“I think perhaps I shall go looking for him. If he suspects Dogmill is after him, he might have good reason for thinking so. Any thoughts on where to begin looking?”
“Well, you might try asking around the Goose and Wheel. Those are Greenbill’s boys there. They won’t be too happy to give you much information about him, though, not if he don’t want to be found. They will, however, be happy to beat you over the head and take you to the magistrate for the bounty. But you know your business.”
“I do.”
“Well, if I hear anything of Greenbill, I’ll be sure to let you know. Where can I get a message to you?”
I laughed. “I will find you in a little while. You can tell me what you know then.”
He returned the laugh. “You can trust me more than you think.”
I nodded, but I had not lived so long by believing anyone who spoke such words.
CHAPTER 14
I HOPED I could find this Greenbill Billy, who was surely the creature of my true enemy. For the moment I assumed that person to be Dennis Dogmill, but as I could not pursue that line of inquiry, I chose the only one available to me.
I waited until nightfall and then headed to the docks and to the Goose and Wheel tavern. The space was fortunately lit with few candles, and the interior was a stew of filthy bodies and foul breath. The sick, sterile smell of gin had permeated the tables, the benches, the dirt floor, and even the walls. Only the wholesome scent of tobacco made the air breathable.
I approached the barman, an unreasonably tall fellow with narrow shoulders and a nose that looked as if it had been broken once for each year of his life. Though I have no love for the drink, I ordered a gin lest I draw more attention to myself, and sipped it cautiously when the pewter pot was set before me. At a penny a pint, the barman had still chosen to water it down.
Sliding over a coin for my liquor, I nodded at the barman. “You know Greenbill Billy?”
He stared at me hard. “Everyone knows Billy. Except you, which means you got no business with him.”
“I don’t think he would say as much. He’d thank you for pointing me in his direction. You know where I can find him?”
He sneered. “Nowhere, for the likes of you. What do you want anyhow, coming in here with your questions? You with the constable’s office? You want to make us look fools?”
“Yes,” I said. “That is why I came here. Particularly, I wanted to make you look the fool. I believe I am succeeding quite admirably.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Well, you ain’t no coward, I’ll say that for you. How about you tell me your name and where you can be reached, and if I see Billy, which I may or may not, I’ll tell him you was looking for him. How does that sound to you?”
“That sounds to me like I’ll never find Billy.” I dropped a pair of shillings into my pint of gin and slid it back toward him. “Surely you can think of some way I might reach him.”
“Hmm. Well, I don’t know precisely. He’s been scarce the last week or so. I heard he’s hiding out, that the law or some like is after him. But maybe his woman knows.”
“Where do I find her?”
“On her back, most like,” he said, and guffawed heartily at his own joke. After a moment, he contained his mirth. “Lucy Greenbill is her name. Has a room in the cellar of a house over on the corner of Pearl and Silver streets. It ain’t where Billy lives, but they ain’t truly married in the more legal sense of these things, though she took his name as if she were. But she’ll know where he is as well as anyone and better than some.”
“Better than you, to be sure.” I said.
“I done my best. What’s your name, anyhow, in case he comes looking for you?”
I thought of what Elias had said, of the advantage of being seen in such places. “My name is Benjamin Weaver,” I said.
“I heard that name somewhere before,” he said.
I shrugged and began to take my leave, a bit disappointed that my fame was not sufficient for him to have known the name at once.
“Sod me!” I heard him shout after a moment. “That’s Weaver the Jew. Weaver the Jew’s here!”
I don’t know if anyone heard him over the din, but I was outside and three streets over before I dared to slow down.
Keeping to dark and snowy streets as best I could, I made my way to the house where the barman had told me I might find Lucy Greenbill. I did not bother to knock on the door, in no small part because I doubted that it would withstand so forceful an effort on my part. Here was one of those old houses, rushed into standing after the great fire of 1666, that year of wonders. These buildings, thrown together so awkwardly, now appeared perpetually on the verge of toppling. The pedestrian passed them at his own risk, for they shed bricks the way a dog sheds fleas.
I pushed open the door and found a foul space, cluttered with the bones of long-ago meals, a full chamber pot, and rubbish of all sorts strewn about. There was but one lamp lit, and I heard naught but silence except for the rustle of rats among the refuse. I could only guess that no one was home, but I wished to take no chances. For that reason, and to give my eyes a moment to adapt properly to the darkness, I moved with deliberate slowness. Soon I found the stairs, and I began to make my way downward.
Here my best efforts at stealth were squandered, for I could do nothing to keep silent as I moved down these old and creaky boards. I could with more ease have descended a set of stairs made of dry bread crusts, and as I feared, my movements betrayed me. Someone stirred down there. I saw a small light and smelled the smoke of cheap oil.
“Is that you?” I heard a woman’s voice cry out from below.
“Mmm,” I agreed.
As I descended, I could see that the decor of the upper rooms was shared by those below. Trash everywhere, torn broadsheets, a pile of soiled linen.
The cellar was but a single room, not particularly large. The floor was of dirt, and there was little enough on it: an old straw mattress, a single chair, a table with no legs on which the oil lamp sat. Mrs. Lucy Greenbill lay on the mattress, wearing, I might add, nothing at all.
Lest my reader think this tale about to turn as salacious as the scandalous works of Mr. Cleland, I should observe that she was none the most attractive of women- far too thin, with bones jutting out this way and that from her flesh, which, despite her lean frame, hung loosely in those places it was not stretched. Her eyes were enormous, such as might have been stunning on a more vibrant face, but she had the look of a gin drinker, so they were sunken deep into her skull. This pitiable creature had all the signs of those made slaves to that vile liquor: Her nose appeared shriveled and flat, her skin dry and lifeless, so she looked more the death’s-head than the temptress. But even if her shape been more pleasing to the eye, I believe her actions might have undone nature’s good works, for she lay there picking over clothes, piled off to one side of her naked form, and plucking off lice. She then proceeded to put them in her mouth, snap them between her teeth, and spit out the bloody skins.
“Don’t be too long now, Timmy,” she said.
“Timmy,” I repeated. “Surely Mr. Greenbill would be surprised to hear of you lying without clothes and awaiting someone called Timmy.”
Lucy bolted upright and prepared to scream, but I knew better than to let her. I leaped over from the stairs and, with a quick hop, found myself on the floor next to her with one hand over her mouth. A flash of pain shot through the old wound in my leg, but I bit my lip and determined to show no weakness.
“I realize this is an awkward position for you,” I said, trying to sound more menacing than distressed, “and I will allow you to dress yourself, but you must promise not to make noise. You’ve seen I move quickly, and I will be upon you in an instant if you defy me. Before you decide to utter another sound, you must choose whether you would prefer to conduct our business, which I promise will do you no harm, with or without clothing on your body.”