by Clive Mullis
Frankie just slowly shook his head as he sat down and fitted the oars onto the thole pins, indicating with a nod for Cornwallis to cast off.
Within the first few moments, Cornwallis realised that Frankie knew what he was doing; where he had acquired the skill did not concern him at the moment, suffice to say that he had no intention of owning up to his own lack of skill.
The ship that they were aiming for loomed up in the darkness, the ship’s lights guiding them in. It was well before dawn, and thankfully, their advance shielded by the impenetrable gloom.
Cornwallis had rented the wherry from the owner last night, no questions asked, leaving the man with the distinct impression that they were up to something decidedly illegal. He’d chuckled as he counted the coins, a week’s pay for no work and no risk, which, he felt, was a good return.
As they got nearer the ship, Frankie shortened his strokes, controlling the approach. Cornwallis guided him from his position at the back of the boat, speaking quietly or indicating left or right by pointing with his hand.
The cat and Cornwallis had agreed the pick-up point to be the stern of the ship, or as Cornwallis liked to think, the flat end. Frankie manoeuvred the boat and then backed oars against the flow of the river to hold position.
They looked up and found no sign of the cat.
All was silent on board the ship apart from the creaks and groans and the occasional slap of a rope against a mast as the wind blew. There were no lookouts, no patrols, just a sleeping ship in harbour.
Cornwallis pointed to the anchor and Frankie nodded then guided the boat over to where they could grab hold of the cable to stay put.
They waited and then waited some more and still the cat hadn’t shown.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the dark of night began to roll back; dawn was coming and the ship began to emerge from out of the shadows. A silvery light eased into the night’s sky heralding the coming of a new day.
Cornwallis caught a movement high up by the stern rail, it appeared to be a blob against the lightening sky, but it moved and then it launched itself into the air towards them. Then they heard a splash, a small one, close by, but then nothing as the river closed over whatever had made the splash.
Frankie and Cornwallis exchanged looks and then looked at where they thought the splash had occurred, but wavelets washed over the spot hiding any evidence of ripples.
‘Was that him, then?’ asked Cornwallis quietly.
‘Dunno,’ replied Frankie. ‘Can’t see a bloody thing.’
‘I’m sure it was, can’t think what else it could be. Look harder.’
They both leant further forward, peering into the watery miasma, intently staring at the spot a few feet from the boat. Suddenly something shot out of the water like an eruption, sending spray flying into the air. They saw a brief moment of two flailing paws and two frightened eyes before the apparition disappeared again beneath the surface, this time just in reach of the boat.
Frankie plunged an arm in and leant even further forward, half-in and half-out of the boat, rocking it alarmingly. Cornwallis had to grab his legs and lean back to counter the imbalance, just before he toppled over into the murky depths of the river.
‘Got the bastard,’ said Frankie as he hauled his arm out, his other arm bracing against the gunwale.
Fluffy emerged arse first as Frankie grabbed hold of the first thing he found: his tail. The sodden fur-ball, dripping wet and filled with malice, spat copious quantities of the Sterkle back into the river.
‘Bollocks, bugger, shit,’ hissed Fluffy as Frankie swung him unceremoniously over the gunwale and lowered him into the bottom of the boat. ‘Buggering bastard,’ he continued as he spat the remnants out. ‘That don’t taste nice.’
‘Let’s go,’ ordered Cornwallis.
Frankie caught the oars and began to pull as quickly as he could.
‘Shush,’ said Cornwallis as Fluffy continued to rant. ‘They might hear us.’
‘Bollocks to them,’ said Fluffy as he sat in the bottom of the boat like a washed-up ginger rag. ‘Wot ‘bout me?’
‘Soon, just keep yer gob shut,’ said Frankie. ‘You’re alive, ain’t yer?’
‘Only sodding just,’ came the angry response.
Frankie continued to row, pulling hard for the shore as the obscene muttering carried on with barely a pause.
A few minutes later, the boat glided up to the jetty and Cornwallis jumped out and tied the mooring rope to the pole, leaving the boat parked up as if it had never been away. Frankie picked up the half-drowned cat and stepped out.
‘Well, that went well,’ observed Frankie, holding Fluffy at arm’s length.
