The railway viaduct irc-3

by Edward Marston

'He was certainly a match for you, Pierce.'

  'Only because he caught me unawares that one time,' said Shannon, thrusting out his chest. 'In a proper fight, I reckon that I could kick seven barrels of shit out of him.'

  'Don't try to do that to Brendan,' warned Kilfoyle.

  'Who?'

  'Brendan Mulryne. He was helping us to shovel spoil into the wagons today. He's got muscles bigger than bloody pumpkins. He made me feel puny beside him. Brendan could fill two wagons in the time it took me to fill one.'

  'What sort of man is he?'

  'The best kind – joking all day long.'

  'I prefer a man who keeps his fucking gob shut while he works.'

  'Then stay clear of Brendan. He can't keep quiet. We got on well together. He feels the same about priests as me. He'd rather roast in Hell than be forced to listen to a sermon.'

  'Where's he from?'

  'Dublin.'

  'And he's a real navvy?'

  'With hands like that, he couldn't be anything else.' Kilfoyle saw the giant figure ambling towards him. 'You can meet him for yourself, Pierce. Here he comes.'

  Shannon turned a critical eye on Brendan Mulryne, who was smiling amiably at everyone he passed and making cheerful comments as he did so. When he spotted Kilfoyle, he strolled across to him. Mulryne was introduced to Shannon. As they shook hands, the latter felt the power in the other's grip.

  'I'm looking for somewhere to sleep tonight,' said Mulryne. 'The ganger told me there'd be room at Pat O'Rourke's. Do you know him?'

  'Yes,' replied Kilfoyle, pointing. 'He owns that stone house at the end of the row. Pat will look after you. Built the house himself.'

  'How much does he charge?'

  'Almost nothing.'

  'That's good because I haven't got two bleeding pennies to rub together.' He became conspiratorial. 'Hey, I don't suppose that either of you know how I can pick up a little extra money, do you?'

  'In what way?' asked Shannon.

  'Any way at all, friend.'

  'Such as?'

  'On my last job, I made a tidy sum at cockfighting.'

  'Nobody will want to fight a cock as big as yours,' said Kilfoyle with a giggle. 'And, if you're talking about the kind with feathers and sharp claws, then Mr Brassey won't allow that kind of thing on any of his sites.'

  'What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't fucking grieve.'

  'I couldn't have put it better,' said Shannon, warming to him at once. 'How else have you made money in the past, Brendan?'

  'All sorts of ways. Best of all was prize-fighting.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes, I'd take on all-comers with one hand strapped behind my back. They not only paid for the chance to take a swing at me,' said Mulryne, 'I got my share of the bets that were laid as well.'

  'Very crafty.'

  'I've got a devil of a thirst, Pierce. That takes money.'

  'Not here,' said Kilfoyle. 'The brandy's dirt cheap.'

  'I know. I tried some on the way here. Anyway,' Mulryne went on, 'I'd best find O'Rourke so that I've got somewhere to lay my fucking head tonight. Then it's off to the nearest inn with me.'

  'We'll take you there,' volunteered Shannon.

  'Thank you, friend. I might hold you to that.' He caught sight of Father Slattery among the crowd and recoiled. 'Is that the bleeding priest they told me about?'

  'That's him, large as life.'

  'Then keep the bugger away from me.'

  'Father Slattery is harmless enough,' said Kilfoyle.

  'Not to me, Liam. There's a time and place for priests and this is not it. When I've worked my balls off all day,' asserted Mulryne, 'the last thing I want is a dose of religion. A good drink and a warm woman is all I need and Father Slattery looks as if he's never tasted either.'

  Maria Brassey was an excellent hostess. She gave the guests a cordial welcome and served a delicious meal. When he spoke French by demand, Robert Colbeck discovered that she had an excellent grasp of the language. She was delightful company and presided over the table with her husband. After dinner, however, she knew exactly when to withdraw so that the men could talk in private.

  'Have you had any success while I was away?' said Colbeck.

  'A little,' replied Brassey. 'The nightwatchmen caught two men pilfering but they had nothing to do with all the damage we've suffered. I paid them what I owed and ordered them off the site.'

