“Right, girl,” she said to Morfydd. “Switch road, this one – through Number Six,” and Morfydd nodded and crawled down to hitch up.
I got Liam Muldooney with an elbow. “Since when has Gower been using the switch road through Six?” I asked.
“Every fourth tram – Foreman’s orders.”
“To hell with Foreman,” I said. “It isn’t even propped.” I sat up, hitting my head on the roof and cursing.
“Sit down, sit down, man,” said Liam. “There’s enough props by there to hold up government – they got them all in on last night’s shift. Would I let a little woman go where I wouldn’t go myself. Firm as Moses’ rock that roof.”
“That roof was dropping plugs not a week back,” I said.
“And they fetched the plugs down, you satisfied? You start looking to your own business, little man, and leave me to mine. Shall I tell you of my grandpa now, and put your mind at ease?”
“To hell with your grandpa.”
“Then would you rather have a chapter from Galatians?”
“O, for God’s sake!” I said, for I was watching the end of Morfydd’s tram, watching the glint of the backboard steel as it curved down the line to the switch road on Six, smaller and smaller in the lights of the tallow lamps.
“Sharp enough to cut yourself this morning,” said Liam. “Rest you in God, little man, He will care for your Morfydd. No satan shall snatch at her in the presence of the Lord. Now give proof of your faith in Him, bach – tell Him what you know of the Book of the King, just to please Liam and take your mind from fear. How many books in the Old Testament, for instance?”
“Thirty-nine,” I said. “Liam, I am afraid. …”
“And the New Testament, little man?”
“Twenty-seven. Liam. …”
“Hush you,” said he. “It is not fear but the Devil wreaking his vengeance for the burning of the gates. And eight hundred and thirty-eight thousand three hundred and eighty letters in the New Testament all told, and do not argue, man, for I have taken the trouble to count them. Man, be calm.”
“I am away to see Gower,” I said, crawling, but he caught my wrist and twisted me back.
“Peace! The shortest sentence in His Book, if you please. …?”
“Jesus wept,” I murmured.
“Aye, aye, for the likes of you and me, Jethro. Would you take a fist to me and sweep me aside when I tell you your girl will be safe?”
Just looked at him. This the saint of faith; such men as this have prayed to their God with their bodies alight.
Liam was smiling.
“Trust you in Him,” he whispered. “Do not put your trust in props, for I have prayed and the golden Lord has answered. On, now. What is the middle verse of the Book of our God, boy? Think now, shiver up the herring-roes. Shall I tell, is it? The eighth verse of the hundred and eighteenth Psalm. And how many times does the word Lord occur? Forty-six thousand two hundred and twenty-seven, and there is no word therein more than six syllables, and the word Reverend occurs only once, as if the Lord just remembered to slip the thing in. How now do I stand in the knowledge of my God?” He gripped my hand. “Forsake all wickedness. Stand you firm in the countenance of the Father, and He will protect you and those whom you love.”
“As Towey.” I raised my face.
“Is she not with happiness now, man? And the boy from Spain?”
“I want Morfydd living, not dead.”
“So you put your faith in a four-inch prop when He can shift a mountain with His finger? O, Jethro, bach, do you listen to old Liam. Battered and addled I am, my body despoiled, but my soul is with glory and yours with dust. Conflict with the kings of the earth is conflict with God, for did He not teach humility to men? And the servants of the earthly queen is asking questions, you heard?”
This raised me again.
“What do you mean?”
“In search of Rebeccas, looking for daughters to break the march on Carmarthen – and searching for a man with broken hands – yours are not so tidy.”
I heard his words but I did not care. Looking for the one who had flattened their dragoon, no doubt. I would do it again with half a chance, but quicker.
“God help him if they find him, mind,” said Liam.
I heard his words as an echo, for I was trundling with Morfydd down Number Six gallery, the new shaft opened in a forest of props; couldn’t rest till she got back to the seam, couldn’t work, couldn’t think.
“The Lord says turn the other cheek, Jethro.”
“Aye? Well I am not turning mine.”
“God forgive you,” said Liam.
“Nothing to forgive.”
“God help you, then,” said he, and as he said it Number Six went down.
A dull thump first, then thunder, rocking us as with an earthquake, turning us, felling those standing, burying those lying. One moment light, next moment blackness. Props were going like twigs, bending, snapping, driving into the ground. Lying as I was, the drop took me square across the thighs, pinning me, and I fought to breathe as the pressure came greater; pinned as if nailed there, coal against my face, my chest, stretching as a mantle down to my ankles. Couldn’t even gasp; lying solid in a tomb of coal, twisting, thighs bucking, screaming for breath, and the hand that clawed at my face was Liam’s, groping for my mouth, knuckles arched for my first inward breath. Heard him scratching, someone
