William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

some time how to tell Monk whatever it was. He drew in his breath, and then let it out again.
    “What did you find out?” Monk repeated, his voice sharper than he meant it to be.
    Scuff sniffed. “Mr. Durban. Sometimes ‘e caught boys thievin’— just little stuff, ‘andkerchiefs, sixpence, or a bob ‘ere an’ there—an’ ‘e'd let ‘em off. Give ‘em a clip round the ear, but also mebbe a cup o’ tea an’ a sandwich, or even a piece o’ cake. Other cops'd ‘ave ‘ad ‘em, locked ‘em up. Some folks thought ‘e were good for that, others said ‘e were doin’ it for ‘is own reasons. Some of ‘em boys weren't around anymoreafter that.” He frowned, searching Monk's face to watch how he took the news.
    “I see,” Monk said levelly. “How old were these boys, and how often did that happen? Were they talking about once or twice, or lots of times?”
    Scuff chewed his lip. “Lots o’ times. An’ one fat ol’ scuffle-'unter told me some o’ their crimes was worse than light fingers. ‘E said one boy Mr. Durban caught weren't five or six at all, ‘e were more like ten, an’ ‘e were a right thief, ‘alfway ter bein’ a fine wirer. That's someone as can pick a lady's pocket an’ she'll never even feel it.”
    “I know what a fine wirer is. Why did Durban not arrest him, if he stole valuable property? Was there some doubt about it?”
    Scuffs eyes lowered till he was staring at the ground. “‘E were a fine-lookin’ boy, wi’ fair ‘air. Some said Mr. Durban ‘ad another place fer ‘im.” He looked up again quickly. “Not that they got any proof, o’ course, seein’ as it in't true.”
    “Who said that sort of thing?” Monk asked him.
    “I dunno,” Scuff said too quickly.
    “Yes, you do. You know better than to come with stories out of nowhere. Who said it?”
    Scuff hesitated again.
    Monk was on the verge of shouting at him, then saw his misery and knew that it was not on his own behalf, but came from a powerful awareness of Monk's own vulnerability. He knew what it was to admire someone, to rely on them as your teacher and friend, and in some ways both your protector and your responsibility. That was how Scuff regarded Monk. Was he imagining that Monk regarded Durban the same way?
    “Scuff,” he said gently. “Whatever it is, I need to know. We'll find out if it's true or not, but we can't do that if I don't know what it is, and who said it.”
    Scuff sniffed again, and pulled his face into an expression of reluctant concentration. “Mudlarks I know,” he replied. “Taffy—I dunno ‘is last name ‘cause ‘e don't know it neither. Potter, an’ Jimmy Mac–summink An’ Mucker James. They all said they knew o’ Mr.Durban seein’ boys steal, sometimes something that'd ‘ave fetched ‘em two or three years in the Coldbath Fields, an’ tellin’ ‘em off. Mostly little kids.”
    “Little?” Monk asked, feeling the chill inside him, and his skin hot and then cold.
    “Five or six, mebbe.” Scuff looked miserable. “Most o’ them took ‘cause they was ‘ungry or scared o’ ‘oever it were put ‘em up to it.”
    “Are they still around, the little boys?”
    “I dunno. I dint find any.” Scuff looked defiant. “That don't mean they int there. They could be keepin’ out o’ the way. They're just the kind Phillips'd take.”
    “Yes. I know that. Thank you for telling me.”
    Scuff said nothing.
    But that evening, when Hester was in the kitchen, Scuff steeled his courage, stomach knotted, fingers digging into his palms, and went in to see her, hoping intensely that he would find the words before Monk should come, either to speak to Hester himself, or to see what he was doing there.
    Hester was bending over the sink, washing the supper dishes. He took a deep, shivering breath and plunged in. “Miss ‘Ester. Can I say summink?”
    She straightened her back slowly, hands dripping soapy water, but she did not turn to face him. He knew she was listening by the way she stood so still. He liked the smell in this room: warm food and cleanness. There were times when he did not want to ever leave it.
    “Yes, of course,” she answered. “What is it?”
    He pushed his hands into his pockets so that if she turned she would not see his white knuckles. “I did summink today that … that ‘urt Mr. Monk, but I dint mean ter.”
    Now she did look at him. “What did you do?”
    There was no help but to tell her the truth. “I asked some boys I knew