A Masterpiece of Corruption

  ‘What’s that thing sticking out of its back?’ Jem demanded.

  ‘I’m not going down into that pit just so you can have the knife,’ said Dick. ‘It can’t be worth more than sixpence.’

  ‘That’s not my point,’ said Jem. ‘I mean, why is there a knife sticking out of that customer’s back?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Dick. ‘Could be all sorts of reasons.’

  ‘Get him back up here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He don’t belong there.’

  ‘But he’s dead, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that’s a grave, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, what’s wrong with that?’

  ‘That pit,’ said Jem, ‘is for customers who’ve died of the plague. You don’t get to be buried there – free at the City’s expense – if you’ve died of something else. Stands to reason. Everybody would die of the plague if you allowed that.’

  ‘What if we didn’t notice the knife? We didn’t see it until he landed on his front. And that’s the honest truth.’

  ‘So you say. Well, we have all seen it now, haven’t we? More than my job’s worth to bury him here.’

  ‘We could just chuck another customer or two on top of him …’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You fetch him out then,’ said Dick bravely. ‘If you want him so much, you do it.’

  ‘You threw him in. You fetch him out,’ said Jem.

  So, with a very bad grace and much muttering, Dick lowered himself carefully into the pit and began the joyful process of resurrection.