Pepys disappeared from view, leaving the two scowling but admittedly burly louts behind as temporary gaolers. He needn’t have worried: Clive could hardly have run for it if he’d wanted to – in fact, he could hardly move. He wondered idly if the gallants would show and challenge the louts for their prize, but either they had given up the chase, or were put off by the competition, or were engaged in a life-and-tackle struggle with the furious Haberdasher and his shears. Clearly the lure of Mistress Nell’s orbs could only do so much...

And then a new voice sounded from beyond the barrel of Clive’s vision. A familiar voice: “Alright, alright! I’m ’ere now! Nothing to worry about. Let’s have a look at it...”

Jerry’s face appeared above Clive’s.

One of the minions gave Jerry a shove. “Clear off! This one’s for the Watch!”

Jerry looked genuinely surprised. “What do you mean, ‘’e’s for the Watch?’ He’s dead!”

“What are you talking about? He’s alive and well! Look at him!”

Jerry crouched beside Clive and began to frisk him vigorously, presumably for a pulse. Clive had never known that one could find a pulse in so many places, even pockets. Finally, Jerry resigned himself to the inevitable. “No, you’re quite dead, aren’t you mate? Dead as dust and Van Dyck.”

The minions weren’t convinced. “But his eyes are moving!”

It was true. Clive couldn’t help it: he was watching the goings on above him with acute interest.

“Nerve reaction. Last flashes of consciousness as his brain dies.”

“Well, he don’t look dead to me!”

“That’s because you aren’t professionals – no offence, of course! But mistakin’ the dead for the living is a common enough error, most forgivable for those not trained to see the signs.”

“And who are you?”

Jerry beamed. “Ah, glad you asked! Allow me to introduce myself, gents! My name is one Gerald Muldoon, executive assistant to the Undertaker Phil Anbury!”

The louts looked suddenly awkward. This time the second spoke. “Anbury you say? I’ve ’eard of him...”

“Course y’have! Everybody knows Phil... sooner or later. Now, exactly how did this happen, might I ask?”

“The master dealt him an arresting blow with his cane – that’s all.”

Now it was Jerry’s turn to look awkward. “Well, that’s good! If it comes to trial it’ll be him who’s done for murder, not you! No. You two can only be tried as accessories.”

“Accessories?”

“Certainly!” Jerry said brightly, “It’s a lesser penalty, to be sure. You should avoid the noose, at any rate. Why you might only be in irons for twenty years or so... Still plenty of fight left in ya when you get out! Well, if. Not the most sanitary of holes, prison, more’s the pity.”

The louts looked at each other, clearly alarmed. “Look, we were just hired on the spot!” said the second, “We don’t even know the gent! He just promised us good coin if we helped him nab a known disturber of the peace!”

Jerry nodded empathetically. “Of course, I quite understand... But that’s me. The law can be so... unforgiving sometimes. Especially for those of us who are not so high-born like. Not like the one wot hired you, I’ll wager: ‘e’ll probably get off scot-free!” Jerry seemed to be feeling genuinely sorry for the pair of ’boons, judging by the forlorn expression he was wearing. But then his face brightened. “But! I suppose... if you two wanted to just leave him here with me, and make yourselves scarce, I’d be more than prepared to say nothing of your involvement when the Watch arrives in a few moments! No reason you two should go down just because you were put on the spot by a violent killer!”

The first blinked. “You’d do that for us?”

“Absolutely – for a small fee, of course! – you have my word as an undertaker, well... as an executive assistant to one, at any rate!”

“Fee?”

“An unfinder’s charge, so to speak. A shilling each should cover my expenses!” Jerry stretched out a palm, beaming. “They say y’can’t put a price on freedom, but, fortunately for you two – I just did!”

The minions looked genuinely despondent. “We don’t have a shilling...”

“Oh deary me! Well, tell you what! I’m feeling generous today... I’ll settle for, say... everything you have in your pockets! Can’t say fairer than that, can ye?”

The two louts looked overwhelmed! Each swiftly emptied their pockets of coin (recently received from Pepys, no doubt), shook Jerry’s hand, mumbled their gratitude, and made their swift exit up the Bridge.

Jerry watched them go, clinking their coins within his palm, “Pity the poorly endowed! For theirs is a fruitless voyage.” He glanced back down at Clive. “I told you three minutes was a mite wishful. Can you walk?”

“I don’t think so...”

Then Jerry looked up sharply. “Oh no!”

“What?”

“Pepys!”

“Yikes! Wait – you know him too?”

“Problem is he knows me!”

“Why’s that a problem? What did you do?”

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“You’re not listening: I said he owes me.”

“You’re avoiding him because he owes you?”

“You’re still not listening: I said I owes him.”

“How much do you owe?”

“Shit! That dullard Captain’s with him!”

“You owe him shit?”

“Shut it, will you? I’ll handle this. And try an’ act dead this time, will ya?”

Clive half-closed his eyes but continued to watch through his lashes.

Jerry had turned his back to the approaching party, and was stooping over Clive as if examining the body. Pepys was leading three members of the Watch, including the Captain with the nose-ring that Clive had seen earlier.

“There he is!” Pepys said. “You sir, move aside!”

“You again!” said the Captain, clearly recognizing Jerry. “What are you doing now?”

Jerry didn’t turn. “My job.”

“What?” started the Captain, “Is he dead?” He rounded on Pepys. “You told me you’d apprehended a miscreant! You said nothing of him being dead!”

“He wasn’t!” protested Pepys. “I merely winded him and left him here in the company of two associates of mine – and where the devil are they?” To Jerry. “You sir, turn about and explain yourself! What happened here? Face me, damn you!”

“I can’t.”

“Why ever not?”

