by Clive Mullis
‘Come on, then, Jack. We can at least find out who one of the buggers is.’
MacGillicudy and Cornwallis left Rose to keep an eye on the girls and rushed through the dwarf tunnels, hotly pursued by a dwarf. Cornwallis was getting to know his way around now, so he turned a left, then a right, and then another right and across the cross-tunnel, then another left, a right and then up three flights of steps. He turned right, hurried through a small cavern, and remembered to duck to avoid the low roof. MacGillicudy didn’t. A thwack and then an ‘Ow!’ echoed through the tunnel, but Cornwallis ignored him, going straight ahead and around a corner, then up another flight of stairs and then stood waiting at the gate. MacGillicudy’s breath came in gasps, but the dwarf behind him hadn’t even broken sweat.
‘Buggering hell, my little legs ain’t got the speed of you long-legged bastards. You should have waited for me or you could’ve had an axe in yer cranium, and then what would Goodhalgan say? Eh?’
‘Sorry,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘But we’re in a bit of a hurry.’
‘No shit,’ exclaimed the dwarf. ‘You wouldn’t need to be in a hurry if you were dead, and you weren’t far off it, neither.’
MacGillicudy bent over double, gasping his last. ‘Ain’t as fit as I used to be. Ye gods, that’s what comes with driving a desk.’
Cornwallis felt a grin spread on his lips: it wasn’t that long ago when he would have been the same, but a few months living with Rose soon put paid to that.
MacGillicudy’s breathing slowly returned to normal and as the gate clanged shut behind them, he felt he could now manage a bit of a walk. A drizzle had started, the type that you didn't think would get you wet, but after a few minutes, you were soaked through to the skin. There wasn’t a choice in the matter; they had to go out in it.
They headed off into the dark, keeping as close to shelter as they could. Scooters Yard was only a few streets away but they were drenched by the time they got there.
MacGillicudy led the way into the Yard, and they stood dripping and steaming in the hot cloying heat as the commander indicated his presence.
The sergeant presiding over the reception couldn’t help but grin as he looked down on his boss from up high; a tall lectern where he couldn’t get attacked, aside from anything thrown with any sort of accuracy. He looked down and indicated to the constable to open the door.
MacGillicudy ignored the sergeant’s grin as he and Cornwallis walked through.
Just down the corridor, they came to the sergeants’ office, where the commander hurriedly checked the rotas. His finger stopped as he went down the list for tonight’s patrols. His eyebrows shot up and then he sort of snorted in derision. He saw Dewdrops name, Toopins, and next to it, he looked on one that he knew all too well. He tapped the name as Cornwallis looked over his shoulder.
CHAPTER 19
Dewdrop pulled his cape tighter around his neck. The wet dribbled down his collar and seeped into his shirt, making it very unpleasant as it stuck to the skin. A quick blast of wind caught him unawares and chilled his damp shirt making him shiver. He felt miserable, not only because of the weather, but he also had to put up with his temporary beat-partner. Beryl had his faults, but at least they had some common ground, so they largely got on, but he had no chance of forming any sort of camaraderie with this man. He now pounded the streets with a feeler whom he would normally do everything to avoid. He turned his head slightly in order to view the man out of the corner of his eye, a sullen brute of a man, an old hand, one of the oldest in the force. As a seasoned feeler, he took delight in taking the piss, especially when everybody could hear him, with the canteen being his favourite audience. He never passed over a chance to make life a misery for some young feeler. He had a well-deserved reputation, but woe-betide anyone who did the same to him. He was a moody reticent bastard at the best of times, but now he took it to a new limit. Dewdrop wondered how he would last the night.
They trudged on without talking, each of them keeping to their own thoughts. Dewdrop desperately wanted a cup of tea and an opportunity to get out of the wet and dry up a bit. They were near the ambulance depot and he wondered if he should broach the subject. In the end, the desperation made his mind up.
‘Er, when me and Beryl do this beat, we always dip into the ambulance depot. There’s always a cup of tea for us there. They like a game of cards too.’
The air dripped with malice.
