Enemies at Every Turn

by David Donachie

  The square head jerked as Codge reacted to his entry and Gherson caught a glimpse of his bead-like blue eyes under lowered lids, added to that look he generally wore on his face, one of outright arrogance. Taking a seat in an ill-lit corner and ordering a pot of gin he had no intention of imbibing, for the brew in this place might rip out your gut, Gherson waited until Codge sent one of his minions over to manufacture a false and insincere greeting. He gave him no chance to speak.

  ‘Tell Codge I want a word.’ The head jerked to where the man sat. ‘Not at his table and other ears.’

  ‘He reckons he might know you.’

  ‘He does, but he has not enjoyed my company for a while.’ Gherson nearly added he had never taken pleasure in the reverse, but such truth would be wasted on the dense specimen to whom he was talking. ‘Just say I’m here on business.’

  There was no rush to compliance; Codge took his time, making a show of downing his ale to underline his own importance. Everyone was watching, all curious, for there is nothing so nosy as a felon when it comes to another rogue’s affairs.

  Just as slow as his drinking was his walk to stand over Gherson, making sure his height and build were established, for he was a well-built tough as well as a double-dealer. The man he was seeking to overawe was not brave – in fact, he feared Codge physically – so it took some effort for him to keep a tremor out of his voice, to ask him to sit and then, when he did so, to make a very quick proposal.

  ‘I have a job needs doing, and I have a man willing to pay handsomely for the service.’

  Codge smiled, trying to look sincere, yet managing, with his foreign-hinting features, to do a fair impersonation of a well-fed rat. ‘Handsomely to some is poverty to another.’

  With the large frame of Codge between him and the rest of the room, Gherson lifted his hat enough to show his full face and his curly fair hair, before pulling it down again, just long enough to register the look which Codge could not fail to disguise.

  ‘It is you. I was told you was a goner.’

  ‘Nine lives, Codge, but you know me, so you know that when I say “handsomely” it is just that.’

  The head came closer to Gherson’s own and in a voice near to a whisper the need was outlined, with Codge nodding and the man he was talking to wondering what thoughts he was harbouring about doubling his bets.

  ‘Whatever the lawyer has locked away we need to examine, so we can select what we are seeking.’

  ‘You don’t know what it looks like?’

  ‘It’s a bundle of papers and the man being in the law, he will have a rate of such things. Mortgage deeds, wills and the like.’

  ‘Then there’s only one way to play it, to get you in and let you take what you want.’ The jerk Gherson gave to that suggestion had Codge continuing. ‘Stands to reason we can’t carry out his strongbox, for it might be more’n a couple of jemmy-men can bear. No, you needs to be along to take what you want, while my lads clear out anything they think might turn them a coin.’

  That was a worry, for Gherson would be putting himself at risk, something to which he was habitually averse, but a moment’s consideration told him there was a way to deflect any notion of him being caught in the lawyer’s office with Codge.

  ‘You’d have to be there as well, then. I pay you, you pay them.’

  ‘You must have come up the Thames in a spice boat to think I will be anywhere near the place.’

  ‘I never thought you would, Codge, you’re far too clever.’

  Silhouetted against what little light came in through the doorway, Gherson could see the shoulders square with the conceit he had witnessed so many times before; flattery was a speciality of his, the trait which had seen him prosper in many of his situations, both carnal and commercial.

  ‘But I am not far behind in that regard. It’s papers I want, not a metal box, and they can be borne in a sack. Let your men do the thieving and we will meet just after, you and I, at a place I shall choose where I can search for what I want and I will pass over your price in golden guineas the minute I find it. Then we can go our separate ways, for I will choose with care where we meet.’

  That set those same shoulders, so recently squaring with pride, twitching with offence; Gherson was saying there would be no reliance on good faith, and no man reacted to an accusation of untrustworthiness more than one who had that as the core of his being.

  ‘I’ll need to know that afore any break-in.’

  ‘You shall, for if you do not, you will decline to do what is required.’

  ‘I’ll set a few eyes around this day to see what’s what. Where can I get you?’

  ‘I shall come again tomorrow,’ Gherson responded; there was no way he was going to let this bastard know where he was residing or the other thing he would want to know, who was the true paymaster.

  ‘The fee?’ Codge asked.

  ‘To be negotiated, when we meet to agree it can be done and to set the thing in motion.’

  ‘How long before that happens?’

  ‘As soon as the matter is finally decided and I have the means to pay you, I will give you the nod.’

  ‘With you doubling the figure I charge for your principal, happen?’

  ‘As long as you get yours, Codge, allow that I get mine.’

  Gherson stood and went straight out the door. He knew without looking back that Codge would put someone to tail him, but he had one advantage given to few who dealt with the viper. It was not a matter he was proud of but he knew the rookeries inside out through past necessity, so losing Codge’s man was easy.

  It was the second instruction Codge gave to one of his knuckle-dragging supporters that would have been more worrying. ‘I can’t recall who it was who wanted to do for a fellow called Gherson a year or more back. Find out an’ be quick about it.’

