my doubts about that chimney scenario. It would appear that you’re quite the climber.’
‘’Ow’d you do that?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Talk?’
‘It’s easy,’ replied the cat, ‘I open my mouth, position my tongue and vocal chords in a variety of arrangements and aspirate.’
‘But you’re a cat,’ said Niclas.
‘Very observant,’ said the cat.
‘I don’t get it.’
‘Hmm…’ The cat stared up at him compassionately. ‘It’s likely there are many things in this world you don’t get. Why we have day and night, why the wind blows, why people call tomatoes a fruit, yet buy them from the vegetable stall.’
‘A fruit? Really?’
‘Yes. It’s best you don’t think about such things, if you can’t get your head around them.’
Niclas scratched his head. He had never really thought about why the wind blew, or what caused day and night, and the very thought of thinking about the thought baffled him.
‘D’you ’av’ a name?’ he asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Well, wot is it? Mine’s Niclas.’ The boy proffered his hand to shake.
The cat looked at it with disdain.
‘Balthazar. And I don’t touch.’
Niclas inspected his sooty hand and withdrew the offer.
‘Balfazar you say?’
‘Bal-tha-zar.’
‘Yeah. Balfazar. Got it.’
The cat rolled its eyes.
‘This is Poshside ain’t it. Never bin north o’ the river. It’s proper clean, ain’t it. Smells nice too. Sorta.’
‘Yes. Marginally better. And here I’m afraid someone of your current appearance sticks out like a lump of coal in a jewellery box.’
Niclas wasn’t sure what to say. He apologised.
‘We have some business to discuss, but I need to visit the bank first.’
‘The bank?’
‘Yes, where I keep my money,’ said Balthazar.
‘You’ve got a bank?’
‘Hmm… It’s best if you don’t think about that either.’
Niclas had heard about banks. They were places where rich people kept their coin stacks. They weren’t the sorts of places frequented by guttersnipes, or furry animals for that matter. He imagined them to be big buildings, probably in the centre of town, probably surrounded by folk wearing top hats. He hadn’t imagined that he would end up in another doorless alley, but apparently, that was where the entrance to this such bank was.
It had a funny looking entrance, not so much a door as an inlet into the sewers, barely big enough for Balthazar to squeeze into, certainly not big enough for Niclas to follow. So he waited, as instructed, watching the minute hand on the clock tower above.
It had been eleven minutes precisely and it was starting to get dark; though, not as dark as south of the river. The northern districts were well lit by gas lanterns. Even the alleyways, which were corridors of blackness down south, had their own lighting here. And they had crews of men who went around lighting them. Niclas thought it must have been a very respectable job, and gave a salute to the light marshals as they went by. Needless to say, they ignored him and returned to their waggon.
‘It’s a crime to beg north of the river. Be gone, boy, before we call the watch,’ one called back
.
‘Oh, I ain’t beggin’, sir. No, sir. I’m waitin’ for me master, sir.’
‘… Righto lad, righto.’ The man gave a crooked look, climbed on his waggon of flaming torches and mushed the horses away and down the street.
A rattling sound of coins came from the drain, then a brief pause, followed by the sound of Balthazar cursing.
He appeared from the sewer dragging a small brown purse by his mouth. He dropped it and caught his breath.
Niclas could see the shillings poking out the side. His eyes bulged.
‘Is that?’ he couldn’t believe it.
‘Don’t get any ideas, boy. If you help me, there will be plenty more of this.’
‘There’s a bank. Wot? In there? I almost didn’t believe you! Is it a special bank wot’s only for cats? Or can dogs use it too–’
‘Enough questions. Pick it up.’
Niclas lifted the pouch from the floor and poured into his hand pennies, sixpences, shillings, and a weighty coin that must have been a pound. It was around about then his instinct to run tapped him on the shoulder and gave his knees a sharp nudge. He looked at the cat and tried to judge how fast it was. Of course, it didn’t matter, it was only a cat, what was it going to do? Mind you, it had said there’d be plenty more. That had made him curious and had appealed to his greed more so than his instincts. It could be worth seeing where this was going. With a small coin purse like that he could eat for weeks – months – maybe a year! His stomach agreed.
