Page 70 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
“We did good, Digby, we did bleedin' good.”
The two friends shared a delighted smile and made a fast getaway from the labyrinth of squalor that they navigated.
“We're eating good tonight my friend!” Nash exclaimed as they burst into the bustling street beside Westminster Abby.
“How good, boss? You mean everybody?”
“Yeah Digby, everybody.” Nash flashed the coin purse in the cover of his tunic, and Digby sprouted a gargantuan smile to match his stature. “But let's get ourselves some new clothes, huh?”
“Whatever you say, boss, I never bought new clothes before.” Digby was grinning like the court jester.
“Neither have I, let's get to it.” Nash laughed, and the two of them began to traverse the garment markets, much to many vendor's disgust.
Everywhere they went, they were shooed away until Nash flashed a crown, and then a great effort would suddenly be made to accommodate them.
Together they crafted a narrative in which they were sailors, bound for Canada, but a shipwreck tossed them to the coast of Wales. They had then walked the countryside to return home, accounting for their filthy appearance and smell. It wouldn't be proper, they argued, to return home in such a state.
While their gutter-bred accents worked against them, it was a fun enough time for the pair as they tried the patience of merchant after merchant.
When all was said and done, the two of them were quite a sight to behold. Freshly adorned in embroidered shirts and trousers, they were practically unrecognizable from their former selves.
Stepping out into the street again, they both carried with them a tremendous sense of confidence about their station in life, and in their appearance.
Of course, the clothes that they picked out did not all entirely match in the fashion sense of the word, and so they collected a good deal of curious looks while they worked over to the Smithfield Meat Market.
“You know how to carve up half a hog?” Nash asked Digby as they approached one of the hundreds of butcher counters.
“Sure, I learned all about butcherin' hogs three years ago, you remember those scruffs from across the river?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Nash pointed out half of a pig hanging by for purchase. “I'll take that, there.”
It was a triumphant return to the cistern. The whole pack gathered round in wonder to see Digby hoist the half a hog off his shoulder and unwrap it from the butcher's paper. He went about portioning the meat while Nash got the cook fire going in the normal place.
That evening they brought it up to a rolling heat, not minding how much coal they fed into the small, haphazardly-assembled cooking area. Then on a large pan – the only pan they had – they cooked large strips of pork five at a time.
They cooked and ate and laughed until every one of them was enormously full of succulent pork. Everyone lay around with bloated bellies, bathing in the warmth the grilled fat provided their stomachs.
The grease from all the pork steaks sizzled lazily on the battered cook top, and the popping of its bubbles were the only sounds that seemed to disturb them all as they digested like a giant snake that had eaten a monkey.
“You think we bought too much meat, boss?” Digby sighed with the effort it took him to swing him torso about. He gestured to the remaining meat, and it was an astounding amount.
“I thought we could eat more.” Nash chuckled.
“People used to starvin' don't make for the best feasting.” Digby laughed back. “What do we do with all of it?”
“Give it to the crew a few tunnels down.” Nash collapsed onto his back, looking up absently at the night's sky through the cistern's grate.
“You sure, boss?”
“Yeah, they won't moan about it.”
Nash slept that night in complete bliss. His stomach was full, his friends were safe, and he didn't have to worry about what he would eat the next day. As he drifted away, he knew that night would be the best sleep he would have ever had.
His trance was broken by a boot that came down hard and fast into his chin.
The pain broke through the walls of his dreams and he shot up, only to be kicked again. His head cracked back down against the cistern floor, and he saw stars.
The only light fell from the ceiling drain, and the lingering embers beneath the cook top. In the blackness and the blurriness of his vision, Nash couldn't make out what was happening.
