A conspiracy of paper: a novel - By David Liss Page 0,13

seen my type in Sir Owen. So with few eyes upon me, save those who wondered how they might become better acquainted with the contents of my purse, I sat at my table and watched the mixture of life circulate. The alehouse was full, but not packed as such places can get. The smell of filthy bodies and cheap perfumes and thick, choking tobacco made a man labor for each breath. I heard no music but that of the shrill laughter of women and the shouts of men and the unmistakable clatter of dice upon the tabletops. A wounded soldier insisted on standing upon his chair every quarter hour and howling forth a bawdy song about a one-legged Spanish whore. He bellowed with little regard for tune until his friends dragged him down, and, in the jovial manner of such men, beat him until he was quiet.

My refined readers may only know of these places from reports they have read, but I had traveled through suchlike dark havens many times before, and I had little difficulty disregarding the turmoil around me. I had a mind for business, and as the baronet had given me a description of the woman I sought, I scanned the room repeatedly, trying hard to appear a drunk in search of company. I tried too hard, I think, for I had to turn several women of Kate Cole’s profession away. A man such as I was, who looked well-moneyed and, if I may be so bold, was far more attractive in person than the more usual patron come in search of companionship, could always depend upon finding favor among the ladies.

The one I sought, according to Sir Owen, was not more than nineteen, she had bright red hair, a fair and freckled complexion, and a prominent mole upon the bridge of her nose. Finally I saw her sit down at a table and engage in a conversation with a vicious buck who, by his look, could have served himself well in the ring. He was a tall, wide, muscular piece of flesh, with a face misshapen into an immutable scowl. I could see that the back of his hand revealed the mark of a branding, so I knew he had run afoul of the law at least once in his life—no doubt on a matter of theft, but I should have been surprised if that had been the only crime to his credit.

I could not guess the whore’s connection to this ruffian, and I feared she might be bespoken for the night. But I thought it unlikely that a woman like that would allow a gentleman with a purse to be long disappointed, so with a variety of looks and smiles I made it plain that I had a liking for her, and I hoped that any business she might have with this fellow could be dispatched quickly.

My wishes were gratified. In less than a quarter of an hour, the ruffian stood up and left the premises, and I began to stare hard at Kate, looking at her in the most uncivilized and lascivious way imaginable. She was not shy of my meaning and lost no time removing herself to my table, where she sat down very close to me. Placing a hand upon my leg she leaned forward and whispered, allowing her breath to caress my ear, that she should like a glass of wine.

My enthusiasm was genuine, though not the kind she would have anticipated, and affecting a great drunkenness, I called for a bottle of the sour piss the Barrel and Bale was proud to serve.

Up close I could see that Kate was a woman not without charms for gentlemen who are so inclined, but she had the kind of hard, hollow look of the street about her, and that was always for me enough to tame my more lickerish passions. I had no amorous feelings for women I could not trust with my purse should I doze off. Moreover, Kate was badly in need of a washing, and her dress, while tight about her pleasing shape, was soiled with the leavings of customers gone by. The once-ivory muslin was now yellowish brown, and her plain tan stomacher had grown so filthy as to almost want delousing.

“You are a very pretty lass,” I told her, slurring my words enough to allow her to believe I had already had more than my fill of spirits. “I could not help but notice you, my dear,”

“And