Tristan put the pumpkin down on the ground next to the cartwheel and walked over to where Sissy and Mr Sullivan were discussing the warm spring weather in the shade, courtesy of an awning that provided a welcomed relief from the hot afternoon sun. He liked the Irish monger with the big red beard because the man always had a joke to share. Above all, he treated Sissy with respect and seemed an honest man, unlike some of the other merchants they had to deal with. Furthermore, the man could scale, gut and wrap a fish before you could say the word knife, and that was highly commendable in Tristan’s eyes. Their conversation switched from weather to the big plans Mr Sullivan had for his business, about selling game in winter and hawking fish pies at the market.
It was then that movement behind the fishmonger drew Tristan’s attention. A boy, about his age, with ginger hair and freckles all over his face, arms and legs, was standing at a wooden bench surrounded by buckets and crates. The fishmonger noticed Tristan’s curiosity.
‘I like your hat, lad,’ the big man smiled at him. ‘’Tis big and a bit heavy but will most certainly keep you cool in this warm sun. And you can cook it when you get home, now isn’t that a splendid idea?’ The smile turned into loud chuckle with Sissy joining in.
‘Yes, sir, ‘tis,’ Tristan replied shyly, not knowing what else to say as he continued to watch the other boy work.
Eoghan looked over his shoulder and back at them. ‘That over there’s my boy Finn. Arrived yesterday, with his ma and two sisters,’ he told them.
‘Poor boy,’ said Sissy, concerned with the child’s welfare. ‘He hasn’t even had a proper rest, and already he’s been put to work.’
‘Aye,’ said the big Irishman. ‘He’s had enough of women folk for a while. This morning the little rascal begged me to come along.’
They watched in silence as Finn cleaned the string of cod on the table in front of him. With a big frown on his forehead and his tongue sticking out, the boy first scaled then gutted each fish, very precisely, every single one with the same number of cuts. The gills and the guts were pulled out in one go. He cut off the livers and roe, which went into a separate bucket, while he threw the rest of the intestines onto a homemade wooden trough which ran down the embankment and emptied into the river below. Tristan watched on as the entrails slowly crawled their way down to the river, helped every now and then by a splash of water from a nearby bucket. Each fish was given a quick rinse in a barrel of salt water before it was thrown into a crate together with a small handful of salt. Without looking up, Finn grabbed the next cod and started the exercise all over again.
Tristan elbowed Sissy in the ribs. Without even looking at him, she knew what was going through his head.
‘He’s been doing it for most of his young life,’ she said. ‘You tried to kill a cabbage.’
Eoghan looked at the two, a bit puzzled by Sissy’s comment, but then realised he had yet to make a sale. ‘Perhaps I can interest you in a fresh cod, Mrs Sanderson? Those fish are the first of the season and only two pence a pound,’ he enquired. ‘Or perhaps some herring that were netted this morning?’
‘Let me see the cod.’ Though Sissy came to trust the man in front of her, she had learned the hard way not to make any exceptions, yet she was somewhat surprised that he had remembered her name. ‘In fact, you’d better make it two. One will not feed the lot that my maids have to cook for.’
Eoghan pulled two fat cod from a barrel and put them on the bench in front of Sissy. Upon close inspection she found the fish’s eyes to be shiny and the gills blood-red. Eoghan watched on, somewhat appreciative that someone could spot a fresh fish as well as he did. As a young lad, he had helped his father in the butchery, and he too had once been caught out buying a cat in a bag. A dear lesson had been learned that day, through both shame and strop.
‘Any fresher, and they’d still be swimming,’ the fishmonger laughed.
‘I’ll take it. And two handfuls of the livers and roe.’
'Finn, gut and scale these fish for the nice lady.' His father held out the two cod Sissy had chosen.
The redheaded boy looked up, a slight hint of frustration playing over his face because his father had interrupted his concentration. He looked over to Sissy, then at Tristan and nodded his head.
