William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

whoever was forced into looking after him, seeing to it that he didn't get hurt.”
    Pearly Boy opened his eyes wide. “Forced?
Ow
could anyone be forced? ‘Oo would do that, an’ why, Mr. Monk?”
    “Mr. Durban would have done it,” Monk replied steadily. “Because he didn't like having boys murdered.”
    “Well, I never.” Pearly Boy affected amazement, but his curiosity overcame his judgment, as Monk had hoped it would. Pearly Boy dealt not only in stolen goods but in rare or precious information as well— that too at times stolen. “‘Oo could stop that ‘appening, then?”
    “Someone with power.” Monk said it as though he were thinking out loud. “And yet someone who had a lot to lose as well, a lot in danger, if you understand me?”
    Pearly Boy was still two steps behind. “‘Oo'd be killin’ boys, then?”
    “Jericho Phillips, if they get out of line, rebel against …” He stopped, seeing Pearly Boy's face go suddenly pallid and his body in its decorated waistcoat stiffen until his arms were rigid. Suddenly Monk was as certain Pearly Boy was one of Durban's informants against Phillips as if he had written it in his notes. He smiled and saw in Pearly Boy's eyes that he had read the understanding, and it knotted his stomach with terror.
    “One of Phillips's clients,” Monk went on, his voice quite casualnow. He leaned elegantly against the mantel, watching Pearly Boy's discomfort. “I can imagine it happening, can't you? Durban would have followed the man until he could confront him, maybe somewhere near Phillips's boat. Perhaps it would be just after this man, whoever he is, had left a night's entertainment, and the excitement and guilt were still hot inside him.”
    Pearly Boy was motionless, eyes on Monk's face.
    “No lie would come to him easily then,” Monk continued. “No matter how often he had prepared for such a moment. Durban would have chosen a place where there was enough light to be sure the man recognized his marks of office, his uniform, his cudgel. Yes, he'd definitely take a cudgel, just in case the man was desperate enough to fight. After all, he would have a lot to lose—public disgust, ridicule, loss of position, friends, money, power, perhaps even his family.”
    Pearly Boy licked his lips nervously.
    “Then Durban would make the offer,” Monk said. “‘Use your power to protect Reilly, the boy most in danger because of his age and his courage, and I'll protect you. Let Reilly die, and I'll expose you to the whole of London.’”
    Pearly Boy licked his lips again. “So ‘oo was it then?”
    “That is what I want from you, Pearly Boy,” Monk answered.
    Pearly Boy cleared his throat. “An’ if I don't? It could ‘ave been lots o’ people. I dunno ‘oo's got that kind o’ weakness. It could be a revenue man, a magistrate, a rich merchant, an ‘arbormaster. They got all kinds o’ tastes. Or it could ‘ave been another policeman! Ever thought o’ that?”
    “Of course I have. Who could have protected Reilly? That's the key to it. Who had the power? Above all, who was important enough to Phillips that he would listen to him?”
    Understanding flashed in Pearly Boy's soft, clever face, and the excitement of knowledge. “You mean ‘oo's got an appetite ‘e can't control, an’ needs Phillips ter feed it, an’ yet ‘e's got some kind o’ power to ‘elp Phillips that's so good Phillips ‘as got to keep ‘im sweet too? That's a nice one, Mr. Monk, a very nice one indeed.”
    “Yes, it is. And I want a nice answer,” Monk agreed.
    Pearly Boy's eyebrows rose. “Or what?” He was shivering very slightly Monk could smell the sweat of fear in the closed air of the room. “What if I can't find out?” He tried a bit of bravado. “Or if I decide not to?”
    “I shall see that Phillips knows that you told Mr. Durban about this very interesting client, and are on the point of telling me, when we can agree on a price.”
    Pearly Boy was white, the sweat beading on his face. “And what price would that be?” he asked hoarsely.
    Monk smiled, showing his teeth. “Future silence, and a certain shortsightedness now and then, where the revenue men are concerned.”
    “Dead men are silent,” Pearly Boy said through thin lips.
    “Not those who can write, and leave clear instructions behind them. Mr. Durban might have been very nice to you. I won't be.”
    “I could ‘ave you killed. Dark night, narrow alley?”
    “The Fat Man's dead. I'm not,”