Perry Scrimshaw's Rite of Passage (12 page)

‘
Have you found
someplace nicer for us to stay?’ Eva asked.

He took a seat, told them all
about his Pa, and all he’d learnt at the prison.

‘
So when we did
the notes that time, that feller with the
chains…
he
was your
Pa?’

Perry nodded.

‘
Bleedin’ heck!
So that’s why you wanted out of there so sharp.’

Eva cleared her throat, ‘So
anyway, you said we should leave. Is it because of this doctor
then?’

‘
Not just that
actually. It’s Southampton. I’m sick of it and all it’s done to
me…all it’s done to you. Taken our loved ones, taken our homes. I
feel like a spider, caught by some cruel boy who is pulling off my
legs one by one.’

‘
Urgh, that’s
creepy,’ Eva shuddered.

‘
But where? How
do we know we’re going to somewhere better?’

‘
Abroad.
Somewhere hotter than here. France maybe? I don’t know. But that’s
the beauty of it, we just keep going until we find someplace we
like. Then when we’ve had enough, we move on.’

‘
I like it,
sounds like an adventure,’ said Eva.

Perry glowed, thrilled at the
idea of the three of them on the road. He smiled at Eva, but she
was holding a cloth over her graze. The bloom of blood soaking
through almost looked pretty. Joel was harder to read.

‘
What do you
think Joely?’

He crossed his arms, ‘I dunno.
Maybe. I just don’t see how we can afford to leave, let alone
what’ll we do for money and food when we’re in a strange place. I
don’t know any language but English.’

‘
I do like the
idea of being somewhere warmer.’

‘
Joely. You
have to trust us, this could save us. The three of us are smart, we
can get by, adapt to anything. We just need to be clever, save up
hard, pull off some money-spinners and in a couple of weeks we’d
have enough for a ticket to France.’

Joel looked at Eva, who gave
him an encouraging nod. ‘Well, you nearly spread your legs to get
by,’ he said with a cheeky smile, ‘and got beaten up for your
trouble. Can’t be too many places worse than this.’

Perry wasn’t sure whether to
laugh or hit him, but he felt Eva’s hand upon his knee. She was
smiling.

‘
It’s fine.
What Joel said is kind of true. We all know it, why pretend? Let’s
not dwell on it. Are we all in?’

They did an awkward three-way
handshake. Perry grabbed a dusty jar from the shelf and unscrewed
the lid.

‘
We’ll put
everything we each have in this collectin’ jar. While Eva’s healing
up, we’ll be out there pulling every scam, every trick, every
little thing we can think of until we have enough money to go. I’m
going to enjoy taking something back off this town. We start
tomorrow.’

12

It was a fresh May morning.
Perry wandered through the marketplace and stopped at a stall.
Coppery onions, bright carrots and piles of grass-green apples were
on display. He yawned, scooping one of the apples into his sleeve
and strolled away, finding a spot where he could take the whole
place in.

It was still quite early, and
the townsfolk grazed the market with an unrushed, slovenly air.
Perry was looking at every person in a new, predatory fashion. It
didn’t matter whether they were old, young, a maid, businessmen –
none of that. It was much more simple. Each person was either a
possible target, or wasn’t. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was
looking for, but he’d know when he saw it. It wasn’t ostentatious
wealth on a person – a jewellery dripping wife or ennobled
gentlemen - they weren’t people to mess with unless you were an
excellent pickpocket. He wanted someone with understated wealth,
someone he could work on. He rubbed the apple on his shirt and took
a satisfying crunch. Flecks of apple spittle sprayed over his face,
as good as having a wash.

The bells of
St. Michael’s tolled,
Bong
. Everyone in the market paused.
Those who bore caps or hats removed them - Perry included - and
held them to their chests.
Bong.
Southampton stopped but for the gulls flapping
from the rooftops.
Bong.
Their wings beat against the overcast sky.
Bong.
The bells stopped.
Four times. Four more people were dead. Perry was getting numb to
it now. He watched the market a little longer, tossed the core and
decided to try somewhere else.

