Scooters Yard

by Clive Mullis

  When his sister returned, he sat waiting for her, and as soon as he told her what he’d heard above the pub, she ran off again to tell Frankie Kandalwick. He thought he should have gone with her, but he hesitated, not sure what to do; he’d been saddled with the worst piece of information he’d ever known and had to think it through; he had to do something — but what?

  Tell Frankie. Tell the detectives. Tell the commander.

  With the decision made, he left Maisie’s room and hurried after her; she’d only been gone a few minutes, but by the time he’d got out of the Brews and into the street, she was on her way back.

  ‘He know’s you know. I’m sorry bruv, but it sort of leaked out.’

  ‘Don’t matter Maz, I were coming to tell him meself.’ He patted her on the shoulder just as he saw Frankie driving away. ‘Oh bugger,’ said Dewdrop, and then began to chase.

  The coach began to pull away so he stooped down and picked up a few small pebbles. Without breaking stride, he tried to attract attention. His first few throws missed, but then he managed to score a direct hit on the girl at the back. He thought the coach might slow down but a few youngsters had been watching him and decided to join in the fun, cheering and yelling at every shot.

  Suddenly, Dewdrop found he had kids all around him, all trying to copy and hit the girl’s backside. They swarmed around him, all shouting and encouraging their mates.

  The little coach wouldn’t stop, it kept going, and then it clattered over the bridge which unusually had little traffic, so Dewdrop knew that he had to keep going.

  As one group got to the edge of its patch another seemed to take its place, one group seeing what the other did and trying to outdo it; like a message working its way through the city.

  Dewdrop couldn’t carry on much longer; he couldn’t remember the last time he had run so much and so far. As the coach carried on, its destination became clear, and it wasn’t too far away now — he would just have to keep going, just a little bit longer.

  He saw the girl at the back as she yelled into Frankie’s ear which resulted in a little spurt of speed, but then a bit of traffic got in the way and slowed it down. Dewdrop managed to get a little closer before it whizzed off around a corner.

  Dewdrop made up the distance again as another bit of traffic got in the way and he reckoned he would be heard if he gave a shout, but after having spent only the Gods knew how long running, he had no breath left and could hardly summon a whimper. He would just have to keep going a little more, the Yard was so close now.

  His legs finally gave up just around the corner from the Yard, he’d hit the wall, and he thought the street had turned into a quagmire when he wasn’t looking. His feet seemed to sink into the road and didn’t want to move. The legs wobbled like jelly and his chest heaved with lung-bursting violence. He got a few strange looks, but nothing resembling sympathy.

  The big lamppost held him up. He hugged it in a way that brought tears to the eyes: intense, forceful and desperate. His tongue lolled, his eyes bulged and he tried to focus his gaze on a patch of street where a dog turd looked freshly made.

  ‘You look just about dead, lad.’ A distant voice entered Dewdrops mind. ‘You run all that way? Should have given me a shout.’

  Dewdrop turned his head towards the voice and just about recognised the features of Frankie Kandalwick in front of him.

  ‘I’m sure I could have found some room for you.’

  Dewdrop’s mouth moved as he tried to voice his thoughts, which were along the lines of, “I did try to draw your attention to my situation, but circumstances were not exactly working in my favour as you failed to notice me and I really didn’t know what else I could do, so I had no option but to continue running.” His actual thoughts were a little more succinct.

  ‘Still out of breath? Never mind, come with me.’ There was a pause. ‘Now, be a good lad and let go of the lamppost.’

  CHAPTER 29

  Grinde straightened his jacket and stared out of the window for a while, waiting until his heartbeat began to settle. He’d mustered his troops and had given them a rousing speech, and now they were eager to get the job done.

  After the last disastrous attempt to do some damage to Pendon, he felt that he had one more chance. He had only one target in his mind: Scooters Yard; he had to raze it to the ground. It had been contaminated, and he had been chosen to do the cleansing. Women shouldn’t be allowed into a police watch-house, except when they were to be put in a cell. MacGillicudy had let Cornwallis’ strumpet have full run of the Yard and she had influenced everything. He’d been told the stories about how she used her flesh to indoctrinate the feelers. Her female whiles wittered away the men’s resolve to a point where she only had to cock a finger in their direction.

  The place had gone downhill since he’d been forced out. The position of Commander was rightfully his. MacGillicudy would soon get his comeuppance: he would rue the day that he tangled with Senior Sergeant Grinde.

  They would have to come to him on bended knee, but he would shake his head at first, refuse the position, but in the end, they would beg him to return in order to save the force. He would tell them that he would only come back under one condition, that women would be put back where they belonged: in the kitchen, on their knees scrubbing, or on their backs. His mother would be proud of him.

  Grinde took a deep breath, puffed out his chest and turned around. The room had emptied; the last echoes of footfall fading away from the floorboards. The time had come, the time to return to proper policing — and he was the only man for the job.

  MacGillicudy took a look at the wreck of a feeler dumped in front of him by Frankie and felt a strange feeling of pride. One of his officers, who despite his shortcomings had busted a gut to bring him news of the despicable plan. Finally, he had a feeler he knew he could trust. He just wished he had a few more.