‘Do they still play for money?’ The gruff reply came after a few seconds of silence.
‘Yes,’ replied Dewdrop. ‘It’d be nice to get out of this rain for a while.’
More silence followed as they dripped down the street and then suddenly his partner turned the corner and headed towards the oasis.
MacGillicudy wanted to go straight for the jugular, he had a name and he knew that name well. Cornwallis held him back by talking sense into his ear.
‘You lift just one of them and the rest will run for cover. The likelihood is that this one is not the leader; you know that, he’s a follower. He may be up there as a second or third in command, but he’s not the one.’
‘You’re right of course, Jack,’ agreed MacGillicudy. ‘We still need to be patient, but I want to look him in the eye.’
‘You’ll give the game away, Jethro. You have a way of looking at someone when you want to do them some serious damage.’
‘I should bloody well hope so. I ain’t been in this game for this length of time without learning something.’
‘Then learn to play the waiting game. We want them all, especially the ring-leader.’
MacGillicudy nodded. ‘I know, I know. Credit me with having some bloody sense.’
Cornwallis laughed. ‘Well, it’s time to show it, then.’
‘I will, but I'll tell you one thing; tonight I will be doing some checking up. It’s expected that the Commander makes the occasional unexpected appearance, and I haven’t done that for a few days now.’ He looked back down at the rota. ‘Now, I wonder where I’ll go?’ he added thoughtfully.
Cornwallis decided to tag along. Even though Jethro now seemed to have his head in order, he thought it might be wise to keep an eye on him; a commander throttling one of his own feelers might send out the wrong message.
Gornstock’s streets were now largely empty; it had long gone midnight and most people were home and tucked up in bed. The night watchmen were hard at work at not doing very much, apart from warming their hands at their braziers to keep out the chill of the night.
Cornwallis and MacGillicudy stopped at a few of the watchmens’ fires and passed the time of night with them. They were meticulously following Dewdrop’s beat, asking questions and receiving answers.
They were warming their hands at a particularly intense brazier, and had just declined the offer of a brew, when the question asked by MacGillicudy elicited a negative response; the watchman hadn’t seen any feelers tonight.
MacGillicudy thought. Somewhere between this watchmen and the last, Dewdrop had disappeared — now where could he have gone?
They began to retrace their steps.
‘Is this normal for a couple of feelers to just disappear?’ asked Cornwallis, already fed up of getting wet.
‘Normal? At night?’ responded MacGillicudy. ‘There is no police officer in this world or any other who doesn’t know a place to keep dry on a wet soggy night. They wouldn’t dare call themselves a police officer otherwise; there would be too much shame and ridicule if they let that bit of information, or lack of it, out. They’ll be holed up somewhere around here.’
They crossed a street and then passed a little alley. MacGillicudy stopped and Cornwallis turned around to look at him. The commander grinned.
‘Down here, Jack. They’re down here.’
‘What’s down there, then?’
‘The entrance to the ambulance depot, of course.’
Dewdrop peered over the top of his hand of cards and tried to read the other players’ eyes and mannerisms, flicking from
one player to the next in order and regarding them keenly. He pursed his lips as he felt a bead of sweat break out on his brow and then felt it trickle down by the side of his nose and drip off his chin. It was his turn and the stakes were high.
The three other players fixed their stares at the young feeler and waited patiently for him to lay down a card.
Mags broke the tension. He yawned, sniffed and reached forward to grab his tea and then took a long gulp. ‘C’mon, we ain’t got all night.’
‘All right, all right,’ replied Dewdrop. ‘I’m thinking.’
‘There’s thinking and then there’s taking the piss. Remember wot we taught you.’
‘I am, but you ain’t giving me the clue.’
‘We is all giving you the clue, you just ain’t seeing it.’
Hobs and Mags were trying to teach Dewdrop to be a better player, not so good as themselves, as it might give him a chance to beat them, but just good enough to beat some of his fellow feelers. The fourth player, Dewdrop’s beat partner, strangely agreed to help. He knew Mags and Hobs from long ago, even though he hadn’t done this beat in years.
