Inferno

by Jo Macauley

  “What does the picture of the doll mean?”

  John stared at it, his eyes almost black with anger. “It’s Lucinda.”

  “Lucinda?”

  “Polly’s doll. She would never be parted from it...” He clenched his jaw, and Beth gently reached over to unfurl his hands, which were balled into fists. “I’ll have to tell my family that they’ve demanded information about the Navy Board in return for Polly, and that I’m doing everything I can to get it. They can’t know a plot against the King is involved.”

  “You’re right. Still, we shall go along with their demands here,” Beth told him firmly.

  “But we can’t betray the King!” John exclaimed.

  “The King has a great deal of protection. Whatever they’re planning can’t happen straight away – they need the information. So it will give us time to figure out a plan. Polly is the one in the most immediate danger. We’ll go to the meeting place and let’s see what comes of it.”

  John swallowed. “Yes, that make sense. There’s one problem, though...”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know where Pirates’ Dock is.”

  “Oh. Neither do I. But I thought with your work for the Navy Board...?”

  “That’s just it. There are lots of docks and places along the river I haven’t been to, but I know the names of them all. I know for a fact that there is no Pirates’ Dock – at least, not officially.”

  “Well, there would be no point in them trying to trick you,” Beth said. “It must exist.”

  “And I know of only one person who knows the river better than me...”

  Beth allowed herself a grin. “Ralph Chandler!”

  * * *

  It was still early morning when they left Bloodbone Alley, but by the time they reached Ralph’s lodgings in Black Swan Alley there was bright sky above the fields beyond Whitechapel. Most of the houses and shops had not yet stirred, but in Walter Culpeper’s shop they could see the tall figure of the herbalist mixing potions in flasks. John knocked hesitantly on the door, and the owner beckoned them in with a long, thin arm that emerged from the baggy sleeve of his black gown.

  “We’re sorry to disturb you at this hour...” Beth began.

  “Hour?” echoed Mr Culpeper, stroking his long white beard distractedly. He looked up from his work and out through the window. “Oh, hour, yes...”

  “It’s just that we need to see Ralph,” John explained. “Urgently.”

  “Yes, yes,” the herbalist muttered as he reached for a dusty jar of dried purple leaves and peered intently at some tiny writing on the label.

  Beth caught John’s eye and nodded towards the door at the back that led to the stairs. They both made their way through the shop, and Culpeper paid no heed to them. Ralph lived in a single chamber above the shop. He’d been recruited as a spy by Strange while he’d been plying his “trade” as a petty criminal. Yet despite his rough-and-ready existence, he was a loyal friend and an admirable – and mostly law-abiding – spy.

  Ralph’s door stood slightly ajar, and they could see there was no light inside.

  “He will not be happy...” John said.

  “’Tis his bad luck!” Beth pushed the door open and went to Ralph’s bedside, where she gently tapped his shoulder.

  He gave a sniff, groaned “Whaaa?” and turned to face away from them.

  “Ralph!” John said impatiently. “We need your help!”

  “We haven’t got time for this – it’s not long until eight o’clock,” said Beth. She grabbed the blanket that was covering the boy and threw it back, revealing two spindly white legs sticking out of a crumpled blue and white striped nightshirt.

  “Hey!” Ralph cried. He looked up, suddenly alert – his spy training kicking in. He sprang out of the bed and eyed Beth and John warily, ready to defend himself.

  “It’s us!” Beth said. “We’ve work to do. Groby’s back, and something’s happened to John’s sister. We must act fast.”

  Ralph rubbed his eyes, panting hard. “You might have said so.” He turned to John. “Something’s happened to your sister? Groby?”

  John nodded grimly. “And there’s another plot against the King afoot. We’ll tell you the story later, but we need to get to Pirates’ Dock. We just don’t know where it is.”

  “Blow me, and you a Navy Board man...”

  “Never mind that. Can you tell us how to get there?”

  “I can do better than that,” Ralph said. “Find me boots, and I’ll take you there.”

