by Jem I Kelley
Constable Salt’s cheerful face appeared.
“Is it okay if the lads pop down to the dock entrance, Mr. Todd?”
“More trouble?” asked Bliss’s dad wearily.
“No Sir, not trouble. Sergeant Plumbert would just like their… ah… help. Important police business. Hush hush stuff.”
Arthur turned a sour expression on the friends, which made Aden’s heart sink. Bliss’s dad had never given them such a look before.
“I suppose so, an hour, no more.”
Chapter 38: Saib Isbar’s Warehouse
“Hello you two,” said Plumbert, as they arrived beside the gate, which marked the entrance to the docks, an ornate thing with lots of curled iron and a flowery bronze ‘D’ on the front. “Cheer up. It looks like your lips are practically dragging on the floor.”
Aden scowled.
“You know about the Cod business?”
Plumbert nodded.
“I’ve read the Afternoon Herald. The Haverland navy could do with people like you.”
Bliss rolled up his trousers to show Plumbert his knees.
“It’s not funny. Look, I got these bruises from trying to stop the trolley. Hacknor’s made us pay a gold coin each to Ernie Hobbs and the fishermen in compensation and we’ve also got to work at the Ambassador’s garden party tomorrow and of course, my parents are fuming.”
Plumbert gave them a sympathetic smile
“Well, worse things happen at sea, they say.”
Bliss scoffed.
“Ha ha. They don’t for us.”
Plumbert patted them both on the back.
“I’ve heard the cause of the argument which started all this ‘Cod’ business was them coins Sardohan gave you. Do you think this was the sort of trouble he’d hoped to cause?”
Aden almost spat.
“What do you think? We tried to tell Hacknor that, but he wouldn’t listen, you know what he’s like when it comes to his posh friends. He said he had talked to the Ambassador and that Sardohan said he’d given us the gold as compensation for the trouble with the artefacts. Reckons they were a pile of stolen duds waiting to be returned to Haverland, just somehow there was a mix up.”
Plumbert nodded.
“The Dazarians have just returned thirty duds to us.”
“Not the same Disc-Artefacts Bliss and I saw in the prison?”
Plumbert right eyebrow rose.
“That’s the thirty thousand gold coin question, isn’t it? Without knowing the exact pattern on the discs, you saw, we can’t match against the ones the Dazarians have given us.”
Aden wished he could mention their artefact worked which meant the artefacts in Tanest’s secret room couldn’t have been tested duds; but, if he did, there’d be no chance he and Bliss would get to go on an expedition to the new world, never-mind go on their own. Their Disc-Artefact would be confiscated quicker than you could say ‘Haverland’: as soon as Plumbert told Bliss’s parents.
“If they were just duds, then why keep them hidden in the prison governor’s secret room?” Is what he did say.
Plumbert agreed.
Aden looked at the dockside. The workers were long gone home, the bustle of activity evaporated. The shadows of evening lengthened and pooled and gulls flapped for position on warehouse roofs. Water lapped against the quay.
“That’s our day, so far, what did you ask us down here for, Plumbert?”
The Sergeant smiled.
“For a chance to get one back on them Dazzys. Inspector Thomas has called a raid on Saib’s warehouse tonight.”
“Why tonight?”
“The rest of his co-conspirators have gathered and our man spying on them says they’ve opened some of those containers from the Grey Hind, the ones with the drug Yeccozin inside.”
Aden pictured the Dazarian spice seller and felt sadness tinged with annoyance.
“So, Saib is behind the drugs? I’d hoped it would have been Sardohan.”
“Looks like Saib’s in deep. Doesn’t mean to say Sardohan isn’t the mastermind. I don’t know who the co-conspirators are, our docker spy didn’t say.”
“Let one be Sardohan,” said Aden.
Or Hacknor even; but, no, Hacknor wouldn’t be in league with Sardohan, surely not? Despite the man’s infatuation with rich friends, he would remain loyal to Haverland, surely, thought Aden.