  A dwarf guard brought the constable a mug of water. Felicity took hold of it and held the mug to the lad’s lips.

  She watched him down it and wished that she could have a mug to cool those parts which had been targeted all the way from the boot-maker’s shop; no, not a mug, a great big bucket of ice, though she would swear that it would turn to steam the moment her bum made contact. She really shouldn’t complain; this poor young feeler had exhausted himself after having run all that way to give the commander the news. She only hoped that she would turn out to be this type of feeler.

  Dewdrop’s head finally began to clear and his chest didn’t feel as if it would burst open anymore. He opened his eyes and looked upon someone from his dreams.

  One of his prize collections happened to be a little scrapbook filled with little sheets of newspaper. Every now and again, he would take them out and lay them down on his bed to look at them; looking, studying, dreaming. He dreamt that one day he wouldn’t have to look at a woodcut print, but see the real thing in real flesh and blood. Those prints were now ashes; he had taken them to his locker at Stackhouse Lane where they were lost in the fire. However, the real thing had somehow managed to appear here!

  Felicity from Dimmer, pert, perky and in her prime. She stood in front of him and he recognised her immediately. He felt her gentle hand on the back of his head and he glanced at the perky bits, and then wrenched them away to look into her eyes, those big deep glorious eyes. It then dawned on him that he’d been throwing stones at her.

  ‘Oh gods,’ he moaned, before passing out.

  MacGillicudy sighed and shook his head as Tiffany and Felicity fussed around the young feeler. They loosened his shirt and fanned his face with their hands. The dwarf watched on with a degree of amusement before he turned and walked deeper into the tunnel. A couple of minutes later he returned with a full bucket of water which he unceremoniously upended over the head of Dewdrop.

  Spluttering and wet through, Dewdrop re-entered the world. The dwarf stood over him, as much as any dwarf could do, with a look of distain on his face.

  ‘Lily-livered little shite,’ he mutte
red under his breath.

  Dewdrop shook the wet from his head and scrambled to his feet. Felicity wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him close to support him. He turned to her with a look mixed with love and remorse.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Whatever for? You couldn’t help passing out,’ she replied kindly.

  ‘No, not that, I just wanted to get the coach to stop. I’m so sorry I hit you on the ar …’

  ‘What?’ An edge entered the voice.

  ‘You’re not hurt, are you? I didn’t mean to hit you.’

  Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him. ‘Hang on, you mean you started that?’

  Dewdrop nodded, albeit reluctantly.

  Felicity let go of him and he immediately stumbled. ‘You little sod. Do you realise the pain I’m in? And there’s me giving succour to the idiot who started it all.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, you don’t know how much.’

  She stepped quickly away and went to stand as far from him as she could, right at the underground entrance, and stared off into the street. There were a few moments of silence and inactivity before she wound her arm behind her back and rubbed the painful area.

  Dewdrop looked on and his heart sank. ‘I’m ever so sorry,’ he whimpered.

  Frankie pulled up behind Coggs and set the clamp. Coggs appeared to be dozing as his head lolled, but years of cabbie experience meant that he could doze and be aware at the same time.

  ‘I see’s ya,’ said Coggs, as Frankie crept up.

  Frankie let out a sigh. ‘Thought I’d caught you this time.’

  Coggs gave a grin. ‘Nobody ‘as yet.’

  ‘I live in hope. How long you been here?’

  ‘Nearly an hour now. No sign of Mr Cornwallis.’

  Frankie left him to wait a little longer and disappeared into Cricklybit Lane. He eyed the few people walking down the road and then glanced over to the merchants. All appeared to be quiet. He knocked on the drug-dealers’ door and waited.

  Rose opened the door and peered through the small gap before opening it up to let him in.

  ‘What’s happening?’ he asked, as he got inside.

  ‘Another cart has arrived, but nothing since then. Jack is thinking about going over again. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen tonight.’

  ‘I know. I also know what the whatever is.’ He gave her a mischievous grin. ‘It’s a big one too.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘In a minute. Where’s Jack?’

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘We’d better go, then.’

  Frankie heard a grunt from the back room and hesitated on the step as Rose went on ahead. ‘Hang on, won’t be a minute.’

  He then ran through, took one look at the dealers and whipped out his cosh. Two thumps later, he re-joined Rose on the stairs. ‘They’d woken up,’ he explained.

  Rose sighed. ‘Yes, we know.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes, we were letting them clear their heads before asking about their supplier.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’

  ‘Never mind, perhaps next time you’ll ask one of us first.’

  Cornwallis turned his head away from the window as Frankie walked in. He flashed a smile and then returned to his observation.

  ‘Frankie says he knows what they’re planning,’ said Rose.

  Cornwallis looked back with a bit more urgency.

  ‘They’re going to blow up Scooters Yard. Tonight.’

  ‘What?’ answered Rose, aghast.

  ‘Yep, and what’s more, ex Senior Sergeant Grinde seems to be the man leading it all.’

  ‘Grinde?’ replied Cornwallis, not sure whether he heard right.

