William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

opposed to someone who shared food with him.
    “Tell him I’m here, and I’d like to see him, urgently,” Monk requested. “Then we’ll have breakfast before we go. I’ll fetch us some ham sandwiches and tea. Be back in an hour. Do you know an hour?”
    Scuff gave him a filthy look, then turned and ran off.
    Fifty minutes later he was back, and a highly curious Crow was with him. He was dressed in a heavy jacket, his black hair hidden by a cap, and had mitts on his hands. Monk had the sandwiches, but was waiting to buy the tea fresh and hot. He gave Scuff the money and sent him off to fetch it.
    Crow looked him up and down with interest, his eyes bright. “ ’Ow’s the arm?” he asked. “Yer never came back to get the bandage changed.”
    “I had my wife do it,” Monk replied. “It’s fine, a bit stiff, that’s all.”
    Crow pursed his lips. In the clear morning light, no softness in its glare, the tiny lines were visible on his skin. He looked closer to forty than the thirty Monk had assumed, but there was still a fire of enthusiasm in his expression that made him uniquely alive. “So what is it you want me for?” he asked.
    Monk had been thinking how to broach the subject, and how much to tell him. He knew nothing about this man; he had made his decision on a mixture of instinct and desperation. Would he take caution as an insult, or as a sign of intelligence?
    “I need someone to make an offer for me,” Monk replied, watching Crow’s expression. “I can’t do it myself. They wouldn’t believe me.”
    Crow raised an eyebrow. “Should they?”
    “No. What I’m looking for was stolen from a . . . an associate of mine.” He could not bring himself to call Louvain a friend, and he was not yet willing to let Crow know that he was a client. It raised too many other questions.
    “Associate . . .” Crow turned the word over. “An’ yer want ter buy it back? Now, what kind o’ a thing would yer buy back if it was yers in the first place? An’ what kind o’ people do yer associate with that are happy ter buy back things that were stolen? An’ then why use yer, why not do it thesselves? Yer don’t do it for nothin’, do yer?”
    Monk grinned. “No, I don’t. And no, I’m not going to buy it back. When I know where he’s put it, I’m going to take it, but he’s got it well hidden. I need you to make an offer to buy some of it so he’ll go there.”
    Crow looked dubious. “Doesn’t ’e ’ave a receiver for it ’isself? If yer threat’nin’ ter cross up one o’ the receivers along ’ere, yer daft, an’ yer won’t last long.”
    “I think it was stolen to deprive the owner of its use, not to sell on,” Monk explained reluctantly. “I just want you to make an offer for one tusk.”
    Crow’s eyes widened. “Tusk! Ivory?”
    “That’s right. Will you do it?”
    Crow thought for a moment or two. He was still considering it when Scuff returned with the tea, carrying it carefully in three mugs.
    Crow took one, warming his hands on it and blowing at the steam rising from the top. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Someone needs ter look after yer, or we’ll be fishin’ yer outta the water an’ tellin’ the police who you were.”
    “Yeah,” Scuff added with sage concern.
    Monk felt both cared for and diminished, but he could not afford the luxury of taking offense. Apart from that, they were right. “Thank you,” he said, a trifle tartly.
    “In’t nuffin’,” Scuff said generously, and took a huge bite of his ham sandwich.
    “So who do I have ter ask fer the tusk?” Crow enquired.
    “Gould, the boatman.”
    “Who works from the steps here?” Crow said with surprise. “Knew he was a thief, of course, but ivory’s a bit much for him. Yer sure?”
    “No, but I think so.”
    “Right.” Crow finished his sandwich and his tea, and rubbed his hands together to signify he was ready to begin.
    Monk looked at Scuff, who was waiting expectantly. “Will you come with me, and when I’m sure where Gould is leading us, take a message to Mr. Louvain and tell him where we are, then go and fetch Mr. Durban of the River Police so we can arrest Gould and get the ivory back?”
    Crow’s eyes widened. “Louvain?” he said with a sharpness to his voice, a sudden wariness as if it changed his perception.
    “It’s his ivory,” Monk replied. “I’m going to return it to him. That’s what he hired me for.”
    Crow whistled through his teeth. “Did ’e? Yer do this kind