The Flesh Market

by Richard Wright

  "I know. He'll be missed. People will look for him. If she was seen, we're done."

  Bill heard the words, but didn't reply for a moment. Then he shook his head. "Does she think she was seen?"

  "Not so far as she knows, but Bill ... it's Daft Jamie. There's nobody doesn't know him on sight, and he's hard to miss."

  It was true. Even now, with things almost over, Daft Jamie was the last person he would have chosen. It was too obvious. With Maggie having taken matters out of his hands, though ... "We're going to need drink."

  "Struggled to make him take even one."

  "Not for him."

  William pointed to a jar beside the stove. Bill picked it up and knocked it back. One swallow. Two. Three. It burned his throat, but gave his hangover the promise of closure. He led the way back into the main lodging room.

  "You have to take your medicine, Jamie," Maggie was saying, as Daft Jamie pouted.

  "Jamie wants his sister. You said you'd bring her."

  "She's on her way now, and what do you think she'll see? A rude man who refuses his host's hospitality."

  He pouted, then knocked back the glass. Bill saw the tension drain from William's shoulders. Daft Jamie was marked now. It was begun. "Why don't you get along and meet her, Maggie," he said. "Maybe she's got the wrong house."

  Jamie's face lit up, and he laughed. "Daft Janet," he said, slapping a shovel-like hand on his thigh. "Daft Jamie!"

  Maggie scurried off, and they were alone with the giant.

  #

  They sat on the floor on each side of the doorway with their backs against the wall, and stared at the barrel in the centre of the room.

  "I didn't think he'd go so easy," said William.

  Bill nodded. It was packing the corpse in the barrel, bending and shoving it into place, that had taken the wind out of them. "I hear it, him being such a big fellow." After another drink, Jamie had complained of the world being spinny. At first he had enjoyed it, like a youngster on his first cart ride, but then he had gone a sickly green and laid himself out on the bed. Both he and William had been so certain they were in for a fight that they had launched themselves at him, abandoning their clever burking method and simply throttling the life out of him. Daft Jamie's eyes had been wide, and he'd wriggled and writhed, but he had not really been fighting back. It was as though he couldn't work out how to do violence. At the end, a single tear had rolled down his cheek, as though he had gained some understanding of the world around him that he wished he could forget.

  "Maybe he won't turn," Bill said. They had both heard the stories of how the revenants had been unable to approach him on the night of the Cadaver Riots, and how he had sheltered children in his shadow until dawn. The tale was as much a part of the legend of Daft Jamie as the songs he sang to himself as he passed by, or the strange mathematical feats he could pull off without seeming thought. "If there's one man in this city with a touch of the angel in him, it's Daft Jamie."

  "If angels were going to poke our business, they would have done it by now."

  "You never know."

  There came a mighty thump from the barrel, which tipped over and on to its side with a crash. It came towards them with a slow roll. William reached out a foot and stopped it. Daft Jamie had turned fast. Faster than any they'd seen before. In deference to his size they had paid more than usual attention to the binding of his hands and feet, twisting strips of torn sheet around wrists and ankles over and again. It was his head that was banging inside the barrel. That was all it could be.

  That he had come back pierced Bill's whisky numbness, and squeezed his heart. He had wanted Daft Jamie to be protected, safe from the evil William had dosed him with. That even this one had turned hardened his resolve. It would be over soon.

  #

  The only light in the dissecting room came from a closed lantern, which made binding Daft Jamie to the table all the more difficult. It took both Bill and William to hold the last arm still while Davey Paterson fumbled to close over the iron cuff that was screwed to the wood. Bill wondered what disasters might have happened in the room for them to have upgraded from the flimsier leather straps, though he was glad they had. The revenant would have torn through the strap with a twitch. They stepped back, Davey rubbing his head where the creature had slammed him to the wall as they first opened the barrel. The doorman's attempts to find either Knox or the students had been unsuccessful, so he had opened up the school to take possession on his own.

  "You'd better be right, Davey. If they don't want it after all this work, William here will still be wanting payment."