Hobs sighed. ‘Wot’s in yer hand?’
Dewdrop looked at him nervously. ‘If I told you that, then I ain’t got no chance. There’s two dollars on the table.’
‘Then the risk is yours, lad.’
Dewdrop nodded and then took a last look at his adversaries before picking hold of a dog-eared card and laying it down. ‘Mr Stern, the Lawyer.’
Mags shook his head slowly as if in dejection. ‘You should have laid down Miss Prim, the School Teacher. I’ve got Mr Scrote, the Judge, and he beats the Lawyer — but not the School Teacher; she wields the cane.’
‘How did you know I had her?’ Dewdrop stared, nonplussed. ‘You been looking?’
‘Only at what’s been dealt and what’s been laid down. Sorry, son, but you are getting better.’
The other two players folded, they couldn’t beat Mags so they resigned themselves to a small loss.
Mags cleared the money off the table while Hobs gathered up the cards and began to shuffle. The pall of smoke hung from the ceiling like fluffy clouds as they puffed determinedly on their respective smokes. The door rattled from the wind as someone opened the outside door and came into the lobby. A stamping noise followed and then a shake of capes before the inner door opened and in walked the commander and Cornwallis.
‘A bit rough out there,’ said MacGillicudy with feeling. ‘Evening Hobs, Mags, knew you’d be about.' He looked at the ambulance men and then regarded the two feelers. ‘I see you have some company.’
Dewdrop’s eyes widened in alarm as the commander looked back at him, a look that made him shrink and wither — and wish that he could be anywhere other than here.
‘Constable Toopins, hmmm, and who else have we here? Well I never, it’s Constable Magot. Hot bed of crime here, is it?’
Mags laughed. ‘It is at that, Jethro. The way these two play cards is a crime in itself. Who’s yer mate?’
‘Ah, let me introduce Jack Cornwallis. He’s been keeping me company tonight.’
Cornwallis nodded at Mags and Hobs then looked around, being somewhat taken aback at the poor state of the crew-room.
‘Kettle going?’ asked the commander, rubbing his hands.
‘Will be when you put the bloody thing on,’ replied Hobs. ‘Our mugs is here.’
‘Alas only two of them are required. The constables here are just leaving, I believe. I trust you pair haven’t been here long?’
‘No, Commander,’ replied Magot. ‘We only got here a couple of minutes ago.’
‘Really? You are quick drinkers. Off you go, then. You need to let the good folk of Gornstock know that they’re safe in their beds. Don’t teach the lad bad habits, Magot, or I might have to pair you with one of our new female recruits. That might make you find some manners.’
Magot went pale as he looked up. ‘I’d rather you didn’t, Commander. I’m an old hand and I reckon that that makes me exempt.’
‘Exempt? Ye gods man. You’re an experienced officer, just what the girls will need. I’ll give it some thought over the next few days.’
The two constables looked at their commanding officer and took the hint. Both stood up and began to button their tunics.
MacGillicudy noticed something. ‘Looks like you have a button missing, Constable Magot. How did that happen?’
Magot looked down and turned an even paler colour as he hesitated to reply. ‘Sorry, sir. Must have fallen off somewhere.’
‘Did it now? Then I suggest you rectify the situation. Can’t have my officers patrolling while they’re half-dressed now, can we?’
‘No, Commander.’
‘Good, now off you go.’ He shooed the two constables out of the door and into the dark wet night.
Hobs and Mags were long in the tooth and quickly realised that something didn’t quite add up.
‘What’s amiss, Jethro?’ asked Mags. ‘You’ve never done that to a feeler before, when he were having a quick cuppa.’
‘Aye, wouldn’t have anything to do with the button we found the other night?’ added Hobs, his ears still hearing the commander asking about that bit of uniform.
MacGillicudy tapped his nose. ‘Couldn’t possibly say, boys, but this conversation didn’t happen. Right?’
Hobs and Mags grinned.
‘What conversation?’ said Mags.
MacGillicudy grinned back. ‘Now, is the kettle where it’s always been?’