  Frankie nodded. ‘I saw him above the pub. I also have most of the names of the feelers who were there.’

  ‘Does Jethro know this?’

  ‘He does. He has the girls ringing the Yard, keeping watch.’

  ‘Gods. I thought they must be planning something big — but the Yard?’

  ‘And don’t forget all those inside too. It’ll be mass murder,’ added Rose.

  The four girls couldn’t believe their ears. All of them kept looking at each other, stunned at the news. They were pinning all their hopes and ambitions on the Yard — if they destroyed it, then what would happen to them?

  Hope gave a cough. ‘Er, excuse me, but how could they get barrels of gonepowder into the Yard? Surely someone would notice.’

  ‘I’m not sure if they plan to take them all into the Yard,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘Thinking about it, maybe they plan to take the barrels under the Yard. They might manage to put just a few barrels into the Yard, nobody would notice that.’

  ‘Yes, that would seem sensible,’ said Rose. ‘We’ve seen what sort of damage those things can do. Under the Yard would seem most likely.’

  The light began to fade as the evening wore on. Frankie looked out of the window praying that those over the road would make their move soon. It didn’t take much longer before his prayers were answered.

  ‘Ay up, we ‘ave a bit of life over there.’

  Cornwallis and Rose came over to look. They all watched as the first cart came out and turned to go up the lane. The second followed shortly after.

  ‘Right,’ said Cornwallis. ‘Time for us to move too, let’s hurry.’

  Everybody moved at once, crashing down the stairs and into the hall. Rose pulled out her knife and rushed through to the back. She cut the dealers bonds and sprinted back. She couldn’t just leave them like that; it might be days before someone found them.

  Cornwallis peeked out of the door and then announced that they could all go. Everyone piled out and ran to the bottom of the lane. Coggs looked up as they all rushed around the corner.

  ‘Action time,’ he said quietly, and then grinned broadly.

  CHAPTER 30

  MacGillicudy ruminated on his options. He wanted to evacuate the Yard, but in reality, he couldn’t do that. The chances were that some of the feelers who were involved with Grinde and the perverted plan were still inside. It dawned on him at that moment that he still couldn’t trust any feeler apart from Dewdrop. How were they planning to get the barrels into the Yard? What would he do if he planned to blow up the Yard? Distasteful as it sounded, he would have to get into Grinde’s mind.

  Grinde knew everything about the Yard: he’d spent the best part of his life there. The cellars were the obvious place to put the barrels, but everyone would have to have some way of getting out of the place once they lit the fuses.

  Below the Yard, the rooms resembled a rabbit warren, and he hadn’t been down there for years, apart from the document room. There were old cells and chambers of persuasion, store rooms, offices, sleeping quarters, and he remembered a bar being installed when he was just a young feeler, long since fallen into disuse. Loads of corridors linked everything up and some of them seemed to go on for miles, far wider-reaching than just the building above.

  He remembered that the Yard had been built on the foundations of the old Morris building and that the old Morris had built tunnels everywhere, secret tunnels, so that they could move about the city with ease, unobserved, as they went about their warped business. Grinde must know about them, it would be the sort of thing that would appeal to him. He would have investigated them, he would have used them, but he certainly wouldn’t have generally spoken about them; though he could have discussed them with his cronies, like Magot and Loovis and Sprat.

  The room next door to the document room housed the archive; all the old laws, court judgements, sentences and criminal records would be in there, including, plans of the building. He remembered years ago that Grinde had been in charge of all that — did he see things then that he could use now?

  ‘Constable Toopins. You stay here with Felicity and help keep an eye on things. Tiffany and I have to look for some old plans of the Yard.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Er… Commander, what should I do if something does happen?’


  ‘Our friends here will know where I am.’ The dwarf guard received a pat on his shoulder. ‘Tell him and I’ll know within a minute.’

  The dwarf nodded, stroked his beard and then polished his axe.

  Dewdrop looked worried: it wasn’t because the commander thought to leave him in charge, but because he was being left in charge with the girl whom he’d thrown stones at.

  Felicity turned around as the commander and Tiffany left and gave Dewdrop a look loaded with a warning.

  MacGillicudy and Tiffany hurried through the tunnels, making their way back to the document room. They climbed down the ladder and headed through to the back. The commander knew the archive was in another room, behind a locked door, one that they hadn’t opened last night.

  He used his size ten key, not having the little metal one to hand, and it took a few goes before it sort of became unlocked. Tiffany stood back and held the lantern as the commander battered the door into submission.

  The archive resembled archives across the world. It had a strange otherworld feeling as though life had been suppressed, an atmosphere reeking with age and instances of time. The musty smell came at them undiluted and despite the opportunity to waft harmlessly out of the door, stayed put, like a lump of cotton wool, slightly heavy but soft and protective.

  MacGillicudy felt an urge to apologise as he entered the room, he could see that it hadn’t been disturbed for years, the cobwebs shrouding everything like a blanket of lace.

  Little cubbyholes lined the walls and hundreds of parchment rolls peeked out. A long table took up the middle of the room, with weights positioned to hold the ends of the rolls, so that a reader could read without the thing springing back.