  The main gate of Chatham Dockyard, surmounted by the royal coat of arms, was well guarded, the whole surrounded by a high brick wall – not surprising given that within its confines at any one time were stored and stacked goods that amounted to a fortune in money. Here were built many of the great ships that provided England’s wooden walls, and for sheer acreage Chatham would not bow the knee to Portsmouth, even if the Solent dockyard was now of greater import than hitherto.

  At the time of the Dutch Wars, Chatham had been supreme, with its satellite at Sheerness and the Nore anchorage resting on the silt at the mouth of the River Medway. But the main naval enemy was now France and other ports were better placed to contain her ambitions, not just Pompey but Plymouth as well. Still home to the North Sea Fleet it was also a place into which poured those men needed to man the ships wherever they anchored, many at the outbreak of war, volunteers with experience of the sea, although there were fewer of those as time passed.

  Now they tended to be landsmen tempted by tales of untold riches in prize money, bored youths and the odd disposed-of burden on the parish, or men so drunk when offered the King’s shilling they knew not what they were doing. Plus, of course, there were pressed men, some from homecoming merchant vessels caught in the Channel, others taken up by roving gangs who ignored the law that only men of the sea should be at risk of impressment; a bounty was a bounty.

  It was through those gates that the wagon came, having stopped the night at Reculver, carrying Charlie Taverner, Rufus Dommet and men from Ramsgate as well as Dover. They were taken out to a slop ship; conscious of the risk of disease from the newly recruited – gaol fever and the like spread quickly in the crowded confines of a man-o’-war – the new arrivals were stripped, washed and issued with new and appropriate clothing. They were then passed over to the receiving hulk to await the vessel into which they would be required to serve.

  ‘Well now, Rufus, this is a rum do.’

  Charlie said this while looking at the crowded main deck of a ship long past serving in the line, one with its masts removed, anchored head and stern in the shallows of the river, a hulk that sat in its own filth and never moved, relying on the strong flow of
the Medway after heavy rainfall to take out to the wider Thames the detritus of those who lived aboard.

  It was temporary home to hundreds of men, and looking at them it seemed that every type was represented – long, short and fat – except that none of them appeared even remotely like sailors, for all they had been issued with the proper slops. Each had been entered and paid their due, less the cost of what they wore and the tobacco they were now puffing away at, as had Charlie and Rufus.

  ‘You could not swing a cat on this deck, that’s for certain.’

  The air of the place, certainly from the bottom of the companionway on which they stood, was listless, with men sitting around below hammocks that had been rolled and tied, given they were not in use. The problem was the number; there did not seem an overhead deck beam with space to sling another. The only saving grace was that, with the redundant gun ports open, there was a breeze to carry away the smell of too many bodies, though not that of the bilge water, which rose from the decks lacking daylight below.

  ‘We might need sharp elbows to get us the space for a hammock.’

  ‘This is where Michael would come in handy,’ said Rufus.

  ‘Aye, but we don’t have our Irish bruiser to aid us now, do we?’

  That made both of them think; they could claim now to be proper sailors for all they had at one time been illegally pressed out of the Pelican Tavern, and it was plain now, if it had not been before, how much they had relied on each other. When it came to dreams of release it was John Pearce; to ensuring they could claim their due, Michael O’Hagan could secure that merely by his presence; Charlie, being the sly clever one, was good on comfort, while Rufus was the innocent step-and-fetchit.

  ‘We have to make our own way now, Rufus, but at least we can thank the Lord we are no longer ignorant of how.’

  ‘Can you hear that fiddle, Charlie?’

  For all there was no great animation in those they could see, there was enough conversation to set up a low hum, which made hearing anything above it difficult. Charlie had to cock a hand to his ear and listen hard to pick up the faint scraping of the instrument, but eventually he heard a high note and nodded.

  ‘Get a move on you two.’

  The voice was harsh and the face from which it came when they turned to look did nothing to soften the effect. The scully that spoke, as broad as he was high, took the notion of ugliness to new depths. He had a forehead that was near to half the size of his head which hung over his eyes, a tiny nose and a great lantern jaw. In his hand he carried a knotted rope, a starter, and that swung a fraction as if to tell them he was about to use it.

  ‘We’re a’looking for a place to sling a hammock,’ Rufus said.

  ‘There be room a’plenty two decks below this one.’

  ‘And I hazard full of stink, they bein’ below the waterline.’

  Ugly looked at Charlie, with his hammock slung over one shoulder, his lip curling slightly. ‘So what is it to you?’

  ‘I fancy a sight of the day and night, friend.’

  The starter swung more menacingly. ‘What you fancy and what you get ain’t the same in the King’s Navy, so move on.’

  There had been a time when both Charlie and Rufus would have been in terror of that rope as well as the authority of the man who seemed prepared to wield it, clearly a fellow permanently attached to the receiving hulk. That was what it had been like the day they had been taken aboard HMS Brilliant not too far from where they now stood, in that case the swinger a rat-faced sod called Kemp.

  But time at sea, for all its tribulations, had taught them much, even if they were not always aware of what they had imbibed. The one thing that had taken root was that a Jack tar had rights and he was not to be shoved from pillar to post by any Tom, Dick or Harry. Sure, care had to be taken with proper authority, but a stand was needed too when that was arbitrary. Odd that Rufus, still looking younger than his years, with his freckled face and faraway expression, was the one who spoke up and he was serious.

