Read Online The Yard by Alex Grecian - Free Book Online

your name, sir?”
    “Blackleg.”
    Hammersmith smiled. The name was more likely the man’s job description. It meant that he was willing to cross picket lines for work during a union strike. Hammersmith suspected Blackleg had long since forgotten the name he was born with.
    “What have you got for us, Mr Blackleg?”
    “It’s this way. C’mon with me, then.”
    They waited for an omnibus to roll past, the horses chuffing and foaming at the mouth, then crossed the road and followed Blackleg to an alley halfway down the other side of the street. Pringle leaned close to Hammersmith and whispered.
    “Nevil, my shift’s long since over. And so’s yours. I’ve got an appointment. Where’s the man on the beat?”
    It was a good question. London was divided into fifteen-minute segments, meaning that every beat cop was within fifteen minutes’ run from every possible spot in the territory he patrolled. Hammersmith had found and kept one of the big wooden wheels that had once been used to measure distance and to determine the size of each beat within the sprawling city.
    “Did you encounter any constables before us, sir?” he said.
    “No, sir, an’ I looked, you believe me. You’re the first I seen.”
    “I can’t ignore him, Colin.”
    “Let him keep looking. He’ll find someone else.”
    “And if he doesn’t?”
    “Don’t change the fact we’re off duty.”
    Hammersmith grimaced. He was never off duty.
    “Tell you what, you go on and I’ll see what’s what. I’ll catch up to you soon enough.”
    “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you. What if this bloke decides to take you on?”
    They both looked at Blackleg, who stood patiently at the alley’s mouth, waiting for their conference to end. At rest, he still seemed coiled and ready to spring. Blackleg looked like he was no stranger to violence. And Hammersmith wondered what other shadowy work the man was involved in, besides crossing picket lines.
    “I believe I’d be up to the challenge,” he said.
    Pringle raised his eyebrows. “You’re sure?”
    “Go on, Colin.”
    “You’ll be right behind me?”
    “I imagine I’ll arrive at the tailor’s at the very moment you do, if you dawdle a bit along the way.”
    “Right, then. I’ll see you.”
    And Pringle was gone, hurrying back across the street to disappear in the maze of fruit vendors and fish peddlers that lined the walkway. Hammersmith chuckled and joined Blackleg at the alley.
    “What happened with him?”
    “He had a pressing engagement. Lead on.”
    Blackleg nodded and gestured for Hammersmith to follow. Hammersmith hesitated before plunging into the alley after Blackleg. He could make out shapes in the dark, but no details. He drew his nightstick from the loop on his belt and stepped into the shadows.
    Blackleg was far ahead, silhouetted against the light from the other end of the alley, but Hammersmith knew better than to chase blindly after him. He walked carefully, peering into every dark corner and skirting the crannies in the buildings on either side of him. There were people in here, sleeping away the daylight hours. Perhaps they would awaken at dusk to ply whatever unsavory trade they practiced. Or perhaps they wouldn’t ever wake up again. Hammersmith left them where they lay and moved forward.
    He emerged unscathed at the other end of the alley, blinking in the sudden light. Ahead of him, Blackleg impatiently beckoned Hammersmith forward.
    The East End was a prosperous neighborhood, but had fallen on hard times over the past decade. Once-handsome architecture was no longer maintained or repaired, and the London poor—the working class, the beggars, the pickpockets, grifters, and drunkards—had all begun to claim it for themselves. There were oases of elegance to be found among the homes, and the nearby medical college still brought doctors to the area, but fewer doctors lived here now. Dignified old houses endured an uneasy proximity to some of the seediest pubs and opium