Read Online Mister Creecher by Chris Priestley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chris Priestley
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decay.
‘Uncle sends his apologies,’ said the nephew, with a hunch of his shoulders. ‘He is feeling a little bit under the weather and has taken to his bed early this evening.’
Billy looked at the door that led to the private chambers upstairs and imagined the bolts and locks that lay on the other side and Gratz trembling above them.
‘Have you got the clothes?’ he asked.
‘Would I let you down?’ said the nephew, hand to his heart.
He opened a wooden chest nearby and brought out two piles of clothes and shoes, placing each on top of the chest once it was shut.
‘I think the cobbler rather enjoyed making your boots, my friend.’
He handed a pair to Creecher, who took them and turned them over, nodding appreciatively.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘They are well made.’
‘Oh – he knows his stuff all right,’ said the nephew, turning to pick up a coat. ‘Now this was a little harder. It took a bit of careful opening out here and there, and a lengthening of the sleeves with these cuffs and so on. It ain’t a bad sort of a coat. And warm, too. That’s good quality that is.’
Creecher took his coat off and dropped it over the wooden counter beside him. He put the new coat on and, again, nodded approvingly. Billy was less sure. The coat was dark and made the ghastly pallor of the giant’s skin even more noticeable. But at least the high collar helped hide his face.
‘And I thought a hat might help . . . well, it might assist . . .’
Creecher took the hat. It was broad-brimmed and, together with the collar, did indeed help. It helped mask the worst of Creecher’s terrible face. It was Billy’s turn to nod with approval.
‘Very good,’ said Creecher. ‘You have done well.’
‘There, you see,’ said Gratz’s nephew, with evident relief.
Creecher picked up a book that was lying on the counter.
‘You are a scholar, sir?’ said the nephew. ‘I thought you might be. I said to myself, there’s a man with a brain if ever I saw one.’
‘How much?’ said Creecher.
‘My gift, my dear.’
‘Good,’ said Billy. ‘We’ll be off.’
‘I hope you gentlemen will think of us should you have anything else you might want to exchange.’
‘Maybe,’ said Billy, without turning round.
‘It’s been a pleasure to do business with you, my friend,’ the nephew called from the doorway as Creecher walked away after Billy.
Creecher looked at him but said nothing. Glancing up, he saw the face of Gratz staring down from a window for a few seconds before the old man jumped back into the darkness, letting the filthy curtain fall back into place. Creecher nodded at the nephew and he and Billy left.
They walked back to the city and returned to the attic to change. They each went to the furthest reaches of the room to strip but Billy could not resist a quick glimpse of the giant’s naked form.
Creecher had his back to Billy and was stripped to the waist. Billy had never seen muscles like it – not even on builders or the bare-knuckle boxers at the fair. Samson himself could not have been more powerful.
But no living man ever looked like Creecher: the rippling muscles that looked as though they had been flayed, the dry, parchment skin more like the casing of a chrysalis than the hide of a human being.
Creecher turned as he picked up his shirt and Billy looked away, embarrassed. It was just a glimpse, but there was something odd about that muscled torso – something not quite as it should be. Billy just could not settle on what, though.
Half an hour later, they stood in their new clothes at the end of the alleyway at the back of the baker’s, illuminated by the mellow light from a window above them. Billy had persuaded Creecher that another robbery was needed to refill his empty purse.
‘How do I look?’ asked Creecher, noticing Billy’s expression.
‘Better,’ said Billy. ‘It’s just . . .’
‘What?’
‘You’ll get annoyed with me. And then you’ll throttle me.’
‘I
‘Uncle sends his apologies,’ said the nephew, with a hunch of his shoulders. ‘He is feeling a little bit under the weather and has taken to his bed early this evening.’
Billy looked at the door that led to the private chambers upstairs and imagined the bolts and locks that lay on the other side and Gratz trembling above them.
‘Have you got the clothes?’ he asked.
‘Would I let you down?’ said the nephew, hand to his heart.
He opened a wooden chest nearby and brought out two piles of clothes and shoes, placing each on top of the chest once it was shut.
‘I think the cobbler rather enjoyed making your boots, my friend.’
He handed a pair to Creecher, who took them and turned them over, nodding appreciatively.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘They are well made.’
‘Oh – he knows his stuff all right,’ said the nephew, turning to pick up a coat. ‘Now this was a little harder. It took a bit of careful opening out here and there, and a lengthening of the sleeves with these cuffs and so on. It ain’t a bad sort of a coat. And warm, too. That’s good quality that is.’
Creecher took his coat off and dropped it over the wooden counter beside him. He put the new coat on and, again, nodded approvingly. Billy was less sure. The coat was dark and made the ghastly pallor of the giant’s skin even more noticeable. But at least the high collar helped hide his face.
‘And I thought a hat might help . . . well, it might assist . . .’
Creecher took the hat. It was broad-brimmed and, together with the collar, did indeed help. It helped mask the worst of Creecher’s terrible face. It was Billy’s turn to nod with approval.
‘Very good,’ said Creecher. ‘You have done well.’
‘There, you see,’ said Gratz’s nephew, with evident relief.
Creecher picked up a book that was lying on the counter.
‘You are a scholar, sir?’ said the nephew. ‘I thought you might be. I said to myself, there’s a man with a brain if ever I saw one.’
‘How much?’ said Creecher.
‘My gift, my dear.’
‘Good,’ said Billy. ‘We’ll be off.’
‘I hope you gentlemen will think of us should you have anything else you might want to exchange.’
‘Maybe,’ said Billy, without turning round.
‘It’s been a pleasure to do business with you, my friend,’ the nephew called from the doorway as Creecher walked away after Billy.
Creecher looked at him but said nothing. Glancing up, he saw the face of Gratz staring down from a window for a few seconds before the old man jumped back into the darkness, letting the filthy curtain fall back into place. Creecher nodded at the nephew and he and Billy left.
They walked back to the city and returned to the attic to change. They each went to the furthest reaches of the room to strip but Billy could not resist a quick glimpse of the giant’s naked form.
Creecher had his back to Billy and was stripped to the waist. Billy had never seen muscles like it – not even on builders or the bare-knuckle boxers at the fair. Samson himself could not have been more powerful.
But no living man ever looked like Creecher: the rippling muscles that looked as though they had been flayed, the dry, parchment skin more like the casing of a chrysalis than the hide of a human being.
Creecher turned as he picked up his shirt and Billy looked away, embarrassed. It was just a glimpse, but there was something odd about that muscled torso – something not quite as it should be. Billy just could not settle on what, though.
Half an hour later, they stood in their new clothes at the end of the alleyway at the back of the baker’s, illuminated by the mellow light from a window above them. Billy had persuaded Creecher that another robbery was needed to refill his empty purse.
‘How do I look?’ asked Creecher, noticing Billy’s expression.
‘Better,’ said Billy. ‘It’s just . . .’
‘What?’
‘You’ll get annoyed with me. And then you’ll throttle me.’
‘I
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