Plumbert moved past the gate and into the docks.
“I promised I’d let you in on the raid, and now here we are. Ready?”
Bliss rubbed her hands in anticipation and nodded; her mood appeared to have picked up slightly by the chance of some adventure.“I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Plumbert tightened the strap on his helmet and strode further into the dock complex. He led the friends away from the quay and across a warren of narrow alleys and puddle filled lanes until they came to a track besides which a shop sporting a faded sign advertising ‘fishing nets’ stood.
From the shop they could make out a decrepit building, which lay at the end of the short lane; it lay deep in shadows caused by the higher buildings around it. Squashed between sail-makers and nail-shops the building fronted a barn-size door. There were no wooden window shutters in its timber frame; but, bright light seeped between the poorly fitted planks of the wall - someone was inside.
Assembled behind the brick offices of an import/export business were a dozen policemen with truncheons drawn. Plumbert and the two friends joined them.
Plumbert bent close and whispered.
“You two watch from here. Don’t move any closer unless I come to fetch you, understood?”
The two gave their assurances.
“I’ll be back shortly.”
Plumbert drew the attention of his men: “Right lads, we creep down to the warehouse, we blows our whistles and charges in. Got it?”
“Yes, Sarge,” whispered a constable with a moustache the size of a bow tie. “Do we batter ‘em, like, when we goes in?”
Plumbert frowned.
“Only if they offer violent resistance, Peters.”
“Understood, Sarge.”
“Let’s go!”
The police officers walked down the road. In the still of the evening air, each hobnailed boot sounded to Aden like a hammer on anvil. He wondered that their quarry didn’t flee already. When the policemen reached the building, they gathered on either side of the doors. A peal of Police whistles and these doors were heaved open; the policemen charged into the lit interior.
Aden and Bliss watched in fascination.
Their jaws dropped as they realized who stood inside the warehouse. The policemen swarmed around the suspects and racks of goods.
Bliss gasped.
“Can’t be!?”
Aden peered hard.
“Oh, no, it must be some mistake.”
Inside the building with Saib were Hamble and Molly May.
Two policemen grabbed Saib and two restrained Molly. Hamble occupied so much of the remaining free space officers were forced to scramble over boxes to get behind him; their shadows leapt and stretched against the walls as they moved.
Aden saw three officers struggle to pin one of Hamble’s arms behind his back. The wood golem looked puzzled by the whole affair and his arm didn’t move an inch.
Sergeant Plumbert, face grim in the light of lanterns, pointed an accusing finger at Saib. His voice reached the friends easily in the quiet evening air.
“You’re nicked!”
Aden listened hard so he could follow the verbal exchange.
“Goodness me, why?” said Saib.
“Possession of Yeccozin with intent to supply,” replied Plumbert, folding his arms across his chest.
A memory entered Aden’s mind, which gave him cause to worry: “Hamble said something about Saib having a new recipe the other day; I’ve got a real bad feeling about this.”
Bliss stared at Aden: “In what way?”
Aden shrugged.
“I’m not sure.”
Saib turned away from Plumbert.
“Let me show you.”
He took a canister from a shelf...
“What’s going on?” A door to the warehouse on the other side of the track opened. Much to Aden’s surprise Grimus Spalding’s face poked out of the door and peered down the lane. He did not notice the two friends in the shadows on the other side of the road. Grimus appeared fascinated by what he saw happening down the lane with Saib Isbar. He whispered to others inside the warehouse.
“Trouble, lower the lights.”
Aden stared at the closing door.
“What the hell was that about?”
“I don’t know what Yeccozin is, Sergeant. But I do know what this is.” Aden turned to see Saib show the contents of a casket to Plumbert. “Put your finger in and then taste it.”
Aden’s attention split between the events happening down the road with Plumbert, and the events inside the warehouse where Grimus hid. Saib was not acting like a person who had done anything wrong. Grimus’s behaviour reeked of someone with something to hide; Aden resolved to discover what.