  "Dinnae threaten me, Bill Burke. I told you they'd want it and they will. It's important work they're doing with these things. Wouldn't expect you to understand."

  Bill laughed, whisky singing in his veins. "But you do?

  Is that right, lad? Studying for your doctorate now?"

  "Doctor Knox, he explained it. Got to cut the things up to see their 'natomies. Work out how they started and how to stop them."

  "Not for a man to know that," William said. His voice was thoughtful, and Bill didn't like it when William was thoughtful.

  "Doctor Knox isn't a normal man. He's more than you or me could ever be. He'll get there. He'll fix them."

  Even in the poor light, he could see the sharp focus on William's face. It only lasted a moment, but was so crystal clear and strange that it burned into Bill's mind. Fear. For a moment, William had felt threatened. If Knox was everything Davey believed then their work, the regular drop of walking dead to the school, could be the thing that robbed William of his newfound self. Whatever he drew from being able to bring back the dead, he now perceived the possibility of it being taken away. The predator, William Hare, had a flash of what it might feel like to be prey. "I'm sure he's a grand intellect, but it's not for the likes of us to be worrying about." It felt important to move the conversation on, before William said or did something stupid. He leaned back against the side of the table, noticing how far the revenant's feet stuck out over the bottom edge. "Money, on the other hand, is exactly the sort of thing I like to worry over."

  "Aye." Davey looked nervous now. "That's the thing of it. I checked in the office when you were rolling the revenant in, and there's only four pound to be had." William sniffed, but it sounded more like a hiss. Davey stepped back, raising his hands up. "Now don't fret. You can take it away, call it a down payment, and I'll get more from the doctor later. You can pick it up after dark. I'll wait." He looked at the heaving revenant. The cuffs creaked. "You should start charging by the ounce, if you're going to keep dropping them off that big. He's ..." Davey stepped closer to the body. In the struggle to get the creature laid out, with the light so low, he hadn't had a chance to examine it closely. "Jesus wept ... is that ..."

  "Don't know him," Bill said, his pulse racing. "Neither do you."

  Davey turned on him. "Where do you get them, eh? Just how do you go about getting these things?"

  William stepped closer, ready to close the conversation with violence, but Bill waved him back. "You don't need to know where they come from, and you won't be asking again. If you do, I'll take it to your doctor on high and tell him your nose is in my business. If he doesn't see my side, then he can pursue his great work without our supplies. We'll take them elsewhere, and do you have anybody else to offer shots that still twitch?" Davey was silent. "No, I didn't think it likely. You don't know who that is," he pointed at the table, "and if you find yourself doubting that then think hard on what it might cost if you do."

  It was enough. The doorman gave a surly nod, and went to retrieve their down payment.

  "Don't like them," William said. "Him and his doctor. Don't like them at all."

  "But you need them. Remember that, William. They pay the bills, these boys. They buy the meat, and keep us sweet."

  William grunted, only half hearing as he stared after the porter.

  Chapter 27

  William Fergusson

  Friday,
October 3rd, 1828

  The doctor was in full flow and high spirits as Fergusson hurried down the steps at the side of the lecture hall, trying not to draw attention to himself. He looked across the rows of rapt faces, remembering when he, too, had considered Robert Knox something akin to a deity. His respect had not diminished over the last few years, but it had refined. That he remained in awe of his mentor was beyond doubt, but now he was in awe of a man. Having shared long hours with him, watched him burn with curiosity, zeal, and brilliance after days with little or no sleep, he could appreciate the detail enough to aspire to it.

  As he reached the bottom of the steps and scurried head down along the edge of the hall to the entrance to the dissecting corridor, the doctor saw him and gave him a crisp nod. It was almost as though they were colleagues, rather than master and student. Everybody in the hall had seen that nod, and Fergusson felt a childish glee. Nobody could doubt he was one of Knox's inner circle now.

  He closed the door to the corridor behind him, and trotted to the revenant room. Alex and Tom were waiting for him, and turned as he entered. They looked anxious, like thieves caught counting out the takings.

