Day 466

To have a butcher's. Cockney rhyming slang derived from "butcher's hook" = "to look".

The guidebooks didn't mention how the sewers were full of blood.
They didn't say anything about the colour of the Thames or that raw stench everywhere.
It seemed to seep into everything - clothes, books and even the food carried it's taint.
Londoners never mentioned it though, they were immune to the river's effects.

Newcomers and other outsiders however bore the full brunt of it all.
Some survived but most ended up like the locals or like the other river-dead.
It wasn't uncommon to see corpses floating past the dozens of merchant boats.
The guidebooks didn't mention that either.

One particular newcomer had crossed the sea back to the birthplace of his parents.
His American accent stuck out like a sore thumb as did his reactions.
Every Londoner knew that you didn't hang around places, you went and went quick.
This man though, he soon formed a habit of chatting to the local butcher for hours.

To the newcomers face the man didn't seem bothered at all and continued to work.
He would pause every now-and-then between answering questions to thoughtfully hack a joint
before resuming conversation as though nothing had happened.
The newcomer was curious about the flooring and the butcher was losing patience.

You see, most shops had thick metal grating instead of the traditional sawdust and wood.
Why bother sweeping when it'll all flow away under your very feet?
It just made sense to them.
Tourists and travellers could rarely stand to see what went on underneath everything, poor souls.

This one however wasn't dissuaded, no matter how many bodies went under him.
He didn't so much as bat an eyelid as a dying beggar-woman and her screaming baby drowned.
The woman even stuck her hand through the grating and died like that, all stuck and rotting.
The butcher just about managed to pry her off and push her down with a broom handle.

All the while the newcomer just observed, his expression vaguely amused.
Something was clearly wrong with him - probably river sickness.
It got into your head, the smells and sounds, most travellers can't stand it and lose the plot entirely.
This one wasn't showing the usual symptoms (twitching, vomiting, hysteria and suchlike).

Still there was something off about him, something peculiar about the way he carried himself.
It got to the point where his "friend" invited him to the shop's back for "a proper butcher's".
Strangely his corpse kept reappearing though, always stuck under the butcher's floor staring up.
Alway with that same vaguely amused expression on what little remained of his face.