‘There’s a place a bit south from here, on the edge of the Brewery Quarter. You’ll be able to get cleaned up and dressed in something a little less (the cat paused to find the least offensive adjective) repulsive.’
‘Wot kind of a place?’
‘A nice place where they don’t ask questions.’
‘Oh. I never bin to any nice places before, sir. Not bin t’many places at all really.’
‘Everything will be fine. All you have to do is say the following, “I have come of age, been released from the workhouse, come straight here with my father’s inheritance and would like to rent a room.” A room with a bath, don’t forget that bit.’
‘Wot’s in-ear-ett-ence?’
‘A generous sum of money left to you by a dead person.’
‘But I don’t ’av’ no in-ear-ett-ence. I ain’t got no father either to tell the troof.’
‘Ah, yes. You see, it’s a little lie. You are capable of lying aren’t you?’
‘Guess so, sir, don’t take much lyin’, you just say summin that ain’t. But…’
‘But what?’
‘But I still don’t ’av’ no in-ear-ett-ence.’
Balthazar stared blankly at Niclas, as if trying to figure out the boy’s mysterious inner workings. Then his eyes moved to the purse of coin in the boy’s hand.
‘Oh… I get it. This is the in-ear-ett-ence ain’t it?’
‘…’
‘But… sir, why ’av’ I got to lie?’
‘…’ Balthazar waited to see if the penny would drop. It didn’t. ‘Because explaining that you’re a thief who’s just escaped the Guard’s Tower and been given a bag of coins by a talking cat is a little hard to follow. Do you follow?’
‘I see your point, sir.’
‘Excellent. Let’s go. Oh, and, when you arrive you’ll be asked if you’d like a tumble after your bath. To this, you will respectfully decline.’
‘Wot’s a tumble, sir?’
‘It’s a rather expensive dance.’
‘Dance?’ asked Niclas.
‘Expensive,’ replied Balthazar.
The Brewery Quarter is in the north of the city, but only just. It spills over from the south, a stronghold of debauchery and filth. It’s not quite southern or northern in atmosphere, it has its own character entirely. The locals themselves regard it as a different dimension; so different that it has its own time zone; but this is probably because the locals are in a constant state of intoxication, stumbling from one public house to the next.
Niclas hadn’t seen so many people making so much noise in one place before. People were singing in the street, playing fiddles on the rooftops, fighting in the alleys, shouting out the windows, peeing in the gutters (men, as well as women), and drinking in every conceivable location. There was laughter too, lots of it.
Balthazar led him through the merry crowd and stopped at a door. A sign hung above it with a woman’s leg painted on it. Bright, lipstick-red calligraphy said: The Queen’s Garter.
The cat nodded to the door and Niclas pushed it open.
Inside was a warm, musky room, tinted with a rich saffron hue. The noise of the street was muffled behind the closed door and replaced with the gentle pluckings of a harp. The harpist sat in the corner of the room, playing and humming softly. She must have been the most beautiful woman Niclas had ever seen. Nor had he ever heard a more beautiful song. For a moment, the rattling of horse carts and shouting and barking from the outer world disappeared completely.
‘Ahem…’ said Balthazar, breaking the trance.
Niclas smiled at the lady with the harp, she smiled back.
He continued on towards the far counter.
There were booths all around the room. In them were important looking gentlemen and women dressed in tight colourful corsets and dresses. Some even had their bare arms on display! The ladies who were by themselves smiled at Niclas, some offered him a seat. At the end of the room was a high counter. There sat an older woman in a dark red dress, who, seeing Niclas’ incongruent demeanour, gave a crooked bronze smile. She had been quite good looking herself, perhaps thirty years ago.
‘Can I ’elp you, luv?’ she asked.
Niclas hesitated, looked at the cat by his feet, realised it wasn’t going to help him and stuttered out a shy greeting.
‘I needs a room, miss.’
‘We gots plenty o’ rooms, m’luv, wot’ll it be?’
