This is an example of a Royal Navy Cutlass, such as Madame Vastra uses in the early stories of “The Dragon’s Heart” series. (Model 1845 for the Sword Sticklers.)
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Bread, Cheese, Mice and Pigeons – Chapter 1
Part Two of ‘The Dragon’s Heart.‘
This story begins the day after “Blood on Her Hands.”
It must be morning again, ’cause the stupid pigeons won’t shut up!
I stretch, just a little, ’cause I’m sharing a narrow but soft bed with a tall woman who looks like a bit like a lizard.
An often moody woman by the name of Vastra, who says she’s from Dawnoftime. Where ever that is. Scotland maybe? She has a lovely little burr in her voice. Miss Vastra, I guess, as I haven’t seen any husband around since I’ve been here.
I’m warm and I’m dry, which in early March in London, in the Year of Our Lord 1881, is nothing to be sneezed at. Least not by me, as I’ve not had the best time of it lately.
My name’s Jenny. I’m a Match Girl, and as poor as a church mouse. I use to work part of the day making matches, for 3 shillings a week, and go to school the rest of the day. That was fine when Ma was alive. Ma looked after my brother and sister, and Da and I worked. We never had much money, and we lived in a one room flat; me and the little ones all in the same pile of blankets on the floor, and Ma and Da in their bed. Poor but together. Until it all changed.
My brother and sister got sick last spring and we lost ’em. Ma died in the fall, miscarrying my baby brother, and my Da… didn’t take it well. Losing Ma …hurt us both.
Lord, I miss her.
Da started to drink more and more, and when he was drunk, he’d get angry and wanted to hit something.
He decided that would be me.
That lasted a few weeks, while I hoped he’d stop drinking and get better. But he didn’t and one night, I got tired of it, and I hit him back. Hard. I’m small, but I’m stronger than I look. Da didn’t like it.
He sold me to the Black Scorpions on New Year’s Day for three bottles of Gin. I couldn’t stay at my old job; the next day I went to work, two Scorpions showed up. The foreman held them up while some older girls got me out of there. I ran away with a week’s wages in my pocket, and with the help of some friends, sold matches from my factory for a few weeks, to keep body and soul together.
Then the Scorpions found me.
They thought I’d make a good whore.
I thought I’d rather die fighting the bastards.
Miss Vastra thought she’d lend me a hand.
Guess who won?
‘Course she and I, we were both hurt pretty bad.
But the Scorpions got it worse!
I’ve stayed with Miss Vastra the last couple of days, healing and sleeping. Sunday I didn’t move much; her room is pretty small. A bit smaller the flat than my family lived in, though she has it all to herself. I’ve just made the occasional trip down the hall to the Necessary. And isn’t that a treat, even though it’s just a tall privy with a straight drop down. But no climbing up and down the stairs!
Yesterday I was chipper enough to do the laundry. I was going to leave when I was done, even though I’m scared of what’s out there. It isn’t right to mooch a place to sleep from Miss Vastra. But she asked me to stay. At least until she can have a look and see if she can help me with the Scorpions. I think she’s a bit lonely, though I can tell she really doesn’t like people very much. It’s a very kind offer, so I need to behave meself and not make her regret it.
And she said she’ll even teach me about swords and such. Least until she gets bored. Doubt she’ll want to teach me for more than a few days. We agreed that each of us could end the lessons at any time. But I won’t be the first to give up!
My stomach grumbles. Haven’t felt like food the last few days, but I’m hungry this morning. Must be getting better.
Miss Vastra hasn’t eaten the past few days either. Bet she’s hungry too.
I glance around, as she’s not on the bed, where we’ve both been sleeping. Instead, she’s sitting at the room’s tiny table, watching me with an interesting expression on her face.
Her face is very different from anyone I know, so I can’t quite make it out. But she looks… pleased?
What’s she been up to?
As I sit up, she gestures at the table. “I’ve found some food for us.” Sitting on the table on a plate are two freshly dead mice. Yes, she looks very pleased with herself.
I can’t help it. I start to laugh. Miss Vastra doesn’t look to happy with that. I hold up a hand, “Wait a moment, I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at a memory.” Now she looks curious. She does these little head tilts that help tell me what she’s thinking. It’s very sweet. I won’t tell her that though. She has her own sort of… grace, I guess is the word. Wish I knew more words.
I collect meself, smile at her and tell her the story:
“When I was little…” And now she looks doubtful, and I can almost hear her thoughts, “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not talking about last week…”
“When I was little, there was a moggy that lived in the streets near us. She was a great hunter, always bringing home mice and birds for her kittens. Sometimes, if I was patient and waited, she’d take a bit of food from my hand and let me pat her. But only if I was alone. Expect she felt safer that way.”
“A few years ago, we had a bad winter. I remember being really hungry and sniffling about it a bit. My brother and sister, they were hungry too. They weren’t use to it, you see, so they cried more than me.”
“One morning, when we opened our door, there sat the moggy, with a big fat mouse between her paws, looking as pleased as any cat ever did. Da was disgusted that she’d brought us a dead mouse, but Ma knew better. Ma said the moggy was trying to help feed us little ones, like she fed her kittens. Not sure what Ma did, but the mouse disappeared, and the moggy seemed content with that. We had a small chicken for dinner that night, the first in a long while. Ma gave the Moggy some. Don’t know how we could afford it though. Maybe Ma sold something.” I smile at the memory. “Ma said that sometimes even animals can be a little bit kind.”
Miss Vastra looks at me; I can tell she’s surprised. “Did you just compare me to a mother cat?”
“Cats catch mice. There’s two mice on the table, ma’am, and I’m not the one who put them there.” I try not to smile at her, but it doesn’t work. After a moment, I can’t help a little grin.
Her face is still hard to read, but I think I hear a little smile in her voice, “It’s a fair enough comparison then.”
“And I thank you for gift of food, ma’am. Let’s see if I have anything to add to breakfast.”
I turn out my skirt pockets, emptying them onto the table. A match box wrapped in a bit of waxed paper to keep it dry. Two farthings and a handkerchief. That and my coat, on the hook on the door, are everything I have in the world save the clothes on my back. Such as they are.
Oh, and a surprise tucked in my waistband, thanks to a dead Black Scorpion.
I get up and check my coat pockets, and find a packet of food I’d saved. I carry the packet, wrapped in an old bit of paper, to the table and unwrap it.
“It’s just a bit o’ bread and cheese, ma’am. Almost forgot I had it.” I break the little thing in half. Fair is fair, she needs food too. She can’t live on just gin and mice.
She seems nice, if a bit short tempered. Hope she doesn’t hit me as hard as Da did if she gets angry.
I take the table knife, and push half the cheese and bread to her, and draw one of the mice towards me. We both sit there a moment, and look at the food before us.
Miss Vastra eyes the cheese and biscuit, and tries to look happy.
Maybe she doesn’t eat things like this.
Wonder if she feels about bread and cheese like I feel about eating a dead mouse.
Hmmm.
“Tell you what, ma’am. Would you be interested in a trade?”
She cocks her head, and the tip of her tongue flicks out for a moment.”What do you propose?”
“Trade you a mouse for some biscuit and cheese.”
“Done.” Oh, she sounds much happier.
She gulps down the mice, while I carefully don’t watch, and I wolf down half the cheese and bread, and wrap up the other half.
“You’re not going to eat that?” she asks.
“Later ma’am. I need to earn money to buy more food. Who knows how long that may take.”
“Humans need to eat quite a bit, don’t they?”
