"We'll both stink for a week after we leave," Carr murmured, looking almost overcome by the foul air that surrounded them.
Alec nodded, wiping the distaste from his own face with effort. "I must be insane," he muttered. "No one walks into Newgate of his own will."
For once Carr did not have a cocky reply or wiseacre remark to make. He kept his eyes on the burly figure of the guard who led them by a row of wards. They passed the noisy, clamoring cells, filled with men who demanded drink and meat… menwho called out to the passersby and threatened with thick cockney accents… thick-chested men who came out the victors in the daily squabbles for food… starving, bony men who were fast losing the strength necessary to survive. Carr's face became cold and shuttered, masking the unease he must have been feeling as they walked deeper into the prison. The thought crossed Alec's mind that perhaps he should not have aliowed Carr to accompany him. Less than two years ago, Carr's world had been a safe and innocent one, full of the quiet pleasure of life in the country, full of books, history, and scholarly learning. Now he was learning far different lessons.
"Memmery." The guard stood at the door of one ward and called through the iron bars. A shuffling noise was heard, and little catcalls were made as the unfortunate Memmery made his way to the portal. "Tonight, 'e'll piss when 'e can't whistle!" "Mem, you'll stretch stoutly in an hour—" "Poor Memmy, a wry mouth and a pissin' pair o' breeches—"
"Hurry now, Jack Ketch is waitin' fer ya!" Noting Carr's confused look at the thick cant phrases, Alec translated softly. "They think we've come to take him out and hang him."
"A sentimental lot, aren't they?" Disgust flickered in Carr's olive-green eyes.
After receiving a nod from Alec, the guard fished a thin, sallow fellow of seedy appearance out of the cell and ushered him roughly to an unoccupied room. It was a barren little closet with four walls, a few hand-fuls of straw on the floor, and a heavily barred door. Memmery was shoved in there, and then the guard stood aside and allowed Alec and Carr to enter.
"Leave us alone with him for five minutes. Don't lock the door," Alec said, his tone low, flat, and utterly commanding. Though it was against prison regulations, the door was left unbolted. Nevertheless,Carr jumped slightly when they were shut in the room. He glanced at Alec with a mute plea in his eyes to make the interview fast.
"Your name," Alec said to the pale-haired, pale skinned prisoner, who could not have been more than thirty.
"Memmery, sir," the man mumbled. "Tom Memmery." Something in Alec's voice seemed to awaken his inter est, for slowly Memmery looked up at him. The palt skin whitened to the shade of a fish belly. "Hoiy Jesus," he swore, his face contracting with fear.
"Do I look familiar to you?" Alec asked quietly. "1 should. I gather you and my cousin were acquaintances of a sort."
"That's a rapper."
"Is it? I've heard differently."
Silence.
Alec's face contained all the warmth and animation of a slab of granite. Carr fidgeted uneasily, glancing at the door with an expression of longing. "Ever hear the name Leila Holburn?" Alec inquired, his voice a low rumble in the bandbox-size room.
Memmery studied the floor with absorption.
"Alec, he's not going to talk—" Carr began, simmering with impatience.
"Oh, he will," Alec said, sending his young cousin a silencing glance. "In fact, he's going to become the most talkative inmate in Newgate—"
"Go swive yourself," Memmery said politely.
"—because if he doesn't," Alec continued as if there had been no interruption, "I'm going to make certain that every slasher and shanker in this hellhole knows that Memmery whiddled the whole scrap on Stop Hole Abbey. In other words, Carr, they're going to think he told everything he knows, including names, dates, and places."
"Bleedin' cur!" Memmery snapped, suddenly shaking with a mixture of hate and horror."Do you know what will happen to him then, Carr?" Alec said conversationally. "He'll be ripped apart, limb from flabby limb, after enduring several hours of ingenious torture. His cellmates aren't the type who appreciate being discussed with the likes of us by a loose-tongued fellow like Memmery. Do you know why some of them are in here?… they're chalkers, men who amuse themselves at night by leaping out of dark alleys to slash the faces of innocent passersby with knives. What great fun they would have with a companion who had snitched on them. In fact, just being in here with us right now casts him in rather a suspicious light—wouldn't you agree, Tom?"