A Dangerous Fortune (10 page)

Micky was enjoying himself. It was the first time in several weeks that he had managed to get away from Papa for an evening. They were waiting for Seth Pilaster to die so that they could close the deal for the rifles, but
the old man was clinging to life like a limpet on a rock. Going to music halls and brothels was no fun with your father; and besides, Papa treated him more like a servant, sometimes even telling him to wait outside while he went with a whore. Tonight was a blessed relief.

He was glad to have run into Solly Greenbourne again. The Greenbournes were even richer than the Pilasters, and Solly might one day be useful.

He was not glad to have seen Tonio Silva. Tonio knew too much about the death of Peter Middleton seven years ago. In those days Tonio had been terrified of Micky. He was still wary, and he still looked up to Micky, but that was not the same as being frightened. Micky was worried about him but at the moment he did not know what he could do about it.

He turned off Windmill Street into a narrow alley. The eyes of cats blinked at him from piles of refuse. Checking that the others were in tow, he entered a dingy pub, walked through the bar and out of the back door, crossed a yard where a prostitute was kneeling in front of a client in the moonlight, and opened the door of a ramshackle wooden building like a stable.

A dirty-faced man in a long, greasy coat demanded fourpence as the price of admission. Edward paid and they went in.

The place was brightly lit and full of tobacco smoke, and there was a foul smell of blood and excrement. Forty or fifty men and a few women stood around a circular pit. The men were of all classes, some in the heavy wool suits and spotted neckerchiefs of well-off workers, others in frock coats or evening dress; but the women were all more or less disreputable types like April. Several of the men had dogs with them, carried in their arms or tied to chair legs.

Micky pointed out a bearded man in a tweed cap who held a muzzled dog on a heavy chain. Some of the spectators were examining the dog closely. It was a squat,
muscular animal with a big head and a powerful jaw, and it looked angry and restless. “He’ll be on next,” Micky said.

Edward went off to buy drinks from a woman with a tray. Micky turned to Tonio and addressed him in Spanish. It was bad form to do this in front of Hugh and April, who could not understand; but Hugh was a nobody and April was even less, so it hardly mattered. “What are you doing these days?” he asked.

“I’m an attache to the Cordovan Minister in London,” Tonio replied.

“Really?” Micky was intrigued. Most South American countries saw no point in having an ambassador in London, but Cordova had had an envoy for ten years. No doubt Tonio had got the post of attache because his family, the Silvas, were well connected in the Cordovan capital, Palma. By contrast Micky’s Papa was a provincial baron and had no such strings to pull. “What do you have to do?”

“I answer letters from British firms that want to do business in Cordova. They ask about the climate, the currency, internal transport, hotels, all kinds of things.”

“Do you work all day?”

“Not often.” Tonio lowered his voice. “Don’t tell a soul, but I have to write only two or three letters most days.”

“Do they pay you?” Many diplomats were men of independent means who worked for nothing.

“No. But I have a room at the minister’s residence, and all my meals; plus an allowance for clothing. They also pay my subscriptions to clubs.”

Micky was fascinated. It was just the kind of job that would have suited him, and he felt envious. Free board and lodging, and the basic expenses of a young man-about-town paid, in return for an hour’s work every morning. Micky wondered if there might be some way Tonio could be eased out of the post.

Edward came back with five tots of brandy in small glasses and handed them around. Micky swallowed his at once. It was cheap and fiery.

Suddenly the dog growled and started to run around in frantic circles, pulling on its chain, the hair on its neck standing up. Micky looked around to see two men coming in carrying a cage of huge rats. The rats were even more frenzied than the dog, running over and under one another and squeaking with terror. All the dogs in the room started to bark, and for a while there was a terrific cacophony as the owners yelled at the animals to shut up.

The entrance was locked and barred from the inside, and the man in the greasy coat started to take bets. Hugh Pilaster said: “By Jove, I never saw such big rats. Where do they get them?”

Edward answered him. “They’re specially bred for this,” he said, and turned away to speak to one of the handlers. “How many this contest?”

“Six dozen,” the man replied.