“Every day is best, ma’am. But I’ve gone without for days at a time. It’s not pleasant, but it can be done without much harm. Lot’s of folks in the city don’t eat as often as they should.” I stowed the tiny packet in me coat. “What about you? How often do you need to eat?”
“It depends. A good meal every two or three days when it’s warm. When it’s cooler, I eat less frequently, and usually smaller amounts. I prefer meat, as fresh if I can get it.”
“Huh. Usually the other way around for me. Ma would feed us more in the winter to help ward off the cold, and less in the summer. Meat’s nice but pricey. Ate lots of vegetables in the summer and fall. We ate bread, porridge, and soup a lot too. You can make good soup from bones, and stretch it out, you see.”
I take the plate and the table knife, give them a quick wash, and put them back in the cupboard.
While I do that, Miss Vastra reaches under the bed, and brings out a wrapped bundle, about a yard long. She unwraps her sword. I don’t see any blood on it, looks like she cleaned it yesterday while I was doing the laundry.
“Are you ready for your first lesson?”
“Yes, ma’am!”
She waves me over to sit on the edge of the bed, pushes the table so that I can reach it, and takes the chair on the other side. She always keeps one hand on her sword, probably so I can’t grab it like a little boy would. Makes sense, I guess.
She looks at me for a long moment, then nods her head and begins.
“Before we start, bring out the knife that you took the other day from the Black Scorpion Ape.”
I freeze. She’s not mentioned it before, I thought she’s forgotten about it. For a moment I want to say I don’t have it, but that would make a poor start, as Ma would say. Miss Vastra might even decide to end the lessons right now.
She lets me have the moment to think, but cocks her head, not breaking eye contact with me. Bet she knows I have it ’cause I froze. Ma always caught me like that. I need to stop doing that.
The knife’s tucked into the waistband of my skirt, under my blouse in the curve of my back. It’s a big thing, heavy, with a wide blade and a wicked curved point. I don’t have a proper cover for it; guess I’ll need to make one. I bring it out and lay it on the table, keeping one hand on it, like she’s doing with her sword. She studies it with just her eyes, nodding a little to herself.
I feel really bad all of a sudden: “That’s why you didn’t really want to lie down for me to look at yer cuts the other day. You knew I had this and were worried I’d hurt you!”
“I had frightened you quite a bit when I threatened to cut your shirt off. I could see you were wary of me, when you sat on the floor by the door. But the error was mine, and I needed to let you regain some control and a little bit of trust. So it took me only a few moments to decide to trust you.”
“Like it took a moment for me to trust you just now.”
“Correct.” She leans back and studies me again. “Jenny, these are not toys. You saw me kill an Ape with this sword. I suspect that knife was also used to kill or wound before you took it. I can teach you, but this is not a game played by hatchlings. You and I can both be hurt if we are careless. With training, you will be able to injure other Apes, perhaps mortally. Do you understand this?”
I had to grow up fast when I ran away. Had no choice. Now Miss Vastra is asking me to grow up some more. Can I do that? But I’m tired of feeling scared when I’m on the streets.
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply after a few moments, “I understand. I can do this.”
“Then let us begin. I’m going to set three rules first. There will be others, but you need to remember these three above all. ”
“First rule: Stay focused. Do not let your mind wander, either during training or any other time you have a weapon in your hand. If your attention wanders, you can be injured or killed.”
“Second: if either of us calls “Stop” during training we will both stop and keep still. This is because there might be something dangerous occurring. One of us may be too close a wall, or something maybe broken. There will be times where we use those circumstances to our advantage in training, but that time is not now.”
The third rule is this: neither of us touches the other’s weapons unless given permission. To be clear, this applies as much to your knife and any other weapons you may acquire as it does to my sword. This is for safety, and it is about respecting one another.”
She’s saying she’ll treat me like I’m an adult! She wouldn’t say that if she thought of me as a child, to be just told to do things. Blimey, that was fast! Now I need to live up to it, or she’ll stop the lessons for sure!
We spend a grand hour working with the blades. Miss Vastra explains that since both of us are still recovering, and the room is very small, we’ll spend the first several lessons on safety, and grip, and parts of our weapons; things like that. Maybe do some training to help me get me stronger too.
She teaches me new words, some in the language of her people, when she’s not sure of a term in English. Blade and hilt and scabbard are easy, I’ve heard them before. Others like the metal band on the back of me knife, she doesn’t know in English, and they are old words for her people. They don’t make their weapons in the same ways as we do, she says.
As we’re finishing the lesson, she examines her sword more closely. “I found this near the river last fall. Most Apes don’t carry swords, they seem to prefer heavy sticks and knives. I wonder what kind of blade this is?”
“Looks familiar ma’am. Give me a moment, I haven’t seen that many swords. Not a common sight in London these days.”
“Really? You believe you recognize this?” She looks up, surprised. Didn’t think I would, did she? But this is a dream come true for me.
I grew up playing Robin Hood with the boys. Tom the cutler’s son from next door was Robin our fearless leader with a small bow his dad made him. Tucker, the baker’s boy, was Friar Tuck, though he was fair skinny. My brother Johnny was ‘Little John’. We pretended he was huge, though he was smaller and younger than me. I made him a staff like the real Little John’s. He loved it and always had it with him. My tiny sister Ann was Maid Marian, everyone always wanted to save her.
Me… I was Will Scarlet. Not the hero, not the lady, just the foolish fop who was good with a sword. Still, I got to play with the rest, carrying any piece of stick I could get my hands on, and that was fine with me. Grew up looking for anyone with a weapon, and learned a lot just by watching. That, and roughhousing with my Da and Johnny, helped save my life the other night. That, and a real hero who came to me rescue.
A real hero, armed with a sword, and a woman to boot! Robin Hood himself could not have been better!
I’m right though, swords aren’t common now, but I’ve seen some. The guards at the Tower? No, they have big spears. Officer sword like the troops on parade carry? Not fancy enough. She found it near the river… wait, got it!
“It’s a Cutlass, ma’am! The sailors still use them. My Da works at the Docks. We went and saw a Navy Steamship there last year, and saw sailors doing cutlass drill on the deck! It was a great fun!” I smile at the memory, then frown. That was the last good outing my family ever had. Three weeks later, John and Ann got sick and they died.
I glance up at her, embarrassed like. She don’t know them, she don’t care.
“Sorry ma’am. Wandered off there for a moment.” But she surprises me, again.
“You miss your family. I understand. I still miss mine, though it has been many years since they were murdered.”
“What happened to them?”
She shakes her head. “I do not wish to discuss it. It still angers me even to think about it. And they would accuse me of betraying them if they saw me now.”
“Now?”
“Teaching an Ape the arts of war.”
Not much I can say that won’t make a poor situation worse, so for once I keep quiet, and keep my head down.
So much for a dream come true.
And then I get cross. I feel sorry that she lost her family, but I can’t fix that for her. I can’t even fix my own family.
“Make you another deal, Ma’am.”
“What is it this time?”
“On the day I figure out how to bring Ma and the little ones back, I’ll bring back yer sisters as well.”
She slams her sword down on the table, rising to her feet and towering over me. Her temper is red hot, and her free hand swings back to strike. “Enough! These lessons are o…”
.. and then she stops. And eyes me. I’ve turned my hand over, so that it’s palm up on my knife, and I can’t grab it. I can’t stop her; if I hit back she can kill me without a second’s thought, and she’s been too kind to me to knife her for a blow. I can only stare back at her. I can’t win, but I’m not going to back down. I let Da get away with taking things out on me, I’m not going to let her do it. It won’t be good for either of us.