  * * *

  They were heading back east, and the day’s temperature was already rising. At first they followed the Thames, but then Ralph took them on a short cut inland to miss a lengthy bend in the river. Beth realized they were travelling along the Ratcliffe Highway, haunt of highwaymen and cut-throats of the kind even Edmund Groby might hesitate to tangle with. They were approaching one particularly shady-looking alehouse when the door burst open. A group of rough-looking men staggered out into the road in an eruption of coarse laughter, swearing and shouting. One of the men immediately fixed his eyes on John.

  “What you lookin’ at?”

  John was about to answer, but Ralph quickly jumped in. “You seen Jack Wood in there, mate?”

  The surly man turned his unsteady gaze on Ralph. “Jack Wood? What’s it to you?”

  “Oh, just supposed to be meetin’ up with him tonight, that’s all.”

  The man seemed to be giving the matter some thought, as if seeing things in a new light. “No, I ain’t seen Jack Wood.”

  One of the other men grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “Come on, Ben. They’re a waste of time!”

  He took one last surly look at them, and then accompanied his friends on their teetering journey to the next inn.

  “Who’s Jack Wood?” John asked.

  “He’s the guv’nor in these parts. You don’t mess with his friends.”

  John was impressed. “You’re a friend of the toughest man on the Ratcliffe Highway?”

  “Lord, no. I stay well clear of him. But they didn’t know that, did they?”

  It was typical Ralph, and Beth couldn’t help laughing. But just when her uneasiness about travelling along this notorious thoroughfare was beginning to melt away, Ralph began to lead them down a series of alleys towards the river. Each one seemed to be narrower and darker than the last. The smells and voices, and half-visible figures lounging in doorways, had the three of them huddling together as they picked their way through the potholes, rotting debris and scurrying rats. Eventually Beth caught sight of the fast-flowing water of the Thames glistening in the morning sun and they emerged onto a dockside.

  And nailed to the side of a ramshackle wooden building, Beth saw a weather-beaten, crudely carved sign:

  EXECUTION DOCK

  Chapter Five - Ultimatum

  “But we’re supposed to be at Pirates’ Dock,” said John irritatedly, eyeing the ominous sign.

  It was low tide, and in the mud on the shore Beth saw a rectangular wooden frame made from two stout posts, with a crossbar joining them across the top. From the centre of the crossbar hung a frayed, mouldy length of rope, flapping in the breeze.

  “That’s where they hang ’em,” Ralph told them in an unusually solemn voice. “The proper name might be Execution Dock, but round here it’s known as Pirates’ Dock. When they catch ’em, they rope ’em up there and leave their bodies ’til three tides have washed over ’em. Not a pretty sight by then, believe me – but it sends a message to the rest, see?”

  John swallowed, and despite the muggy heat Beth felt a shiver run through her. Then she remembered they were here for a purpose, and time was short. She surveyed the scene around her. At the water’s edge stood two tall wooden cranes for loading and unloading goods from ships, and across the wharf were two imposing warehouses. There was no sign of anyone, and the whole area was quiet as the grave.

  “At least it looks like we’ve got here before them,” John sai
d.

  “Yes,” Beth agreed. “You get ready for them, John. Ralph and I can find a place to hide where we can see what’s going on when they arrive.”

  “Haven’t played hide-and-seek for years!” said Ralph.

  There was enough soft morning light for Beth to see along the river to the next wharf. She looked over some barrels on the edge of the quay, but soon realized that if the kidnappers came by river she would be too close and might be spotted. But beyond the barrels, Beth noticed some rope dangling from a rusty iron mooring ring bolted to the edge of the wharf. The rope from the scaffold was old and rotten, but this looked new.

  “Come and look at this!”

  Ralph came across and took in the scene, then peered over the edge of the quayside. “And there’s marks,” he said. There were grooves in the mud that looked as though they’d been made by a keel.

  “They’re recent,” John noted.