‘Well?’ exclaimed Fluffy. ‘Youse wants to see it from my end!’
‘You missed the boat, that’s hardly our fault.’
‘Youse should’ve been closer.’
‘You want me to wring you out?’ asked Frankie, the question holding just the right amount of threat. ‘Just say the word.’
‘Steady, you pair,’ said Cornwallis with a wry grin on his face. ‘It’s all finished now, so no harm done.’
‘No harm?’ ranted Fluffy. ‘Youse seen my fur? Youse know wot a dunk in the river can do to sommat like this? Try it sometime, buster, and see if youse likes it.’
‘All right, all right. I’ll pay you double,’ said Cornwallis, holding up his hand. ‘Just after we find somewhere to give you a wash.’
‘A wash? I’ve jest had one.’
‘Er… A clean one. You stink worse than an overflowing privy.’
‘Yuk, you’re right, Jack. I think that’s a turd hanging off his ear.’
‘A turd?’ yelled Fluffy. ‘A bloody turd?’
‘Frankie, I don’t think you should have told him that.’
They soon found a horse trough and Frankie cleaned up his sodden arm, then Fluffy received his second dunking of the morning. Thankfully, this time, he came up cleaner and smelling decidedly fresher; however, the horse trough suffered terribly as a result.
As the silvery dawn light flooded the sky, the two detectives and the cat headed for the nearest eatery, a rough-looking place but one that had a high reputation amongst the fraternity of dockers and the occasional hungry feeler. Already workers were arriving to begin their labour for the day and many were intent to load up with food before starting their shift.
Big Bobs Diner hadn’t quite got into full swing as Frankie pushed open the door and traipsed in. There were a couple of empty tables but within a few seconds, there was only one left as Cornwallis and Frankie nabbed the nearest. A couple of seconds after that, there were no tables left, leaving a group of workers incandescent with rage as they had first stopped to talk to another group before taking their seats.
Frankie grinned as the group railed at him, letting all the insults fly over his head, as he knew that a bum on a seat beat any number that were still in the air.
The bald-headed waiter sauntered across to take their order, his once white apron billowing over his vast stomach.
‘Yes, sirs, what’ll it be?’ he asked, pencil poised.
‘Ah, two coffees, please,’ said Cornwallis. ‘And—‘
‘Ahem.’
‘And a cup of milk.’
‘Wot?’
‘Er, could you make that cream, please.’
‘Of course, sirs,’ said the waiter wondering where the cough had come from.
‘And we’ll have two fried breakfasts with extra sausage please, and a kipper.’
‘Ahem, ahem.’
The puzzled waiter looked around again.
‘Make that two kippers, if you will.’
‘Of course, sir,’ answered the waiter with a frown. ‘Anything else?’
‘No, that’s enough for now.’
‘Right you are, sir; be with you in a moment.’
The waiter moved away, waggling the end of the pencil in his ear.
Fluffy sat on the floor under the table, between the two chairs. Fortunately,
the noise the dockers made with their idle chatter drowned any words coming from a ragged looking, bad-tempered ginger tomcat.
‘Well?’ asked Cornwallis once they had settled. ‘What happened?’
‘Ah, well, not a lot ‘appened, as it were, except fer the rats. They ‘appened, but there’s a few less now. The cat that’s already there is bloody useless, lets ‘em run all over the place, it does.’
‘What about why I put you on there in the first place?’
‘Oh, that. Yeah, found the bloke ‘oo spoke to that other fella. Nasty piece o’ work too.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Nuffink, ‘e didn’t need to. ‘E exuded.’
‘Exuded what exactly?’
‘Malice; suppressed rage; mean type o’ bastard.’
‘A bit like you then?’ suggested Frankie.
Fluffy looked up slowly, a questioning look on his face.
‘All right, maybe not quite like you, then,’ added Frankie quickly.
‘Better,’ growled Fluffy.
‘Did you hear what’s being planned?’ asked Cornwallis.
‘Not exactly, but the fella kept yacking to ‘imself.’
‘Saying what?’
‘‘E kept going on about bastard dwarfs, that ‘e ‘ates the little runts, I think it were runts ‘e said, anyways, ‘e were going to do fer ‘em. Kept looking out that little winda they’s got on that ship, staring at the city; bit ironic, really.’