If she hits me, I’m out the door. If I live.
Lucky for me, she’s not Da.
“Cheeky little monkey.” She seems to shrink, as she shakes her head, and lowers her hand.
I’m not sure what to do. So quiet like I put my knife away, take the cloth that her sword was wrapped in off the bed, and slide it across the table to her.
She wraps her sword up. When she’s done I move the table back into place while she puts the bundle back under the bed.
For now, we have a truce. Again.
I fetch water from the bucket, and the sliver of soap, and start cleaning up the window. There’s ever so much coal dust caked on it, and it’s pitted and rippled as well. Even when it’s clean it won’t be easy to see through. Cheap glass, but better than I’ve ever lived with. Rent for the flat is probably more than I ever made in a week.
Mind you, at 4 shillings per, the price of a bottle of Gin is more than I ever made in a week.
As I work, I glance out the window, at the birds perched on the buildings nearby. I can hear them cooing above me as well. I can’t help it, I imagine them as little chickens roasted on a plate, and my guts growls in hunger.
“What was that noise?’
“Ah, just me ma’am. Guess I’m still a bit hungry. I was wondering if pigeons taste like chicken.”
Miss Vastra looked over my shoulder at the birds, nodding a little.
“They do seem to be an abundant source of meat, but they avoid this windowsill.”
“Maybe they want more sun, so they don’t sit here. Might come if we put out some food for them.”
“And what kind of food do they eat?” She asked, sounding curious.
“Seeds, maybe some bread… Wait a moment.” I fetch my little packet of bread and cheese, unwrap it, and cut it in two again.
“I must teach you to slice properly, instead of just using brute force to chop. A knife is not an ax!” Wonderful, she sounds like my school master. Ah, well, at least the subject is interesting.
I wrapped up half the bread and the extra cheese, and start hunting around for some string. “Need a snare or something to catch them.”
Miss Vastra moves by me to the window and says, “Leave that to me.” The bread is pretty dry, so it’s easy for me to grind it up in my hand, and sprinkle it on the windowsill.
“Now we wait, and see if they’ll notice. Might take a while, pigeons aren’t very clever.”
It takes about half an hour, and a shift of the sun, before the pigeons notice the bread. I continue cleaning the room, while Miss Vastra waits patiently by the window.
It’s interesting to watch her when I can. She’s very focused, and still.
I hear cooing, and look up, just in time to see a pair of pigeons pecking at the crumbs, and then Miss Vastra seems to… spit at them, and a moment later she has a struggling pigeon in each hand, and the end of her tongue is hanging out of her mouth.
About a foot of it, that is.
I can’t help it, I stand there shocked, and just staring at her mouth.
“Water, please” she asks, awkward like.
I hand her a cupful, still staring, and she rinses off her tongue. “I’m afraid that feathers are NOT particularly tasty,” she says.
“What do you call that, then?” I ask, stunned.
Miss Vastra smirked at me. “I believe you described it as “Killing two birds with one stone”.
“I mean yer… tongue?”
“I call it my tongue.”
Not much I can do but give her a look for that one.
I take the birds from her, one at a time. A quick twist of their necks and the job is done. It’s not right to let them suffer, even if their cooing before dawn is annoying as all blazes. Moments later, the birds are laid out on the table.
“Need to drain the blood first, then pluck and gut them.” I look around for the bowl, but Miss Vastra hands me the cup instead. I look up at her. “Ma’am, you’ll want to drink from that cup, won’t you?”
She nods her head.
“Don’t you want to keep it clean? Not get blood in it?”
I think the expression on her face might be a puzzled look. I pause, and think a moment about the mice that she gulped down whole, then slowly ask, “Ma’am, do you drink blood?”
Another nod.
“Ah…” Another pause while I wrap my head around that idea. I decide not to remember how much blood I had on me t’other night. Well, not much help for it, and I still alive.
“Well, waste not, want not I guess.”
Oh, that’s definitely a smile, that is.
Ma taught me how to prepare live chicken’s for cooking, the meat was fresher, and the birds cheaper if we butchered them ourselves. I drain them, pluck them and clean them, making sure to check for spots on the liver and on the meat. These ones are clean, and that’s good.
Miss Vastra takes a seat, sips on her cup of blood, and watches me prepare the birds.
When I’m done, she’s already eyeing everything with interest. I put the crop and entrails aside, ready for the slops, and the bones and organs separate, to make soup. She glances at them, but doesn’t touch them.
“Do you have a frying pan, or a pot, ma’am?”
“Why?” She looks puzzled.
“Ah, need to cook the meat, ma’am.”
“Why?”
Oh, not again. I glance at the bloody cup, and at the raw birds, and then at her. She has a little red mustache, at least until she licks her lips, and it’s gone. It’s a very strange moment for me.
“Let me guess; do you eat yer meat raw usually, ma’am?”
And there’s that nod again. I just sigh. I’m not even surprised anymore.
“I think you have a stronger stomach than I do. Need to cook mine, I’m afraid.”
“Well, the heat will kill any lingering germs, so it’s not a bad idea. Try the cupboard, there were a few pots and pans here when I moved in.”
It only takes a minute for me to find a dusty frying pan. I give it a quick wipe, apply a bit of fat from the bird’s skin, add in the meat and it’s ready to put on the little iron spider in the fireplace. I hand her the second pigeon, and let her get on with making it disappear, as I bend to cooking mine.
It takes a few minutes for the bird to cook, but not too long. I want to make sure it’s properly done.
“I’ll need to fetch some more coals when I’m done. Should get some more water, too.”
I glance up at her, she’s finished already, and is leaning back in the chair, looking pleased.
“Excellent idea, Jenny. That was very tasty. Thank you.”
“Yer welcome, ma’am.”
“Have you forgotten my name again?” she asks, with a slight smile.
“No, Miss Vastra.”
“But you almost never use it?”
“Yer an adult ma’am. It’s not polite for me to use yer given name without a title. And saying ‘Miss Vastra’ all the time’s a bit odd when there’s only the two of us here.”
“Hmmm.” She smiles a little at me, her head slightly cocked to the side. “But it’s fine if I call you Jenny?”
“Why yes ma’am! What else would you call me? Other than ‘Monkey’ or ‘Ape?’ Which you seem to like to do anyway. T’be honest., I’d rather be called Jenny.”
My meal is ready to eat. I just hold the pan, and use the cooking fork to eat with. Ma would have had fits if she caught me doing this, but Miss Vastra doesn’t mind, and I’ll save washing the plate again.
She’s still watching me, and still has that little smile. “You don’t seem very upset to find out I eat raw meat, or drink blood occasionally,” she says.
“Miss Vastra, if it will keep you from drinking gin, I’ll happily cut my own palm and let you lap it from my hand.”
She blinks, startled. “Ah, no. That won’t be necessary. For one thing, you’d risk far too much damage to your hand to hold a blade properly.”
“And t’other thing?”
She swings her head towards me, locks eyes with me a moment, and then nods towards the remains of the pigeons. “I don’t believe it would be wise for me to develop a taste for your blood.”
“Ahh. Right, then!” Blimey, what have I got meself into? Jenny, my girl, you almost walked into a bad situation there. Think a bit before you spout off.
‘Though Ma would say it’s far too late for that. She was always after me for being cheeky. Lucky for me Miss Vastra has some sense!
“Think I’d best go fetch the coal and water.”