“It’s bad for the humours to face south at the sun’s zenith.”

“But – what?”

“Captain, as a trained coronary officer I declare this man officially dead by misadventure and, therefore, quite beyond your jurisdiction. Now kindly leave him with me and I’ll dispose of the body. You may return to your card game—I mean duties.”

The Captain puffed and snorted, clearly unwilling to be shunted off so easily. “There’s a dead body on my Bridge! And someone put it there! That makes this murder! There’ll need to be an inquest–” He pointed at Pepys. “You! You better come with me!”

Pepys scoffed loudly. “Oh, this is preposterous! He’s not dead! He’s merely pretending! Look! I saw his eyelids flicker!”

Clive barely contained himself from saying, Oh no you didn’t!

Luckily, Jerry answered on his behalf. “I assure you, he’s quite dead, sir.”

“Ha!” Pepys laughed, rather manically, “We’ll see about that!”

Reaching into the verges, Pepys snatched a marching rodent, a particularly large black specimen with a gammy eye, and held it by the tail above Clive’s head. He began to lower. “Now let’s see just how dead this corpse really is!”

Clive was petrified (though fortunately that only made his countenance even more deathly). Oh, he had nothing against rats, per se, but it was another thing entirely to have one, dirty paws and bald tail and yellow incisors and all, plonked upon the delicate tissues of your eyes, nose and mouth!

The rat came to rest with its tummy on Clive’s nose. Its tail found the furrow of his lips and each eyelid was tapped by a paw. There came a thin sound, like a soft but rising moan, and Clive took a moment to realise it was him.

“See! See!” said Pepys, still holding the tail. “He can’t stand it! He’s making a sound!”

Clive’s foot began to quiver. The rat was currently still, as terrified as he was, but if it began to scrabble–

“Pepys.” Jerry’s voice was suddenly grave. He stood up, and turned about. “Put the rat down.”

Pepys rounded to retort, and then gasped. “Your m–, I mean your Ma–” The rat’s tail was released as Pepys straightened suddenly, and then doubled up as if winded... Jerry stepped closer and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him up.

“Muldoon. Gerald Muldoon. You know me, don’t you, Pepys?”

“Yes... I... yes, of course!”

“So you will believe me, won’t you, when I say: this man is dead.”

“Yes, yes, of course he is! I’m very sorry, your– Muldooness! I didn’t recognise – I mean I didn’t know–”

“But now you do.”

The Captain was still looking at Clive. “I think I just saw his leg twitch...”

Nodding solemnly to Jerry, Pepys took the Captain by the arm, and led him away.

The Captain was insistent: “What’s the matter with you, sir? He’s not dead. You were right all along!”

“Captain, did I mention I’m an officer of the Admiralty...?”

Jerry sighed. Pulling a face, he shooed at the rat with his boot, never making contact: “Go on, out of it, you!”

The rat took the hint and launched itself clear of Clive’s noggin.

Jerry shivered. “Rodents! Can’t stand the things!” He glanced down...

Clive still hadn’t moved.

Jerry stretched out a hand. “Alright, alright, it’s gone!”

Clive jerked upright, flailing his arms about himself like a flagellant who was late for work! “You can’t stand them! Try having one on your FACE!” Standing, Clive shook himself off as if divesting himself of unseasonal snow. “What was all that? Pepys nearly had a seizure when he saw who you were!”

Jerry dusted Clive down. “Ah, it’s not me: it’s who I work for. The boss has quite the reputation ’round these parts! When you meet ’im you’ll understand.”

“Sounds like a scary man to work for!”

“You have no idea!”

Clive brightened suddenly – bouncing back was something of a talent for him. “So how did I do? With your experiment?”

“Oh, capital, mate! Capital!”

“Capital? As in punishment?”

“You better believe it! Be assured, I shall be passing along the results to the proper authorities!” Jerry’s eyes narrowed. “The Watch has grown lax – and that boar of a Captain is to blame!”

Clive stood grinning, waiting expectantly.

“Ah yes!” Jerry realised, “You’ll be wanting your fee!”

A rhomboid half crown lay on the wood where it had fallen from one of Clive’s many crannifications. Jerry plucked it from the floor and presented it to Clive in one fluid motion.

“There you are, mate! Half a crown. As promised!”

Clive was overjoyed. “Gee, thanks!”

He didn’t exactly see the beggar approach. One moment the man had not existed, the next he was pressed right up agin Clive, raised begging bowl (conservatively empty) and open palm cupped for succour. The beggar’s face was cowled and only half visible, but Clive did get the impression of a protruding lower jaw. The smell was life-altering.

“Money for the legless, sir?”

Now Clive might have been occasionally naïve, even borderline simple, but even he could see that the man had clearly walked up to him.

“But... you’ve got legs.”

“Well, I sobered up, didn’t I?”

Clive thought about this for a moment. It scanned well. “Oh, good for you! Here’s half a crown!”

Plink. Ching! The bottom of the bowl appeared to be glowing (though likely the silver had simply caught the sun).

The beggar was overjoyed! “Gor, thanks mate! I’m off to get plastered!”

And then the man was gone, propelling himself rapidly away with a curious gait that apparently did not require the use of knees.

Jerry had been watching the exchange with an expression of raw incredulity.

“Jesu’s armpits! You are new in town, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes!”

“Look, call me soft-hearted, but I do feel somehow responsible for what happened to you earlier. Why don’t I show you around for a bit? Help you find your feet? Maybe even introduce you to the boss – lord knows we could use a hand about the place! How’s that sound?”

Clive glanced at the pulped orange upon the Bridgeboards. “Well, that’s very nice of you, Jerry! And I accept! What’s our first stop?”

“Oh, you’ll love it, mate! I’ve got us two tickets for the theatre!”