Part 43 (1/2)
”Constables? A police wagon?” the commissioner repeated with concern. ”I know nothing about this.”
”Can you spare a s.h.i.+lling for this unfortunate man?” De Quincey asked.
The commissioner dropped a silver coin into Edward's cup.
”Thank you, guv! My blessin's to you!”
”Keep receiving reports, Edward!” De Quincey called as the coach moved forward.
”The docks?” Becker asked. ”But there are a dozen of them.”
”Given Brookline's background, I suspect only one set of docks would interest him,” De Quincey replied.
”What do you mean?”
”Brookline served for twenty years in India. The comments he wrote in my books refer to all the people he killed there. Because of opium. People he killed for the British East India Company. He emphasized the company in his notes.”
Ahead, two streetwalkers stood on a corner.
”Becker, please ask the driver to stop,” De Quincey said.
The women looked hopeful as the coach halted.
”Doris. Melinda. How excellent to see you again.”
”It's my favorite little man,” Doris said, batting her eyes.
Melinda guffawed toothlessly.
”I have work for you,” De Quincey said.
”Wait, aren't these the streetwalkers we questioned at Vauxhall Gardens?” Ryan asked in confusion.
”Better send for the police wagons again,” De Quincey told him. ”Tonight we have need of these fine ladies and their companions.”
”Father, what on earth are you talking about?” Emily demanded.
16.
A Sigh from the Depths.
BEGINNING AT THE TOWER OF LONDON, London's docks extended east along the Thames. In the early 1800s, the city had expanded those docks until they formed the largest harbor in the world. By 1854, one third of those docks were used by the British East India Company. s.h.i.+ps carrying opium, tea, spices, and silk came up the Thames and entered a channel cut into the northern bank of the river, proceeding via locks to immense basins bordered by quays, one basin for imports, the other for exports. The basins were so large that two hundred and fifty vessels could anchor in them at one time.
Shortly after dark, a police wagon arrived at st.u.r.dy gates. Brookline descended from the wagon and approached a guard, who raised a lantern to Brookline's face and nodded in recognition.
”Back again?” the guard asked. Several other men stood behind him. A cold wind buffeted their coats.
”Lord Palmerston's orders.”
Brookline pulled out his credentials.
”No need. I saw your badge often enough.”
”His Lords.h.i.+p remains concerned about a rumor that someone plans to take advantage of the panic in the city and cause trouble on the docks.”
The repeated reference to Lord Palmerston had considerable effect. As home secretary, Palmerston controlled security for the docks as well as for everything else within the country. As a previous foreign secretary, Palmerston was also guaranteed a position on the British East India Company's board.
”G.o.d knows, there's plenty of panic out there,” the guard agreed. ”Last night, a mob forced a bunch of sailors to barricade themselves in a warehouse over at Shadwell Basin. Nearly killed 'em. We can use any help His Lords.h.i.+p wants to send us.”
The guard unblocked the gate and motioned for the driver to bring the police wagon through.
”The rumor we received concerned the opium warehouse,” Brookline told him.
”Take a look. Do whatever you need to.”
The wagon proceeded past the lanterns of other guards.
At the warehouse, the wagon stopped, and the three men dressed as constables climbed down. In reality, they were all former members of the same regiment in which Brookline had served in India.
The cold wind slapped waves against the wharf. Lanterns swung back and forth in the distance as guards patrolled the waterfront.
The men disguised as constables lit lanterns of their own and entered the warehouse. On three other occasions, Brookline and his companions had come here, pretending to check security, using the tall sides of the wagon to give them cover as they accomplished their real purpose. For safety, gunpowder kegs were often small-five inches across and eight inches high. In December they could easily be concealed under an arm, hidden by voluminous winter clothing.
Brookline and his companions made sure that no one else was inside the warehouse. Then they went from stack to stack of burlap-covered opium bricks, verifying that the powder kegs remained concealed within the stacks throughout the warehouse. They added others. From twenty years of experience, Brookline imagined the sickening odor of the lime with which the opium had initially been treated in India.
”I leave tonight,” he told the men.
”So soon?”
”I've come under suspicion. It's time I made a strategic withdrawal.”
They smiled at the military joke.
”You've done what you agreed to,” Brookline continued. ”Tomorrow, after the fire destroys numerous buildings, there'll be few people in the city. The banks and businesses that remain will be unprotected. Take your rewards as you find them. No one will stop you, especially when you're dressed as constables. Make sure you burn the buildings that you steal from.”
”And you? What's your reward?”
”For starters, the destruction of all this opium.”
”And then?”
”After half of London burns, maybe the panic will become extreme enough to cause a revolution.”
”You always like to talk about a revolution,” one man said.
”The army's supposed to protect England, but in India, all we really did was help n.o.blemen become richer by selling more opium. I lost count of how many people I killed because of those wretched n.o.blemen and this d.a.m.ned stuff.”