Edward explained: “That means they will put seventy-two rats into the pit.”

Tonio said: “How does the betting work?”

“You can bet on the dog or the rats; and if you think the rats will win, you can bet on how many will be left when the dog dies.”

The dirty man was calling out odds and taking money in exchange for scraps of paper on which he scribbled numbers with a thick pencil.

Edward put a sovereign on the dog, and Micky bet a shilling on six rats surviving, for which he got odds of five to one. Hugh declined to bet, like the dull stick he was, Micky noticed.

The pit was about four feet deep, and it was surrounded by a wood fence another four feet high. Crude candelabra set at intervals around the fence threw strong light into the hole. The dog was unmuzzled and let into the pit through a wooden gate that was shut tight behind
him. He stood stiff-legged, hackles raised, staring up, waiting for the rats. The rat handlers picked up the cage. There was a quiet moment of anticipation.

Suddenly Tonio said: “Ten guineas on the dog.”

Micky was surprised. Tonio had talked about his job and its perquisites as if he had to be quite careful how he spent money. Was that a sham? Or was he making bets he could not afford?

The bookmaker hesitated. It was a big bet for him, too. Nevertheless, after a moment he scribbled a slip, handed it over, and pocketed Tonio’s money.

The handlers swung the cage back, then forward, as if they were going to throw the whole thing into the pit; then, at the last minute, a hinged flap at one end opened, and the rats were hurled out of the cage and through the air, squealing with terror. April screamed with shock, and Micky laughed.

The dog went to work with lethal concentration. As the rats rained down on him his jaws snapped rhythmically. He would pick one up, break its back with one hard shake of his huge head, and drop it for another.

The smell of blood became nauseating. All the dogs in the room barked madly, and the spectators added to the noise, the women shrieking to see the carnage and the men shouting encouragement to the dog or to the rats. Micky laughed and laughed.

It took a moment for the rats to discover they were trapped in the pit. Some ran around the edge, looking for a way out; others jumped up, trying without success to get a grip on the sheer sides; others formed themselves into a heap. For a few seconds the dog had it all his own way, and killed a dozen or more.

Then the rats turned, all at once, as it they had heard a signal. They began to fly at the dog, biting his legs, his haunches and his short tail. Some got on his back and bit his neck and ears, and one sank its sharp little teeth into his lower lip and clung on, swinging from his
lethal jaws, until he howled with rage and slammed it against the ground, and at last it released his bleeding flesh.

The dog kept turning around in dizzying circles and caught rat after rat, killing them all; but there were always more behind him. Half the rats were dead when he began to tire. The people who had bet on thirty-six, and got long odds, now tore up their slips; but those who had bet on lower numbers cheered louder.

The dog was bleeding from twenty or thirty bites, and the ground became slippery with his blood and the moist corpses of the dead rats. Still he swung his great head; still he cracked their brittle spines in his terrible mouth; but he moved a little less quickly, and his feet were not so sure on the slimy earth. Now, Micky thought, it starts to get interesting.

Sensing the dog’s fatigue, the rats became bolder. When he had one in his jaws, another would spring for his throat. They ran between his legs and under his belly and leaped at the soft parts of his hide. One particularly big creature dug its teeth into his hind leg and refused to let go. He turned to snap at it but another rat distracted him by leaping on his snout. Then the leg seemed to give way—the rat must have severed a tendon, Micky thought—and suddenly the dog was limping.

He was much slower to turn now. As if they knew that, the dozen or so remaining rats all attacked his rear end. Wearily he snapped them up in his jaws; wearily he broke their backs; wearily he dropped them on the bloody ground. But his underside was raw flesh, and he could not hold out much longer. Micky thought he might have bet wisely, and there would be six rats left when the dog died.

Then the dog gained a sudden access of energy. Spinning around on three legs he killed another four rats in as many seconds. But it was his last gasp. He dropped a rat and then his legs buckled under him. Once more he
turned his head to snap at the creatures, but this time he caught none, and his head drooped.

The rats began to feed.

Micky counted: there were six left.