  'That, of course, is another avenue we might explore.'

  'What do you mean, Inspector?'

  'Discontented former employees. Men with a grudge.'

  'You'll not find many of those,' said Aubrey Filton, the other guest. 'Mr Brassey is renowned for his fairness. If the men step out of line, they know they'll be sacked. They accept that.'

  'Most of them, perhaps,' said Colbeck. 'But I can see how it would rankle if someone was dismissed from a job that would guarantee two years' work for them.'

  'We keep a record of every man we employ.'

  'Then I'd like to take a close look at it, Mr Filton.'

  The three men were comfortably ensconced in chairs in the living room of the country house that Brassey had rented. It was close enough to the site for him to get there with ease, yet far enough away to be out of reach of the incessant noise that was created. Having grown up on a farm, the contractor always preferred a house that was surrounded by green fields. It made him feel as if he were back in his native Cheshire. He sipped his glass of port.

  'How is Sergeant Leeming?' he said.

  'Very glad to be back home,' returned Colbeck. 'Victor took a beating but no permanent damage seems to have been done. He simply needs plenty of time to recover.'

  'That sort of thing would put me off police work forever,' said Filton. 'It's far too dangerous.'

  'Victor is not so easily deterred.'

  'And what about this new fellow?'

  'Oh,' said Colbeck with a smile, 'you can rely on him. If you set off an explosion under Brendan Mulryne, you'd not scare him away. He has nerves of steel.'

  'Then why didn't you bring him here in the first place?' said Brassey. 'Was he assigned to another case?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'He doesn't look like a detective at all.'

  'He isn't one,' said Colbeck.

  'I see. He's an ordinary constable.'

  'There's nothing ordinary about Brendan, I promise you. He was trained as a policeman and I had the good fortune to work with him when I was in uniform. When you have to break up a tavern brawl, there's no better man to have beside you than him.'

  'I can imagine.'

  Colbeck did not reveal that the man he had entrusted with such an important task was, in fact, a dock labourer of dubious reputation who led the kind of chaotic existence that two conventional middle class gentlemen could not begin to understand. The less they knew about Brendan Mulryne, the better. At all events, Colbeck resolved, his name must not get back to Edward Tallis. If the superintendent became aware of the Irishman's presence on site, Colbeck would not have to write a letter of resignation. He would probably be ejected from Scotland Yard with Tallis's condemnation ringing in his ears.

  'What interests me is the next stretch of line,' said Colbeck, draining his glass. 'The one that runs from Caen to Cherbourg.'

  Brassey held up a palm. 'Give us a chance, Inspector,' he said, jocularly. 'We haven't finished this one yet.'

  'And may never do so,' said Filton, gloomily.

  'Of course we will, Aubrey.'

  'I wonder, sir.'

  'Will any French companies put in a tender for the other line?' asked Colbeck. 'Are any contractors here big enough to do so?'

  'Yes,' replied Brassey. 'The French were slow starters when it came to railways but they are catching up quickly, and contractors have seen the opportunities that are there. When the time comes, I'm sure that we'll have a number of competitors.'

  'What about labour? Are there enough navvies in France?'

  'No, Inspector Colbeck, not really. Comparatively
few railways have been built here so far. As a result, there's no pool of experienced men on which to draw. We found that out when we built the Paris to Rouen railway some years ago.'

  'Yes, I believe that you imported 5,000 from England.'

  'It was not nearly enough,' said Brassey. 'I had to cast the net much wider in order to double that number. They were mainly French but they also included Germans, Belgians, Italians, Dutchmen and Spaniards. Do you remember it, Aubrey?'

  'Very well,' said Filton. 'You could hear eleven different languages in all. It was quite bewildering at times.'

  'As for the line from Caen to Cherbourg, that remains in the future. We've not really had time to think about it.'

  'Somebody else might have done so,' said Colbeck.

  'I'm sure that other contractors are planning surveys already.'

  'Only because they want to build the line.'

  'It could be a very profitable venture.'

  'Assuming that we do not have another revolution,' said Filton with a tentative laugh. 'You never know with these people.'

  'Oh, I think that Louis Napoleon is here to stay.'