Miss Vastra nods, regal like, and tells me where to find the coal, and how much she’s allowed to take. Seems too little to keep this room warm in the winter. Wonder if she can buy extra if she needed it? Must ask, I think she might not know she can do that.
She seems to have some funny gaps in what she knows and doesn’t know. Almost as if she doesn’t know that she doesn’t know things. Wonder if I can teach her the things she doesn’t know about? That would be a good trade for the sword lessons.
It takes a while for me to get back up with the water and coal, ’cause both are pretty heavy. But it’s good exercise, and I’m use to it from hauling coal and water at home. One pump outside for the whole building there too. But going up four levels is new for me. Bet it makes me stronger, though!
When I get back, Miss Vastra’s looking through her little stack of worn books. “I’ve read all these a dozen times before. I could recite the stories by now.”
“What kind of books do you like?” Hope she doesn’t say ‘Improving Works’, or some such boring rot like that. Our schoolmaster had a dozen of those; made my eyes ache. I could never read more than a page a day.
“These are ‘Agnes Grey,’ ‘Paul Clifford’ and ‘The Moonstone.’ They are interesting, but there are often references in them that I don’t understand.”
Sounds like what I was thinking before: there’s things she doesn’t know. And stories she doesn’t know too, I bet. She seems to like stories about people, maybe I can amuse us both:
“Have you ever heard of Robin Hood?”
“Who?”
“He was a great hero, ma’am. Always fighting villains with bow and sword, and saving common people from their evil rulers. From England, he was, up in Nottingham. He lived a long time ago…”
And I’m off, telling her one of the stories that I love. She asks a few questions, about knights and sheriffs and monks which I answer as I can. But I can tell she likes the story. Da loved to tell these tales, and they’re too good a memory for me to give up.
When I’m done, we’re both quiet for a bit. Then Miss Vastra stirs, and looks at me with that little tilt of her head, and says, “I’ve given some thought to your situation. Both your immediate future, and for the next few weeks.”
“Yes, ma’am?’
“I think that our first priority is to get you some proper food. The pigeons were a good start, but you mentioned vegetables and bread. You eat differently than I do, but Apes, I mean humans, seem to do well with a variety of foods. And I believe at least one change of clothes would be wise.”
“Pity I can’t go back home, even if only for a few minutes. Had to leave two sets of clothes there. And a few other things.”
“Such as?”
“My mug, a copybook and school slate, couple of handkerchiefs I’d made. Nothing fancy, and really, how useful would that lot be on the streets?”
“Yet they were yours, and you should have them back. You said your father worked at the docks?”
“Yes, ma’am”
“So your former residence is now unguarded during the day?”
“Pardon? Oh! I get yer meaning! Yes, That’s right.”
“Then I think we should pay a visit to your father’s room, and recover such items as may be useful to you. And if either your father or the scorpions interfere, I will be very happy to… deal with them.”
I’m not the brightest lamp in the house, but maybe telling the story of a romantic outlaw to a world-weary woman with a sword was not the best idea I’ve had recently.
Just what I need: A jaded lizard lady who is up for a lark.
Blood on Her Hands – Chapter 2
Yesterday (Sunday)
I awoke to the incessant noise of the local birds. Dim grey light trickled through the room’s grimy window. I could hear rain outside; the birds were hiding from it on the windowsills. Beside me, under my cloak which covered us both, and wrapped in a blanket, a small body twitched while it dreamed. My bed had never felt so warm before.
Where was this warmth when I needed it in January, in nightly danger of succumbing to torpor? And I realized: probably freezing on a street somewhere selling matches. I’d seen the hatchlings out there, working long past when they should be home and asleep; perhaps I walked right by this one and refused to listen to a plea for a sale that would give her food for another day.
My back was sore and my leg throbbed, but for all that, I was content. Yes, the monkey was inconvenient, and smelt a bit… though to my surprise, not as much as many Apes did. However, on the whole, I thought I’d done well last night, as the Doctor demanded. I smiled a little, remembering his words.
“Vastra, to redeem yourself for slaughtering those tunnel workers and commuters on the London Underground, I charge you to protect humans, especially those of Great Britain, from all enemies, alien and domestic.”
“You can’t do that! The Apes are violent, destructive monsters!”
“Humans aren’t all alike. Some are weak, some are strong. Some abuse their fellows and some offer kindness to strangers. Many are cowards and many are very, very brave. And you’ll be surprised to see that some are all of these things.”
“They slaughtered my sisters while they slept! I hate the Apes for what they’ve done. What they can still do! To my people and to themselves. They are cruel, and primitive and ignorant…”
“Yes, they are. And they are kind and noble and many have good hearts and all make mistakes! Your sisters’ death was a truly terrible accident. The humans had no idea that they were there!” He’d looked at me very seriously, an attitude made difficult by his ridiculous floppy hat and long scarf.
“Vastra, this will change your life for the better. I’m sure of it. Protect them, whether an entire city of humans that seems strong and powerful, or even just one small, weak human, if that’s easier. Learn to walk before you run, as the saying goes.”
” ‘Learn to hunt monkeys before hunting Apes’ is our saying, Doctor,” I’d replied with a fierce, toothy sneer.
“No hunting children, Vastra. I mean it! This is important. Promise me. Please.” And I promised. If only to get him to shut up!
Well, Doctor, I found a little monkey, which is brave and kind, and small and weak, and I protected it for the night.
So, what do I do next?
I took a moment and studied the little Ape. The fur on its head was dark, gathered up with some string at the back of its neck, like a horse tail. It was long enough to reach between its shoulder blades. I’ve seen other hatchlings with fur like this, the older females usually wear their’s wrapped at the back of their heads. Perhaps its an indicator of age or rank. Its skin is pale, but it was dark bruises around its eyes, and still a bit of dried blood on its face. It’s hands have scrapes and bruises too, some fresh and raw, and other that have scabbed over. Interesting.
I sat up, and tried to stand, but a shooting pain through the wound in my leg stopped me. I reached for the chair by the bed, and braced myself as I stood. A moment to work through the pain, and I could hobble the two steps to sit at the table and rest.
On the bed the monkey was quiet, and when I glanced over, I could see it (‘her’ I reminded myself) see her watching me through sleepy eyes.
“Still no brilliant remarks about lizards or snakes?” I snapped, irritated by the pain. “Not even a nice little scream?”
“Umm… No,” she paused, studying me in the grey sunlight from the window. “I’m trying to remember if we’ve met before. Your eyes look familiar somehow.”
“My eyes?”
“Yes. You have kind eyes, Miss. They’re awfully pretty.”
I blinked. I’ve been called many things by Apes, but ‘kind’ and ‘pretty’ are not usually among them. ‘Hideous,’ ‘disgusting’ and ‘savage’ where the words the Apes who came stare at me in the ‘Monstre Gathering’ would use more often than not. I suspected that the hatchling may have suffered a blow to the head. Certainly the dark bruising around its eyes would support that.
The monkey started to sit up, but suddenly yelped in pain. “Gawd!” She stopped moving, eyes closed, breathing shallowly. I started out of the chair, but she shook her head, and then winced again. “No, I’ll be alright. Give me a moment. I’m stiff and everything hurts, but I need to get up. Can’t stay in bed all day.” She managed to sit upright, eyes and mouth tightly clenched.
“Move over to the edge of the bed,” I said, “And let me see your back. There is blood on the blanket. I should have checked your wounds last night, but I wasn’t at my best, and everything happened very fast.”
