Part 12 (1/2)

Sherlock found the journey strange and disturbing. Water sloshed in the bottom of the boat and there were things floating in the river that he tried hard not to look at: human waste, dead rats and lengths of sodden wood covered in weeds. The smell was so appalling that he had to breathe through his mouth, and even then he was sure he could taste the smell as it coated his tongue and the back of his throat. It made him gag. At one point another boat emerged from the murk and pa.s.sed close to them. Someone shouted a curse, and their boatman replied with a gesture that Sherlock had never seen before but could translate pretty well.

It took twenty minutes or so to make the journey to Rotherhithe, and they disembarked on a set of steps that were almost indistinguishable from the ones that they had started from. Crowe led the way up to the top.

A narrow alley cobbled with rough stones ran along the riverbank, curving away to either side. Crowe led Matty and Sherlock along it, past the towering edifices of warehouses and brick walls, following the edge of the malodorous Thames and keeping to the shadows wherever possible. After ten minutes or so he stopped. Opposite them was one of the taverns that could be found everywhere across the metropolis. The jangly music of a badly tuned upright piano emerged through the doorways and the windows, along with a jumble of voices singing different words to the same tune. Several women stood in a doorway and eyed Amyus Crowe with interest before turning away when they saw Sherlock and Matty.

'I believe the warehouse is just around the corner,' Crowe murmured. His attention was focused all around them, looking for threats. 'I suggest we check out the lay of the land and settle down for a while,'

'What if we're seen?' Sherlock asked.

'I used to be a hunter, back in Albuquerque,' Crowe said. 'I tracked some of the most dangerous beasts around. There's things you can do to minimize the chances of gettin' discovered. Don't make eye contact, for a start, cos all animals spot eyes straight away. Look at things out of the corner of your eye it's more sensitive than lookin' straight, although you don't make out colours too well. Don't move if you can help it, cos the eye is set up to spot movement, not things that are still. Wear dull clothin' that doesn't have any colours that you wouldn't see in nature grey for stone, green for moss, brown for earth. And don't wear any metal, cos metal ain't found in nature in any great quant.i.ties. Follow those rules and you can stand against a brick wall and folk'll just let their eyes move over you an' on till they find somethin' more interestin'.'

'It sounds like magic,' Sherlock said, unconvinced.

'Most stuff does till you know how it's done.' He glanced critically at the two boys. 'Those cuts on your face will help you blend in, Sherlock, but you're both a mite too neat for this neighbourhood. Need to dirty you up a bit.' He looked around. 'OK, I need you to roll around on the cobbles for a while. Get some dust into your clothes.'

'Won't that be suspicious?' Sherlock asked.

'Not if you got a reason for it,' Crowe explained. 'Matty, shove young Sherlock here in the chest.'

'What?' Matty responded.

'Just do it. An' Sherlock, you punch him on the shoulder right back.'

The light of understanding dawned in Sherlock's mind. 'And we end up sc.r.a.pping in the dirt, which helps our clothes to blend in and and establishes us as part of the area. If we weren't local, we wouldn't be fighting in the road.' establishes us as part of the area. If we weren't local, we wouldn't be fighting in the road.'

'Exactly,' Crowe said approvingly.

Sherlock was about to ask how long they ought to fight for when Matty shoved him hard in the chest. 'I told told you!' he shouted. you!' he shouted.

Sherlock suppressed the sudden urge to punch Matty in the jaw, and instead hit him on the shoulder. 'Don't you dare,' he yelled, feeling slightly embarra.s.sed.

Matty launched himself at Sherlock, bringing him to the ground. Within moments the two of them were rolling around, clouds of dust rising around them. Sherlock got a grip on Matty's arm, but Matty's fingers closed in Sherlock's hair and pulled his head back.

Sherlock was on the verge of forgetting that it was a pretend fight when Amyus Crowe's huge hands closed on his and Matty's shoulders and hoicked them upright. 'All right you two, break it up,' he said, using his 'English' voice again, but gruffer this time.

The two boys stood facing each other, trying to suppress smiles despite the danger of their situation. Sherlock glanced down at himself. His jacket was torn at the sleeve, and everything was covered in dust and horsehair and stuff that he didn't even want to think about.

'Don't worry,' Crowe said. 'It'll wash off. And if it doesn't, we'll just buy more clothes. Possessions can always be replaced. A good hunter knows that anything material can be sacrificed in pursuit of the prey.'