  ‘Don’t reckon this barky sits with much water under its keel, mate, but you look short-arsed enough to me to drown in what’s there. Might be best if you was to sling your hook and let my mate and I find our own place to berth.’

  The message was as plain as the daylight outside the gun ports: use that starter if you want, but have a care after, for you are looking at a pair who might just seek you out in the dark night and give you what you seem ready to hand out, maybe even toss you over the side. That it was taken as the threat intended could not be doubted, even if Ugly did not blink or step backwards.

  ‘Then be quick about it,’ he growled.

  ‘Why, brother,’ Charlie said, ‘we’ve got all the time in creation. Come on, Rufus, let’s see who is on that fiddle you heard, for they are as like as not to be as we are, blue-water men.’ That sent another message to Ugly: we know what we are about. ‘And I have no mind to go and slumber among the rats on the decks below.’

  As they eased through the crowded deck, eyed with a mixture of hope and suspicion by those that occupied it, Charlie praised his friend. ‘You put that bugger in the right, Rufus.’

  ‘Won’t be talked to like that, Charlie, ’cepting maybe from a blue coat, and even then it has to be right.’

  Charlie nearly said that Rufus, who had always deferred to him and had always seemed a bit gormless, was finally growing up; but it was not necessary – the lad knew that already and had just shown it plain.

  They found what they were looking for where the wardroom would have been at one time, had the hulk had bulkheads to cut off accommodation for officers. A group of fellows with long pigtails had messed around the housing that still covered the rudder on which stood the fellow with the fiddle, with the blessing also of the casement windows that not only admitted much light but that could be opened a fraction to admit fresh air, though there was a batten across them to ensure they did not provide a means of escape – nobody, not even a nipper, could squeeze through the tiny gap.

  As well as that there was some space, certainly enough for two more, although the eye contact Charlie and Rufus received when they appeared was not friendly. Yet they had a way of communicating without too many words that told those already there that these new arrivals were men who would know how to behave. Besides, they only had to look at their tar-ingrained hands to know these were a pair of proper seamen.

  ‘Space for two more, brothers?’ asked Charlie.

  Those present looked at each other to check their assessment, until one fellow nodded.

  ‘Then,’ said Rufus, putting a hand into his bag and producing a packet of baccy, ‘it be time to share a pipe.’

  ‘And a penny for the entertainment,’ said one of the group.

  With that, Charlie slipped a coin from his palm, one he had extracted as they approached, a sure indication they knew the ropes. ‘As required by custom.’ Then he slapped it on the rudder housing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Having stolen a pair of fine horses, the question was now what to do with them; Pearce had no intention of riding all the way to London and stabling them, they did after all have brand marks and he could not be sure those owners would not report their loss, while just abandoning them was not fair to animals who were accustomed to good treatment. In the end it was a problem solved by Michael O’Hagan, who knew they were strapped for money and scoffed at his friend’s sensibilities.

  ‘Have we not stolen enough of their goods, John-boy? What difference is it going to make if we sell their horses?’

  ‘It’s not something I am accustomed to.’

  Michael grinned. ‘Are you after saying I am?’

  ‘No, but who will buy horses that are not ours?’

  That made the Irishman laugh out loud, his shoulders shaking as he walked his mare.

  ‘Sure, you don’t know much about those who trade in horseflesh, do you? If there is a bunch of more dishonest folk then I have yet to encounter them. If they suspect the animals are not ours they wi
ll not do other than offer us a poor price. For certain they will not ask from whence they came.’

  If it was not a trade John Pearce knew much about, the reputation of horse dealers preceded them, for if they appeared in public entertainments they were always shifty seedy-looking characters, even in their dress, which tended towards loud checks and misshapen hats, added to a habit of talking out of the sides of their mouths, while always looking to cheat whoever they were dealing with.

  ‘I’m not sure it is something I could bring off, even if I could find the right person to sell to.’

  ‘Then it is best left to me, John-boy.’

  The place to sell was in the Medway towns of Chatham and Rochester, where there was a lively trade in many things due to the arrival and departure of men going to and coming from the sea, including goods of dubious provenance that often bore the marks of being government property: ropes with a red identifying thread; copper, it was rumoured but never proved, coming from the middle parts of bolts that were used to hold the keel timbers of a warship together, the two ends slotted in at each side to mask the theft.

  Anything that could be lifted was fair game to the men who entered and left the Royal Dockyards of Chatham and Sheerness. Those who were supposed to check they were not hiding stolen property under the clothing, being as poorly rewarded as those they were set to search, could easily be bought off with rum tapped from the barrels in the spirit store, and what could not be carried out could be thrown over the long brick walls to waiting companions.

  Lead, canvas, nails, turpentine, good timber, the aforesaid spirits, barrel staves and the metal hoops to make them whole, clothing, blocks of tar, even, it was said, the great cables made to secure the anchors of line-of-battle ships could go a’walking. The Medway towns had, for a hundred years, received so much in the way of purloined property it was no longer considered a crime to own any.