‘Ironic? Why?’
‘‘E were like a dwarf ‘imself: a short-arse, very short but as wide as ‘e were tall. Ugly bastard too, no beard but big staring eyes; reckon ‘e’s a right nutter, I do.’
‘Nobody spoke to him?’
‘Nah, everyone kept away from ‘im. I ‘eard a few saying that they’ll be glad to be rid of ‘im.’
The waiter returned with two mugs of coffee and a mug of cream.
‘Saucer,’ said a voice from below.
‘Can I trouble you for a saucer, please?’ asked Cornwallis and pointed to the floor.
‘Ah,’ said the waiter, noticing the cat for the first time. ‘Didn’t see that there; nice pussy,’ he said patting Fluffy on the head.
‘Pussy?’ said Fluffy indignantly.
‘Oh,’ said the waiter. ‘Sounds like it hissed; doesn’t like being patted?’
‘Loves it, loves it,’ said Frankie. ‘He’ll start purring in a minute,’ he added as he gave Fluffy a tap with the end of his boot.
‘Purr,’ said Fluffy.
‘See,’ said Frankie. ‘Loves it, he does.’
Satisfied, the waiter turned and walked off to fetch the breakfast.
‘Bastard,’ said Fluffy.
Frankie chuckled as Cornwallis poured the cream into the saucer and put it on the floor. A few seconds later the waiter returned with the food and put two plates on the table, and now wise to the cat, placed the plate with the kippers on the floor. With a big beaming smile, he patted Fluffy again and then turned and walked off.
‘You didn’t even say thanks,’ admonished Frankie.
‘Sod off,’ said Fluffy, eyeing the smoked fish and savouring the smell.
The two detectives ate in silence, relishing the artery busting globules of fat and grease sticking to the bacon and sausages; beneath the table, Fluffy chomped quickly through the two kippers, demolishing them, heads and all.
Cornwallis ordered more coffee and they sat back full and satisfied with Frankie undoing his belt a notch to relieve the strain.
‘That weren’t bad,’ opined Frankie.
Cornwallis nodded. ‘Especially after all that exertion in the boat.’
‘Exertion? You did bugger all. It were me who did all the rowing and me who got me arm wet dragging the cat out.’
‘Yes, but I did all the thinking. Stressful thing thinking, and I had to steer you.’
‘Steer?’
‘Yes: I had to tell you to go left or right and that’s hard when you’re facing each other. I want you to steer left and I had to think right, your right, so that you didn’t go left, my left. Not easy that.’
‘You’re full of bull, Jack.’
Cornwallis grinned. ‘One does one’s best, Francis.’
Frankie shook his head ruefully, picking his teeth with a fingernail in order to dislodge a bit of bacon.
‘Oh,’ said Cornwallis as something leapt into his mind. He looked down at Fluffy. ‘Did this dwarf-like nutter have a name?’
Fluffy looked up slowly and gave a satisfied burp. ‘Yeah; someone called ‘im Clarence.’
‘Hmm,’ said Cornwallis, thinking. ‘I reckon another day of waiting is in order.’
‘Oh, great,’ said Frankie. ‘You mean me, don’t you?’
‘For a time, yes. I’ll get Dewdrop to come down later and maybe one of the girls. I’ve got to see Goodhalgan as The Pipe opens tomorrow. We’ve also got Phimp, Brooksturner and the Ship Masters Guild to worry about too. I’ll give it a think and get Dewdrop to let you know what’s happening.’ Something else then occurred to him. ‘Fluffy?’
‘Yeah?’ replied the cat.
‘Did you find out what those things on the side of the ship are for?’
‘Not really but the ship ‘as something to do wiv making bridges.’
‘Bridges?’
‘Yeah, they’s go wherever a bridge needs to be built.’
A thoughtful look appeared on Cornwallis’ face. ‘We don’t need another bridge here, one seems to work well enough; so what’s it doing here?’
‘Beats me,’ said Frankie, finally getting the bit of bacon out.
