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night, young master. No one will be looking for her until morning,” Pompey said.
    “What should we do, then?” asked Clancy. “Whatever shall we do about all of this? The blood. There’s so much blood.” His voice dissolved into tears.
    “Shut up, Clancy. Dump her in the Mersey, Pompey,” the man said. “Get it done right away.”
    “And what of your father, young master?”
    There was silence except for Clancy’s muffled sobbing.
    “Clean him up as best you can,” the superior voice ordered. “We’ll leave for London as soon as humanly possible and while it’s still dark. If someone should come to fetch the girl tomorrow, there’ll be no sign of her, or any of us. Anyway, one less doxy is of little importance to anyone but an irate pimp.
    “When we arrive in London we’ll say my father died while visiting Liverpool, and have a proper burial there. Nobody has to know about any of this. Only the people in this room know what’s happened here. And none of us will talk. Isn’t that right, Clancy?”
    “Oh my goodness, oh, of course not. But—but I’ll be
haunted,
positively
haunted,
by what I’ve seen here tonight.” Again, Clancy’s voice rose to a breathless squeak. “I can’t look, no, I can’t look any longer.”
    “Pull yourself together, Clancy.” Young Master’s voice was thick with annoyance.
    “But those dreadful scissors, his face, oh dear, I—yes, I’m going to be sick.”
    I felt the floor thud with running footsteps. There was a silence, longer than the first.
    And then the confident voice spoke again. “I can trust you to do what must be done, Pompey,” it said calmly. “I don’t want anything left, especially not that cursed hair or the damn trunk. Or anyone who might speak of tonight. Anyone. You understand, don’t you, Pompey?”
    “Yes, young master.”
    I heard no more voices, but the floor vibrated with a set of heavy steps again, and there was the soft click of a door.
    I moved my left arm then, and the movement brought out an unexpected and shocking pain, as if the shears had just now plunged into skin and tendon and muscle.
Help me. Somebody, please,
I tried to whisper. But my lips wouldn’t move, and besides, there was nobody to help me, my mother gone, a man called Ram caring only about what coins I could bring to his hand. The pungent odor of burning hair filled the air.
    “Pompey?” I finally found my voice and whispered into the thick stink that enveloped me but there was no answer and then the dark Mersey moved in, sweetly, and I let myself go to it.
     

     
    “W HAT WAS THAT ?”
    Something had brought me back to consciousness. Was it the shout of the voice, muffled, as if by distance or barrier? Or was it a sudden jarring?
    I couldn’t see anything, but I also couldn’t tell whether my eyes were open or not. The numbness was still there, holding me in its quietness. I realized I was rocking, gently, as if in a cradle.
    The voice came again, closer now. “Gib? Gib, you hear that? Gib!”
    There was a grunt, as if someone had been rudely awakened. Next a moan. “I didn’t hear nuthin’. Give us a drink, then, Willy.”
    I was cold. Wet. I knew I was on my side.There was a sound, familiar. I strained to recognize it. Oars, small slaps as wood hit water.
    “We bin out all night? Near morning, is it then, Willy?”
    “No. It’s just gone three by the bells.” The voices came closer, the sound of rowing louder. I grew aware that I was growing wetter. Water was inching into my ear. “I heared a carriage, Gib, and then something hit the water, just over yon. Something heavy.”
    A burp echoed. “My missus will skin me alive, so she will. Take me to shore, Willy. I best be off home. If I can get in without waking her, she might not—”
    I felt a bump near the top of my head. “By Jesus, you was right, you old bugger. What is it? What is it, Willy?”
    Water closed over the side of my face. I felt it on my mouth, felt it snaking through my lips. I