William Monk 14 - The Shifting Tide

put them ashore and Orme and his men returned to keep watch.
    “If Louvain paid them off at Gravesend, they could be anywhere,” Durban said grimly. “We’ve got a long job.”
    “He can’t have known what it was,” Monk said, keeping step with Durban as they walked towards the street. “No sane man would let that loose, whatever the profit. If it spreads, there’s nothing for anyone, no clippers, no cargoes, no trade, no life. Louvain’s a hard man, but he’s not mad.”
    “He didn’t know,” Durban agreed. “Not at the time of paying them off, anyway. I agree, he’s clever, brutal at times, but he respects the laws of the sea; he knows no man wins against nature. He wouldn’t last long if he didn’t, and Louvain’s done more than last, he’s profited, built his own empire.” He came to the curb, hesitated, and crossed, turning south again. “He’d be perfectly happy to get rid of a mistress if she no longer interested him, more likely than look after another man’s cast-off woman. But I’d still wager he didn’t know what she had, or he’d have done something different, maybe even kill her and bury her with quicklime.”
    Monk shuddered at the thought, and believed it. “We’ve got to find those men.”
    “I know,” Durban agreed.
    “Where would they go?”
    Durban gave him a dry look. “That was ten days ago. Where would yer be if yer’d been at sea for half a year?”
    “Eat well, drink deep, and find a woman,” Monk replied. “Unless I had family, in which case I’d go home.”
    Durban’s face pinched tight. He nodded, something inside him too knotted with anger and grief to speak.
    “How do we find out?” Monk went on. There was no time for feelings; they could come afterwards—if there was an afterwards.
    “We’ll get their names,” Durban replied. “That’ll be a start at least. Then we look for them.” His face was almost expressionless, just a faint, almost bruised sadness about his mouth, as if he understood the darkness ahead.
    Neither of them spoke again as they made their way along the narrow pavement past pawnbrokers, shipwrights, chandlers, ropemakers, sailmakers, and ironmongers—representatives of all the heavy industries of the shore. They were forced to stop and wait while a man backed four magnificent shire horses out of a yard, with the dray turning a tight corner into the street, wheels bumping over the cobbles. He did it with intense concentration and care, all the while talking to his animals.
    A cooper was complaining bitterly about a barrel not to his liking. Monk nursed his anger like a small ray of sanity, a glimpse of the world that seemed to be slipping out of his grasp no matter how hard he clung to it. He was on the edge of an abyss where plague destroyed everything; its spread or its containment was all he could think of. The cooper lived in a world where one badly made barrel mattered to him.
    Monk glanced at Durban and saw a reflection of his own thoughts in the policeman’s eyes. It was a moment of perfect understanding.
    Then the cart was clear of the gateway and Durban strode forward, Monk on his heels.
    It was tedious finding the information they needed without arousing suspicion or, worse than that, fear that the police were seeking anyone in connection with a crime. A breath of that, and not only would the man disappear, but no one on the river would help them. All doors would be closed.
    Durban was endlessly patient, sharing a fact here, a fact there, and it was dusk before they emerged from the last office with all the information they were likely to get: the names, physical descriptions, and what was known of the backgrounds and tastes of the three men they sought.
    They began at Gravesend and worked upriver from one public house to another, drinking half a pint of ale or eating a pie, trying to blend in with the other men, talking of ships, voyages they’d known or heard of, always listening for a name, watching for a man who answered any of the descriptions. All signs of Durban’s police status had been removed. His hat was stuffed in his pocket, and his coat collar turned up and a little lopsided. He looked like a ship’s officer ashore a few months too long. They heard nothing of value. No one admitted to having seen any of the men from the
Maude Idris
.
    The bright, hard light faded shortly after five, and the sun set in a sea of fire over the water, dazzling the eyes till it hurt to look westwards. Glittering