'Come now, mac, get on with it,' his father repeated.
'I will, da.' Finn’s voice was soft but firm as he took the fish from his father. In the blink of an eye, both cod were cleaned, wrapped and waiting on the table.
'Much obliged, child, and such a splendid job you did too.' Sissy handed him a hardboiled sweet from her bag. The boy’s fishy fingers quickly grabbed the sweet delight and stuffed it into his mouth. 'You should feed the boy,' she said laughingly.
'Aye, where they come from there is no such thing as sweets, only starva—.' The expression on Eoghan’s face said more than the words that he tried to utter. It was a life he had left behind, and for a good reason. ‘What do you say, boy?’ he roared, roughing up Finn’s hair with his fingers.
‘Thank you, Miss,’ said Finn shyly before he turned around and headed back to his table where he dutifully grabbed the next cod from his barrel of fish.
‘He’s a sweet boy,’ said Sissy.
‘He’s had a hard life…the mother and sisters too. We’re hoping to turn our fortunes around here.’ There was a hint of desperation in Eoghan’s voice. Sissy knew…she had been there too.
Eoghan gave Sissy the roe and liver for free. She paid the man for the fish, and while they continued their conversation about his family and their big plans, Finn glanced up now and again to see what the fella that came with the lady was doing.
Tristan had walked over to one of the baskets not far from the table where Finn was working. Inside the basket, brown crabs were shoving and nipping each other in a bid for freedom, not realising that their fate had already been sealed. He had seen these creatures at the market before, but he had never touched one. Inadvertently, he stuck his hand out to help one that was lying on its back so it could continue its senseless struggle.
‘Stop!’ Finn had already reduced the distance between him and Tristan by half, with both hands outstretched as if he was getting ready to tackle Tristan. The terrified look on his face stopped Tristan dead in his tracks.
‘One of those big ones can take your finger off, lad, or give you a bad cut and poison your blood,’ said Eoghan. He and Sissy had dropped their conversation mid-air and had hurried across to where Tristan was standing, looking quite sheepishly as he slowly pulled his hand out of the basket.
‘’Twas close! Look, I’ll show you.’ Finn took his filleting knife and stripped a small piece of wood as thick as his little finger from one of the crates. He carefully picked up one, pinching the back of the plate-size crab between his thumb and forefinger. He held the wooden splinter in front of the crab which immediately latched onto it with its big claw. Finn wiggled the piece of wood around a bit, and before their eyes, it snapped in two.
Tristan gasped out loud, both amazed and shocked as he lifted his hand and looked at his fingers, imagining four instead of five. Wait till I tell Miles. He won’t believe me.
While Finn was busy putting the crab back with his friends, Miles’s voice startled them all. ‘What in heaven’s…what are you all doing in the back of the shop?’
His words jolted Sissy into action as she realised that half the day had already expired and she still had lots to do. ‘We have to be on our way before those fish spoil in this hot weather. Why don’t you send the little one around tomorrow afternoon, Mr Sullivan, so that we can repay him for saving Tristan’s life?’ Sissy winked at Eoghan, trying hard to keep a serious face but also hoping the man would have no issue sending his son to her residence.
‘Well, I see no harm. As soon as he finishes all his chores, I’ll send him over,’ Eoghan played along, ‘as long as I can have him back before sunset.’
‘Well, it’s settled then,’ said Sissy and, before Miles had time to protest, added the fish to
the cart. After she had said farewell to Eoghan, she and Miles started the journey back home. ‘Come, Tristan! And don’t forget that pumpkin!’ she shouted to her son, who was still standing rooted to the spot.
Tristan was overwhelmed with joy. Never before had someone visited him at the brothel. He grinned at Finn whose blood-smeared face was also gleaming with excitement from behind his table. With a smile as bright as the midday sun, Tristan ran out of the shop, grabbed the pumpkin and swung it onto his head. He nearly forgot to bid Mr Sullivan farewell and yelled ‘good day’ over his shoulder as he made his way down the road.