CHAPTER 20
Frankie broke open the crud that filled his eyes with a slow gentle movement of the eye-lids. Finally, the glue gave way and he could see the chiselled rock above him. His legs felt funny, they were sort of dangling, and then he realised he lay on a dwarf bed, several sizes too small. He groaned and then rolled over and toppled off, his head coming into contact with the cold hard floor. He lay still for a moment and then a smell of cooking wafted up his nose. As he climbed to his feet, he noticed a bucket on the floor, so he took advantage; he felt he could fill the thing when he started, and by the end, he very nearly did.
He yawned expansively, then stretched out his arms and shook himself before stalking out of the door, searching for the source of the delightful smell.
Cornwallis raised an eyebrow as Frankie came into the room, the big man grinning wider than a cat.
‘Morning all,’ he called out. ‘I trust it is morning? All that lovely bacon and eggs seems to indicate it.’
He didn’t show even a hint of a hangover.
‘Morning, Frankie,’ greeted Rose. ‘Yes, it is morning. I take it you slept well?’
‘Of course, my old darling.’
‘And you don’t feel even a tinsy bit unwell?’
‘Never felt better. Bit stiff in the back but those dwarf beds ain’t built fer the likes of me. Now, where do I get a plate?’
Everybody sat around a big granite table, in the middle of which were several plates piled high with bacon, eggs, sausages and some black stuff which looked a little bit puddingy. The girls were already tucking in and Frankie wanted to catch up.
A dwarf dragged another chair over and then ran out returning a few seconds later polishing a plate and some cutlery on his beard.
‘No tea?’ asked Frankie.
The dwarf sighed, pulled a face and then disappeared again to fetch a mug.
Cornwallis watched all this with interest. ‘Frankie, they aren’t your servants. They’ve been good enough to let you sleep off your indulgences in one of their rooms, and here’s you now giving them the run around.’
‘You ever slept on one of their beds? No, you ain’t, and I tell you, it ain’t comfortable.’
‘You’re not a dwarf.’
‘Too bloody right I’m not.’
The dwarf reappeared with the additional mug.
‘Thanks, Beeny. Will you tell his Lordship here why you’re running around after me.’
Beeny paused, looked over at
Cornwallis and sniffed. ‘Last night, before he passed out, we had a little game of arm-wrestling. He won, even though he cheated. I owe him ten dollars.’
‘See,’ responded Frankie gleefully. ‘I’m just letting him pay off his debt.’
‘You beat a dwarf?’ Rose looked incredulous.
‘I did,’ replied Frankie, with a broad grin.
‘You distracted me,’ said Beeny.
‘Your fault, you should have concentrated.’
‘Bloody hard to concentrate when yer sodding beard’s on fire.’
Cornwallis looked a bit closer at Beeny, and saw a definite look of singe to the luxuriant growth.
‘Bastard,’ added Beeny.
Frankie’s grin widened but quickly disappeared as Cornwallis explained what had happened overnight.
‘So, while you were busy in your alcohol induced rest, Jethro and I were running around like blue-arsed flies. We think we’ve now sorted out what we need to do.’
‘And what is that?’ Despite Cornwallis’ tone, Frankie didn’t feel the least bit guilty.
Cornwallis sighed. ‘You sure you have no hangover?’
‘None whatsoever, I feel sparkly new.’
MacGillicudy looked up, paused and then slowly shook his head. ‘There’s just no bloody justice.
Everyone turned towards him.
‘And that coming from a policeman,’ said Rose, wryly.
After breakfast, they talked it through, all of them, including the girls, until everyone understood what they had to do. The twelve new recruits began to learn what being a feeler was all about — and they couldn’t wait to get started.
They had to keep an eye on the room above the pub where they held the meetings, and, as they had only identified Magot so far, they would have to watch him too. Then there were the files: there were five likely ones left, even though some may not be involved, they couldn’t take the risk of not following them too.
Earlier in the morning, Rose had gone through the art of following someone with the girls, a short sharp lesson with no time for practical demonstrations; however, female guile would no doubt come in handy.