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Two
Aface,kindandcreased,withgreymuttonchopwhiskers,peeredoutfromthetopofthefeathers.Thebodybeneaththeface,whereitwasnotcoveredwithfeathers,waswoundroundandaboutwithropes.RichardfoundhimselfrememberingatheatricalperformanceofRobinsonCrusoehehadbeentakentoasachild:thiswaswhatRobinsonCrusoemighthavelookedlike,ifhehadbeenshipwreckedonarooftopinsteadofadesertisland.
"TheycallmeOldBailey,lad,"saidtheman.Hefumbledatabatteredpairofglasses,onastringaroundhisneck,andpulledthemon,staringthroughthematRichard."Idon’trecognizeye.Whatbaronydoyougivefealtyto?What’syourname?"
Richardpulledhimselfintoasittingposition.Theywereontheroofofanoldbuilding,builtofbrownstone,withatowerabovethem.Weatheredgargoyles,missingwingsandlimbsand,inacoupleofcases,evenheads,juttedsadlyfromthecornersofthetower.Fromfarbelowhecouldhearthewailofapolicesiren,andthemutedroaroftraffic.Acrosstherooftop,intheshadowofthetower,wassomethingthatlookedlikeatent;anoldbrowntent,muchmended,spackledwhitewithbirdshit.Heopenedhismouthtotelltheoldmanhisname.
"You.Shutup,"saidthemarquisdeCarabas."Don’tsayanotherword."ThenheturnedtoOldBailey."Peoplewhoputtheirnoseswheretheyaren’twantedsometimes"—hesnappedhisfingers,loudly,beneaththeoldman’snose,makinghimjump—"losethem.Now.You’veowedmeafavorfortwentyyears,OldBailey.Abigfavor.AndI’mcallingitin."
Theoldmanblinked."Iwasafool,"hesaidquietly.
