Remember that an’ yer won’t come ter no ’arm. ’Less yer fall in the water, like, or some bastard drops a load on yer foot.” The implied warning was as clear as the hard light on the water.
Actually, Monk had no desire whatever to work at the backbreaking job of unloading, but he must not appear unworthy, or he would awaken suspicion. “That would be very foolish,” he observed.
They went on talking desultorily, speaking of cargoes from all around the world: India; Australia; Argentina; the wild coasts of Canada, where they said tides rose and fell forty feet in a matter of hours.
“Ever bin ter sea?” Bert asked curiously.
“No,” Monk replied.
“Thought not.” There was a benign contempt in his face. “I ’ave. Seen the fever jungles o’ Central America, an’ I in’t never goin’ there again. Frighten the bleedin’ life out o’ yer. Sooner see the midnight sun up Norway an’ the Arctic, like. Freezin’ ter death’d be quick. Saw a feller go overboard up there once. Got ’im out, but ’e were dead. The cold does it. Quicker than the fever, an’ cleaner. If I got the yellow fever I’d cut me own throat sooner’n wait ter die of it.”
“Me an’ all,” his friend agreed.
They spoke a little longer. Monk wanted to ask about cargoes being stolen, and where they would be sold, but he could not afford to arouse suspicion. They were all facing the water when a barge went by, and they could not help seeing the lumpers knock a few pieces of coal off into the shallow water where at the next ebb it would be low enough for the mudlarks to find it and pick it up. No one made any remark. It was an accepted part of life. But it stirred a thought in Monk’s mind. Could the ivory have been moved like that, dropped off the
The foreman came from one of the loading gangs, looking for two men. Monk was intensely relieved he did not want three, but he affected disappointment-although not deep enough for the men to start thinking of another ship that might want him.
He did not manage to avoid a small errand, for which he was paid sixpence. He spent the next two hours asking about which barges moved at night, and learned that there were very few indeed, and only with the tide, which-according to the time of Hodge’s death-would have been upstream, towards the morning high water. Painstakingly, he accounted for all of them.
He bought a hot pie and a piece of cake for lunch, with another cup of tea. It was late, after one o’clock, and he had never felt colder in his life. No alley in the city, however ice-bound or wind-funneled, could match the cutting edge of the wind off the water and the sting of the salt. His recent cases of petty theft, when he had spent his time in offices and the servants’ quarters of other peoples’ houses, had made him soft. He realized it now with acute discomfort.
He sat down on a pile of timber and old ropes which was sheltered from the wind, and began to eat.
He was halfway through the pie, relishing the hot meat, when he realized that the shadow next to the pile of boxes to his left was actually a small boy wearing a ragged coat with a cloth cap pulled over his ears. His feet were bare, streaked with dirt and blue with cold.
“Do you want some pie?” Monk said aloud. “Half?”
The child looked at him suspiciously. “Wha’ for?”
“Well, if I were you, I’d eat it!” Monk snapped. “Or shall I give it to the gulls?”
“Yer don’ wan’ it, I’ll take it,” the child replied quickly, stretching out his hand, then pulling it back again, as if the thought were too good to believe.
Monk took a last bite from the pie and handed it over. He drank the rest of the tea before his better nature lost him that as well.
The child sat down beside him on a stump of wood and ate all of the pie solemnly and with concentration, then he spoke. “Yer lookin’ fer work?” he said, watching Monk’s face. “Or yer a thief?” There was no malice or contempt in his voice, simply the enquiry one stranger might make of another, by way of introduction.
“I’m looking for work,” Monk replied. Then he added quickly, “Not that I’m sure I want to find any.”
“If yer don’t work, an’ yer in’t a thief, where’d yer get the pie?” the child said reasonably. “An’ the cake?” he added.
“Do you want half?” Monk asked. “When I say I don’t want work, I mean I don’t want to load or unload cargo,” he amended. “I don’t mind the odd message now and then.”
“Oh.” The child thought. “Reckon as I might ’elp yer wi’ that, now an’ then, like,” he said generously. “Yeah, I’ll ’ave a piece o’ yer cake. I don’t mind if I do.” He held out his hand, palm upward.
Monk carefully divided the cake and gave him half. “What’s your name?” he enquired.
“Scuff,” the boy replied. “Wot’s yours?”
“Monk.”
“Pleased ter meet yer,” Scuff said gravely. He looked at Monk, frowning a little. “Ye’re new ’ere, in’t yer?”
Monk decided to tell the truth. “Yes. How did you know?”
Scuff rolled his eyes, but a certain courtesy prevented him from replying. “Yer wanna be careful,” he said, pursing his lips. “I’ll learn yer a few things, or yer’ll end up in the water. Ter begin wif, yer needs to know ’oo ter speak ter an’ ’oo ter stay clear of.”
Monk listened attentively. At the moment all information was a gift, but more than that, he did not want to be discourteous to this child.
Scuff held up a dirty hand less than half the size of Monk’s. “Yer don’ wanna know the bad ones-more’n that, yer don’ want them ter know you. That’s the night plund’rers.”
“What?”
“Night plund’rers,” Scuff repeated. “Don’t you ’ear too good? Yer better watch it! Yer gotta keep yer wits, or yer’ll end up in the water, like I said! Night plund’rers is them wot works the river at night.” There was an expression of infinite patience in his face, as if he were dealing with a very small child in need of constant watching. “They’d kill yer for sixpence if yer got in their way. Like the river pirates used ter be, afore there was ever River P’lice special, like.”
Another string of coal barges passed, sending their wash slapping against the steps.
“I see,” Monk replied, his interest engaged.
Scuff shook his head, swallowing the last of the cake. “No, yer don’t. Yer don’t see nuffin’ yet. But if yer live long enough mebbe yer will.”
“Are there a lot of night plunderers?” Monk asked. “Do they work for themselves or for others? What kinds of things do they steal and what do they do with them?”
Scuff’s eyes opened wide. “What der you care? Yer in’t never goin’ ter even see none of ’em, if yer’ve any sense. Don’t yer go lookin’ into fings like that. Yer in’t got the wits fer it, nor the stomach neither. Yer stick ter wot yer can do-wotever that is.” He looked distinctly dubious that that was anything at all.
Monk bit back the reply that rose to his lips. It irritated him surprisingly deeply that this child’s opinion of him was so low. It took an effort not to justify himself. But he did need this information. The theft from the
“I’m just curious,” he replied. “And yes, I mean to avoid them.”
“Then keep yer eyes shut-an’ yer mouf-all night,” Scuff retorted. “Come ter that, yer’d better keep yer mouf shut most o’ the day, an’ all.”
“So what do they take?” Monk persisted.
“Anyfink wot they can, o’ course!” Scuff snapped. “Why wouldn’t they? Take yer ’ole bleedin’ ship, if yer sloppy enough ter let ’em.”
“And what do they do with what they take?” Monk refused to be deterred. This was no time for delicate feelings.
“Sell it, o’ course.” Scuff looked at him narrowly to see if he could really be as stupid as he appeared.
“To whom?” Monk asked, keeping his temper with difficulty. “Here on the river, or in the city? Or on another ship?”
Scuff rolled his eyes. “Ter receivers,” he replied. “Dependin’ on wot it is. If it’s good stuff, ter the op’lent geezers; if it’s poor, ter the cov’tous. They pick up the other bits. Or the Rev’nue men, o’ course. But they more often take just a cut. In’t easy ter sell stuff, ’less yer got the know-’ow, or the connections.” He shook his head.
