Time Scout by Robert Asprin & Linda Evans

”No. Draggers. They look for dropped valuables, including bodies they can loot for money and other sellable items.”

”Corpses!” Margo gasped. “My God, Malcolm — “ She bit her tongue. “Sorry.”

”Dressed as a boy, it’s not such a grave error, but I’d still prefer you said Mr. Moore. People will take you for my apprentice. You’ve seen enough here. We have to get to Billingsgate before the worst of the crowds do.”

”Billingsgate?”

”Billingsgate Market,” Malcolm explained as they neared a maelstrom of carts, wagons, barrels, boats, and human beings. “Royal Charter gives Billingsgate a monopoly on fish.”

The stench and noise were unbelievable. Margo wanted to cover her ears and hold her breath. They shoved in cheek-to-jowl with hundreds of other costermongers buying their day’s wares to peddle. Liveried servants from fine houses, ordinary lower class wives, and buyers for restaurants as well as shippers who would take loads of fish inland for sale, all fought one another for the day’s catch.

”Salmon for Belgravia,” Malcolm shouted above the roar, “and herrings for Whitechapel!”

”What do we want?”

”Eels!”

”Eels?”

After that dinner at the Epicurean Delight, Billingsgate’s eels came as another rude shock. Malcolm filled their cart with the most repugnant, slithery mess Margo had ever seen. Jellied eels went from huge enameled bowls into stoneware pots. From another vendor they procured hot “pie-and-mash” pies, plus a supply of hideous green stuff the screaming fishwife called “liquor.” Malcolm bargained the prices lower in an ear bending accent. The language the fishwives used put to shame anything Margo had heard on the streets of New York-when she understood it at all. Malcolm stacked the pies in their cart, layered them on boards and wrapped them in worn woolen cloth to keep them warm. Margo-under instructions to pay attention to details-tried to keep track of what she witnessed, but there was so much to take in she found it all running together in a screaming blur.