She did as I asked, and I inspected her back, examining through the ragged cloth the several shallow scrapes and cuts where the dirt and cobblestones had abraded her skin when she was dragged along the ground. Her coat and shirt had given some scant protection, but there are places where the threadbare fabric had torn and her skin was damaged.
“Take your shirt off.”
“Ma’am? No, Ma’am! T’aint proper.”
“Your wounds must be cleaned. The streets of London are filled with filth. You could die from an infected cut or scrape that can be easily prevented. In order for me to do so, you need to remove your shirt.” Suddenly the pain of my own wounds caught up with me, and I lost my patience with her and held up a talon.
“Now, take your shirt off, or I will cut it from your body!” I growled.
I saw her flash a look at the door, gathering herself ready for action, no doubt considering whether she should make a run for it. What must this be like for her, a huge monster behind her, threatening her when she was still hurt and disoriented from last night?
I’m frightening her, so I made an effort, and I stepped back and gentled my voice, saying softly, “That was poorly done of me. I’m hurting as well, and I tend to be ill-tempered and impatient when I’m injured. Let me help you, this truly is for your own good.”
She made a swift movement and I steeled myself to let her go. But she didn’t run, and instead…
Her shirt was… partially off. She pulled it over her head, arms still in the sleeves, and her front covered. I sighed again, strangely relieved. “Excellent. Now let me see…”
Her back was covered with scrapes and blotches, some red and purple and raw, and others that were yellow and almost green and look…older than the damage from last night. What had happened to this hatchling? And yes, there were a number of shallow scrapes and deeper cuts, but most had clotted, and only a few were seeping drops of blood, probably reopened when the shirt came off. And it all needed to be cleaned.
I poured out the bloody water from last night out of the bowl into the slop bucket (I refuse to pour things into the streets like some of these filthy Apes) then pour in some fresh water from the pitcher. I collected a scrap of clean cloth, a bottle of gin, and a box that my old friend left with me for situations such as this, and returned to the bed.
After I soaked the cloth in the water, I scrubbed vigorously at the scrapes on her back. She gritted her teeth for a minute, and then finally yelled “Stop it!”
Startled, I stopped, and realized that she’s breathing hard, tears running down her face. “I’m not a bloody table top, ma’am! Take it easy, you’ll rub my skin clean off the way you going.”
“Well, your back is certainly cleaner. Let me just sanitize the wounds.” I lifted the half-empty Gin bottle and poured a thin stream down her back, moving it from shoulder to shoulder and catching the excess liquid in the bowl. The monkey stiffened her back, and seemed to be fighting to not move away from the stream. I saw that she was now biting her shirt and the tears were back.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Bloody Hell that stings.” She sent a narrow eyed look over her shoulder. “You’ve never done this before, have you?
“I know how to do this in theory, but you’re the first Ape I’ve ever… repaired.”
“You have that sword. You must have cut people before.”
“Well, yes, but I usually kill them.”
“Kill them?”
“I assure you, they almost always deserve it.”
I decided it might be wise not to mention my occasional eating habit right now.
“Anyway, I’m not an Ape! I’m a girl! A human being, if you please.”
“Mammal, ape, human, girl. What does it matter?”
The monkey dropped her head forward onto her chest, and muttered to itself, too low for me to hear. I doubted that it was very complimentary. Considering the discomfort, both mental and physical, that I’d put her through in the last ten minutes, I decided to let her be.
I sorted through the kit that the Doctor left with me on a recent visit. It contained assorted bandages, surgical glue, antibiotics of various types, and pain-killers, better and less addictive than the various opiates used at this time. I pulled out a small bundle marked ‘medical gauze.’ Most of her wounds were scrapes and small cuts; since they were cleaned, wrapping them would be enough, I thought. With her reluctant co-operation, I managed to get her wrapped up, and with a happy sigh she pulled her shirt back on.
I took a bottle of medicine from the box, checking that it was a mild pain-killer. Everything in there was safe for both humans and myself to use. The Doctor, often careless about many things, was careful to ensure that at least this was safe. It was almost as if he knew I’d have to care for humans occasionally. A moment’s work to open the bottle, and I handed her one pill.
“What’s this?” There was a note of suspicion in her voice. Smart little monkey, to not just accept what she’s given by a stranger.
“These will help reduce the pain. Two of these for me, see…” and I showed her the pills in my hand, “and one for you, since you’re rather small. Don’t chew it, I’m told they are very bitter.” I swallowed mine, washing them down with the last of the gin. She popped her pill in her mouth as well, and swallowed it without water or gin
That narrow eyed look was back on her face as she regarded the gin bottle, but she simply said, “Sorry I yelled at you, ma’am. I know you were only trying to help.”
“It’s fine. I suppose I need to learn to be gentler. We’re both hurting and a bit grumpy.” I sighed. “What a pair we are.”
“Yes, ma’am. That we are.”
We were interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Rent’s due!” called out my landlady. Although it was early in the day, I could hear the slur in her voice from drinking the Gin she sold downstairs. Excellent. She was less likely to care that I never show her my face.
I donned my cloak, and pulled out my small purse. I had more money hidden in the room, but I would not touch it while the monkey was here. Better safe than sorry, as the Doctor liked to say.
I turned to the monkey. “I’m not sure you are well enough to leave yet, although you were certainly considering it a moment ago. I live a… solitary life. Someone must be worrying about you, though I’m not sure if I can get a message to them today. I don’t trust my landlady not to lose it. But we could ask her to get a note delivered, if you like.”
“Maybe to the factory where I get my matches? They won’t see it ’til tomorrow though. Sunday’s their day off.”
The match factory? She must be an orphan, or she’d send a message to her parents.
“Are you able to write a short message? Do you know your letters?”
“A little ma’am, though I don’t have much chance to practice. I’m better with numbers. Let’s leave it for now, won’t make much difference anyway.”
Another pounding on the door interrupted us.
“Yes, Yes, Mrs. Brown,” I called and after checking my hood again, opened the door, “I’ll take two bottles of your Gin as well.” There had to be some compensation to living in this rat hole, and the Gin went a small way towards it.
My landlady was mollified by my extra purchase and the coins in her hand, and left us with a gap-toothed smile.
I closed the door, and put the two bottles on the table. “That’s the last coins in my purse.” Hopefully that comment will discourage the hatchling from attempting to rob me while I sleep. “I keep drinking this alcohol, and I have no idea if this Gin is very good, or very bad.”
“No such thing as ‘good’ Gin, ma’am, “she replied, “save to clean wounds, I suppose. Thank you for that as well.”
“You disapprove.”
“T’aint my place to approve nor disapprove, ma’am,” she replied with a shrug.
I considered her words. I suspected that she was not happy about something. Perhaps she considered the Gin a waste of money? Yet it was my money to spend.
“You are correct,” I replied, “It’s not your place.”
A cool nod was my only reply. And then I wondered what had just happened. Why do I suddenly feel that I’ve missed something very important?
She was being almost painfully polite, even though she was young and the young Apes are not known for discretion. What was not being said?
It was time to change the subject. Before I can still my tongue, I ask “You mentioned the Black Scorpions. Who or what are they?”
From her flinch this may not be a wise topic. I’ve done it again. Yet she answers readily enough.
“They’re filth, ma’am. If there’s a sin they can make a profit from, they’re involved. They run gambling and opium dens. They control gangs of pick-pockets. They own some cock and dog fighting rings too. But their favorite crime is keeping whores. They’ve got gangs that go after girls and sometimes boys. They kidnap them, especially if they’re orphans, or sometimes…” she trailed off.
“Sometimes?”
