“Then we need a few lads out of uniform now. We can’t just let that crew in there fend for themselves. If this lot decide to burn the docks down it could turn into a blood bath. Are the fire boys on their way?” Tanner asked glancing around to see if he had missed the distinctive Merryweather fire trucks.
“West of England have sent word that two are on the way,” Evan’s replied nodding.
The West of England insurance company was one of the last private fire brigades in the area, but they could be relied on to work hard, considering they almost certainly insured half the of the docks and their contents.
“Our boys are heading here with another three.” Evans continued. “In the meantime we are on our own. You volunteering to lead some lads in there?” He asked, tilting his head toward the large closed gateway of the dockyard.
Tanner began rolling up his sleeves, nodding as he did so, “I want four boys, out of uniform.” He thought for a moment, “tell them to keep their sabres on them but I don’t want them drawn.”
Evans nodded and turned to the group of uniformed officers that were now standing behind them. They began to discuss the situation among themselves and before long a number of them were stripping off their jackets and removing their top hats. After a moment four men stood before him in clean white shirts and perfectly ironed trousers. Even the shoes looked immaculate.
Tanner reached down and took up a handful of dry dirt from the street. He walked to the nearest man and rubbed a good amount of the dust into his shirt and down one leg of his trousers.
“My wife will kill me, you know that don’t you?” the constable laughed.
“Tell her it was either her, or them,” Tanner replied, cocking a thumb over his shoulder, toward the dock where the fight still raged. At least three bodies lay on the ground, and as they all glanced in the direction of Tanner’s thumb another joined them.
“The rest of you, unless you want stand out like a copper in a riot, I suggest you do the same,” Tanner joked and was rewarded with a nervous laugh. The chosen men did as he ordered while the rest formed a blue line of resistance, blocking them from the view of any prying eyes in crowd.
There was a low rumble followed by a small explosion from the direction of the dock.
“Wow, did you see that?” one of the uniformed officers asked the group. He was answered by a round of exclamations, but Tanner and his men were too busy preparing themselves.
“Right, listen,” He said and the men gathered around him to hear his plan. “We move around the edge of the fight. Don’t bunch together, but stay close enough that we can help anyone that gets into trouble. There is a small gate halfway down that side of the dockyard.” As he spoke he pointed toward a wall that marked one edge of the Queen’s dock. “We are going to make for that gate. I’m pretty sure it will be locked, so we may have to break in. Once we are inside we assess the danger to the crew of the ship and set up a perimeter.” He was answered by four stern expressions and four nodding heads.
“I’ll take the lead, space yourselves out. These boys are busy fighting but it will only take one of them to notice us and all of a sudden we will be in the fire.” Tanner took the shoulder of the nearest man, he was a young lad of no more than eighteen or nineteen years and he looked terrified. “Relax son, this could be fun.”
Tanner was soon moving around the edge of the riot, keeping a wary eye out for anyone paying him attention. He didn’t look back until he reached the relative safety of a pile of crates stacked close to the gates. Here he stopped and looked behind him, seeing the young officer not too many steps away. He had the same look of terror on his face that had been there moments before, only now it had steely edge to it.
The other constables were following his instructions, not allowing themselves to become bunched up. The next man joined them and then the third. It was the last man, the oldest of the group who ran into trouble. He followed the same path as the rest of them but as he came close to the crates a rioter stumbled away from a fight and fell at his feet. The officer tried to avoid becoming entangled, but the man on the floor was followed out of the fight.
His assailant was a heavy set man with a full, dark beard. He loomed over the two men, dwarfing them both. Tanner saw what was about to happen and stepped from his hiding place to help.
The bearded fighter drove a massive fist into the face of the man on the floor. The recipient of the blow dropped backward, limp and unconscious, his head drooping like a ragdoll.
Eager to keep fighting, the bearded giant turned to Tanner’s man and levelled a blow toward his face. The copper managed to duck and turn, allowing the punch to glance of the side of his head. Tanner could see that even this knocked the wind out of his sails.
As he moved toward the pair, Tanner slipped the knuckleduster on to his fingers. He came in behind the rioter, smashing his brass-assisted fist into the man’s kidneys. The effect of the blow was less than he had hoped for, but he did at least get the bearded man to turn away from the older constable.
“Get to the others,” he said. The officer did as he was instructed, without question. Tanner ducked a roundhouse punch and kicked out, driving his boot into his opponents stomach. This time the man showed pain, doubling over his abused midriff. Tanner wasted no time in dropping a heavy elbow into the back of the man’s neck, causing his knees to buckle.
This wasn’t a fight he wanted to continue so he turned, while the man was face down, and ran toward his group. He didn’t stop as he reached them and instead ran past them and down the side of the big warehouse.
They reached the gate, finding the area quiet after the noise and violence out on the street. Later, after they had lost interest in each other, the rioters might investigate this part of the docks. Right now, the entertainment was all in the fight and so they had not ventured this far.
