Chapter 9
Replies to anonymous reviews:
MK: Well, for now he's just got a cold... but you never know :P LOL a physical showdown with Lucy? That'd be the day, huh? XDD
Bloody Pumpkinhead: Wow, someone sure had a lot of sugar! XD Haha, I'm hooked on Sweenett too... it's jsut the awesomest pairing ever :)
Laura: Oh, thank you so much!! :D You'll soon see about the judge... very soon :P
AmberHart: Oh yes, the love triangle. I like those too :P They just make things so much more exciting XD LoL, I would write faster but I'm so busy all the time, that's why my chapters are usually so short... Haha I'm glad you're enjoying the story though! :D
Sweeney hurried around the street corner, cursing himself for being sick as he coughed uncontrollably. His breath left his mouth in small, condensed white clouds of vapor which immediately fell away in the frigid air. He stopped for a moment and looked about, scanning the shops for the one Mrs. Lovett had directed him to enter, rubbing his aching throat.
It was easily the darkest, gloomiest shop on the entire length of the street, and to no great surprise. It was the apothecary.
The cracked glass windows were dusty in their filthy frames; set into the exterior walls which were so weathered and beaten that they were now a dull, insipid gray under the low-hanging roof. The interior of the building was so obscured that Sweeney could see nothing more than vague outline of figures inside, moving about like wraiths in a murky fog.
Sweeney looked up and down the street cautiously, and coughed once into his fist before striding quickly across the street, and pushing open the door of the apothecary with one hand. An old woman pushed past him hurriedly on her way out, shoving him hard against the dirty doorframe. Sweeney grunted as his hip and shoulder blade scraped against the edge of the doorway, and he shot a murderous glance at the old woman's rapidly retreating back, already halfway down the street.
The inside of the apothecary was just as gloomy as the outside, every corner filled with thick, dense shadows, and the milky outlines of filmy, almost transparent cobwebs. The windows were no cleaner from this perspective then that outside, and the counter and the shelves behind it were filled with bottles and jars were covered in no less than a clear inch of grime. The disheveled woman behind the counter looked to be in no better condition then the rest of her shop.
Sweeney tucked his hands into his pockets as he stepped in front of the counter, taking care to avoid touching or stepping on anything, especially that suspicious looking dark spot on the floor, which appeared perhaps more dirty then the rest of the shop. He didn't want to be any sicker then he already was, and the fumes emanating from the room in the back were strong and sour and strange. The rancid odor that had hit him when he walked in had already made him gag, and inhaling the vapors of whatever the woman was brewing in her back room were probably bad enough already.
"What can I do for you, sir?" she asked, her rasping voice barely louder than a whisper.
"I need something that will be undetectable even once it is subjected to extreme heat," Sweeney began, in a voice almost as hoarse as her own, much to his embarrassment. "It must be tasteless, odorless, and colorless. It must be something that will cause excessive amounts of pain, but only after a certain amount of time, and only for a short while. It must also be something that does not cause a suspicious death, and it must, most importantly,cause death."
The scruffy woman listened to his list calmly, and without missing a beat turned around to face her shelf, mumbling, "I've got just the thing." She trailed her finger over all the dusty labels of the jars on the first shelf, mouthing the names of the ingredients slowly as she read them. Sweeney looked about restlessly as she searched; he had risked a quick glance into the pie shop when he and Mrs. Lovett had parted ways at the bottom of the stairs, and luckily it had seemed to be busy enough when he had left. But he knew that the pie baker could only put off taking the Judge's order for so long.
Finally, the woman pulled a small bottle off the shelf and blew on it, sending a spray of unsettled dust flying into the air. She turned and handed it to Sweeney triumphantly.
"That should do it, sir," she rasped. "Tasteless, odorless, and colorless. It can be exposed to the hottest of ovens in the whole of London, and will not lose its effect. The pain doesn't start for about three days, but after that the drinker is in a great deal of abdominal pain for four days before they get sick and die. Leaves no trace at all on the body. Good luck, sir."
Sweeney stood there for a moment and thumbed the label of the bottle, wondering if this particular apothecary owner was an honest one. Most of them just brewed their poisons and medicines and didn't bother meddling in their customers' business — it was like a code they used — but once in a while you came across a dishonest one, that was always looking for a quick reward from the nearest officer of the law, and wouldn't hesitate to turn a customer in after hearing about a suspicious murder. That is, if they had enough brain cells left to put two and two together, considering they worked all day inhaling poisonous gases.
He supposed that he could always 'clean up' after himself later, if need be. He placed a few coins on the counter, gave the woman a curt nod of thanks, and pocketed the bottle carefully.