All the way to La Boutique, he babbled away, letting them know over and over how close he came to losing his life, how skilful the boy was with a sharp knife and how much he was looking forward to his new friend’s visit the next day. Halfway home, upon Miles’s request, Sissy handed Tristan an apple. Balancing the pumpkin with one hand while eating the apple with the other was enough distraction to shut him up for the rest of the way.
It made for an awkward first visit when the two boys got together the next day. One was new to London and the surroundings, and the other had spent most of his life among adults. Sissy had some sugary treats ready for them, and it was she who played the role of go-between at the kitchen table, asking them questions so that they got to know each other.
It was only after she had instructed them to go and play outside that the shyness disappeared and a newfound friendship started to blossom. Tristan showed Finn around the yard and introduced him to Giles at the gate. Finn did not like the big man who first regarded him with cold, steely eyes and then warned them both not to get up to any mischief. He much preferred Miles, who they found behind the shed smoking his pipe and sipping on one of Sissy’s homemade ciders.
‘You lads better watch out for the boss lady.’ His voice carried much more sincerity than that of his brother’s. ‘She’ll be back soon.’
They were playing a game of quoits with Miles, trying to throw rope rings over wooden stakes in the ground, when Sissy called them back to the porch. There the boys were given one of Madam’s favourite drinks for a hot day, mugs filled with boiled water and lemon juice then sweetened with honey and lastly cooled in the icehouse. They both gulped down the refreshing drink and asked Sissy if they could play outside with some of the neighbourhood children.
It did not take them long to find a group that was playing a game of blind man’s buff, but the two boys soon lost interest, and Finn suggested that they head down to the river to “skim stones”. Tristan had no idea what Finn was talking about, but when he saw the boy picking up pebbles as they walked, he followed suit by stuffing small rocks into his own pockets.
They made their way down Worcester Street until they got to Castle Street. From there they took a shortcut across the tenter ground, zigzagging their way through the many wooden frames adorned with dripping cloths. A quick tiptoed trip through a graveyard and few more shortcuts through broken fences and alleys got them onto Maid Lane, close to the site of the old demolished Globe Playhouse. The last stretch took them past some almshouses, which housed London’s poorest of the poor, and onto Bankside, where they had to dodge the many pedestrians and carts that filled the street.
When they finally arrived on the banks of the Thames, the river was in full flow with an ebb tide. The brown polluted water had a stench to it that could find its way through the snottiest of noses. Every type of waste conceivable, including humankind, was dumped into what many considered as one big gutter, and with a growing city came a dirtier river. Tristan had lived close to it for all of his short life and did not know any better but Finn, still new to the city, struggled with the rotting smell.
‘The stench is even worse than yesterday,’ he complained, ‘worse than rotten fish guts.’
‘I heard people say you get used to it. Try and sniff more of it to see if it works,’ advised Tristan as he was looking out over the mighty Thames.
The river was teeming with small boats. Wherries ferried people from one side to the other while some made their way further downstream to the heart of the city. Larger hoys carried fresh produce from ports higher up the river down to the local markets. Closer to the other side a shallop, carrying rich or perhaps even noble people, was racing to its destination and created chaos for some of the slower boats. On every boat, helmsmen were negotiating their paths with all the precision they could muster, yelling obscenities at each other to warn of any impending danger.
Further upstream from where they stood, a few washerwomen were washing linen and clothes. Tristan watched the scum from the soap glisten on top of the dirty water. It contorted in all sorts of shapes as it slowly floated past them.
Finn took the stones out of his pockets and Tristan, whose breeches had almost sagged down to his thighs from all the weight, followed his new friend’s example, making a neat little pile. Finn picked one up and threw it in the water. The two boys watched the ripples expand around the splash. Next, Finn did something which made Tristan’s jaw drop. He picked up a thin oval-shaped rock, bent down slightly and threw the rock almost parallel with the water. The stone lightly kissed the water, jumped up into the air and repeated the same process, bouncing at least five times before it ran out of speed and disappeared into the deep.
