Page 36 of The Shifting Tide (William Monk 14)

“No. It was a thief, and I’m trying to get the stuff back.”

“Fer Louvain?”

“Of course.”

“Off one of his boats? Likely the Maude Idris.”

“Yes. Why?”

“What were it?”

“Ivory.”

The doctor made another shrill whistle between his teeth.

Monk wondered if the loss of blood had weakened his wits. He should not have said so much. Desperation was making him careless. “So someone is either sitting on a pile of ivory wondering how on earth to get rid of it without betraying who they are and bringing down Louvain’s vengeance on them,” he said very quietly. “Or else someone with a great deal of power, enough not to need to be afraid of anything Louvain can do to him, is feeling very pleased with himself, and perhaps very rich.”

“Or very ’appy ter ’ave scored one orff Louvain,” the doctor added.

“Who would that be?”

The doctor grinned. “Take your pick-Culpepper, Dobbs, Newman. Any o’ them big men along the Pool, or the West India Dock, or even down Lime’ouse way. I’d go back ’ome, if I was you. Yer in’t suited fer this. River’s no place fer gennelmen. Cutthroats is still two a penny, if yer knows where ter find ’em.”

Monk gritted his teeth as pain from his arm washed over him.

“Let Louvain clean up ’is own mess,” the doctor added.

“How much do I owe you?” Monk asked, rising to his feet slowly and a trifle unsteadily.

“Well, you prob’ly owes ’Erbert ’ere fer ’is brandy, but I don’ need nuffink. I reckon yer worth it fer interest, like. Crimea, eh? Honest?”

“Yes.”

“She know Florence Nightingale?”

“Yes.”

“You met ’er?”

“Yes. She has a pretty sharp tongue in her, too.” Monk smiled, and winced at the memory.

The doctor pushed his hands into his pockets, his eyes shining.

Monk thought of telling him about the clinic in Portpool Lane, then changed his mind. It was only pride which made him want to. Better to be discreet, at least for now. “What’s your name?” He would do something later.

“Crow,” the doctor said with a huge smile. “At least that’s what they call me. Suits me profession. Wot’s yours?”

Monk smiled back. “Monk-”

Crow roared with laughter, and Monk found himself oddly self-conscious; in fact, he felt himself coloring. He turned away and fished in his pocket to pay Mr. Herbert for his brandy.

Herbert refused the money, and Monk gave Madge sixpence instead, and another sixpence when she brought him water and soap to clean up his jacket before he walked outside. There was a bitter wind coming off the tide, but its chill revived him.

With a sharper mind and a slightly clearer head came the awareness that if he was going to go back to see Little Lil, then he had to have at least two or three gold watches to sell her. Not even to earn Louvain’s money was he going to part with Callandra’s watch. The only person whose help he could ask for now was Louvain himself. The thought choked in his throat, but there was no alternative. The sooner he did it, the sooner it would be over.

“What?” Louvain said incredulously when Monk told him.

Monk felt his face burn. He was standing in front of Louvain’s desk and Louvain was sitting in the large, carved, and padded chair behind it. Louvain had already remarked on Monk’s torn sleeve, and Monk had dismissed it.

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