Part 5: The Mill
Angelus strode briskly back across the close and plunged into the narrow warren of streets that led to the river. The city was silent, the air brittle with cold. The houses leaning out over the street were dark, shutters closed, the respectable citizens thriftily asleep rather than waste money on candles. Angelus’s footsteps on the cobbles were the only sound.
Once he paused, then took an unnecessary right turn, and another, cut down an alley and stood gazing back up the street he had just walked along. Nothing moved. Finally a hunting cat slipped along the gutter, turned to stare at him with wide scared eyes, and vanished over a wall. Angelus waited a little longer before telling himself he was being a fool and carrying on.
Back on the main street, one or two people were still about, most of whom tipped their hats civilly, and by the bridge a stream of yellow warmth spilled out from a pub, together with the roll of nasally sentimental singing to a refrain banged out on an out-of-tune piano.
‘Why be so hard upon the boy? He is our only son.
You know the work he has to do is always gladly done.
‘Oh give the boy a chance,
Give the boy a chance.
I know it will be better far to give the boy a chance.’
Angelus grimaced and took the steps down to the river. Here the cold was dank, oozing out of the stones of the buildings. The water sloshed and heaved, curdled with brown scummy ice. A continuous mechanical clank and rattle came from the sluice gates of the mill.
Angelus hissed, the sound carrying on the frozen air, and after a second there was a short cough, something that might have been the bark of a hunting dog fox, but wasn’t, and Will slithered out from the shadow of the bridge.
‘Well?’
‘Christ, but it’s bloody freezing tonight.’
Angelus gave him a sarcastic look to inform him he was aware of the fact. ‘What do you have?’
‘Chilblains, mostly.’ Will made a pantomime of clapping his arms about himself, dancing on the spot. ‘Couldn’t we have arranged to meet somewhere with a fire?’
Angelus peered past him, preparing to get very angry indeed if there was no sign of a human under the bridge.
‘Don’t worry, mate,’ Will said, still hopping from leg to leg, but grinning, ‘She’s a good one. Should be fun to play with for a bit.’
He led the way back into the dark, and there indeed was a woman, sprawled out in the mud, legs splayed, rucked skirts drabbling in the filth, the stench rising off her like the warm fug off a pigsty. She lifted a mop of saffron coloured hair and blinked slowly at Angelus. ‘Gi’ I a drink, deary?’ She sounded more hopeful than enticing.
‘Angelus, meet Polly Prim, local lady of the night,’ Will said with a flourish.
‘A tart?’
‘Yeh.’ Will stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, looking pleased with himself. ‘Found her in the King’s Head and told her I’d take her home for dinner. None of the local lads seemed to mind. So, will she do?’ Nothing in his demeanour hinted that he had the faintest notion of Polly being unacceptable.
Angelus frowned and shook his head.
‘What!’ Will’s outraged yell was far too loud and Angelus reached out at once to cuff him for it. Will dodged back a step. ‘You bastard. You right bastard. All bloody night I’ve been freezing my balls off waiting for you and now we’re not even taking her! Why not, for Christ’s sake?’ He grabbed for Polly, thrusting her out at Angelus. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
Polly leered up at them and belched.
Angelus gave Will a look and turned on his heel, striding back towards the steps. Under his feet, the ice in each pockmarked pool of the muddy path splintered with gunshot cracks.
‘Answer me!’ Will yelled.
He ought to just leave, display to Will that his word was to be accepted without question. Maybe hammer the lesson in when they got back home. He stopped on the first step up to the road, gazing up at the stars.
‘Angelus, tell me… please… sir. We’re always taking tarts, why not her?’ She hung limp from his hand like a bedraggled rag doll.
‘Because she’ll be missed.’
‘Her? She’s nobody, for Christ’s sake.’
Angelus gave Will his blackest look. ‘She is not “nobody”, you stupid boy. She is someone who half the men and a fair few of the women are all too aware of, and she would be missed. This isn’t London. And if you swear at me again, boy, shout, or so much as hint that you think it doesn’t matter about attracting attention, I will drag you into that pub, turn you over my knee and spank you till you sob. Then we’ll see how much attention you like.’
Will glared at him, jaw set, and actually hauled Polly up a little more, strengthening his grip. ‘Always has to be your way, doesn’t it. I get thumped for leaving a spot of blood on the pavement, but you’ve killed right out in the open and not cared – I’ve seen you do it.’
‘Yes, I have, once in a long while, when I judge it is appropriate to do so. Which means doing it for something good, something worthwhile – something to remember on the five hundred nights in between when we have to be cautious. Not a raddled, provincial dolly-mop.’
Will’s hold on the girl’s arm seemed a little less secure. ‘Oh.’ She giggled drunkenly, rolling her head against his lapel, leaving a smear of drool.
‘For God’s sake, Will, how many times do I have to explain these things to you?’
‘You never explained it like that before.’
He had explained. Surely he had? ‘Yes I did, only you weren’t paying attention as usual.’
Will shoved the girl off angrily, a sneer of disgust on his face. She bounced against the pier of the bridge, clutching at the slime-coated stones, head lolling, a draggled yellow lock swaying in front of bleary eyes as she giggled.
‘So what do I do now?’ Will asked helplessly.
Angelus sighed. It was growing late, but the family needed to eat. It took long hours, luck and skill to scour somewhere so respectable, but food could be found – an out of place farmhand trying his luck far from home, a flighty maid who everyone would think had run off with her fancy, a tramp sleeping under a hedge. The people nobody would miss. He looked at Will’s face, staring up at him miserably but with absolute confidence that somehow he would make everything right.
‘Oh bring her along,’ he said wearily. ‘We’ll dump her in the mill pond in a couple of days and they’ll think she fell in when she was drunk.’
Will hooted and grabbed for the girl. ‘Come on, deary.’ With a shake of his head he changed to demon face, still grinning impishly. The girl’s eyes widened in horror, shocked sober for the fraction of a second it took Will to plunge his fangs into her throat. Angelus watched impassively as Will drank, deep swift pulls of her heart blood, enough to slide her into unconsciousness within seconds. He was getting good at that – could pacify a kill within half a minute now and very seldom had to be thrashed for getting blood on his collar. Will pulled out, smirking, and smacked his lips.
‘I suppose you’re drunk now.’
‘Better than paying for it.’ Will swiped his mouth clean. ‘See, I knew you could make an exception – we’re vampires, mate. More than that, you’re Angelus. The vampire. We can do anything we want!’
Angelus looked at him tiredly. Was I ever that young? he wondered. And abruptly he covered the ground between them, yanked Will forward and kissed him, lapping the rich smears of blood from between needle-sharp teeth, feeling the soft lips velvet against his own. There was a gentle plump as Will dropped the girl in the mud. At last Angelus pulled back and considered him carefully.
‘Did you actually polish your boots at all today?’ he demanded.
‘Give the boy a chance,
Give the boy a chance.
I know it will be better far to give the boy a chance.’