At the dock, seagulls cried and
wailed. Water lapped at the hull of a cargo ship and a horn sounded
somewhere out at sea. Perry peeked around a crate. It was the
strangest thing. He’d snuck around these docks of a morning fifty
times or more in his life. It had always been a hive of activity,
but not today; he couldn’t remember seeing anything like it.

The dockers all stood with
their arms crossed, facing the sea. No yelling, no rattling pulleys
or shepherding down the bales of crates from the cargo ship. Just
silence. Perry climbed up the small stack of crates to get a better
view, smelling the sharp tang of citrus fruit and wood until he
reached the top.

The men number eighty or so,
all wore caps, most with their shirts rolled to their forearms,
facing an upturned crate. A few of the men at the back twisted
round nervously. These burly dockers looked worried. There was a
noise and the group broke up in disorder, bumping into one another
in a hurry to get away.

‘
You
lot!’

Perry locked on the voice, a
thin man with long ginger sideburns.

‘
Back to work
you scum!’ he wiped perspiration from his brow. ‘What do you think
you’re playing at eh?’

The weasel prowled round the
cargo dock, pointing his cane like it was a pistol. He whacked one
of the dockers on the rump.

‘
Ow!’

‘
Get a move
on!’

The docker grabbed his behind
and hurried up without further complaint. Perry stifled a laugh and
scrambled back to the edge of the crate and lowered his legs down.
Strong hands grabbed his calves and yanked him down to the floor.
When he looked up there was a fist cocked above his head. He stuck
up his hands to protect his face, ‘Don’t hit me!’

‘
Scrimsy? Is
that you?’

He lowered his hands and relief
flooded over him. It was a feller who had gone to his school,
nicknamed Bigtoe.

‘
Bigtoe!
Wotcher! How are ya?’

‘
You lucky sod,
I nearly punched your lights out,’ he looked over his
shoulder.

‘
I’m glad you
didn’t, you’re even bigger than you were at school,’ Perry
straightened his clothes and cap.

‘
Bleedin’
Greaves, pushin’ us around,’ Bigtoe mumbled, massaging his fist in
his palm. ‘You weren’t spying on us from up there were you
Perry?’

‘
Just curious,
never seen so many dockers in one place doing nothing. Was it
something to do with The Sick? Like a remembrance or
something?’

Bigtoe shook his head. ‘No.
Nothing to do with that. Forget you saw anything. Look I’ve got to
go, you saw Greaves rounding us all up. Getting a larrupin’s one
thing, losing me job’s another. It was good to see you Scrimsy,
look after yerself.’

‘
What’s going
on?’

Bigtoe looked apologetic and
squeezed the brim of his cap in farewell.

Perry hung
around the docks the rest of the day, half-looking for a target and
half-tuning in to anything untoward or strange happening with the
dockers. His instinct told him that where there was secrecy, there
was opportunity. When the working day finished, he tailed Bigtoe
and some of the other dockers at a distance. They moved like a line
of ants to the
Bell &
Mast
. Perry hovered outside the tavern,
wondering if he was wasting his time and resolved to do it the
simple way. He’d buy Bigtoe a drink and wheedle it out of
him.

Inside it was oddly quiet.
Against the window, a leathery old-timer had a squeeze-box fanned
across his lap. It wheezed faint notes as he dozed. Perry must have
counted forty or fifty dockers filing in but could barely count
five in the bar. Perry nodded to the barman. He scowled back. Fat
as a cannonball.

‘
Where…’ he
began, but then heard the sound of creaking boards above him.
Whatever meeting they were having earlier at the docks was taking
place now.

The steps that led to the top
room were gloomy and their wood groaned with each step he took.
Perry tiptoed slowly, hearing voices in the room above. He snuck up
the last steps and peered around the doorframe.

The room was large, a mast of
light powered through a small porthole at the back, dust swirling
inside. As his eyes adjusted he counted at least two score
clustered together in the gloom.

‘
-and some of
ya’s covered it, on good terms too.’

The voice came from the front.
Perry heard a few grumbles in the crowd. He stood on tiptoes to get
a look at the speaker. It was hard to see but through the thin line
of light he caught the outline of a crooked top hat. He was sure it
belonged to the lout with the bulbous nose who’d tripped him up a
few days back. Bastard.

