"The Eleventh Plague" - читать интересную книгу автора (Craske Darren)

CHAPTER III

The Unfriendly Negotiations

CHRISTMAS WAS LESS than a month away and scenes of revelry were not limited to the platform of Grosvenor Park station. In keeping with the season, all throughout London traders were busy selling roasted chestnuts in crowded market places, carol singers congregated on many a street corner, and the sound of brass instruments filled the air. Despite the onset of the season, however, there was one man severely lacking in any good will.

'This is getting rather monotonous, Ferret,' snarled Cornelius Quaint, sucking hard on his bruised knuckles. 'For the last time…what you know about the Hades Consortium's plans for the River Nile? Where is that damn poison?'

The owner of the neck that Quaint's other hand was wrapped around wheezed pathetically before collapsing onto the cold, wet cobbles of the fogbound alleyway.

'I already told you, Mr Q – I dunno what you're on about, I swear I don't!' Bob Ferris ('Ferret' to those unfortunate enough to know him) was a loathsome individual who had crossed Quaint's path before. Lacking in many redeeming qualities, his only speck of worth was that he was often party to insalubrious information. Few aberrant activities in London failed to reach his ears, and on a night such as this, Ferret's particular variety of information was vital to Cornelius Quaint's quest.

'Why don't ye let me have a go at loosenin' his tongue, boss?' growled the colossal Irishman at Quaint's side, his brush-bristle beard twitching as he spoke. 'I'm gettin' fidgety just stood 'ere twiddlin' me thumbs…especially when I'd much rather be breakin' his.'

'Keep it at the forefront of your mind, Prometheus,' said Quaint calmly. 'We'll try the nice approach first. If this worm still refuses to talk, we'll up the stakes.'

'Look, I swear, Mr Q, I don't know nuffin' about any poison,' Ferret spluttered, getting up and wiping his fingerless-gloved hand under his nose.

'If there's one thing I abhor, it's bad grammar, and double negatives stoke my coals something chronic,' said Quaint, sucking air between his clenched teeth. 'I don't have all night to play games, Ferret.'

Still Ferret protested. 'But I don't know nuffin' about none of it!'

'I warned you about that grammar!' Quaint punched him in the face, and a fine seam of blood trickled from Ferret's nostril. 'Let me make this easier for you, Ferret…I know that poison is headed for Egypt, and I know what the Hades Consortium plans on doing with it once it gets there. I just need to know where it is right now. A man in your line of work – and I use the word "work" loosely – is surely in receipt of such knowledge.'

'Please, Mr Q, I can't tell you,' Ferret whimpered.

'Can't?' said Quaint.

'This is the bloody Hades Consortium we're talkin' about, Mr Q – they'll do me in!' pleaded Ferret.

'One of their crimes that I will applaud,' said Quaint. 'Ferret, you are one of the most despicable little parasites in all of London. You feed off lies and deceit like a maggot feeds off dead flesh, and even Cheapside's rats take a bath after they've been in your company. You could die right here and now in this gutter, and not a single soul on the face of this earth would mourn you.'

'Look, Mr Q, I'd love to help you, surely I would, but if I spill me guts, I'll be dead by the end of the week!' spat Ferret.

'And if you don't you'll be dead by the end of this conversation,' parried Quaint.

Ferret's tear-stained eyes appealed to Quaint's better nature – which was a wasted effort, for the caustic conjuror was devoid of one. 'You…you wouldn't do me in…would you, Mr Q?'

'Me? Certainly not!' trumpeted Quaint.

'Thank you, sir! Thank the Lord!'

'But I didn't invite my gargantuan friend here along for his good looks,' said Quaint. He motioned over his shoulder to his Irish cohort, and Prometheus took a step closer to Ferret's quivering form. 'I'm beginning to tire of this. Prometheus, grab his hands. Break one of his fingers for every minute that he refuses to talk.'

'What happens when I run out of fingers, boss?' asked Prometheus.

'The human body has over two hundred bones in it, my friend.' Quaint leered as close to Ferret's stench as his tolerance would allow. 'We could be at this all night until we run out of things to break.'

Ferret's bottom lip trembled and he slid down the alley's brick wall, sniffing into his hands. 'All right, Mr Q! You made your point. Just…just call off your dog! Maybe I do know sumfin',' he said, with a deflated sigh. 'I was in the Blue Boar last night and there was this foreign bloke, pissed as a newt. He was on about shippin' sumfin' to Egypt, and I heard him say the name of the bloke he was takin' it to. Said his name was Al somebody or other. Al Fekesh, that's it!'

Quaint's black eyes narrowed. 'He said that name – are you absolutely sure?'

Ferret's glassy eyes blinked in earnest. 'I'd bet my life on it, Mr Q!'

'If you're wrong, Ferret…I'll be back to cash in that bet,' said Quaint.