  'For a time, Mr Brassey.'

  'He's a man of great ambition, Aubrey.'

  'That's the impression I've had of him,' said Colbeck. 'From all that I've read about Louis Napoleon, he seems to be a man of decisive action. He knows precisely what he wants and how best to achieve it. Well, you've met him, Mr Brassey,' he continued. 'Is that an unfair estimate of him?'

  'Not at all. He's determined and single-minded.'

  'Just like his namesake.'

  'He patterns himself on Bonaparte.'

  'That could worry some people. When I said a moment ago that somebody else might have thought about the extension to Cherbourg, I was not referring to your rival contractors. They simply want to build the railway,' said Colbeck. 'What about those who want to stop it from ever being built?'

  'Why should anyone want to stop it, Inspector Colbeck?'

  'We'll have to ask them when they're finally caught.'

  Brendan Mulryne might have been working on the railway for a month rather than simply a day. He related so easily to the people around him that he gained an immediate popularity. Part of a crowd of navvies who descended on one of the inns in a nearby village, he proved to his new friends that he could drink hard, talk their language and tell hilarious anecdotes about some of the escapades in which he had been involved. Since there were others there who hailed from Dublin, he was also able to indulge in some maudlin reminiscences of the city. The night wore on.

  To earn some easy money, he issued a challenge. He said that he would pay a franc to anyone who could make him double up with a single punch to his stomach. Those who failed would pay Mulryne the same amount. Liam Kilfoyle was the first to try. Slapping a franc down on the bar counter, he took off his coat and bunched his right hand. Everyone watched to cheer him on and to see how he fared. Mulryne grinned broadly and tightened his stomach muscles. When he delivered his punch, Kilfoyle felt as if he had just hit solid rock. His knuckles were sore for the rest of the night.

  Several people tried to wipe the grin from Mulryne's face but none could even make him gasp for breath. In no time at all, he had earned the equivalent of a week's wage and he showed his benevolence by treating everyone to a drink. By the time they rolled out of the inn, Mulryne was more popular than ever. He led the others in a discordant rendition of some Irish ballads. When they neared the camp, the men dispersed to their respective dwellings. Mulryne was left alone with Kilfoyle and Pierce Shannon.

  'When you won all that money,' said Shannon, 'why did you throw it all away on a round of drinks?'

  Mulryne shrugged. 'I was among friends.'

  'I'd have held on to it myself.'

  'Then you don't have my outlook on life, Pierce.'

  'And what's that?'

  'Easy come, easy go.'

  'Does it work the same for women?' asked Kilfoyle.

  'Yes,' said Mulryne, chortling happily. 'Take 'em and leave 'em, that's what I believe, Liam. Love a woman hard but always remember the queue of other lucky ladies that are waiting for you with their tongues hanging out.'

  'What about French women?'

  'What about them?'

  'Do you like them?'

  'I like anything pretty that wears a skirt.'

  'They can't compare with an Irish colleen.'

  'Women are women to me.'

  They walked on until they came to the two parallel tracks that had already been laid. Empty wagons stood ready to be filled on the following day. Kilfoyle saw a chance to win a wager.

  'How strong are you, Brendan?' he said.

  'Why – do you want to take another swing at me?'

  'No, I was wondering if you could lift that.' He pointed to one of the wagons. 'Only a few inches off the rails. Could you?'

  'Depends on what you're offering,' said Mulryne.

  'A day's wages.'

  'They'll be mine to keep, if I win. There'll be no buying you a free drink this time, Liam.'

  'If you can shift that wagon, you'll have earned the money.'

  'I'll match the bet,' said Shannon, 'if you take it on.'

  Mulryne removed his coat. 'I never refuse a challenge.'

  It was the last wagon in the line. He walked around it to size it up then uncoupled it from its neighbour. Taking a firm grip of it at the other end, he gritted his teeth and pretended to put all his energy into a lift. The wagon did not budge. Kilfoyle rubbed his hands with glee.

  'We've got him this time, Pierce,' he said.

  'I just need a moment to get my strength up.' Mulryne took a few deep breaths then tried again in vain. 'This bleeding thing is heavier than I thought. What's inside it – a ton of lead?'