  Fergusson looked at the body on the table, and froze. "That's Daft Jamie." He said it at the same time as he thought it.

  For a moment, nobody said anything.

  "I told you," said Tom. "I told you it was!"

  "I didn't say it wasn't!" Alex threw his hands up, defeated. "I said you'd never seen him up close, that was all."

  "Up close? Have you seen the size of him? You could stand him on Arthur's Seat, point at him from the castle, and still know who it was!"

  Fergusson stared at the body. It strained against the metal cuffs. Was the one around the left foot loose already?

  "All right, all right. It's him. What matter, that?"

  Tom put his hands to his head, not quite able to believe his ears. "The matter, Alex, is that we have Daft Jamie on the table. You know? Beloved Daft Jamie? Who everybody loves? Who they'll tear through the city looking for? If they find him here ..."

  "How would they do that? Why would anybody even think to come here and search?"

  "It's Daft Jamie!"

  "It doesn't make any difference!"

  "Quiet!" Fergusson snapped out of his daze. "Screaming his name over and over isn't going to divert attention, is it?" They hushed, Tom looking up at the ceiling and Alex shaking his head in frustration. "It's not the first subject we've recognised, is it?" He was thinking back to Mary. "It troubled you less that time."

  Tom sighed, and nodded. "Aye but, and don't take this in poor taste Will, there's a difference between you recognising a subject and everybody recognising a subject."

  "I don't think there is," he said, turning back to the huge body on the table. The thing that used to be a simple, gentle giant met his gaze and strained against the double strap holding its head down. Tendons strained in its neck. To his recall, Daft Jamie's curls had been irrepressible once, bouncing around on his head as he shuffled up the narrow closes and down the broader thoroughfares. Now they were lank, clinging things. He couldn't bring himself to touch them. "Nobody's going to see him to know him. It could be fat King George himself on that table, and so long as we don't start inviting the masses in from the street to watch us at work it's no different from anybody else."

  Tom wasn't convinced yet, but his face was settling into its usual expression of doleful acceptance. "What if somebody walked in? Any student would know him."

  The creature moaned. It wasn't breathing as such, he noted. In its struggle to free itself, maddened by the presence of three live men to sink its teeth into, the creature was trying to pull itself up through contraction of the abdominals and diaphragm. The pressure squeezed the lungs, expelling air, engaging the vocal cords without any premeditation or directed intention on the part of the revenant. Was there something in that? The brain was dead, was unable to have any intentions as they understood it. Perhaps they were reading too much into its actions, chasing the origins of instincts the creature simply could not have.

  What had Tom been saying? Fergusson stepped back from the table, wishing he had something to jot his thoughts down on before he could lose them. "If some intruder stepped through that door and reported us all, it would hardly matter who the subject used to be. That we keep them at all would be enough to end us. Have you been doing this for so long that you have forgotten the risks we're taking?" Tom didn't answer, but they all knew there was truth in that. Even the strangest things could become so routine that all thought was lost.

  Fergusson heard the door to the lecture hall open, and shushed his friends with a gesture. They all stood back from the table, as though they could disassociate themselves from the thing strapped down there. Doctor Knox's footsteps marched towards them. In the hall the students would be trooping up the stairs, making for their other lectures.

  As the doctor stepped into the room Alex and Tom stood almost to attention, and Fergusson fought the urge to do the same. That single nod of acknowledgement had affected him. He did not want to be an assistant anymore. He wanted to be ... not a partner, perhaps, or even an equal. Something more than he was. He stepped back towards the table, resting a finger on it as though staking a claim. "Doctor," he said.

  Knox smiled. "Mr Fergusson." He hardly noticed the others at all, and Fergusson could feel tension from Alex. Something had changed in the space of a heartbeat, and all three of them knew it.