'What kind of animals did you hunt?' Matty asked.

'I didn't say they were animals,' Crowe murmured.

Before either of the boys could ask him to clarify his statement, he walked off. They followed, exchanging uneasy glances.

Crowe stopped at a corner and glanced round it. 'Warehouse is across there,' he said quietly. 'Sherlock, you stay here. Hunker down on the ground an' play with somethin' some stones if you can find 'em. Remember don't make eye contact, but watch what's goin' on out of the corner of your eye. Matty, you come with me. You can cover the back, an' I'll move back and forth between the two of you.'

'What are we looking for?' Sherlock asked.

'Stuff that's out of the ordinary. Somethin' that might tell us what's goin' on here.'

Crowe and Matty walked off, Crowe's hand on Matty's shoulder, and Sherlock followed instructions, settling down on his haunches and pulling one of the cobbles from the mud. He rolled it back and forth. It was a boring game, but it was enough to make him look like part of the scenery, and he found he was still able to see what was going on around him out of the corner of his eye while ostensibly playing his game.

The warehouse was a brick building with a front made up almost entirely of a large pair of wooden doors, hinged so that they opened outward on to the street. There was nothing obviously suspicious about it, and Sherlock wondered whether they were actually watching the right place, or just a randomly chosen building.

Amyus Crowe wandered back after what seemed like hours, but was probably closer to half an hour. Although he was wearing the same clothes as before, and he hadn't dirtied them as noticeably as Sherlock and Matty, he looked dishevelled. His jacket was b.u.t.toned up wrongly, giving him a lopsided appearance, and his s.h.i.+rt was hanging out of his trousers. He was weaving slightly, and staring at the ground directly in front of his feet. He stopped near Sherlock and slumped against the wall.

'Everythin' OK?' he murmured.

'Nothing's happened,' Sherlock replied, equally quietly.

'You all right?'

'I'm bored.'

Crowe chuckled. 'Welcome to the hunt. Long stretches of boredom punctuated by moments of exhilaration and terror.' He paused, then went on: 'I think I might wander into that there tavern for a while, see what's bein' said.'

'Fine. Couldn't send me out a gla.s.s of water, could you?'

'Son, you're prob'ly better off drinkin' out of the Thames than the water from any tavern around here. If you're hungry or thirsty just register the fact an' then push it to one side. Don't dwell on it. A human being can go three, four days without water. Just keep tellin' yourself that.'

'Easy for you to say.'

Crowe laughed.

'Can I ask you something?' Sherlock said, wanting to keep Crowe there for a few moments more.

'Sure.'

'What are you doing in England? What is is that ”business” you mentioned earlier?' that ”business” you mentioned earlier?'

Crowe smiled without humour, and glanced away, not meeting Sherlock's gaze. 'Not to be a tutor, that's for sure,' he said softly, 'although that's becomin' an interestin' pastime. No, I was retained by . . . well, let's say the American government to make it easy, to seek out men who'd committed crimes, atrocities, the most terrible things durin' the recent Civil War an' escaped the country before the hand of justice could come down on their shoulder. That's how I came to know your brother he signed the agreement that allows me to be here. An' that's why I've been developin' a network of useful people, especially in docks and ports. So when you told me that the Baron was accelerating his plan, whatever that may be, I just sent out the word to look for his carts. An' I got to say, I was surprised that my people found them so easily.' He looked back at Sherlock. 'Satisfied?'

Sherlock nodded.

'Not many people I've told that to,' Crowe added. 'Grateful if you'd keep it to yourself.' He moved away before Sherlock could say anything more.

Sherlock continued playing his game, rolling the cobble back and forth, as the minutes slid away, one after the other. He kept watch on the warehouse doors, but they were firmly closed and nothing was stirring. He was beginning to think that they were all on a wild goose chase.

A sudden escalation of noise from behind him almost made him turn and look, but he stopped himself just in time. He let the cobblestone run a little further, turning to retrieve it and letting his eyes drift upward to take in the tavern. One of the doors was open and a group of men were emerging, obviously the worse for drink. They bantered for a moment, then turned and walked towards him. He concentrated on his stone, listening to whether they were saying anything about the warehouse, or the beehives, or Baron Maupertuis, or anything related to the mystery.

'When're we hauling out?' one of them said.

'First light tomorrow morning,' another replied. There was something familiar about the voice, but Sherlock couldn't quite place it.

'Who's got the roster?' a third voice asked.