As it turned out, "not far" for Fisher was indeed quite the distance in mine and Newham's opinion. We stayed close together and close to Fisher as we could, as the streets became more dingy and run-down, and dirtier and a lot more unfriendly. The little Inspector, though, seemed decidedly unfazed.
Newham, though, was more on edge than I was. I couldn't hold his hand, as I was masquerading as a boy, and since the way we walked was awfully quiet I didn't fancy breaking the silence, especially with my middle class accent.
"There" Fisher pointed, up to a grimy old sign which otherwise I would have totally missed. Under the dirt, I saw a crude picture of a bull, faded blue.
"Right" I muttered, a little apprehensively, running a dry tongue around my lips.
"Let's make this quick" Newham said briskly. "Lead on, Fisher."
"Right" Fisher said hesitantly, and I finally caught a glimpse of uncertainty from him. He strolled almost calmly up to the rotten old door, and opened it, allowing a rush of hot air to rush out, coupled with the smell of alcohol and the roar of the men drinking inside. We followed the police inspector inside, and the three of us wormed our way to the bar.
"Yer the lan'lord?" Fisher yelled over the noise, having attracted the attention of the bartender.
"After a free binge, are ya, mate?" the bartender replied, with a mocking smirk on his face. He then told Fisher to go away, using far too colourful language to be printed.
"Nah, mate" Fisher replied loosely. "I were told yer might have a message, for sommat comin' lookin'."
"Message, eh?" the bartender smirked. I elbowed someone not to gently in the ribs to get up next to Fisher.
"Yeh" I added, trying to mimic Fisher's London twang, and smiling rather wolfishly at the bartender. Personally, I thought I was doing alright.
"Awrigh', young misters" the bartender said pacifyingly. "Ere yer are. Don't make much sense to me, so I don't see what you two brats'll make of it."
He shoved a piece of paper into Fisher's outstretched hand. I was too busy congratulating myself on being mistaken for a boy.
There was a shout from behind, and we both spun around, just in time to see Newham launch a flying fist into another man's face.
"Kit, take it and get out" Fisher muttered, shoving the paper into my hand and pushing me towards the door.
"Oi!" he then yelled, stepping between Newham and the other man, both of whom, I noticed with a jolt, had blood streaming down from one part or other of their faces.
"Old it back, both of yer" Fisher snapped, with surprising force and effect. He glared at the second man, pushing Newham towards me and the door at the same time. We stood together, just by the door, waiting for Fisher to join us so we could leave. But Fisher hadn't been fast enough to escape himself, as another giant of a man picked him up by the scruff of his neck, so his feet were easily a foot off the floor.
"Ello again" the giant grumbled, turning the little man to face him. Fisher, to my amazement, didn't even flinch. He rolled his tongue around his teeth, experimentally, almost, before flashing an incredibly un-Fisherlike smile. It was more of a gloat, really.
Then everything happened at once.
I had been so focused on Fisher that I hadn't spotted the rest of the men, about four or five of them, who had stood up to encircle the pair. Fisher brought his knee up fast, straight into the jaw of the man who held him. The grip on his shirt was released, and the wiry little Inspector dropped to the floor, ducking a punch thrown at his face and sprinting for the door, taking my hand again and pulling me after him, out of the bar. Newham slammed the door behind us and leant on it.
"That could have been worse" he commented, still with a bloody nose.
"It's not over yet. Run" Fisher ordered seriously, and as we ran the rotting door flew almost off its hinges, the five angry men appearing in the doorway. We sprinted down the dirty streets as the heavens opened, and the rain began to pelt down, the sky black as thunder. There were shouts and yells from behind as Fisher guided us through the cobbled mazes of Whitechapel, and slowly, slowly, the dirt and dinginess of the surroundings seemed to lift, and we were soon running through clearer streets, and the occasional cab even passed us by. It was onto one of these cabs that we eventually jumped, ensuring that our persuers, who had still been persuing, were left far behind.
"Is it over now, Fisher?" Newham asked sarcastically. I could see why he was upset. He still had fresh blood dripping down his face from where his nose had been bust, and I suspected he had broken it. From what I could see, it didn't look straight, and the running couldn't have helped with the pain. Fisher too, I had noticed by the end, was favouring his right knee a little. Obviously the giant man's chin had been harder than Fisher had expected, I thought dryly.
Compared to those two, my bumps and bruises were relatively minor, a couple of scrapes from jumping over the wall, and a bruise on my hip from where I had landed, but nothing major. I knew Isabel was going to have a complete fit, though.
We jumped off the cab near the Scotland Yard headquarters, and walked (well, in Fisher's case, limped) the rest of the way. We got a lot of dirty looks, as we looked like right vagabonds by then, but I reckoned neither of the men cared. And to be honest, neither did I.