Chapter 32
Cornwallis thought hard as he made his way up from the docks through the early morning traffic. One thing about being up and about at this time of day was that you could see the city come to life as people emerged from their little brick cocoons to throng the streets with life and activity. Cabs were parked up ready to take folk off to work or to the shops or to a meeting and Cornwallis thought how that might change once The Pipe was up and running. He thought briefly about Coggs and his idea of a bus service and wondered if that had died a death, as he hadn’t heard a whisper of its progress for a while now. Time would tell, but at the moment, he had a more pressing thing to consider — what on twearth was being planned to disrupt The Pipe?
He turned into Hupplemere Mews, pushed open the street door and hurried up the stairs to the office. Inside, they were all sitting waiting, and all but one had a face furnishing a wry little grin.
It took a moment for him to see why.
Jethro MacGillicudy had had a shave. The moustache and side-whiskers were gone and a rosy-cheeked fresh-faced commander sat in the chair. His hair had received some attention too as well as his dress-sense because he now wore a new suit in the latest fashion.
Cornwallis looked at him and scratched his head and then he too smiled. ‘Morning, Jethro, you’re looking a little, er… different today.’
‘Morning, Jack,’ replied MacGillicudy, unfazed by the grins. ‘You’d have thought this lot have never seen a man after a shave,’ he said waving an arm around the room.
‘I think it’s probably more the fact that it’s you who’s had the shave, Jethro. The whiskers seemed somewhat attached to you.’
‘I thought they were a bit old fashioned, to be truthful, so this morning on the way here, I called into a barber’s, then next door a tailor just opened up so I got some new togs off the rail.’ MacGillicudy stood up and gave a twirl. ‘Not a bad cut considering they’re ready-made.’
‘No, I grant you that, but you didn’t say anything last night.’
‘And why should I? Just thought I could do with updating my image. A Commander of Police can’t look like yesterday’s man.’
Maud sat at her desk leaning forward with her chin cupped in her hands wearing a dreamy look, sighing slowly and looking at the commander as if he were an icon of the theatre.
Cornwallis was caught off-stride as she sighed. ‘Maud, you should kno
w better.’
‘Yes, Mr Cornwallis, but he looks so much younger and I never realised he is so handsome.’
‘What?’ exclaimed Cornwallis.
Rose laughed. ‘It’s true, it’s such a transformation. You’ve got a bit of competition now, Jack,’ she warned. ‘I’m really liking the new look.’
The three feelers sat there not daring to say anything. Felicity and Tiffany shared a glance but Dewdrop just stared at his boots as though he had something really interesting stuck to them.
MacGillicudy sat back down and rubbed his hands together. ‘Come on, Jack. What’s happened?’
‘You mean apart from the unsettling experience of walking in here?’
MacGillicudy rolled his eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘All right then: Phimp went to see a man called Clarence, who, apparently, hates dwarfs for some reason. This Clarence is, according to Fluffy, a short-arse himself, though not technically a dwarf. Fluffy described him as a nutter. Couldn’t find out why he’s here but Frankie and Fluffy are keeping an eye on things down there. The ship is normally used in the construction of bridges but that’s as much as we know.’
Cornwallis sat down at his desk and Rose handed him a mug of coffee. He screwed up a bit of paper and tossed it towards Maud, breaking her close inspection of the commander. ‘Down girl,’ he said playfully.
‘Mr Cornwallis,’ replied Maud indignantly. ‘I’m hardly a girl.’
‘You could have fooled me. Do something mean and nasty, Jethro.’
‘That might make it worse,’ answered Rose, smiling.
‘You’re just jealous, Jack,’ countered MacGillicudy, raising an arm and wafting it regally around. ‘As Rose just said, you’ve now got competition. You’re running scared.’
Tiffany and Felicity stifled a giggle and Dewdrop seemed to be having trouble keeping his shoulders still.
‘Ha!’ Cornwallis threw his hands into the air. ‘Running scared, am I, Jethro MacGillicudy? A penniless policeman or a suave sophisticated man about town: you decide, Rose. Which of us would you choose?’
‘That’s unfair,’ said MacGillicudy. ‘You’ve already corrupted her.’
Rose burst out laughing. ‘You two can stop now or I might cause myself an injury from laughing too much. There’s only one real man here but he’s already attached, and that man is Cecil.’