William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

it.
    “I’m looking for certain merchandise,” he said in a low, level voice, overly polite. He allowed an element of threat to show in his unblinking stare.
    She stood still. She was about to speak, then said nothing, waiting for him.
    Scuff looked very white, but he did not interrupt.
    Monk said nothing more.
    “Come in,” the woman said at last.
    Without any idea of where he was going, Monk accepted, leaving Scuff in the street behind him. He went through the doorway into a narrow passage and then up a creaking flight of stairs, across a landing hung with pictures, and into a room red-carpeted and with papered walls and a good fire burning in the grate. In one of the soft, red armchairs a tiny woman sat with a piece of richly detailed embroidery spread across her lap, as if she had been stitching it. It was more than three-quarters completed, and the needle threaded with yellow silk was stuck into it. She had a thimble on one finger, and the scissors lay beside her on top of a basket of other silks.
    “Miss Lil,” the huge woman said softly. “This one’s fer you.” She stood back to allow her employer to see Monk and make her own decision.
    Little Lil was in her forties at least, and she had once been very pretty. Her features were still neat and regular. She had large eyes of a hazel color, but her jawline was blurred now, and the skin on her neck had gone loose, hanging from the shrunken flesh underneath. Her little hands were clawlike with their long fingernails. She regarded Monk with careful interest.
    “Come in,” she ordered him. “Tell me what yer got as I might like.”
    “Gold watches,” Monk replied, obeying because he had left himself no choice.
    She held out her hand, palm upward in a clutching gesture.
    He hesitated. Had it been any gold watch it would still have caused him concern, but Callandra’s gift was precious in a different and irreplaceable way. He took it out of his pocket slowly and held it up just beyond the grasp of her hand.
    Her big eyes fixed on him. “Don’t trust me, then?” she said with a smile showing sharp, unexpectedly white teeth.
    “Don’t trust anyone,” he replied, smiling back at her.
    Something in her changed; perhaps it was a flash of appreciation. “Sit down,” she invited.
    Feeling uncomfortable, he did as he was told.
    She looked at the watch again. “Open it,” she ordered.
    He did so, turning it carefully for her to inspect, but keeping a firm hold on it.
    “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