Fisher led us up a back stairway to his office. I realised I was going to have to send Isabel home to get me a change of clothes, as my other dress was at the theatre. We sneaked into Fisher's office and collapsed, Newham and I sharing the armchair and Fisher on his desk chair. None of us said a word.
"Someone's got to ring Izzy" I pointed out weakly. "She'll be back home, I'd imagine."
"I will" Fisher offered quietly, sitting up in his chair and reaching for the telephone. "I've got a change of clothes here, but she'll have to bring some for you two."
"My neighbour knows Izzy" Newham put in thickly, through the handkerchief he was trying to stop the bloodflow with. "She'll let her in to my flat."
Fisher picked up the telephone and dialled the number. I leaned back gently on Newham's shoulder, taking off my flat cap and letting my hair out of its bun, feeling the crinkly feeling that you always got after having your hair up for long ripple all around my head. It was a one man armchair, so I had been basically sitting on Newham's knee already, so I knew he wouldn't mind.
"What did you do?" I muttered in his ear, looking meaningfully at his nose.
"Bloke came up, said I wasn't from around there" Newham replied bluntly, his words muffled by the handkerchief. "He was flat out drunk, and spoiling for a fight. Swung at me, hit square on, so I returned the favour. Tried to knock him clean out, but he wasn't so drunk as to forget how to block a punch. Still" he added with a wry smile. "I messed up his face more than he messed up mine."
I poked him irritably in the ribs.
"You nearly got the lot of us up to our necks in trouble!" I pointed out firmly. Newham shook his head.
"No. I think he was more trouble than I was, down there" he murmured quietly, looking over at Fisher, who was bargaining with what sounded like a hysterical Isabel on the other end of the line.
"What?" I murmured back, narrowing my eyes as he looked back at me.
"He knew the whole place like the back of his hand" Newham pointed out. "And he got recognised in that pub. I'm sure that giant whose jaw he rearranged said he knew him from somewhere. And that accent he slipped into. You can't put on an accent that good."
"So what?" I asked, trying to steer Newham away from the topic. "Fisher came from Whitechapel. What of it?"
"How did a Whitechapel street rat come to be working in Scotland Yard, is what I want to know" Newham mused, sounding a little bitter.
"That's taking it a bit far!" I complained. "You can't call him that. He's Fisher. You know him."
"All the same" Newham grumbled. "He's not been telling us something."
"Is now really the time?" I asked suddenly, deciding that reasoning wasn't working, and attack was best. "There's a murder happening tomorrow, and for all we know, there could be hundreds of these little clues scattered around London for us to solve. We'll discuss Fisher later, I promise. Just don't give anything away, just yet. And don't tell Isabel anything about this, or I'll kill you."
Newham smiled weakly at me. He had cleared the blood from his nose as we had talked, and now you could properly see where the man's fist had connected with his face. Gently, he leaned forward and brushed his lips on mine.
"Not a word" he promised. "But if..."
"If it turns out to be something bad, then we tell her" I cut in. "But not before."
We looked over again at Fisher, who had just put the phone down.
"Izzy'll be...about h-half an hour" he told us, his trademark stammer back in place. I smiled, nodding.
"Anyone feel like tea or coffee?" I asked. "Only we can't really clean up yet, since we haven't got stuff to change into."
"Sounds excellent. I'll make, Allie, if you'll move off me" Newham offered, but I shook my head stubbornly.
"You've got a broken nose, and Fisher's hurt his knee. I'll make. Coffee for the both of you, I assume?"
There were two nods of heads, and I hopped up and over to the coffee.
"My...my knee's fine, by the way" Fisher pointed out, after a minute. I smiled at him.
"I'm glad."
We were both very careful to dance around the topic of how Fisher had got that injury, but Newham glared from over in the armchair, so I glared back at him with equal amounts of distaste as I handed over his coffee and sat down on the floor with my tea.
"Izzy's going to have a fit" I sighed, over the lingering silence in the air.
"She's...already had one" Fisher commented dryly from the safety of his desk chair. "O-On the telephone."
"Does she know about my nose?" Newham asked the room, with a little smirk.
"I think she'll be more worried about your knee, Fisher" I quipped, finishing my tea and curling back up on Newham's knee again. He poked me gently, as if to tell me to behave.
"W-We should sleep a while, now" Fisher pointed out. "I-if we can. I...fancy it's going to be another late night."
His reminder prompted me to pull out the piece of paper from my pocket. I opened it up, and Newham looked over my shoulder.
25 15 21 19 5 5 11 20 8 5 19 5 23 9 14 7 16 18 9 14 3 5 19 19 9 14 20 8 5 3 18 25 19 20 1 12 16 1 12 1 3 5
Newham looked up at me, then at Fisher, and groaned.
"How much coffee does this place have?" he asked.
"I-I reckon a lot less...by the time we're done" Fisher replied.