‘One and a half marks a day. Any more and Curnsbick will have my head!’
‘I would hate to have your death upon my conscience. Two it is, with meals and lodging provided.’ And Temple held out his hand.
Majud regarded it without enthusiasm. ‘Shy South has set an ugly precedent for negotiation.’
‘Her ruthlessness approaches Master Curnsbick’s. Perhaps they should go into business together.’
‘If two jackals can share a carcass.’ They shook. Then they considered the plot again. The intervening time had in no way improved it.
‘The first step would be to clear the ground,’ said Majud.
‘I agree. Its current state is a veritable offence against God. Not to mention public health.’ Another occupant had emerged from a structure of mildewed cloth sagging so badly that it must have been virtually touching the mud inside. This one wore nothing but a long grey beard not quite long enough to protect his dignity, or at least everyone else’s, and a belt with a large knife sheathed upon it. He sat down in the dirt and started chewing savagely at a bone. ‘Master Lamb’s help might come in useful there also.’
‘Doubtless.’ Majud clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I shall seek out the Northman while you begin the clearance.’
‘Me?’
‘Who else?’
‘I am a carpenter, not a bailiff!’
‘A day ago you were a priest and cattleman and a moment before that a lawyer! A man of your varied talents will, I feel sure, find a way.’ And Majud was already hopping briskly off down the street.
Temple rolled his eyes from the earthbound refuse to the clean, blue heavens. ‘I’m not saying I don’t deserve it, but you surely love to test a man.’ Then he hitched up his trouser-legs and stepped gingerly towards the naked beggar with the bone, limping somewhat since the buttock Shy pricked on the plains was still troubling him in the mornings.
‘Good day!’ he called.
The man squinted up at him, sucking a strip of gristle from his bone. ‘I don’t fucking think so. You got a drink?’
‘I thought it best to stop.’
‘Then you need a good fucking reason to bother me, boy.’
‘I have a reason. Whether you will consider it a good one I profoundly doubt.’
‘You can but try.’
‘The fact is,’ ventured Temple, ‘we will soon be building on this plot.’
‘How you going to manage that with me here?’
‘I was hoping you could be persuaded to move.’
The beggar checked every part of his bone for further sustenance and, finding none, tossed it at Temple. It bounced off his shirt. ‘You ain’t going to persuade me o’ nothing without a drink.’
‘The thing is, this plot belongs to my employer, Abram Majud, and—’
‘Who says so?’
‘Who… says?’
‘Do I fucking stutter?’ The man took out his knife as if he had some everyday task that required one, but the subtext was plain. It really was a very large blade and, given the prevailing filthiness of everything else within ten strides, impressively clean, edge glittering with the morning sun. ‘I asked who says?’
Temple took a wobbly step back. Straight into something very solid. He spun about, expecting to find himself face to face with one of the other tent-dwellers, probably sporting an even bigger knife—God knew there were so many big knives in Crease the distinction between them and swords was a total blur—and was hugely relieved to find Lamb towering over him.
‘I say,’ said Lamb to the beggar. ‘You could ignore me. You could wave that knife around a little more. But you might find you’re wearing it up your arse.’
The man looked down at his blade, perhaps wishing he had opted for a smaller one after all. Then he put it sheepishly away. ‘Reckon I’ll just move along.’
Lamb gave that a nod. ‘I reckon.’
‘Can I get my trousers?’
‘You’d fucking better.’
He ducked into his tent and came out buttoning up the most ragged article of clothing Temple ever saw. ‘I’ll leave the tent, if it’s all the same. Ain’t that good a one.’
‘You don’t say,’ said Temple.
The man loitered a moment longer. ‘Any chance of that drink do you—’
‘Get gone,’ growled Lamb, and the beggar scampered off like he’d a mean dog at his heels.
‘There you are, Master Lamb!’ Majud waded over, trouser-legs held up by both hands to display two lean lengths of muddy calf. ‘I was hoping to persuade you to work on my behalf and here I find you already hard at it!’
‘It’s nothing,’ said Lamb.
‘Still, if you could help us clear the site I’d be happy to pay you—’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Truly?’ The watery sun gleamed from Majud’s golden tooth. ‘If you were to do me this favour I would consider you a friend for life!’
‘I should warn you, friend o’ mine can be a dangerous position.’
‘I feel it is worth the risk.’
‘If it’ll save a couple of bits,’ threw in Temple.
‘I got all the money I need,’ said Lamb, ‘but I always been sadly short on friends.’ He frowned over at the vagrant with the underclothes, just poking his head out of his tent and into the light. ‘You!’ And the man darted back inside like a tortoise into its shell.
Majud raised his brows at Temple. ‘If only everyone was so accommodating.’
‘Not everyone has been obliged to sell themselves into slavery.’
‘You could’ve said no.’ Shy was on the rickety porch of the building next door, leaning on the rail with boots crossed and fingers dangling. For a moment Temple hardly recognised her. She had a new shirt, sleeves rolled up with her tanned forearms showing, one with the old rope burn coiled pink around it, a sheepskin vest on top which was no doubt yellow by any reasonable estimation but looked white as a heavenly visitation in the midst of all that dirt. The same stained hat but tipped back, hair less greasy and more red, stirring in the breeze.
Temple stood and looked at her, and found he quite enjoyed it. ‘You look…’
‘Clean?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You look… surprised.’
‘Little bit.’
‘Did you think I stunk out of choice?’
‘No, I thought you couldn’t help yourself.’
She spat daintily through the gap between her front teeth, narrowly missing his boots. ‘Then you discover your error. The Mayor was kind enough to lend me her bath.’
‘Bathing with the Mayor, eh?’
She winked. ‘Moving up in the world.’
Temple plucked at his own shirt, only held together by the more stubborn stains. ‘Do you think she’d give me a bath?’
‘You could ask. But I reckon there’s about a four in five chance she’d have you killed.’
‘I like those odds. Lots of people are five in five on my untimely death.’
‘Something to do with you being a lawyer?’
‘As of today, I will have you know, I am a carpenter and architect.’
‘Well, your professions slip on and off easy as a whore’s drawers, don’t they?’
‘A man must follow the opportunities.’ He turned to take in the plot with an airy wave. ‘I am contracted to build upon this unrivalled site a residence and place of business for the firm of Majud and Curnsbick.’
‘My congratulations on leaving the legal profession and becoming a respectable member of the community.’
‘Do they have such a thing in Crease?’
‘Not yet, but I reckon it’s on the way. You stick a bunch of drunken murderers together, ain’t long before some turn to thieving, then to lying, then to bad language, and pretty soon to sobriety, raising families and making an honest living.’