She whispers her reply, as if she can’t believe it herself, “They’ll buy a child from her parents, to forgive a debt or for… other reasons.”
“Surely even among the Apes that’s not legal?”
“No. It’s not. But the Scorpions don’t care. Whispers say that they’re protected by some very rich and powerful men.”
“And the police don’t do anything about this?”
“They try. But murder and burglary is more important to them. They protect the ladies and gentlemen more than common folks like me.” She yawned suddenly. “Why am I sleepy again? I just woke up!”
“That will be the medicine taking effect. Go ahead and sleep; I might take a nap later as well.”
She moved to get off the bed, but I waved her back. If she has fleas, they’re already in the bedding. “No stay there for now. You may as well be comfortable.”
The monkey lay down again, making herself small against the wall on the far side of the bed, leaving me as much room as possible in case I wanted to lie down. “Don’t worry ma’am, I’ll wash your blanket and cloak before I leave…” she muttered, “…least I can do.” And with that, she promptly fell asleep again.
Leave?
Well of course she has to leave… eventually. I understood that.
For some reason I didn’t want to think about it.
I watched the sleeping monkey for a while. I understood what she was doing; the Doctor once explained that sleep is one way that the Apes heal. Given the bruises she had on her torso, she needs to heal a number of old injuries, in addition to her recent ones and the blood loss. Thank the gods she had no broken bones. I do not know what to do for Apes with fractures. I suppose I would need to put her out of her misery. Or perhaps find a veterinarian for Apes. I know such things exist, though I’ve never had reason to find one.
I sipped my gin, restless. I hated being inactive. It had been a long cold winter, and the last night was the first time in several weeks that I was comfortable enough to be outdoors late in the evening.
I reflected on my foolish impulse to help. I could have gone the other way. I could have ignored a cry in the dark. It would have made no difference in the end, save to the monkey and it would have saved me my wounds. The filthy air that surrounds the city would simply have closed over the tiny gap, like a cold river would closed over a drowned garter snake, with about as much impact on the universe.
Blast the little monkey for getting me into this mess. Blast the Doctor for demanding that I make foolish promises. It’s not as if my own fortunes could ever depend on a simple act of kindness. It’s not as if the fate of worlds depends on a life of a little street Ape.
I was growing maudlin. I hated being injured.
I took another drink. I still couldn’t decide if I actually liked the taste of Gin.
Time passed, as it tends to do, even when one is a former companion to a madman in a blue box. Eventually, the monkey woke up again.
I was just finishing the bottle as the monkey stirred. She watched me shake the last of drops into my cup. I smirked at her; she simply gazed at me, sitting up slowly against the wall, as if she was trying to stay out of range. She eyed the slops bucket for a long moment, then the door, and hesitatingly stood up, and edged towards it. I moved to block her way. “Where are you going?” I asked.
“Am I a prisoner then, Ma’am?” and suddenly she was tense, her gaze flickering from me, to the room around me; sides, above, below and I could see options being weighed and decisions being made in her head. And all by instinct. If I attempted to stop her, she would fight and flee. It didn’t matter that I was probably twice her weight and half again as tall. It didn’t matter that she… will lose.
Now that I could see them, her tiny balled fists showed signs of older cuts and bruises on the knuckles; she’d had to fight before last night. Yet she was still standing here, alive. I’d made a foolish mistake: a trapped animal will defend itself. Fiercely.
I stepped out of the line between her and the door, speaking softly. “No,” I said, “but I’m not certain you can move very fast or go very far.” That calmed her a bit as she moved cautiously past me, holding my gaze with her dark eyes. I continued, turning slowly as I held her gaze. “Your body seems to have decided to go into healing mode. You’ll be asleep again within the hour. Better here than outside.”
Letting her make her own choice was hard. With no thought on my part, every instinct I had was suddenly shouting; Protect! Defend! And a tiny whisper: mine! My… monkey? My pet? What nonsense was I thinking?
“I’ll be fine. Feeling much better.” She displayed enough bravado for a warrior cadet. “But I better go down to the privy while I’m awake. Four sets of stairs down will take a while.” She was thinking of the privy on the ground floor. She reached for her coat. If she took it, I knew she’d never return. I needed to make it easier for her to stay.
“There’s a noxious hole for all types of waste disposal behind the door at the end of the hall.” She looked back, surprised. “It’s not pleasant, but it will save your strength.”
She eyed me for a long moment, and then sighed deeply. “Alright. Pass me the slops bucket, then. May as well kill two birds with one stone.”
I passed her the bucket, waited until she left, and hissed in satisfaction. I love it when a plan comes together!
A few minutes later she walked back in the door. She set down the slop bucket and eyed me for a long moment, then shook her head. “Why am I still here?” She asked.
Ah that was a simple question to answer. “Because it is easier to fight a monster in the light, than shadows in the dark.”
“You’re not a monster.” A slight, sad smile from the monkey, “I’ve fought monsters. You’re fierce, and a rather frightening at first, and I don’t want to cross you when you’re angry…” she shrugged. “…but you’re…just different, I guess. You’re not a monster.”
I lived for 5 years as the ‘Monster’ of the ‘Monstre Gathering.” That gave me the savings I have now, slight as they are. I am a true and certified monster that thousands paid good money to view, and cringe at; awed and thrilled
I have killed humans, drunk their blood, and eaten their flesh to appease my hunger. Both those that deserved it… And to my shame, those that did not.
Yet this little monkey truly believes she’s seen worse than I. And I am horrified to think that she may be right. There are days that I hate the City of London.
“Do you have a needle and thread I could use, please?” she asked, as she folded her legs and dropped to the floor, leaning back against the wall. “I can mend the rips in your clothes, if you want.”
“Why are you there?” I asked, “Isn’t that uncomfortable?”
“No ma’am, I’m fine. Been in bed far too long. Time to be up.”
And then I realized what she was doing. Fool, I knew I’d made a mistake earlier. She was making sure I couldn’t get between her and the door again. She’s partly feral, and I’d lost what little trust she had in me for rescuing her. Now I need to let her have time to decide for herself when or if I can regain it. Perhaps if I go along with her…
“I do have needle and thread, and any help you could give would be a favour to me. I’m not very good with mending things.”
“Let me start with your cloak then. Need to mend it before I can wash it.”
She turned the cloak inside out, and repaired both the lining and the outer fabric neatly. She worked steadily for some time, and while she was doing so, I took the opportunity to quietly retrieve a clean shirt and skirt from my clothes chest, and change. I kept my back to the monkey; I’m aware of the basic physical differences between my people and the Apes, and given how jumpy she was earlier on the subject of having her own shirt off, I thought it better to not overburden her with that information.
It hadn’t gone as I’d planned.
“Do you want me to check those cuts again, ma’am? Change the bandages?” Her voice was soft, as if she didn’t want to startle me. “Ma said they should be checked and changed once a day.”
I hesitated a long moment: did I really trust an Ape to see to my injuries? But I couldn’t really see the cuts on my back and leg. I needed a second pair of eyes, and she had at least some knowledge of treating wounds.
“You did well with the one on my back last night; have a look at the slice on my leg.”
“Right then.” She unfolded herself from the corner, and stood waiting. I looked at her, and she smiled a little. “You’ll need to lie down, ma’am. I can’t see the back of your leg properly if you’re standing.”
That presented a problem. I didn’t know if I could trust her while I was vulnerable. I knew she still had that knife she took from the dead Scorpion. What to do about it?