  The doctor stepped up to the body. "Very well, what have we here. A sizeable offering, and no mistake. Quite–" He stopped abruptly, taking in the face, the twisted foot that would produce a recognisable gait if the creature were allowed up to shuffle about. He looked at Fergusson. More daring than he would have thought possible even that morning, Fergusson gave a small nod. "Yes," said the doctor. "Quite a specimen. Distinctive." He grabbed the creature's chin, forcing the head back so he could bend low and look into its eyes. "Unique, in fact."

  Letting go, ignoring it as it pushed against its straps and snapped at the air, he turned to Tom and Alex. "A rare opportunity. How should we deal with this subject, gentlemen? Your suggestions."

  Tom looked startled. They all knew Knox recognised the beast for what he had been, and whatever reaction Tom had expected it wasn't this genial calm. "I ... well ..."

  "Insightful as ever, Mr Jones. Your keen, unceasing intellect startles me. Mr Miller?"

  Alex chose to offer something over nothing. "As before, sir. I see no cause to deviate. We discussed the primary nerve clusters, and a full exploration."

  "We did, and you have an excellent point. Why deviate?" He twirled on the spot. "Mr Fergusson?"

  Another test, but now he understood the rules. "There is no reason to deviate, sir." Knox nodded, but said nothing. Fergusson quelled the deep breath he wanted to take to gird himself. It was important not to show fear or doubt. "That said, there is also no reason not to acknowledge the subject's ... distinctiveness." He touched his finger to the revenant's ankle, above the deformed foot. "For example, we have spent much time considering the creatures as whole organisms, and examined them in that context. Perhaps this subject's size and definition would satisfy the needs of a more disparate examination." The Doctor stared, offering neither approval or condemnation, letting him make what he would of his chance. Fergusson could only hope that he was not digging a grave for himself. "We could detach the extremities entirely," he swiped his finger across the ankle. "The feet, distinctive as they are, we could hold in isolation separately, boxed in the cellars perhaps." He brought his finger to the revenant's wrist, and made a second swipe. "The hands, too, might be amputated, and the arms at the shoulder. Separate observations and intrusive examinations could be made of each appendage over the coming weeks as they degrade, to discover whether they demonstrate any unity of intention when significantly separated. Will they seek to reunite, drawn to each other by means we must identify, or will each appendage act independently of the whole, exhibiting the
characteristics of separate organisms?"

  Knox still stared, and though it battered him he held that gaze and returned it. The corner of the doctor's mouth gave the tiniest flicker. A smile? "What of the head, Mr Fergusson?" He reached out and drew his own gloved finger across the creature's taut neck like a garrotte. "Whatever should we do with that?"

  Fergusson paused, and realised that he knew the answer. "Dr Knox, sir, I don't think we need the head at all."

  He could feel Tom and Alex's eyes on him, and thought they might be holding their breaths.

  Doctor Robert Knox bowed low, drew himself back up, and clapped his hands in slow applause. "And there, gentlemen, you have it. What each scientist must be. Original thought. Courage. Conviction. You have my respect, William."

  Fergusson gave a tight smile, though he wanted to allow himself the most absurd grin. Later, in the Oak, there would be grinning aplenty, and at Alex and Tom's expense.

  The Doctor stepped towards the door, waving a dismissive hand at the revenant. "This is yours now. I would not abase myself by taking credit for your thinking. Miller, Jones, you are to follow William's instructions on the preparation, storage, and observation of this subject to the absolute letter. William, you are invited to visit me at my home with your initial findings this time next week, and every week after that until all relevant observations have been made." Fergusson wanted the doctor to repeat himself, to ensure he had properly understood. A private invitation? "We will organise the details over the coming days." Knox tipped his hat to Tom and Alex. "Gentlemen." He strode out with a flourish.

  Nobody moved. They heard the door at the end of the passage open and close.

  Fergusson sucked in a breath and slumped back against the wall. He wanted to cry. The strength went out of his legs and he let himself slide down to the floor as relief and something close to joy filled him close to bursting.

  Across the room, Tom burst out laughing. Alex looked at the pair of them, a rueful smile on his face that masked his resentment with only partial success. "Allow me to congratulate you each on your top of the bill placements in what I have to assume was a dream."