‘How?’ uttered Tristan in wonderment.
In no time at all Finn taught Tristan the art of skimming stones and for the next hour, the two boys continued with the game until it felt like their arms would break off. When they ran out of stones, they quickly stockpiled another heap and kept on going to see who could get the most bounces.
It was an exhausted Tristan who finally sat down on a grassy bank close to the water’s edge. Finn joined him moments later, and the two lay backwards, looking at a few small white clouds slowly drifting high up in the blue sky.
‘Da says all us people, we’re just like a skimming stone,’ said Finn, breaking the silence.
‘What does that mean?’ Tristan was baffled by what he had heard.
‘I dunno.’ Finn shrugged his shoulders. ‘But that’s what he says.’
Tristan thought about it for a while, tried to imagine life as a stone and decided that he would ask Sissy instead. ‘Do you miss your home?’ A cloud that closely resembled a rabbit drifted past. It momentarily blocked the sun and cast a shadow over the two boys on the riverbank.
‘Da says this is our home now. “No turning back now. There’s nothing left for us,” he told me ma.’ Finn closed his eyes as the bright sun once more reared its head.
It was then that he started telling Tristan about Waterford, the Irish village they had lived in and the great life they had had. He told of the farming they had done, growing turnips as big as a grown man’s fist, the two cows they had owned that provided the best milk and butter, how they had netted salmon in pristine country streams and hunted for game, including fat hares and waterfowl. He told Tristan how a rebellion they had no part in changed everything, how their house had been burned to the ground and how an English nobleman had laid claim to the land his father was farming on, how they had fled and had struggled to survive. He told Tristan about their long, arduous journey to Dublin, all the famine they had witnessed along the way, villages that had been razed to the ground. How they had been taken in by relatives. How anxious they all had been when his father had left for England to make a new life for them. How excited they had been to finally receive his message to come to London. Finn finished off his story with a boat journey over rough seas and the long walk to their new home.
Tristan listened closely, drank in every word, but found it difficult to comprehend fully all that Finn told him. They were both quiet for a while, just enjoying the sun’s warmth on their faces. Tristan knew it was his turn next. He thought about La Boutique and all of a sudden, he realised how little he knew about the world outside those four walls and how seemingly uneventful his life had been. So instead, he told Finn about his dreams in which he was a captain of a ship that s
ailed to faraway countries – dreams fuelled by fables and truths that had been shared with him by the twins and the La Boutique ladies. Pretty soon, they were both explorers, and as they got lost in their fantasy world, the presence of time disappeared.
The Thames was at its lowest level for the day as the river emptied the last of its putrid bowels into the North Sea. The intense traffic, which had congested the river and polluted the air with noise earlier in the day, had mostly disappeared and a peaceful silence had filled the space. Some of the taller buildings, those closest to the riverbank, cast long shadows on the water as the sun started to set in the west.
The peace was briefly disturbed by a large flock of noisy starlings as they made their way upriver to roost. Further downstream, a group of mudlarks had come down to the exposed mud banks and were busy searching the banks of the river for anything valuable. The loud voices of the excited children carried far across the water as hands and feet were used to sift through the silt while every so often a scream rang out as someone cut themselves on a piece of broken shell or a sharp rock. The voices got closer and woke the two boys from their daydreams. Tristan suddenly remembered that he had promised Sissy he would be back before sunset, as had Finn to his father, and he quickly jumped to his feet.
‘I need to go…you too,’ said Tristan. I don’t want to get a lashing tonight, he thought. After all, it had been the best day of his life.
‘I’ll speak to me da, but I know he’ll say yes. We could sure do with the help,’ said Finn. ‘You ask your ma.’ The two had earlier discussed the possibility of Tristan helping out at the fishmonger’s shop.
‘I shall,’ replied Tristan, ‘as soon as I get home.’
The Fire Within Page 4