I could demand that she give it to me, I suppose. I could require that she treat me while I’m standing or sitting on the chair, though that would hardly protect me, just make it difficult for her, and might compromise my own care. I could demur from being treated; simply tell her I’ve changed my mind.
Or I could comply with her very sensible request. Just choose an option and do it.
As I hesitated, the monkey looked at me questioningly. “I promise not to be rough, miss. Honest! I don’t want to hurt you.”
Well I can’t ignore a challenge like that! After all, I’m not the one who was threatened earlier. And I still have my own secret weapon: a killer of a tongue.
I lay down on my belly, and the monkey sat on the edge of the bed beside me. She gently lifted the hem of my skirt, bringing it to my knee, and left the edge of it there. I still do not understand all the taboos the Apes have about skin and degrees of nudity, but I appreciated that she was leaving me as much dignity as possible.
The monkey carefully removed the bandage from last night, and I could feel her hand gently tracing the wound. “It’s starting to heal up nicely. There’s no fresh blood. Looks like just the tip of the knife caught a couple of spots on your skin. Cuts don’t seem too deep. If you stay off it another day or two, it’ll heal up fine. Bet it stings though.”
“It does. Pass me the medicine box. There may be something in there to reduce the pain.” She fetched the box, and placed it on the floor near my head. I looked over the edge of the bed and sorted through the contents. I handed a tube of ointment to her. “Put a little bit of this on the cuts, it will help them heal. Not too much, I don’t know if I’ll be able to replace it when the tube is done.”
The monkey nodded, and settled back on the bed, carefully applying the salve. There was a moment when she stroked my scales just a little in the wrong direction, and I felt a ripple of tsokesh, but she quickly finished, and after wiping her hands, wrapped up my lower leg in a clean bandage and cloth.
“Sit up so I can take off these bandages and check your back.” I shifted on the bed, and she helped me unwrap, staying carefully behind me. “This cut looks like it pulled open again, but you’ve been quiet all day.”
“It must have happened last night when I picked you up and put you on the bed.”
“You did? I don’t remember that. I remember working on your back and then…” she trailed off.
“You went into shock. I had no idea what to do, so I just wrapped you in the blanket and tried to keep you warm.” It had been frightening, but I don’t think she was too badly hurt. She’s recovering well, and seems to be coherent between bouts of sleepiness.
“Well, whatever you did worked. So I thank you again. I seem to say that a lot to you.” Behind me I could feel her cleaning up the wound on my back. “There’s just a little bit of fresh blood, I’ll try some of that stuff, and bind it up again.”
“Work from top to bottom, otherwise it pulls my scales in the wrong direction .”
“Sorry. Does it hurt? Itch?”
“No, it just.. feels wrong.”
“Huh. Right then, top to bottom it is.” She applied the ointment carefully as I’d asked, then bound up the wound, wrapping the bandages around my chest and tucking the end in carefully at my side, in case I needed to remove it myself. For one so young, she’s doing very well.
I stretched gently when she was done, settling the new wrappings in place. “Do I need to change your bandages too?” I asked.
“No ma’am, we did mine this morning. I’m safe until tomorrow, thank you.”
I frowned at her for a moment. Cheeky little monkey! Then I shook my head and smiled a little, pleased she didn’t hold my roughness this morning against me.
She grinned back at me and returned to her mending, working on her own coat and my torn blouse and skirt. It was evening again by the time she finished, and folded up the clothes to be washed. She covered her mouth and yawned. “Sorry. Time to go to sleep again. Your turn for the bed, ma’am. You look all done in. I’ll take the floor tonight. See you in the morning.” She curled up, settling herself against the wall.
“Don’t be absurd! You can’t sleep on the floor!”
“It’s your bed, ma’am! I’ve slept worse places these last few months, honest. Besides, in my family, the youngsters always slept on the floor. Bed’s for the adults. Won’t hurt me for the night.”
I considered arguing, but I really was very tired. I tossed her the blanket she’d used last night, wrapped myself in my cloak and lay down to sleep.
I spent the night shivering; the room felt colder that night that it had in months. I missed my little foot warmer.
Blood on Her Hands – Chapter 1
Early March 1881 – (12)
“Filthy, stinking Apes!”
My back aches from my wounds, my rage is fueled by gin, and my mood is dark and bitter. The fact that my head hurts from drinking doesn’t help things.
My empty mug smashes against the wall, narrowly missing the nimbly dodging young monkey who has just walked into my room.
“What in blazes was that for, Miss? Do that again, and kindness or no, I’ll box your ears!”
The little monkey who is the other (temporary) occupant of this filth-hole is watching me closely, wary but not cowering. Never cowering. Not even when it was in danger of being beaten to death by Apes from a clan it calls “The Black Scorpion Tong.”
The evening before yesterday (Saturday night)
I was near the Thames River, close to Three Crowns Lane, scouting the back alleys to learn their layout. No fixed destination in mind, just a reconnaissance patrol to see if there was anything of interest in the area. An entrance to old tunnels perhaps.
I heard a scream of anger and pain, quickly muffled, from a nearby lane way, and when I rounded the corner I found a sight that enraged me. Three grown Apes had pinned a little monkey to the ground, beating it and tearing at its clothing. Another Ape lay groaning in the alley, felled by a lucky kick or punch.
I’d seen similar sights in the worst stews of London before that night, but rarely one where the victim fought back so bravely, if futilely. The little one, biting and flailing, was bruised and bloody; close to being overwhelmed and probably killed…
I knew I could make a quick and easy difference here.
I was arrogant and overconfident. I paid for it.
I sliced the head off an Ape with my sword, and knocked another away with a reversed blow from the butt. The monkey bit the hand of the third Ape covering its mouth and yelled, “Behind you!”
The price I paid was a long shallow slice on my back and a cut on the back of my left leg, inflicted by the Ape in the alley. It must have recovered from its previous injury; it barely missed my spine as I dodged, thanks to the monkey’s warning. I took the Ape down with a back-hand blow and turned back to the monkey, but the last Ape was already running away, screaming for its fellows.
The monkey leaned half collapsed against the wall, staring at me. “Thank you,” it said.
It shoved off the wall, and staggered over to where I was kneeling in the alley, trying to examine my leg. I could see dark stains beneath the monkey’s nose and mouth from its own blood. It fell to its knees, bracing an arm around my shoulder, across my back and I hissed.
“You’re hurt!” It brought its hand around to look at it in the dim twilight, and I could see more dark stains. My blood. The monkey ducked behind me, and I could feel a more gentle touch on my back.
“My eyes aren’t working right,” it muttered, “Your skin looks funny…” Then briskly, “…must be your shirt cloth.”
It must have seen my scales…
The thought went through my mind that I should kill it now, and save myself, but the monkey scrambled over to the bodies, and there was a rip and tearing sound. It returned with some strips of cloth, and my attacker’s knife. It quickly bound up my leg, and fitted a thick pad of cloth across my back, using the knife to tear up more cloth. Then it tucked the knife away, and reached for my sword. I was still clutching it, torn over whether to kill the monkey and protect myself, and I admit I hissed. The monkey drew back, but not far.
“Right, keep it then. You might need it. Those were men from the Black Scorpion Tong, and they’ll be back after me. But you need to get patched up. Do you know someplace safe, sir?”
I thought it was female from the sound and dress, but it was so very hard to tell with Apes, even after living among them for years. Would it (she?) understand simple directions?
“Not here. We need to head for Cheapside where it becomes Poultry.”