  Ralph nodded. “As soon as the tide comes in and goes out again them marks’ll be washed away. Someone’s had a small boat, maybe a rowing boat, moored here within the last few hours. Could have been the kidnappers, scoping it out for a meeting point.”

  “Could well have been...” Beth replied. She looked up at the sky. Orange fingers of sunlight were feeling their way across the roofs of the houses. “We’d better take cover. It must be nearing eight o’clock.”

  Beth and Ralph quickly went their separate ways in search of hiding places and vantage points. They left John standing alone on the dockside, waiting for the people who had taken his sister captive.

  * * *

  Beth tugged the top of her shirt up over her mouth and nose to try and keep out the intense, stomach-churning stench. The little shack in front of the main warehouse must have once been used to store fish, but whoever had last cleaned it out hadn’t done a very good job. It gave her a good view of the dock, though, and she should be just within earshot when the kidnappers arrived. She couldn’t see Ralph through the crack in the wooden walls of her hiding place. He had made himself invisible, but she knew he was lying flat inside a small boat that was raised up on beams on the wharf, awaiting repair. John himself stood at the edge of the dock, a lone figure gazing across the Thames. Beth imagined how she would feel if Maisie had been kidnapped, and seeing him standing there all alone she wished there was more she could do for him. Hopefully there soon would be.

  For now, all she could do was wait, and keep swallowing back the waves of nausea. The dockside was bathed in sunlight, and the vapoury mist rising from the river told her that the day would be yet another hot one. Beth was on her hands and knees, shuffling around to ward off the growing sensation of cramp in her right thigh. She had been hiding for only about ten minutes, but it already felt like longer.

  Suddenly she heard the sound of oars splashing in the water and saw John stiffen, focusing his attention on a particular spot along the river that she couldn’t at first see. Soon, a long rowing boat glided into view carrying three occupants. Beth cursed inwardly when she realized they were all men – they hadn’t brought Polly with them. The man at the front of the boat stood up as it drifted against the landing stage with a gentle bump. He grabbed the same new rope she’d seen earlier, and used it to moor his craft.

  As he stepped off the boat, Beth saw that it was Groby.

  “You and your friends have interfered with our plans for your glorious King twice already, young cur,” he snarled at John. “But now we hold the ace.”

  “Where is she?” John shouted. “Where is my sister?”

  “Where no one will find her! You thought you were so clever, Turner: lowly clerk at the Navy Board by day, a skulking, devious spy for the sinful Charles by night.”

  “My sister has nothing to do with that!” John growled through gritted teeth.

  “Ha!” Groby laughed. “You should have thought about that before you decided to meddle in affairs that don’t concern you. Well, it’s ended in your dear sister being snatched from the streets like a stray dog to be put down – which is just what will happen to her unless you—”

  As soon as Groby uttered his threat to Polly’s life, John sprang at him. Groby didn’t flinch, didn’t move a muscle to defend himself. The two men with him dashed forwards, one either side of their leader. One gripped John by the arm, easily holding him at bay with one hand. The other came up behind him, grasped his waist and held a gleaming dagger to his throat. Beth held a hand to her mouth to keep from gasping.

  “We have your precious sister,” said Groby calmly in his ugly, rasping tones, “and now we need to get to your precious King. Which is the more precious to you, eh, Master Turner? Now is the time to decide. I’m a very fair and reasonable man and I give you a free choice! The King or Polly.”

  John elbowed the man with the knife hard in the gut and managed to struggle free, but he was soon recaptured, with the knife-wielding thug laughing menacingly in his ear.

  “Don’t even try it, boy,” he spat.

  “Why should I believe you’d release my sister anyway? You know my duty of loyalty to the King,” John panted. “What makes you think anything you say could get me to betray him?”

  Beth knew he was trying to be strong, and buying time to think, but she could hear John’s voice shaking with stress.

