The Scent of Death

I raised the stick above my head and turned sharply to the right, which brought my back to the blank wall of the building beside me.

The man in front leapt at me. I slashed the stick down in a diagonal arc. I heard a cry of pain. Metal chinked on stone.

I reversed the direction of the stick and swung it blindly backwards. I shouted, a wordless cry. The stick landed on something soft. It twisted like a live thing. I lost hold of it and swore at my assailant.

As suddenly as it had begun, it was over. There were more running footsteps. My two attackers darted into the alley. A couple of men gave chase, whooping and hallooing as if they were chasing hares.

‘Run, boyo, run,’ someone cried in great excitement, his voice bouncing against the walls of the alley.

I leaned back against the wall, hunched over and drawing breath in great shuddering gasps. As the danger subsided, my mind filled with all the stories I had heard of assault and robbery on the streets of New York, of the brutish attacks by drunken soldiers and vulgar criminals which the military authorities so rarely troubled to check.

‘Sir?’ It was an English voice, a gentleman’s. ‘Are you hurt?’

I looked up. ‘Thank you, no.’

‘Good God, this town is a perfect nursery of crime.’

Another man came running up to us, this one bearing a lantern. By its light I made out that my rescuer was a middle-aged naval lieutenant, with a footman to light his way.

‘Your arrival was providential, sir.’ I paused, for I still found it hard to breathe. ‘I cannot thank you enough.’

‘I can’t take the credit, sir – a pair of soldiers chased the villains away.’

His servant picked up my stick and handed it to me.

‘Footpads,’ my rescuer said, gripping the hilt of his dress sword. ‘Sprang on you like – like a pair of tigers on a goat. Saw that happen once, sir, in the East Indies. Not a pretty sight, believe me.’

‘Did you see the rogues, sir?’ I asked.

‘No, sir. Too dark to see more than the shape of them. Tell you what, though: I’d lay ten to one they were negros. You know that musty smell their clothes have, sir?’ The lieutenant sniffed, as if to illustrate his point. ‘I’ve often remarked it. Thieving magpies, the whole pack of them. They’d steal their grandmother’s teeth if they could.’

I shifted position and one of my shoes kicked against something that scraped on the pavement. I bent down and picked up the object, holding it so the light from the lantern fell upon it.

For a moment no one spoke. In my hand was a knife with a crude horn handle. The blade was about eight inches long and sharpened to a tapering point.

The lieutenant touched the blade with a fingertip. ‘After your purse and your rings, I suppose,’ he said. ‘But if need be, I dare say they would not have scrupled to murder you while they were at it.’

Chapter Twenty

Fear has a terrible habit of breeding fear; it spreads like maggots through rotting meat.

Once the danger was past I began to tremble. My rescuer kindly ignored my shameful weakness and escorted me to Warren Street. No one was about, except for servants. The lieutenant would not stay – his ship sailed at dawn tomorrow. I would have welcomed the company of anyone, even Captain Wintour, whose conversation, I had discovered, was not always agreeable. Instead I drank rum and water alone in the parlour, huddled over the banked-up fire, and the alcohol seemed to have no effect on me whatsoever.

My mind raced to and fro. It was as if it were under the influence of a powerful stimulant. When at last I retired to bed, I could not sleep.

Time and again, I ran over what had happened and what might have happened. The memory of my own unheroic conduct made me toss and turn in the smothering embrace of the featherbed.

Time and again, I returned to that terrible moment when the man had bounded out from the alley in front of me, and the footsteps behind had speeded up.

It’s him. That’s what the man behind me had said. It’s him.

After a sleepless night, I walked through the rain-slicked streets to Headquarters and asked to see Marryot. His servant ushered me into the Major’s private room. A masked white figure was sitting by the window. Two blue eyes, gleaming bright as if illuminated from within, stared out of the blank white face. For an instant I believed my mind had given way under the strain.

The moment dissolved and reformed itself: Marryot was swathed in a sheet, with his scalp and face lathered white. A regimental barber stood to one side, sharpening his razor on a strop. The blade slapped to and fro, glinting as it passed through a shaft of weak sunshine from the window.

I bowed.

‘Good morning to you, sir,’ the Major said, revealing the vivid pink of his mouth and an irregular palisade of blackened teeth. ‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand.’

‘Of course. I’m obliged to you for seeing me at such short notice.’

‘And how may I serve you?’

I glanced at the barber. ‘I wished to speak privately. Shall I wait until you are at leisure?’

‘You could wait all day for that and most of tomorrow as well. The General is to inspect the fortifications at King’s Bridge, and I am ordered to accompany him.’ Marryot looked up at the barber. ‘Wait outside. Send for more hot water.’

We waited in silence until the man had withdrawn, closing the door behind him.

Marryot did not ask me to sit. ‘Well, sir? What is it?’

‘I was set upon last night. It was about midnight – I was walking back to Warren Street after supping with Mr Townley at the King’s Arms.’

‘Were you robbed?’

‘No. Two soldiers came to my aid and chased the villains off.’

‘Were you hurt?’

‘No.’

‘All in all, a happy escape,’ he said. ‘I congratulate you, sir. And now, if that is—’

‘Sir, I am not altogether easy in my mind about this. There was something … something contrived about the attack. It was as if they had been lying in wait.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I felt as if I had walked into a trap, sir. There was a man in front and a man behind.’

‘But perhaps you had walked into a trap. Robbers work in pairs often enough.’

‘They had been waiting for me.’ I paused. ‘For me. Not for any passer-by that might have had a purse in his pocket. It’s him. That’s what one of them said.’

‘Well? All that means is that they had picked you out earlier as a likely mark.’

‘No, sir, I do not think so. Or they would not have made their attempt with so many witnesses about.’

Marryot sighed. ‘In my experience a robber can be as foolish as any man alive.’