‘
Now, past is
past. But good terms for a day or two ain’t worth much to you and
even less to our London brothers.’

‘
What about us,
Maxwell?’ someone yelled from the middle. The air smelt of sweat
and ale. The hat bobbed up and down.

‘
Exactly. What
about us? Sixpence in London worth sixpence down here last time I
checked,’ the crowd hummed in agreement. Maxwell lifted something
into the air.

‘
Dockers! It is
time. This Friday,’ he paused. ‘London strike.’

The room erupted.

‘
Quiet now!
Shut up! Listen!’ his voice softened. ‘
Listen.
I say we
all
strike. Nobody covers London.
Nobody covers here. We strike together. Co-ordinated like. London
will demand sixpence a day,’ he raised a finger, ‘I say we do the
same!’

‘
Aye,’ a few
voices rung out.

‘
Our crates
less weighty are they?’

‘
No!’ they
yelled.

‘
Our hands less
splintered?’ he shouted.

‘
No!’ the
voices echoed off the roof. Maxwell began to prowl.

‘
Tis high time
we too felt a tanner in the palm at day end. Greaves has had us
cheap for too long!’

He lifted a paper, ‘Brothers,
sign your names here! A cross will do!’

Boots thumped on the
floorboards as the men lined up to sign.

‘
And not a word
to anyone. If Greaves finds out the place will be swarming with
Blacklegs.’

‘
Aye!’ the men
yelled.

Perry tiptoed down the
stairs.

‘
And any
strike-breakers among you lot…’ Maxwell’s voice faded as Perry
slipped out the tavern door. An idea spread a smile across his
face.

13

Huddled
between a shipping insurer and a chandler,
Greaves & Company Worldwide
was
an average sized warehouse with a red and gold sign over the vast
doorway. Greaves himself was an easy man to spot, it seemed little
had changed in the man’s manner since the morning. He was hovering
around the warehouse doorway, cajoling the cart-pushers, stopping
only to examine a pocket watch with a frown. Perry made his way
over.

‘
Are you nearly
done?’ Greaves asked one of the passing men.

‘
Aye, just a
few more.’

‘
Well, hurry
up. This schooner should’ve been cleared an hour ago.’

Perry strolled in. ‘Bloody
thing!’ Greaves’ head was down, shaking his pocket watch furiously.
‘And no, you little street urchin. You won’t have a penny off me,’
he lifted his head.

Perry instantly knew the type,
the schoolmaster with eyes in the back of his head, and who wanted
you to know it.

‘
I wouldn’t be
so sure about that mister,’ Perry smiled, ‘Sure a man like you
would pay handsomely to know details of a-’ he glanced around and
whispered behind his hand, ‘-strike.’

The weasel’s face didn’t stir.
‘My office.’

The office overlooked the
warehouse floor. Perry removed his cap, bunched it in his palm and
wandered round. It was surrounded on one side with a
floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Maps and pinned notes adorned the other
walls. A large globe of the world stood next to the desk. It looked
like it might spin.

‘
Don’t touch,’
said Greaves. He nodded Perry towards a chair and leant back on his
own making a steeple with his hands. His weasely chin somehow
looked noble in the lamplight. ‘So. Boy.’

‘
Perry’s the
name sir.’

‘
Fine. Perry.
Tell me what you know and I’ll determine the value of the
information you’ve given me. I’m an honourable man, and I will see
to it that good information is fairly rewarded. Now, let’s hear
it.’

Perry shook his head, ‘It’s not
going to work like that. I want five pounds, up front.’

‘
What?’ Greaves
laughed, ‘You’re not serious are you? You think I’d give some
street scamp five pounds for pretending he knows about
something?’

‘
I’m no street
urchin, and you’ll do well to remember who’s holding the cards
here. I know the value of my information to the likes of
you,
sir,’
he
said, not trying to hide his disdain. ‘You’ve obviously heard
whisperings or you wouldn’t have invited me up here. Five pounds.
The information is worth it.’ Perry sniffed and looked at his
fingers. He knew how to play hard to get.