The Last Confession of Thomas Hawkins - [52]

Another twist, and we arrived at the mouth of an alley blacker than a parson’s coat, rats scuttling and squealing in the darkness. A torch flickered at the dead end, beckoning us forward. A tavern without a name, hidden for a reason. I thought I glimpsed a movement up ahead, and touched Kitty’s shoulder, but there was nothing there. I had come to expect danger from every shadow in this city. As we paused, I heard footsteps behind us and a short, tough-looking rogue hurried past without a glance, hood covering his face, long cloak flapping at his heels as he ran. Not Howard, but a similar build – strong and solid – and fearless in a place bristling with danger.

The windows of the tavern were boarded with thick planks, but we could hear the rabble inside, rowdy and violent. A guard stood at the entrance – a dark-skinned man with a grubby hat shoved onto his bald scalp. His face was a hideous mess of old scars, puckered and seamed like poorly stitched leather. A face to haunt nightmares, but for his eyes, which were clear and in this moment, at least – merry. He was laughing with the man who’d pushed past us, but his smile faded as we joined them.

‘No wenches,’ he said, barring our way. ‘Not tonight.’

His companion pulled back his hood. ‘Sure and what am I, Jed?’

Jed spat a wet clod of tobacco at his feet and chuckled. ‘Fuck knows what you are, Neala Maguire.’

Neala…? The torch caught the man’s face and revealed that he was, in fact, a woman – shorter than me by a head, but by God she was as broad and solid as an oak tree. Her black hair was cut short to her nape, framing a strong face and a square jaw. She spoke with an Irish accent, her voice low and rough as a man’s.

Kitty stepped forward, the torch turning her red hair to spun gold. ‘Have you forgotten me so soon, Jed?’

‘Kitty!’ He grinned in surprise, then grabbed her in a tight hug, lifting her half off the ground. ‘Didn’t know you in them rum togs. Heard you was left a round sum.’ He jerked his chin towards me. ‘He come after?’

She put an arm about my waist. ‘Before. Loves me for my sweet temper not my purse, ain’t that right, Tom?’

Jed near pissed himself laughing. ‘Go on,’ he said, gesturing inside. ‘Never saw you.’

The tavern was packed, the air thick with pipe smoke, sweat and liquor. The noise alone almost knocked me from my feet – men yelling to be heard as they clustered around the ring in the centre of the room. I stood dazed, battered by the sound, the stink, the roiling mess of it all. I’d fought in riots quieter than this. If a man found himself in trouble here, then God help him – no one else would. I craned my neck, searching for Howard, but couldn’t see him in the crowds. There must have been two hundred men in there at least.

Kitty grabbed my hand and pressed eagerly to the front, kicking ankles and treading on toes to carve a way through as spectators fell back in shock, open-mouthed. There were no other women that I could see. Some fellows grinned at me as if I were the luckiest devil alive, while others spat oaths and frowned in disapproval.

We pressed forward to the edge of the ring, leaning over the fence. The cocks were being paraded before the fights began, smart and proud of their silver spurs. Kitty studied them all keenly, as if she were choosing one to marry. ‘I like the look of him,’ she muttered in my ear as one strutted by with its chest puffed. She elbowed the man on her left – an old gent in bent spectacles. ‘Hey, there. What’s his pedigree?’

His eyes swivelled behind his thick lenses, then widened in dismay. He tugged at my cuff. ‘Sir, this is not proper! The entertainment tonight… It is not suitable for a lady…’

Kitty laughed at him. ‘Do I look like a fucking lady?’

The man opened and shut his mouth like a panicked fish. Damned with a ‘yay’ and damned with a ‘nay’. By God, I knew that feeling.

Two of the cocks began to squabble, pecking and clawing the air. The room goaded them on until they began to fight in earnest, turned savage by the crowd. The owners shouted and waded into the fray, but it was too late. The larger cock jumped upon its opponent, and with one vicious slash of its spur, ripped open the other bird’s belly. It was still pecking and jabbing furiously when its owner pulled it free. The injured bird lay bleeding and calling piteously, guts spilling out onto the sawdust. Its owner cursed and wrung its neck. The cock’s legs scrabbled and danced, then fell still.

The parade over, the tavern owner lumbered into the ring to announce the start of the night’s entertainment. A gladiatorial fight with swords… he skidded to a halt as he spied Kitty. ‘Out!’ he yelled over the din. ‘Take that strumpet out!’

Two hundred men craned their necks to stare at us. There was a woman in the crowd! For some reason I couldn’t fathom, this was an outrage beyond measure. True, most cockfights were meant for men alone, but there were always a few women allowed in the room – women of the town, in the main… but tonight there were none, save for Kitty.