The wind was cold against his face as he hurried back down Fleet Street, walking as fast as he could and hoping that Mrs. Lovett had been able to stall for long enough that he could return.
Instead of going inside, Sweeney passed by the window of the pie shop and caught Mrs. Lovett's eye, making sure she saw him, before proceeding immediately down into the bakehouse.
He pushed open the door and stood in the middle of the floor, turning about and examining the large oven, the meat grinder, and the other baking instruments with vague interest. His eyes fell on the pile of bodies in the corner; there were only three men there today, as Sweeney had not been open for very long when the Judge had decided to drop by. Their open, staring eyes were glazed over and empty, and their faces were bloated grotesquely out of proportion.
"Mr. T?"
Sweeney jumped and whirled around when Mrs. Lovett said his name. He hadn't even heard her come down the stairs.
"A bit on edge are we, Mr. T?" she teased playfully, but he could tell by her tense face that she was as nervous as she was.
"Well, I took 'is order just before I came down 'ere, so 'e's waitin' for it now," she said. Her expression was suddenly serious. "D'you 'ave it?" she asked.
Sweeney produced the tiny bottle and handed it to her without a word. She weighed it in her hand for a moment, then walked over to the oven. She set the bottle on the floor carefully, out of the way so that she wouldn't knock it over accidentally, and pulled the oven open with a jarring, wrenching clang. The flames glimmered and danced, casting flickering shadows over the dark, damp stone walls of the bakehouse.
" 'And me that tray of pies over there, would ya, love?" Mrs. Lovett asked, picking up the bottle again. Sweeney did as she asked, and watched as she pulled open the top crust of one pie. She uncorked the bottle, but before she could begin to pour the mixture, Sweeney stopped her, placing a hand quickly on her arm.
"No," he said. "This is for me to do."
Mrs. Lovett looked up at him. The combination of the long shadows and the shifting, shimmering light from the fire made his face look eerie, and much more menacing than usual, albeit his anxious expression. She could understand his need to do this himself; it was his revenge, after all, not hers. She held out the bottle and Sweeney took it, taking care not to let it drop and smash on the floor.
She held open the pie crust for him as he poured the concoction carefully over the pie filling, until all the liquid was gone from the small bottle. Sweeney tossed it aside without a second thought, and gave the poisoned pie back to Mrs. Lovett. She closed the crust and pinched the edges together, and when she was done it looked like any one of the other pies on the tray.
Sweeney stood back and watched as she set the Judge's pie the farthest to the right in the oven, to bake with the others.
Mrs. Lovett made to go back upstairs, but Sweeney didn't follow her.
"Are ya stayin' down 'ere, love?" she asked him. He nodded slowly, still staring at the closed oven with a far away look on his face.
"All right, then," she said.
Sweeney listened to Mrs. Lovett hurrying up the stairs, back to the rest of her customers. He could hear her footsteps, but to him they seemed distant and disconnected.
He could hardly believe it. He was finally, finally going to kill the Judge. Such a clashing of emotions filled his mind that he couldn't even figure out how he felt about the whole matter. Imagining how devastated Lucy would be when she heard the news that her husband was dead brought a satisfied smirk, unbidden, to his lips. Oh, and she would suffer. He hoped that she would suffer horribly. Just like he had.
Sweeney sat against the wall opposite the oven, beside the door, and watched the poisoned pie baking cozily amongst the crackling flames. Soon, he thought, soon.
He didn't know how long he sat there, and he began to feel a bit drowsy after a while. But when he heard Mrs. Lovett's footsteps coming back down the stairs, he got to his feet and waited for her by the oven.
She entered the room quietly, and when she saw him waiting she gave him a small smile. Sweeney watched like a hawk as she pulled the pies from the oven and put them on a tray, keeping his eyes fixed on the Judge's 'special' pie, to be sure that they did not have a mishap and mix it with the others.
He lost sight of it when she turned around, but he was sure that she knew which one it was. He followed Mrs. Lovett up the stairs, out of the bakehouse, and into the shop, where there were several customers awaiting their orders. Including the Judge.
Toby had taken another tray from the counter, and took half of the pies on Mrs. Lovett's tray to help her serve people more quickly.
Sweeney stood at the doorway, watching Mrs. Lovett as she walked over to the Judge, smiling and giving a quick greeting as she set the pie down in front of him. The Judge's eyes roamed her figure unashamedly and unsubtly when she turned away to serve another customer, and Sweeney felt a strange flicker of anger boil up inside him momentarily. How dare he ogle the woman when her back was turned, and so shamelessly! What could Lucy have ever seen in the man? Oh well. He would be getting what was coming to him soon enough.
Sweeney felt a hint of a sadistic smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched the Judge take the first bite of the pie.