He looked at his companions. Hugh looked ill. Edward said to him: “A bit strong for your stomach, eh?”

“The dog and the rats are simply behaving as nature intended,” Hugh said. “It’s the humans who disgust me.”

Edward grunted and went to buy more drinks.

April’s eyes were sparkling as she looked up at Tonio, a man—she thought—who could afford to lose ten guineas in a bet. Micky looked more closely at Tonio and saw in his face a hint of panic. I don’t believe he
can
afford to lose ten guineas, Micky thought.

Micky collected his winnings from the bookmaker: five shillings. He had made a profit on the evening already. But he had a feeling that what he had learned about Tonio could in the end be worth a great deal more.

4

IT WAS MICKY
who had most disgusted Hugh. Throughout the contest, Micky had been laughing hysterically. At first Hugh could not think why that laughter sounded so chillingly familiar. Then he remembered Micky’s laughing just the same way when Edward threw Peter Middleton’s clothes into the swimming hole. It was an unpleasant reminder of a grim memory.

Edward came back with the drinks and said: “Let’s go to Nellie’s.”

They swallowed their tots of brandy and went out. In the street, Tonio and April took their leave and slipped into a building that looked like a cheap hotel. Hugh presumed they were going to take a room for an hour, or perhaps for the night. He wondered whether to go on with Edward and Micky. He was not having a very good
time, but he was curious to know what went on at Nellie’s. He had decided to try debauchery, so he probably ought to see the evening out, not quit halfway, he thought in the end.

Nellie’s was in Princes Street, off Leicester Square. There were two uniformed commissionaires at the door. As the three young men arrived, the commissionaires were turning away a middle-aged man in a bowler hat. “Evening dress only,” said one of the commissionaires over the man’s protests.

They seemed to know Edward and Micky, for one touched his hat and the other opened the door. They went down a long passage to another door. They were inspected through a peephole, and then the door opened.

It was a bit like walking into a drawing room in a big London house. Fires blazed in two large grates, there were sofas, chairs and small tables everywhere, and the room was full of men and women in evening dress.

However, it only took another moment to see that this was no ordinary drawing room. Most of the men had their hats on. About half of them were smoking—something that was not permitted in polite drawing rooms—and some had their coats off and their ties undone. Most of the women were fully dressed but a few seemed to be in their underwear. Some of them were sitting on men’s laps, others were kissing men, and one or two were permitting themselves to be fondled intimately.

For the first time in his life Hugh was in a brothel.

It was noisy, with men shouting jokes, women laughing, and a fiddler somewhere playing a waltz. Hugh followed Micky and Edward as they walked the length of the room. The walls were hung with pictures of naked women and copulating couples, and Hugh began to feel aroused. At the far end, under a huge oil painting of a complex outdoor orgy, sat the fattest person Hugh had ever seen: a vast-bosomed, heavily painted woman in a silk gown like a purple tent. She was sitting on a big regal
chair and surrounded by girls. Behind her was a broad, red-carpeted staircase that presumably led up to bedrooms.

Edward and Micky approached the throne and bowed, and Hugh followed suit.

Edward said: “Nell, my pet, allow me to present my cousin, Mr. Hugh Pilaster.”

“Welcome, boys,” said Nell. “Come and entertain these beautiful girls.”

“In a while, Nell. Is there a game tonight?”

“There’s always a game at Nellie’s,” she said, and waved toward a door at one side of the room.

Edward bowed again and said: “We’ll be back.”

“Don’t fail me, boys!”

They moved off. “She acts like royalty!” Hugh murmured.

Edward laughed. “This is the top stew in London. Some of the people who bow to her tonight will be bowing to the Queen in the morning.”

They went into the next room, where twelve or fifteen men were sitting around two baccarat tables. Each table had a white line chalked about a foot from its edge, and the players pushed colored counters across the line to place bets. Most of them had drinks beside them, and the air was full of cigar smoke.

There were a few empty chairs at one of the tables, and Edward and Micky immediately sat down. A waiter brought them some counters, and they each signed a receipt. Hugh said quietly to Edward: “What are the stakes?”