A Matter Of Delicacy

The Debt

     All around me I could hear the sound of London at night. The bustle of the daytime had quietened, become muffled as people made their way indoors and out of the dark. An owl screeched somewhere not far away, water dripped rhythmically onto the cobbles beneath me, a woman shouted in the house next door and down the street the local tavern was starting up. I sat perched on a window ledge of an old abandoned house on the Southbank watching as the last few stragglers hurried home and the night-dwellers stirred. Everywhere around me people looked sketchy, a young boy glared at everyone he saw and pocketed coins, a stocky man swaggered down the street swinging a club at his side, a woman adjusted her skirt to show more leg and thrust her hip out at any potential customer.
     Up in my post I studied each one and then discarded them. He should be here, I thought, somewhere. Was that him? No, too tall. That? No, too thin. That? Too old.
     I sighed and adjusted my position. A sleeping pigeon ruffled it's feathers next to me. I was almost jealous. After living a couple of weeks at Montagu House I was disgracefully used to the luxuries of court life now. I relished my comfy feather bed and velvet-soft blankets. I loved the pre-warmed slippers the maid left in the morning, and the cosy evenings by the fire with Sarah and my smallsword. Out here, in the damp slums on the Southbank at the turn of autumn I was, for the first time in years, resentful of a stakeout.
     And yet....there, just turning that corner onto the street. The man I had been waiting for. He walked towards me with shoulders hunched and a woollen cap jammed onto his head, but with a gait I would have known anywhere.
     Slipping down off the ledge I landed in a crouch in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.
     'Jesus Mary and Joseph!'
     'Hello old friend,' I smiled.
     'Lord save me, what do you want?' The thief from the Princess's room snapped at me, already taking a step back and shielding his arm.
     I held up my hands, 'just a small favour, nothing else.'
     'A small favour my arse, the last small favour you took was my hand, you godforsaken harpy.'
     'Oh calm down Lennox.'
     He stopped skitting from foot to foot and scowled at me, 'how d'you know my name?'
     'The guards at Montagu House. And from what I've seen of your acts on the Southbank these days you're hardly struggling after your loss. It seems an acrobat with only one hand is even more impressive than one with two, so you can stop the dramatics. I don't need much, just need an introduction.'
     'What?'
     I smiled, 'doesn't sound too hard does it? I'll even buy you a drink while we're there.'
     Lennox went back to scowling, 'last time I met you I ended up with a sword in my hand, so 'scuse me if I'd rather not.' He stepped away and down towards an alley.
     'Wait!' I jumped in front of him again, 'I can pay you. Not much, I'll warrant you, but something. Enough for you to point me in the right direction.'
     He stopped, still shifting and rubbing his arm.
     'Lennox, I need knowledge. I don't know London, I don't know the gossip, the streets, the people. And I need to find those two men who hired you. All I have to go on is their names and vague descriptions, but that gets me nowhere. I need access to the people who see everything, and you're my key into that.'
     'So you think just because I'm a street performer I'm also a criminal?'
     I raised an eyebrow, 'I found you breaking into the future Queen of England's bedroom. You are a criminal.'
     Offended, he pulled his coat closer and tried to push past. I held him back and spoke clearer, 'and while I know its not your real job, it does lead me to believe that, even if you're not involved in the criminal network you might know people who are, and specifically the type of people who know everything there is to know about London.' Slipping my hand into my pocket, I brought out a small purse and pressed it into his hand, 'I need the watchers, Lennox. I need the lamplighters, or the inn-keepers, or the rat-catchers. I need the eyes of London.'
     Reluctantly, he looked down at the purse and weighed it in his hand.
     'There's enough there to feed your family for a while,' I said.
     He didn't look at me, just held the purse and worked his jaw like a man standing in front of a jury. I waited; if this didn't work I was ruined. There was nowhere to go from here, he was my one and only lead, and short of knocking on every house in the city there was no way of finding Beresford and Paulette without him.
     There was a jerk of the head and Lennox pocketed the purse, 'this way.'