'Heard tell she's a head o' hair like our own figurehead. All we has t' say is, anyone seen a tow-headed youngster with a long-haired filly astern, somewheres south o' Dolphin Street?' Kydd chuckled, aware that his hard-won refined speech was wilting under the influence of the returning years.
'I has th' say.'
'Aye,' said Kydd, meekly. 'Well, boat's alongside and—'
'Poulden's coxswain,' Stirk said firmly, as though that explained everything. Kydd dutifully went down with his old friend into the boat, leaving a puzzled lieutenant watching.
It was a wet trip, the boat's sail under a close reef, and they surfed forward on the backs of the rolling seas until they grounded with a solid crash on the shingle. Kydd leaped nimbly overside before the recoiling wave could return and waited while the boat was brought up.
'I, er, don't know how long m' business will take, Poulden. Do ye wait for me here.'
Expressionless, his coxswain acknowledged, and Kydd set out with Stirk for Dolphin Street. It did not boast the lofty residences and courts of Middle Street, but a dark maze of interconnecting alleyways between the tap-houses, chandleries and shanties of the boatmen and artisans of the King's Naval Yard.
The rich stink of marine stores, stale beer and fish hung heavily as they moved urgently along. The taverns were full of local sea-folk waiting out the foul weather—and they would be best placed to notice strangers coming and going. Rain squalls added to the wind's bluster and Kydd drew his old grego closer as he waited patiently at the door while Stirk entered the Farrier. He wasn't long inside. 'Some reckons they've clapped peepers on 'em but can't say where they's at. We're on th' right course, cuffin.'
Without Stirk to allay suspicions, there wouldn't have been a chance of laying hands on Calloway, who, as a child, had been a barefoot waif in London and knew all the tricks. They hurried on. The wind was rising and Kydd tasted the salt sea spume on the air.
The Brewer's Arms brought news: a fuddled man in the blue jersey of a boatman disclosed gleefully that not only was Calloway known but that he had taken up with the daughter of Jack Cribben, a hoveller who, it seemed, was none too happy about the situation. The obliging boatman was at pains to point out that Cribben could be found in one of the little homes towards the seafront.
'Spread more sail, Toby. We'll have 'im back in a trice.'
The windows of the house were barred, shuttered and wet with the constant spray. Kydd hammered at the door. There was a muffled shout from within and he realised he was being told to go to the back where it was sheltered.
The door was answered by a diminutive, furtive woman, who immediately called Cribben, a powerfully built older man. 'Yer business?' he said abruptly, noting Stirk's thick-set figure.
'We need t' talk to Luke Calloway, if y' would.'
Cribben stiffened. 'Who says—'
'We know where he's at, mate,' Kydd bit off. 'Take us.'
'Hold hard, there, cully! An' who's askin'? Are yez a king's man?'
'We're—shipmates o' the lad who wants him back aboard afore he runs afoul o' the captain,' Kydd said quickly. 'Y' see, we know you're not, as who should say, glad t' see him and y' daughter . . .'
'My Sally's not marryin' into th' Navy! She's a sweet lass as needs a steady hand on th' tiller an' one who comes home reg'lar each night. No sailin' away t' them foreign parts, havin' a whale of a time, an' her left wi' the little bantlings an' all.'
'Then we'll take 'im off y' hands, sir,' Kydd said briskly. 'Just ask him t' step outside, if ye would.'
Standing legs a-brace, Cribben shook his head and folded his arms defiantly.
'No?' Kydd spluttered. 'An' why not?'
''Cos I'll never be the shabbaroon as cravenly delivers up a body t' the Navy fer anyone, begob.'
A flurry of light rain came with the wind's growing bluster. 'Then we'll have t' get 'im f'r ourselves, cock,' Kydd said.
The man did not move. 'Y' won't find 'im here.'
'S' where
There was no response.
Stirk's fists slowly bunched. 'If 'n y' don't give us th' griff, cully, an' that right smartly—'
Kydd caught his eye. 'No, drop it, Toby. Sea's gettin' up. We'd best be on our way.' Calloway would be tipped off about a Navy visit and would hide deeper.
As they turned to go a small boy raced around the corner, and burst out excitedly in front of Cribben, 'Old Bob Fosh seen a packet in trouble off the North Goodwins.'
Cribben's eyes glinted, then the light died. 'I thank 'ee, y' little rascal, even as it's t' no account.' He found a coin for the child, who darted off.
At Kydd's puzzled expression he said, 'All of 'em hereabouts is out after th'
He turned to go back inside but Kydd stopped him. 'No hands? I'll work ye a bargain, Mr. Cribben. We crew f'r you an' ye're going t' tell us where t' find our Luke. Agreed?'
'Ye'll want shares in the hovel.'
'No shares, should y' keep this t' yourself.'