It stopped and blinked at me, surprised. After a moment, it murmured, “Well if that don’t beat all… Sorry ma’am. Yes, I know it well. I was born near there.” It sounds almost delighted. Perhaps it believes a female to be less of a threat than a male. A foolish assumption, of course.
It draped my arm over its shoulder, and helped me to my feet, trying to keep my weight off my injured leg. I realized that it was barely as tall as my shoulder, and wondered if it was simply small or very young as well. We limped off, neither of us moving quickly, and both of us on guard against marauding Apes.
My room was over a garish Gin Palace, the entrance located in a back alley off Cheapside, up four flights of stairs. The Gin Palace at that time of night was a noisy, crowded place which stank of Ape sweat and vomit. The little monkey managed to open the door to my room, high above the noise, and helped me inside. The room was pitch black; I’m not so much a fool as to keep an unattended lamp burning while I’m out, and my night vision compensates for the lack of light. The monkey helped me to a chair, located the cheap candle on the table and lit it with a match from its pocket.
An unexpected luxury: by the dim light I could see that its clothes are half rags, even where they weren’t torn from the fight. “Matches?” I asked,” You carry matches?”
“I sell them. I’m a Match Girl, ma’am. Least I was the Black Scorpions decided I would earn more money for them in the oldest way.” Its voice seems to shake a bit. “Do you have any water?”
“In the pitcher there.” As it poured some water into a small bowl that it placed beside me I said, “I don’t understand what you mean.”
It dipped a bit of cloth from its’ pocket into the bowl, and started to move behind me. “Thank God for that, it’s nice to know there’s still one innocent in this city.” At my look of confusion, it sighed and explained: “They wanted me to whore for them, ma’am. Those men were going to, well, break me in.”
I stared, my mind trying to catch up. All I can come up with is, “How old are you?”
“Almost thirteen.”
‘Almost thirteen’ means it’s just a hatchling! “That is truly monstrous.”
“Yes, ma’am, it is.” It sighed, “I’m little better than a street rat, ma’am, but I do have some pride. So I fought. I knew I couldn’t stop them, but I’d be damned if I’d just give in. Thank you again for the rescue, by the way.” And now I can see that its body is starting to tremble a tiny bit. “You need to take your cloak off, ma’am. This needs to be cleaned.”
“I can not. Do your best with it on.”
It moved behind me with the candle, and touched my back again, and with the help of the water, eased away the temporary cloth pad stuck to my skin with dried blood. I remembered that I still may need to kill it to protect my secret, but that’s faded to a whining whisper in my mind rather than a shouted call to battle.
It cleared the cloth from my wound, and patted it clean. I felt the moment when it paused, thinking about what it was seeing. The monkey’s paw moved to the hood of my cloak, giving it a gentle stroke, as if trying to reassure me, and then a very light tug. My hand shot up, holding the hood in place a moment, and then with a sigh I gave in, and let my hood drop. If this monkey must die, let it (no, her, my mind protests, she’s female, as am I; give her some dignity,) let her at least look on the face of her killer.
I turned slowly towards her, letting her get a good look as my face swung into the light of the candle. She was less than an arm’s length away, and her expression was startled for a moment, then… questioning? No screaming, no shouting, no mad scramble to get away.
I always horrified the crowds who came to stare at me in ‘Jago’s Monstre Gathering.’ This one reacted differently. There was a long pause, and then the words she spoke surprised me:
“Sorry to be rude, but… yer not like me. What… no… Who…Who are you?”
Keep it simple, I thought, it’s too much for an Ape to take in: “I’m a lizard woman from the dawn of time. My name is Vastra.” I removed my cloak. There was no point to keeping it on, and it would only interfere with her work.
I only started to really notice it then, though I realized the trembling has been building in the monkey’s body for several minutes. She was shaking more, but still her voice seemed open and curious, not fearful, though her voice shook a bit.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Je…” she trailed off, shakily. A shudder went through her body, distracting her, then she looked up.
“Sorry, your back, I almost forgot. Let’s get this done, fast!”
She was trembling violently now; what the humans call shivering, but through the air was cold and damp since it was early March, it was not a truly bitter cold, and there was no breeze in the room. Why was she shaking so much?
Perhaps a distraction was called for. “How do you know how to dress wounds?” I asked.
“Ma taught me before she died. Me and my brother and sister were always getting into mischief. Usually small cuts and scrapes, easy to fix, but Johnny cut his head open once, and it bled something fierce. Ma said head cuts always do, and showed me how to patch him up properly.”
She quickly put clean strips of cloth in place, and secured them with a few of the bloody rags wrapped around my torso. Not an ideal solution, but better than it was before, when the bandage was loosely tied, and held in place mostly by her hand.
She reached for the bowl of water, and I could see that her hands were dark with the blood from my wounds.
I saw her suddenly twist her head away from me. She sneezed, bringing her hand up to cover her face, and it came away from her nose covered in blood. She’d reopened the damage from the beating.
“Gawd, that’s disgusting. Sorry, ma’am.” She finished her original movement and washed her hands in the bowl. I stared at the bloody water when she was done, transfixed by the sight.
There was so much blood on her small hands, and I couldn’t tell which of the blood was hers, and which was mine. To one who loves the scent and taste of human blood, the smell of our combined blood was disconcerting. Neither tasty, nor unpleasant, but…very confusing.
“Sorry, ma’am, I’m s… so cold all of a sudden…”
And then I remembered the Doctor telling me that a human body can go into a condition… something dangerous, something deadly…
Something he called Shock.
I snatched the thin blanket from the bed, and wrapped her in it. Then, ignoring my freshly bandaged wound, I picked her up and placed her on my narrow bed. I snatched up my cloak, slipped in beside her and spread it over both of us. I wanted to wrap myself around her, within the blanket, but that wouldn’t help. Reptilia Sapiens generate little internal heat, and I’d only steal her warmth and cool her body, making the problem worse. She could not afford that now. But I held her, and rubbed her back and arms, trying to stimulate her own blood flow.
And I worried.
She didn’t scream at my face, though adults Apes often have.
She helped me home, though she could have run in terror near the river.
She said ‘thank-you.’ Twice. More times that I’ve heard the words since I last saw The Doctor.
She’s a young five-for-a-penny street Ape, and I suspect that she has the heart of a dragon.
And I realized… I didn’t want her to die.
And with that thought, we both finally succumbed to exhaustion, and sleep.
Welcome to “The Dragon’s Heart” series!
Jenny Flint and Madame Vastra. Homo Sapien and Reptilia Sapien. Ape and Lizard. An impossible friendship. Follow them from their meeting in 1881 when Jenny is 12 and Vastra is… considerably older, as they learn to trust, to be friends, to be partners… and so much more.
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Hello!
Welcome to my Blog for “The Dragon’s Heart”! This series of stories follows the adventures of Jenny Flint and Madame Vastra from the BBC series “Doctor Who.” Based on “The Brilliant Book 2012” and various interviews with Catrin Stewart (Jenny Flint) and Neve McIntosh (Madame Vastra), the stories begin in March 1881 and keeps on going. There’s action, adventure, mystery, crime-fighting, swords, and a surprising amount about London in the late Victorian era. Oh, and there’s a dash of age-appropriate romance as well.
In addition to the stories, which also appear on Fanfiction.net and ‘Archive of Our Own’, I’ll post pictures, maps, links and other goodies as the whim strikes me. Often these are reference materials that I use to add a taste of Victorian London to the stories.
I hope you enjoy the series!
October 16, 2013
Greyghost
(Sometimes know as GreyGhost101.)
The Dragon's Heart Series 