Page 21 of The Shifting Tide (William Monk 14)

“Nice,” she said. “ ’Ow many?”

“Dozen, or thereabouts,” he answered.

“Thereabouts?” she questioned. “Can’t yer count, then?”

“Depends on your offer,” he prevaricated.

She chortled with laughter, which was high-pitched like a little girl’s.

“Do you want them?” he asked.

“I like you,” she said frankly. “We can do business.”

“How much?”

She thought about it for several seconds, watching his face, although it seemed she was doing it now for the pleasure it gave her more than any need for time to think.

Monk wanted to come to the point and then leave. “I have a client looking for ivory,” he said a bit abruptly. “You wouldn’t have any advice on that, would you?”

“I’ll ask fer yer,” she said in a whisper, unexpectedly gentle. “Come back ’ere in two days. An’ bring me some o’ them watches an’ I’ll pay yer nicely.”

“How much?” he asked. She would expect him to haggle, and Callandra’s watch must have cost at least thirty pounds.

“Like that? Twelve pound, ten,” she replied.

“Twelve pound, ten!” he said in horror. “It’s worth more than twice that! Twenty, at the very least.”

She thought for a moment, looking at him through her eyelashes. “Fifteen,” she offered.

“Twenty?” He could not afford to lose her, or to appear to give in too easily.

This time she considered for longer.

Monk felt a sweat break out on his body in the warm room. He had made a mistake. He had let his desperation push him into going too far. Now he had no retreat.

“Seventeen,” she said at last.

“Right,” he agreed, his mouth dry. He wanted to escape this stifling house and be outside alone in the street to think of a way to extricate himself, and still be able to hear any information Little Lil might give him. “Thank you.” He inclined his head slightly, and saw her acknowledge it with a gleam of satisfaction. She liked him. He despised himself for playing on it, at the same time as he knew he had to.

In the street, he was barely beyond the ring of the lamplight when Scuff materialized from the darkness.

“Yer got anyfink?” he asked eagerly.

Monk swore under his breath.

Scuff giggled with satisfaction.

“She like yer, does she?” he said.

Monk realized Scuff had expected it, and he reached out to clip him over the ear for the acute embarrassment he had suffered, but Scuff ducked sideways and Monk’s hand missed him. Not that it would have hurt more than a slight sting. He was still laughing.

They reached the main street running parallel with the docks and crossed into the better light. Monk turned to Scuff again, and realized he was not there. He saw a shadow in front of him, a row of buttons gleaming on a dark jacket, a solidity, a confidence to him.

“Has his wits about him more’n yer have, Mr. Monk,” the man observed.

Monk froze. The man was River Police; he knew it with certainty-more than the uniform, it was the quiet authority in him, the sense of pride in his calling. He did not need to threaten, not even to raise his voice. He was the law and he understood its worth. If only Monk had that same dignity, the fellowship of all the other quiet men who kept order on the river and its immediate shore. Suddenly the reality of his aloneness was almost beyond bearing.

“You have the advantage of me, sir,” he said stiffly, with more than necessary politeness.

---