The gate was locked, as Tanner had expected it to be. The wood had a small barred window in it, Tanner pressed his face to the metal, hoping to see a guard who might let them in. The area inside the gate was empty however, and he looked about for something to break the lock with.
There was a tap on his shoulder and the man he had just rescued from the fight smiled and held out a hand and introduced himself. “Roberts. I have this,” he said.
The older man stepped past Tanner and knelt down in front of the lock, producing a slim length of metal from his pocket. He took a second tool and began manipulating the lock. The men seemed to hold their collective breath as the fight continued behind them. Eventually Roberts let out a short sigh and rotated the tools in the lock. The door swung open to allow them all to slip inside.
“Should I ask where you learned to do that?” Tanner asked. He passed the lock-pick as he was putting his tools back in a leather pouch.
“A misspent youth. I owe you one by the way, I was outmatched back there,” the older man answered, holding out his hand.
“Nelson Tanner, pleased to meet you Roberts. Say no more about it, I’d say after that little trick, we are even.”
The door opened on to a side yard that led straight into a huge, three sided warehouse. The place was full of equipment that Tanner couldn’t have named. They looked like lifts and cranes with huge gears and winches. Stacked between these were wooden crates and what might be rolls of cloth, covered and protected by waxed sheets. The dock was a place for unloading but not for storage, no doubt if the riot hadn’t started most of this would already be on the back of carts by now.
On its open side the warehouse faced an identical building, and between was a wet dock. Sat at rest, sails stowed, was a three-mast Blackwall frigate. Tanner’s father had realised early that his son would not be a sailor, but like most boys who had grown up in Liverpool, the detective could still tell a frigate from a clipper.
“Over there,” Tanner instructed his men, pointing toward a rope ladder that ran up the side of the frigate about three quarters of the way toward the stern. The men ran across the warehouse that was unnaturally quiet aft
er the noise and violence outside.
“Hello, up there!” he shouted as they reached the bottom of the ladder. For a long moment there was no movement or sound from above. “Anybody up there?” Tanner tried again. He started to look around him, wondering if the crew had abandoned the ship and found somewhere safer to hide.
“Who are you?” an elderly male voice shouted from above. Tanner looked up but saw nobody.
“DC Tanner, my men and I are from the Liverpool City police. There are more of us outside, trying to contain the riot, but we thought it wise to see if you needed any help.”
Again there was a period where nobody moved. Outside the docks there was a small but distinct explosion, all eyes turned toward the noise. A couple of the men looked eager to get back outside, wanting to join their colleagues but at that moment a face peered over the rail of the frigate. The man was at least sixty with shocking white hair. The hand with which he signalled his greeting had a shake that was visible from below.
“Come up detective,” he said.
Tanner and his men made their way up the side of the ship. As they reached the deck, the man who had asked them aboard shook each hand in turn.
“My name is Captain Aspinal, detective. I thank you for thinking of us. As you can see we are unharmed at this moment but I have to admit to some concern over how long that might last.” As he spoke, the captain’s head shook from side to side in an almost unperceivable but regular way.
“How many men are on board, Captain?” Tanner asked.
“A mere six, Detective. Thankfully I only needed a skeleton crew to put the old girl into dock. The rest may not even know there is trouble. I imagine the majority of them are at the bottom of a barrel and contemplating trouble of their own by now.”
Tanner laughed dutifully, but his mind was working on solutions to the problem. No doubt if the men outside grew bored of fighting each other, then this warehouse and the ship would become a rich target.
“I don’t suppose you are in a fit state to set sail again?” he asked.
“If we were at sea, I’m sure we could get her moving, Detective. From dock however, is a much more difficult situation. I’m afraid the old girl is stuck here, and because of that so am I,” Captain Aspinal said, a touch of regret sounding in his words. “Besides, I’m not sure Sir Thomas would be pleased to hear I ran from a fight.”
“Sir Thomas?” Tanner asked.
“Sir Thomas Richmond, he owns the ship. He is a singularly combative man, despite the fact that I am at least twenty years his junior. He would fire me on the spot if he thought I had shown the slightest cowardice.” The captain smiled as he spoke but Tanner saw the truth written on his face. As he looked at the captain he saw something else.
Over the captain’s shoulder, on one of the cross members half way up the rear mast, was one of the rat-men. It was huddled low, seemingly ready to leap in and attack. Its face twitched with anticipation and it sniffed the air. Its massive back legs were coiled and ready, its hands placed between its feet. Tanner was about to speak, to warn the captain and his men. Then as he watched, Tanner saw three more of the creatures join the first.
Chapter Fifteen
“Don’t move,” Billy whispered to Bird as they watched the men file away from Davidson. The image of what they had just seen was still etched on their minds and whirling around their consciousness like sand in a storm.
“I don’t think I could if I wanted to,” Bird replied. Like her namesake, she seemed to be fluttering with nerves. Her breath was shallow and fast, and Billy started to worry that she might be panicking.
Below them, the crowd was leaving the chamber, using all the tunnels that connected in that place. They moved in silent ranks, nobody speaking and nobody looking about them. They seemed to be as shocked by what they had just witnessed as the two children who looked down on the scene.