“I need your help, Bliss. You stay here and tell Plumbert where I’ve gone when he comes back, if for some reason I haven’t returned.”
Bliss looked worried. “It looks like we’ve screwed up with the Yeccozin powder, don’t get us into trouble with Grimus too.”
“I’ll be careful; he won’t even know I’m there.”
Bliss sighed.
“All right, just be careful.”
Aden crept into the lane and hoped none of the policeman would look from the warehouse and wonder at his actions. The odds were in his favour as all attention lay fixed on Saib right now.
“It tastes hot,” said the voice of Plumbert; Aden glanced down the road and saw that the policeman looked at the end of his finger.
“The powder is called turmeric, very nice.”
“I’ve never heard of the stuff,” said Plumbert.
“It is from Urdia, a country much to the South West of Dazarian. It is well known spice there. The people put it into food to make very nice taste.”
“Really? What you doing with it in Haverland?” Asked Plumbert.
“A friend of mine in Dazarian imports it. I very thought I’d import some from him, you see. Let Haverlanders try it with their food.”
“Mmm….” said Plumbert.
“I am planning to show a dish made with it at the Ambassador’s garden party tomorrow.”
Aden reached the warehouse across the road; the one Grimus peered from minutes before. He caught one last sight of Plumbert looking flustered, “Turmeric eh? How do I know you’re not just making it up?”
“Look, I will ...”
Aden did not catch the rest of the conversation; he crept along the side of the warehouse and tiptoed past discarded pallets to the warehouse's rear.
Chapter 39: Grimus Spalding’s Gang
At the rear of the warehouse lay a yard ringed by iron-railings. The barrels, pallets and crates of bottles within, merged into the twilight. A smell of ale clung to the air. A door on sliders sat open and from the warehouse shone the glow of lanterns.
Aden climbed over the railing and edged towards the open door. Conversation leaked from those inside and when he reached the doorway, he risked a glance inside to discover who accompanied Grimus. He snatched an image of figures sitting in the glow of lanterns, surrounded by storage racks and crates.
No one spotted him and he pulled his head back. He could not be sure of the identity of those who were with the jeweller.
He lowered himself to the ground and counted to three. Ignoring the thudding in his chest, he crawled into the warehouse. The air grew sodden with the smell of ale.
The figures were huddled around a table and talked in low voices. They sat some way from Aden, near the end of the warehouse that opened up onto the lane where Plumbert could be heard arguing with Saib. On a table, two lanterns cast a saffron light. Near the group, a crouched figure touched his ear against the warehouse door, listening.
Aden could feel the hairs on his arms stand on end as fears of capture came unbidden to mind. Pushing against the plank flooring, he crawled towards the safety of a rack of barrels. If those at the table turned their heads now, they would see him.
But they didn't, and he made it to the rack and lay beside it, trying to force himself to relax.
He found himself puffing; the sound of his breath seemed to roar like a gale. He wondered why the men had not heard it; why they were not coming to catch him.
He let his breathing calm, then eased to his feet and ghosted past the rear of five racks, until only a short distance separated his position from the gang. The wooden barrels near Aden advertised ‘Daz-Ale’, the letters stencilled on their curved surface with white paint.
The flickering shadows from the lanterns kept Aden’s nerves taut.
Nearby sounds added to the tension. A sigh and the smacking of lips, a clunk as an object plonked down
“How long do you think we gotta wait, boss?”
“Dunno Spud. As long at it takes, enjoy yer ale.”
Aden recognized the second voice as Grimus Spalding’s; it carried a hard edge he barely recognised.
“But I’m bored.”
“You’ll be a guest of Haverland’s jail system if Plumbert and his plodders catch you, now shut up and keep still.”
“What do you fink they’re raiding Saib for?” said another voice, this one baritone.
“If I was psychic, Knuckles, then I wouldn’t be smuggling heroin into Haverland; I’d choose a less risky method to make my fortune. I don’t know why they are raiding the Dazzy. But I do know he brought a snake into the country; they might think he’s one of Lord Kesskran’s agents.”
