the morning we will go and visit Mister Coutts, and then see if it is possible to find in London a man who would do the very best haircut and shave for the customer without killing him with a razor. I know just the one.’
Before Dodger could say a word the finger was raised again, seas parted, thunder rolled and the sky darkened, making birds fly frantically for safety. Or at least, that is what happened in the privacy of the attic, and indeed in the mind of Dodger.
Solomon said fiercely, ‘Do not argue with me. This isn’t the sewers. When it comes to finance, and banking, and smartening yourself up, I am a master. With the scars to prove it. I must tell you that just for once in your life I am insisting! This is not the time to argue with your old friend. After all, I wouldn’t tell you how to work the sewers.’
His finger stopped stabbing and joined its family on the hand, and the tide turned back, the dark sky became the peaceful if somewhat dirty glow of evening and the terrible finger of thunder and lightning faded out of Dodger’s imagination as Solomon became rather smaller and said, ‘Now, please take Onan down to do his business and we can shut up shop for the night.’
There was still some light in the sky when Dodger got the dog downstairs. As is the protocol of these things, he let Onan off his leash then looked around as if he had no idea what the dog was actually doing. There were a few lights to be seen, though not too many, candles being the price they were. Just the galaxies of London, the occasional star, or a candle in a window, wasting a part of its tallow on the ungrateful streets. When you saw a candle in a window at this time of night, it meant that some poor wretch had died, or some other poor wretch had been born. Lights were for when the midwife had to be called in, and lights were for a death. If, of course, it was the more heated kind of death – the kind that might make the peelers take an interest – that would be a job for the coroner and would bring forth a second candle.
With that in mind, Dodger called Onan to stop worrying whatever he was worrying and a tiny bell rang in his mind as he realized that in the darkness someone had crept so silently towards him that they now had a knife at his throat.
A voice said very quietly, ‘There is something of considerable importance that you know the whereabouts of, Mister Dodger, and I’m hearing that some people are scared of you on account of everybody knowing, so they say, that you must be quite the lad to have put down Sweeney Todd. But me? I say no, that can’t be true, can it, considering that all a cove needs to do is wait right here and threaten you when you comes out to take the air of a night, waiting for your stinking mutt to make the cobbles even more treacherous for law-abiding folks, such as what I am. Don’t blame yourself, Mister Dodger; routines have been the undoing of many poor buggers, and I heard tell you was clever. Well, there’s none here but you, me and the mutt, and he won’t last long when you’ve told me what I want and I’m done with you. You’ll be just one very short scream in the rookeries, eh. And my employer, Mister Sharp Bob, will be all the happier. That is, Mister Dodger, if you can tell me of the whereabouts of that girl with golden hair; and if you don’t I’ll gut yer anyway.’
Not one muscle had moved anywhere on the body of Dodger, if you didn’t count the sphincter. But as the name Sharp Bob rocketed through his brain, he said, ‘I don’t know you. Thought I knew everyone in all the boroughs. Would you mind telling me who you are, mister? After all, it’s not as though I’ll be able to pass on the information, right?’
The blade just occasionally touched the nape of Dodger’s neck. Onan would almost certainly attack if Dodger gave him the signal, but a knife at your neck is a great encouragement to careful thinking. The neck, Dodger knew, was tough and strong and quite capable of holding the weight of a very