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Authors: David Liss
Tags: Fiction
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from the other side, but after a few minutes of examining my chamber, I discovered a stairwell that led upward.
On the next level, I found my egress also barred from the outside. I broke through the door only to find another set of stairs. And so up again, and again after that. I could not rejoice that I made my way farther from the ground, but at least I also made my way farther from my cell.
At last I found myself in a large chamber, also dark and unused. Here, however, I saw a light in the far distance, and after carefully making my way toward it, I found a barred window. Normally such a thing would fill a man with despair, but I had come so far that to me a barred window might as well have been an open one, with a pretty girl nearby to help me through. The bars here were old and somewhat rusted, and within an hour I had smashed through them and was able to crawl through and drop down to the roof of a neighboring building.
A cold, nearly frozen rain was falling, and I shivered in the darkness as icy water pooled around my feet, but I delighted in the waters washing the mud from my body. I looked upward to the dark haze of cloud cover and rubbed my face in the rain until my skin was free of prison soot and my nostrils free of prison stench.
My flesh was indeed free. I had, however, no way to reach the street. After circling the roof several times, I found that there was no means of climbing down, and I could not hope to jump such a distance and live—or at the very least avoid breaking my legs. I had managed to escape from the fortress, but I could find no way to descend three stories to safety.
I knew I could not linger. Should my absence be discovered while I remained on the roof, I would be retaken without trouble. I therefore came to a rather unorthodox conclusion. Though I am, by nature, a modest person, I removed all my clothes and made a rope of them. Tying them to a nail that protruded from the roof, I managed to climb down most of the way, with only a drop of perhaps six feet or so. I landed hard on my feet (which still bore my shoes), and fell over into the icy sting of snow. My left leg in particular, which I had broken as a fighter, ached fiercely, but I was mostly unharmed and absolutely free.
Thus I limped naked into the cold London night.
CHAPTER 4
I AM WELL AWARE that it is unkind of me to leave my reader in suspense as I wander the streets of London, naked, cold, and pursued by the full might of the law, but I must once more take a step back if my reader is to understand precisely how it was that I found myself on trial for Yate’s death.
I intended to avail myself of the obsequious John Littleton, the porter whom Ufford had provided to assist me, but before I followed that worthy’s lead, I thought it wise first to strike out on my own. Littleton had spoken of Mr. Dennis Dogmill, the tobacco merchant whose greed had manipulated the porters into competitive gangs. If Ufford used his sermons to speak in favor of the porters and sought to stir up trouble on their behalf, it seemed to me only natural that Dogmill would know of it. While it was unlikely that he would pen any such note as the one I had seen, I presumed he would either have some hand in this extortion or have made a point to find out who did, that he might better protest his innocence.
I had discovered in my rambles around town that tobacco merchants were inclined to pass their time at Moore’s Coffeehouse, down near the quays, and as I had rendered Mr. Moore some services in the past, I believed I could depend upon him to assist me in this matter. I sent him a note asking if Dogmill ever frequented his business. He informed me almost immediately that Dogmill did indeed make a habit of visiting, though he had not been by as often recently because he was the election agent for the Whig candidate for Westminster. Nevertheless, he knew that Dogmill would be in that afternoon for a meeting with some associates.
I therefore took myself
On the next level, I found my egress also barred from the outside. I broke through the door only to find another set of stairs. And so up again, and again after that. I could not rejoice that I made my way farther from the ground, but at least I also made my way farther from my cell.
At last I found myself in a large chamber, also dark and unused. Here, however, I saw a light in the far distance, and after carefully making my way toward it, I found a barred window. Normally such a thing would fill a man with despair, but I had come so far that to me a barred window might as well have been an open one, with a pretty girl nearby to help me through. The bars here were old and somewhat rusted, and within an hour I had smashed through them and was able to crawl through and drop down to the roof of a neighboring building.
A cold, nearly frozen rain was falling, and I shivered in the darkness as icy water pooled around my feet, but I delighted in the waters washing the mud from my body. I looked upward to the dark haze of cloud cover and rubbed my face in the rain until my skin was free of prison soot and my nostrils free of prison stench.
My flesh was indeed free. I had, however, no way to reach the street. After circling the roof several times, I found that there was no means of climbing down, and I could not hope to jump such a distance and live—or at the very least avoid breaking my legs. I had managed to escape from the fortress, but I could find no way to descend three stories to safety.
I knew I could not linger. Should my absence be discovered while I remained on the roof, I would be retaken without trouble. I therefore came to a rather unorthodox conclusion. Though I am, by nature, a modest person, I removed all my clothes and made a rope of them. Tying them to a nail that protruded from the roof, I managed to climb down most of the way, with only a drop of perhaps six feet or so. I landed hard on my feet (which still bore my shoes), and fell over into the icy sting of snow. My left leg in particular, which I had broken as a fighter, ached fiercely, but I was mostly unharmed and absolutely free.
Thus I limped naked into the cold London night.
CHAPTER 4
I AM WELL AWARE that it is unkind of me to leave my reader in suspense as I wander the streets of London, naked, cold, and pursued by the full might of the law, but I must once more take a step back if my reader is to understand precisely how it was that I found myself on trial for Yate’s death.
I intended to avail myself of the obsequious John Littleton, the porter whom Ufford had provided to assist me, but before I followed that worthy’s lead, I thought it wise first to strike out on my own. Littleton had spoken of Mr. Dennis Dogmill, the tobacco merchant whose greed had manipulated the porters into competitive gangs. If Ufford used his sermons to speak in favor of the porters and sought to stir up trouble on their behalf, it seemed to me only natural that Dogmill would know of it. While it was unlikely that he would pen any such note as the one I had seen, I presumed he would either have some hand in this extortion or have made a point to find out who did, that he might better protest his innocence.
I had discovered in my rambles around town that tobacco merchants were inclined to pass their time at Moore’s Coffeehouse, down near the quays, and as I had rendered Mr. Moore some services in the past, I believed I could depend upon him to assist me in this matter. I sent him a note asking if Dogmill ever frequented his business. He informed me almost immediately that Dogmill did indeed make a habit of visiting, though he had not been by as often recently because he was the election agent for the Whig candidate for Westminster. Nevertheless, he knew that Dogmill would be in that afternoon for a meeting with some associates.
I therefore took myself
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