Niclas looked to his feet again, intriguing the woman as to what was down there.
‘One which ’as a balf, miss.’
‘Yes,’ said the woman, narrowing her eyes. She could see that Niclas needed a bath, but was yet to see anything to persuade her she would be the one to provide it.
Niclas looked down. Balthazar mouthed, “the purse.” This jogged his memory and he dropped the weighty bag on the table. At once the uncertainty fell from the woman’s face and her hospitable warmth returned.
‘A room wiv a balf wos it? Gots plenty o’ those m’luv.’
‘I’ve come of age see. Left the work house I ’av’. I gots moneys. Me father’s moneys. In-ear-ett-ence.’ Niclas said, with great difficulty.
‘Well then, gots some nice rooms upstairs, believe this’ll do.’ The woman took a key from the wall behind and slid it across the table. ‘It’ll be a crown a night, unless you want the premium suite,’ added the woman, ‘that one’ll be two and a half crown and comes with a nice and friendly wakeup call.’
Niclas looked again at his feet and then hurriedly back at the woman.
‘No, miss, the first room will do us fine.’
‘Alrighty.’
‘Uh… Wot’s that in shillin’s, miss?’
‘A crown’s five shillin’, m’luv.’
Niclas counted out five shillings, the only coins he could count, and exchanged them for the key.
‘Would you like a tumble afta your balf, little sir?’
This, Niclas remembered well. ‘Sorry, miss, I don’t know ’ow t’dance, so I must re-spec-full-e decline,’ he said proudly.
‘Alrighty, little sir; but if you fancy learnin’ – to dance – we can arrange some lessons. There ain’t no better place to learn than the Queen’s Garter.’
‘Thanks, miss, I’ll bear it in mind.’
‘Alrighty. Now if you’ll just make your mark, little sir, the room’s all yours.’
‘Mark?’ Niclas was confronted with a book, upon which were listed the names of those staying in the inn. He stared blankly at the quil
l and the paper and looked to his feet.
‘Everyfing alright, little sir?’
‘Yeah, it’s just I’ve never made a mark before, see.’
‘Oh, no problem at all, m’luv,’ said the woman, turning the book to face her and picking up the pen. ‘Wot name would you be going under then?’
‘Niclas.’
‘Niclas…’ she held on for a surname.
‘That’s right, Niclas.’
‘Niclas wot?’
‘I begs your pardon, miss?’
‘Wot’s your second name, m’luv?’
‘I only gots one name, miss, ain’t important nuff to ’av’ me no other names. Just Niclas.’
‘Very well, Niclas,’ here she added a wink, which made him feel a touch uncomfortable. ‘’Ead on up.’
Niclas started up the stairs, but his foot found only the first step before the woman called him back.
‘That your cat, little sir?’
‘Yes, miss,’ said Niclas.
‘We ’av’ a no animals policy, ’case customers ’av’ allergies and the like.’
Niclas looked at Balthazar and racked his brain for a reply.
‘Gunna ’av’ to keep it outside, little sir.’
Balthazar shook his head and began walking over to the woman, whispering in strange tones under his breath.
‘Miss,’ said Niclas, stopping the cat. ‘I don’t asks for much, but this ’ere cat is all I gots left of me good ’n’ dead father. I ain’t never bin separated from ’im, not in the workhouse, not nowhere. Please, miss, ’e’s trained good ’n’ proper. Knows to do ’is business outside.’
The woman gave this heartfelt speech some consideration. She watched the loving cat rub its back against Niclas’ leg and purr as if the two formed an inseparable pair. She beckoned him closer with her finger.
‘Alrighty, little sir, but don’t ’av’ it gallivantin’ up and down this ’ere establishment in front of t’other guests. It wouldn’t be appropriate.’
‘Thanks, miss.’ Niclas bowed his head and continued up the stairs. Balthazar followed.
Niclas was spellbound by the room. There was a four poster bed, a chair and a small dresser with a mirror on top; all of which were made of polished mahogany and dressed in plush velvets and silks.
Widdershins Page 3