  “If you even stand a chance of seeing your precious young, innocent sister alive, you’ll do as I say,” Groby said, stepping closer to John. “Or would you prefer we gut you right here and try one of your other cohorts. That beautiful young girl-come-spy scum, perhaps?”

  “All right,” John interrupted quickly. “All right. I...” He sighed, and Beth’s heart wrenched. “I do know how you can get to the King...”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes.” John’s voice was steadier now, and Beth felt a little more certain that he’d thought of a way to buy them more time. “The perfect opportunity. If you agree to let Polly go, I’ll tell you not only where he’ll be but also the exact spot you can lie in wait for him.”

  A slow smile spread across Groby’s face. “Sounds almost too good to be true, Master Turner...”

  John’s jaw clenched. “That’s because it is almost too good to be true. My job at the Navy Board means I’m privy to information about the King and his movements that few others are, and—”

  He was interrupted by Groby’s sneering cackle. “Oh, we’re well aware of that, Master Turner. I have my spies too. Do you think it a coincidence that I have targeted your family? We know all about your clerkship at the Navy Board.” His voice grew more ominous. “And we know there is to be a big new warship named in honour of the King and he is overseeing its construction. You are going to be our man on the inside.”

  The blood drained from John’s face, and Beth felt just the same. John took a deep breath before he spoke again. “Before you get any help from me,” he growled, “I want proof that my sister is still alive.”

  Beth found herself biting her lip as she waited for Groby’s response. His shifty grey eyes narrowed and he rubbed his stubbly chin with his left hand, revealing the distinctive missing finger.

  “If I keep my promise regarding the girl, then you will give me every single detail I need, and you will be the one to get us close to your King.”

  John’s eyes narrowed angrily, and even without being able to see his face, Beth could tell he was fighting his emotions and trying to remain calm. She knew John wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize their chances of getting Polly back – and somehow he’d also want to stop their plot against the King.

  “Fine,” John choked out. “Prove Polly is alive and I’ll do what you say.”

  Groby waited a moment, then nodded to the man with the knife to John’s throat. He lowered the weapon and withdrew to stand beside his leader.

  “Give me two questions that only the girl would know the answer to.”

  John thought for a moment. “Our mother’s favourite flower ... And a line from her favourite nursery rhyme.”

  “V
ery well. Proof that she is alive will be delivered to your house tonight, at which time you will tell me all the details we will need. You’re going to get us so close to that royal rat, he won’t know what’s hit him ’til it’s too late.”

  With that, Groby turned on his heels and returned to his boat, quickly followed by his henchmen.

  Chapter Six - Blackwell Yard

  Beth emerged quickly from her hiding place as soon as Groby’s boat was out of sight.

  “That’s it,” John said forlornly, head bowed. “We have no idea where they are holding her. I don’t know what to do. It sounds ... It sounds like I’ll have to betray the King just to keep her alive.”

  “That’s if he keeps his word and does keep her alive,” Ralph remarked, popping up from inside the boat.

  “Ralph!” Beth scolded him. “We’ve still got time. We’re going to try and do something, find out information that could help us.”

  “Oh, yeah? And where do we start?”

  “He’s right,” John groaned, flopping down onto the timber base of a cargo crane that towered above them. “There must be plenty of Republican sympathizers in London who they could use to help hide her – and who’s to say she’s still even in London by now? We don’t have any way of narrowing the search down.” He rested his elbows on his knees and let his chin sink into his hands.

  “Perhaps we do...” said Beth.

  John was too dejected to respond, but Ralph brightened a little. “Yeah?”

  “Didn’t you notice that mark on the side of Groby’s boat?”

  He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “It was just an oil stain or something.”

  Beth shook her head. “It was black, but it was a regular shape, not an accidental mark. It was a rectangle or square – and I also thought I saw a little circle below it.”

  “Hang on!” Ralph said suddenly. “A black circle below a square? That’s the mark of Blackwall Yard. Biggest shipbuilding yard on the river, that place.”

  Now John had straightened up and some of the life had returned to his eyes. “You know it?”