William Monk 18 - A Sunless Sea

artlessly as she could manage. “And now maybethere won’t be a bill through Parliament to regulate the sale of opium because of it, at least not for a number of years.”
    Agatha’s eyes narrowed.
    Hester felt a sudden chill of fear, and realized that perhaps she had made a mistake, even put her own life in danger. She must not let this big woman see her unease. “Which will give me a little more latitude,” she said aloud. She was certain that her voice was husky.
    Agatha stood motionless, one hand on her hip. Hester could not help noticing the size of her fist, the shining, bony knuckles.
    “An’ what is it you mean by that, exactly?” Agatha asked. Her voice was so soft, had Hester not been able to see her, she might have thought she was listening to a child.
    Her mouth was dry and she could not swallow. Her throat tightened. She gulped air. “That I can’t do my job if I can’t get supplies,” she answered. “The men in government don’t think of that, do they? Rich men can buy opium to give them nice dreams, but people in the streets and in the docks, people who are beaten or broken, get what they can, where they can. Do I have to explain that to you?” She allowed the final question to be tinged with a note of disgust.
    Agatha’s large body relaxed and she allowed the ghost of a smile into her face. “Want a cup o’ tea?” she asked, stepping back a bit so Hester could come into the room. “I got the best. Get it from China special.”
    Hester blinked. “Doesn’t all tea come from China?” She followed Agatha into the room, which was surprisingly tidy, even clean. There was a slight smell of smoke and hot metal from the wood-burning stove in the corner, very like those she had seen in hospital wards in her nursing days. There was a kettle on the center of the top, steaming gently.
    Hester closed the door behind her and followed Agatha inside.
    Agatha rolled her eyes. “Most, though folks reckon it’ll do well in India soon. This is the best. Delicate. Know a lot, the Chinese.”
    In spite of herself, Hester was interested. She sat in the seat that Agatha offered her, and a few moments later accepted the cup of steaming, fragrant pale yellow tea, without milk. It had a sharp, clean fragrance she was unused to. She glanced around the walls and saw on oneshelf at least thirty books in various stages of disrepair. Clearly they had been very well read indeed. On the opposite wall were glass jars with all manner of dried leaves, herbs, roots, and powders in them.
    She forced her attention back to the huge woman now sitting opposite her, watching and waiting.
    Hester sipped the tea again. It was quite different from any she was familiar with, but she thought she could learn to like it. “Thank you,” she said aloud.
    Agatha shrugged and raised her own cup.
    “How did you find out about this tea?” Hester asked, sipping it again.
    “Plenty o’ Chinese in London,” Agatha replied. “They know a lot about medicine, poor devils. Showed me some.” She looked up quickly at Hester, sharp-eyed. It was a warning that her secrets were precious. She had won them hard and was not going to share them without a price.
    Hester had a degree of respect for that. Her own skills had been learned on the battlefield. “I wish we’d had enough opium in the Crimea,” she said quietly. “Would have helped a bit, especially when we had to amputate.”
    Agatha looked at her carefully, eyes narrowed. “Do that a lot, did yer?”
    “Enough,” Hester replied; memory brought it back to her, as if she were crouching in the mud and desolation of the battlefield, trying to block the cries out of her mind and concentrate only on the silent, ashen face in front of her, the eyes sunken in shock and pain.
    Agatha nodded slowly. “Don’t do to go over it,” she said. “Drive yerself mad. Do yer get ’em now, people with the worst pain, torn-open guts, smashed bones an’ the like?”
    “Not often.” Hester took the chance she had been hoping for. “Sometimes. Stones that won’t pass, or torn open after a bad birth. Terrible beatings. That’s why I need good opium.”
    Agatha hesitated as if making a difficult decision.
    Hester waited. Seconds ticked by.
    Agatha took a deep breath. “I can get yer the best opium,” she said, her eyes fixed on Hester’s. “Good price. But I can do better than that.Eatin’ it’s better than nothin’, not as good as smokin’ it. But there’s better still. Scottish