“Good for us, right boss?”
“So, the Haverland education system does have an effect, even on people like you, Spud. Yes, it is good for us. It keeps their attention away from us.”
The news came to Aden like a clout on the head. Grimus smuggled drugs, not Saib.
Grimus’s voice again: “Knuckles, slide the rear door shut, in case a nosey plod sees a light on in here. Better not take any chances.”
“Sure fing, boss,”
The shadows on the walls lurched as a lantern lifted and a figure departed the table. Aden felt panic. If the sliding door were heaved to, he would be stuck here. Would Bliss be able to warn Plumbert that Aden had gone missing? Would Plumbert believe Bliss after the fiasco with the Yeccozin?
A shape passed the row where he hid, at the same moment as Grimus said: “Be quiet about it!”
The hulking figure paused to reply and as his head turned, he must have seen a form in the shadows. Aden recognized the silhouette of the man who had helped Grimus load the Daz-Ale barrels on the wagon the day the friends had disembarked from the Grey Hind. The outline turned to face Aden, and leaned forward as one might if trying to pierce the darkness ahead. The lantern’s glow strained to reach Aden, who stood motionless.
The man frowned.
Grimus voice came again.
“What’s the matter?”
“Dunno boss, I think....”
The figure stepped forward to get a better look.
Aden turned and ran.
“Someone’s here!”
Aden rushed past the ends of the barrel racks, able to see little; but confident retracing his steps would allow an obstacle free route.
He heard shouts.
He reached the end of the racks and saw the muscular Knuckles, at the open door, lantern swinging wildly, after running to cut him off.
Aden whirled and saw a shape race round the corner of the most distant rack. Heart in mouth Aden leapt back the way he’d come, towards the shadow. Passing one, then two of the barrel racks, he dropped left and poured down the gap between the second and the third. Moments of darkest gloom, then the racks passed and he entered the main thoroughfare of the warehouse, with Knuckles to his left and the table where
the gang sat to his right. Shouts erupted around him, Aden didn’t pause; at full pelt he ran across the thoroughfare and into a maze of boxes on the other side.
Left, right, left and left again, and he found himself in a gloomy cul-de-sac of large boxes, with nowhere to go. He stopped and thought fast. The shouts were getting nearer. He tried the lids of the boxes near him and found them fastened down.
“He went this way.”
It was Knuckle’s deep voice again. Aden could see the light of the lantern the man carried, bouncing off the walls.
Aden gritted his teeth and climbed on one, then two of the boxes in an attempt to hide up amongst them out of sight of those on the ground.
“There!” shouted someone from further across the way. “He’s on them boxes.”
Drat! He’d made himself more visible to his pursuers!
He heard steps approaching from below and climbed further until he reached a spot where he could hide in the gulley between stacks of boxes.
Clambering, from two directions!
Aden heard voices.
“See ‘im?”
“No, but he’s ‘ere all right.”
He heard grunting, someone climbing his way.
His heart hammered in his chest.
He heard more clambering from the other direction.
He heard voices again, almost on top of him now.
“See ‘im?”
Aden glanced towards the voice, when a hand fastened onto his ankle.
He kicked out but strong arms parried the blows and after a scuffle, Aden found a hand clamping his mouth and an arm around his body.
“Yeah, I sees him,” said the voice of his captor.
Hauled into the air and taken back to the floor of the warehouse, he caught a glimpse of Grimus Spalding and then other men he did not recognize; racks passed and finally the table with the lanterns loomed before him.
Someone slid the rear door shut.
The gang gathered from the darkness as they neared the table and its lamps. Rough looking men with docker’s short capes and hoods, tunics bound at the hem and stubbed boots.
“Right,” said Grimus Spalding, “Let’s see what we have. Knuckles, lower him down, and take your hand from his mouth. If he makes a noise, kill him.”