Notes: I'm not dead! And the last chapter is pretty much half finished already. After this one there's maybe one and a half to go. Sorry for the delay, life kind of go tin the way for a while...
The Judge was like an itch that Sweeney Todd just couldn't reach, an irritation that vexed him, drawing his focus, leading him to distraction. The man was an itch that needed to be scratched. Mr. Todd had just the right razor to scratch him with.
The barber paced the length and breadth of his shop, prowling like a caged bear. He muttered to himself, voicing a stream of consciousness under his breath, not even aware that he was doing so.
Mrs. Lovett's noise had long since stopped, replaced by a jumble of sound from her shop. Every so often he heard the bell above her shop door tinkle, or a bubble of laughter bursting from the patrons below as they supped ale with their generous helpings of pie. The beadle might be in those pies, Mr. Todd found himself thinking, a vicious little thrill of satisfaction tingling down his spine. No, he realised, not those pies. The beadle would be in the grinder yet, bones stripped and ready for burning, guts sluiced away and anything of value tucked away into Mrs. Lovett's pockets. Justice. He deserved it after everything he had done.
But the Judge persisted in his mind, a venomous mix of memory and hate. The hate surged of a sudden. For a moment the barber wondered if it would be easier, perhaps of more value to the world, to slit his own throat. That was a coward's solution, he decided. He had not survived fifteen long years at labour, in exile, to make a coward's choice.
How. That was the question. How to bring the judge to him? How to do the deed without arousing suspicion? There were no longer thoughts of just getting the job done; Of going to Turpin's house, slitting his throat and awaiting the consequences. Mr. Todd didn't seem to have realised it yet, but he wanted to survive. He wanted to go on after Judge Turpin's life had been extinguished. To go on meant to devise a means of diverting suspicion. The Judge must simply disappear. There must be nothing to link him to the barber shop. That meant, Todd realised that there could be no written note. A messenger then. The boy perhaps, to tell the Judge to come to the barber shop at once.
Why? Why should Judge Turpin come to him? What could motivate a man of such self righteousness? What was the weakness of any man, the barber realised. Women. "Johanna," Mr. Todd breathed. The idea came upon him in a rush that left him reeling. It was ingenious, it was perfect, and it was completely true. Spurred into action, the barber was out the door and down the stairs before he realised what he was looking for. He glanced left and right through the courtyard, pushing through the throng to burst into Mrs. Lovett's pie shop.
She was behind the counter loading pies onto a tray to sell, using metal tongs to gently pluck the reheated pies from the small shop oven. She looked up to brush a stray curl from her eyes, leaving a streak of flour across her forehead. When the baker saw him her eyes went wide. Mr. Todd looked wild, animal, caught in the fever of his plan.
"Mr. T!" she gasped, "is something the matter?"
"I need the boy," Mr. Todd spoke impatiently, voice and eyes filled with fervour. "Where is the boy?"
Mrs. Lovett looked at him strangely for a moment. She raised her voice, calling in the direction of the basement; "Toby!"
"Coming!" The boy's voice came up from below, preceding him by only a second. The boy carried yet another tray of pies, these ones only just baked. "Yes ma'am?" Toby asked, setting his tray down on the table.
"Mr. T was wishful of you," Mrs. lovett nodded to the barber.
Toby looked at Mr. Todd with open apprehension. It was hard to trust a man who looked to fanatical, let alone one who was also a murderer.
"Toby," Mr. Todd said, subconsciously raising a hand to stroke his razor. "I need you to deliver a message for me."
Solemnity made the boy look much older than he was as he gazed up at the barber. "When was you wanting it to be delivered, sir?" The 'sir' was added as an afterthought and only because Toby felt that it may not be a good idea to purposefully put himself at odds with the man. That light in Mr. Todd's eyes could not be a good thing.
"Immediately." Mr. Todd's reply was quick, the words clipped from his mouth like they were being cut with the razors he loved. "Now. I need you to run to Judge Turpin's house and tell him that Johanna has been kidnapped by Anthony -"
"Mr. T!" Mrs. Lovett's startled gasp wasn't even enough to make the barber pause. Her hands flew to her mouth; Toby could only imagine that this was some scandal that he'd yet to hear of.
"- and he will be bringing her to my shop," Mr. Todd barged on, anticipation bringing a growl to his voice, " tell him I am an honourable man and wish only to make amends for this offence."
Toby hesitated. "And," he asked timidly, "should he ask why you haven't sent for the police?"
"I trust his integrity more," Mr. Todd barked, the words bitter in his mouth, "it's a private matter. Go!"
The last was almost a roar. The sudden increase in volume sent Toby hopping, he rand out of the store without even pausing to untuck the apron from his belt. Good, the barber thought viciously, still tasting bile from the abhorrent lie; the apron lent credence to the story, imposing just how urgent the message was.
"Mr. T!" Mrs. Lovett hissed, her hands suddenly clutching at his arm. "have you run mad?" she demanded, as loudly as she dared with customers still outside. "I've still got customers what want feeding! It wont be empty for hours yet, someone will see!" Mr. Todd ignored her, but she only clutched still more tightly he harder he tried to tug his arm from her grip. Somehow it didn't occur to him to turn his blades to her skin. "And shame," she hissed into his ear, "shame on you for giving up your own daughter."
That gave him pause. The barber's fire was extinguished in an icy clarity. Very calmly, very softly, he turned to speak to Mrs. Lovett. "Anthony is not bringing her here. I wont see her."
Mrs. Lovett's grip eased, allowing him to pull his arm free of her grip, perhaps more gently than he would have before. Mr. Todd seemed to hesitate a moment, then he was gone out the door again, replaced by a man in a grey suit who wished to take half a dozen pies. Mrs. Lovett served him with her mind on other things, nearly waving him away when her offered her the money. She wanted to follow Mr. Todd upstairs, to gentle him with words and a healthy dose of gin... the urge would remain unfulfilled. With a bustling shop and no Toby to help her, all Mrs. Lovett could do was attend to business and pray that everything would be alright.
Each second passed with excrutiating slowness, the time between the tick and tock of the matle clock unnaturally long. Mr. todd could barely breathe. It felt as if the air he forced through his lungs had turned to soup. Mrs. Lovett had closed her shop early to accomodate him, though it had been difficult for her to do so. The baker had simply claimed a problem with her oven and shooed all new customers away with the promise that it would be working again tomorrow. When her few remaining customers had left she had quickly dashed about, tidying up and closing shop as quickly as she could. Mr. Todd could barely hear her now over the sound of his own heart, an insistent drumming that drowned everything else out.
He almost missed the sound of approaching footsteps, hearing them only a moment before a small fist rapped on the door. "Come in," Mr. Todd barked, disappointed yet because he knew it was not the Judge at his door. Sure enough the door opened on Toby and not Turpin.
"He's coming," Toby informed the barber shortly, "he said he was coming, that was I was run ahead and tell you, he'll be here on the hour."
Mr. Todd swung around to look at the clock, noting the time as his heart began to pound again. "On the hour," he repeated in a murmur. "Boy!" Mr. Todd turned on his heel, regarding the youth with a cold expression. "Why don't you go downstairs and have a tot of gin with Mrs. Lovett."
Toby hesitated, then nodded. "Yes sir," he answered quietly. "And... good luck, sir."