  'Do you give up, Brendan?'

  'Not me – I'll have one last go.'

  'You owe each of us a day's wages.'

  'I'll make it two days, if you like,' said Mulryne.

  'Done! What about you, Pierce?'

  Shannon was more wary. 'My bet stands at one day.'

  'Then get ready to hand it over,' said Mulryne, spreading arms further apart as he gripped the wagon once more. 'Here we go.'

  Bracing himself with his legs, he heaved with all his might and lifted the end of the wagon at least six inches from the rail. Then he dropped it down again with a resounding clang.

  Kilfoyle was amazed. 'You did it!'

  'I usually only use one hand,' boasted Mulryne.

  'You could have lifted it off the rails altogether.'

  'Easily.'

  'Here's my money,' said Shannon, paying up immediately. 'I'll have more sense than to bet against you next time.'

  'Don't tell the others, Pierce.' Mulryne slapped the wagon. 'I think that this little trick might bring in even more profit. Let's have what you owe me, Liam.'

  'Right,' said Kilfoyle, handing over the coins.

  'And don't be stupid enough to challenge me again.'

  'I won't, Brendan.'

  'To tell you the truth,' admitted Mulryne, 'I never thought I could do it. But the chance of winning the bet put new strength into my arms. I'm like an old whore,' he added with a loud guffaw. 'I'll do absolutely anything for money.'

  CHAPTER NINE

  Robert Colbeck was interested in every aspect of the railways. While he enjoyed travelling on them, he was also very curious about those who brought them into being with the brilliance of their invention or the sweat of their brow. Bridges, aqueducts, tunnels, cuttings, and drainage systems did not burst spontaneously into life. Each and every one had to be designed and built to specification. Colossal earthworks had to be constructed. Timber had to be felled and cut to size. Marshes had to be drained. Stone had to be quarried. Untold millions of bricks had to be made on site before being used to line tunnels, create ventilation shafts, solidify bridges and aqueducts, or stabilise steep embankments. A railway was a declaration of war against a contour map of the area where it was bein
g built. Continuous and unremitting attack was needed.

  When he inspected the site with Aubrey Filton that morning, Colbeck was impressed by the amount of work that had been done since the day he had first arrived there with Victor Leeming. Nobody was slacking. Everywhere he looked, men were putting their hearts and souls into their job. Brendan Mulryne, he noticed, was now helping to dig a new cutting, shovelling methodically and building up a vast mound of earth to be taken away to the wagons. Colbeck could hear his distinctive voice above the din.

  'You're making headway, Mr Filton,' he observed.

  'Not enough of it, Inspector.'

  'Where did you expect to be at this stage?'

  'At least a quarter of a mile farther on,' said the engineer. 'The French government are slave-drivers. We have targets to meet at the end of every month.'

  'Everything seems to be going well now. And we've not had any incidents for the last couple of days.'

  'It's the calm before the storm.'

  'I don't think so,' said Colbeck. 'I believe it may have something to do with the fact that Mr Brassey took my advice about security. In addition to nightwatchmen, he now has a handful of guard dogs.'

  'Yes, they're vicious-looking brutes.'

  'That's the intention.'

  'I'm glad that they're kept on a leash.'

  'They won't be if there's any trouble, Mr Filton. The dogs will be released. The simple fact that you've got them will make any villains think twice before committing a crime. They might be able to outrun a nightwatchman,' said Colbeck, 'but not if he has four legs.'

  They strolled on until they reached the forward end of the strenuous activity. Ground rose steadily ahead of them and would need to be levelled before the track could be laid. There would be more digging for Mulryne and the others. Colbeck thought about all the maps and charts he had seen in Brassey's office.

  'How good an engineer was Gaston Chabal?' he asked.

  'He was outstanding.'

  'I'm sure that you are as well, Mr Filton, or you'd not be employed on such a major project. Was Chabal taken on because he was French or because he had remarkable skills?'

  'For both reasons, Inspector.'

  'But you can manage without him?'

  'We have to,' said Filton. 'Fortunately, we have all the drawings and calculations he did for us, but it's not the same as having the man himself here. Gaston was a delightful fellow.'