Eventually there were just three men left in the space below them. Davidson stood, huge and dark, dressed in his furs and looking intimidating just by being there. In front of him stood a tall thin man with dark hair and pale skin that almost seemed to reflect the light of the fire. Beside this man was a shorter, stockier dark-skinned man whose arms looked as thick as a normal man’s waist.
“You know what you need to do?” Davidson asked. Both men nodded, looking grave. “Then do it, and may the spirits guide you, my friends.”
With this said, Davidson turned from the chamber and used the biggest of the tunnels. The two men glanced at each other once, nodded and followed the big man’s example. The tall man left by a smaller tunnel but his broader companion began climbing a ladder that ran up the side of the chamber. With mild panic Billy realised he was climbing toward himself and Bird.
“Quickly, over here,” Bird whispered, pulling his hand and getting to a crouching position. Along the walkway above the chamber was a small tunnel entrance. It wasn’t big enough for a grown-up to walk down, in fact a large man might not be able to crawl down it, but the two children slipped inside and waited to see what the man would do.
He reached the top of the ladder and unhooked a small lantern from his belt. After a few minutes fumbling he had it lit and was standing in a globe of dull orange light. Billy watched as he headed back down the same tunnel they had just used to find the chamber. He found himself caught in two minds as to what they should do next.
On one hand this man might be heading back to the cage and the other prisoners. Then again there were many other tunnels that led off from their route. What if he was heading out and by not following him they missed their chance to escape? He looked down toward the fire that still burned in the center of the chamber. If they went that way it would be chance’s choice to which tunnel they tried first. On the other hand following this man left them with a simpler decision.
“We need to follow him,” he said, echoing Bird’s words back at the cage. Beside him Bird nodded, her face lit by the furthest reaches of the firelight. She looked terrified but determined.
They stepped out of the tunnel, seeing the man’s back further up the tunnel. The lantern bobbed as he walked, lighting first one, then the other of the tunnel sides. They took each other by the hand and stepped into the darkness once more.
At the top of the passage the man turned right and Billy let out a sigh of relief. He had been turned about during their trip to the chamber, but he was sure they had come from the left on their final turn. This man was not heading back to the cage. They kept their distance, Billy keeping his eye out for the possibility that the man might stop and turn around at any moment. Bathed as he was in lamp light it was unlikely he would see much beyond the circle it cast, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
As he walked the man sang a song in a low, melodious voice.
“Swing low, sweet chariot...” he began but the rest of the words were lost as his voice echoed off the low ceiling.
They followed him through the tunnels, turning left and right, unable to tell which direction they were heading, or from which they had come. If they had been forced to find the chamber they had left behind, neither would have been able to do so. The darkness was their friend, it protected them, but it was not a friend they could trust, it promised them nothing but betrayal if they relied on it too much.
Eventually they turned a corner to be confronted by a cage. It was so similar to the one they had spent the last few days in that Billy had to fight not to weep. All the hiding, all the risk and fear, only to end up back where they had been, but it was not the same one. The bars were the same, heavy wooden posts that fitted from floor to ceiling. The door was the same, lock and all. There were however, two differences.
Firstly the cage was filled with the rat people they had witnessed Davidson create in the chamber. They stood in silent, mindless ranks. They all faced the same way, arms by their sides and lifeless eyes staring at nothing. It was as if someone had taken the creatures and scooped out all thought. They did not move except the deep, slowness of their breath.
Secondly, there was a guard here. Unlike the cage they had escaped from, these prisoners were deemed worth watching, so that they did not escape. An irony not lost on Billy, seeing that they looked likely to do no such thing.
He tried to count the creatures but numbers had never been his strong point. He marked off more than the number of fingers on both hands counting across the first row, then could see that there were at least four rows going back, he knew enough to count those. He didn’t know how many that might make but it was something to tell, if he ever got out of this place.
They crept closer in the darkness, keeping to the rough and unfinished sides of the tunnel. As he passed his hands over moss and dampness, Billy tried not to imagine the spiders that might live in the dark places of the world.
Close to the cage, sacks of sand had been stacked, probably by the men who built the sewers, the two children used them to hide behind.
“How many did you send to the docks?” the stocky man asked as he approached the guard. The new man was much younger and looked nervous as he answered in a thick Irish accent.
“I sent four, just as your man told me to.” He looked to the cage as if seeing the creatures that were no longer there.
“And what about the house?”
“I sent two about an hour ago,” the guard answered.
“He’s changed his mind, he wants more sending. Richmond is his biggest target. He wants him gone before the main event,” the man they had followed said.
“How many do you think? Did he say?” the Irishman asked.
“He just said more,” the dark-skinned man answered. They both walked over to the cage and opened it. The creatures inside just stood and faced forward, not moving or even turning their heads in order to watch the invaders in their space. The two men led first one, then a second pair out into the area in front of the cage, before locking the door once more.
Mersey Dark Page 13