JOE AND WILL were back where Tommy Jackson had woken them with such urgency the day before. They knew this was their room; as residents of Block Seven, albeit new ones, they were entitled to use it whenever they chose. But they appeared to be trespassers, intruders who had stumbled into a forbidden land.
‘So this is where they ran to,’ muttered Joe, looking at the gathering before him.
Around forty men were arranged around card tables, another dozen sprawled on the floor. The air was thick with stale ale, pipe smoke and molasses. Discarded plates of food were scattered on the floor. Horace Cobb and Edwin Lane stood to greet them.
‘What’ve they done with their beards?’ asked Roche.
‘Don’t stare, for pity’s sake,’ hissed Joe. ‘If you’re in the Rough Allies, you have a forked beard, that’s all.’
‘Tied with rope? What kind o’ sailor does that?’
‘The ones as rough as untamed bears. It’s what they do.’
‘And they just ran from that King Dick?’
‘After calling me a nigger-lover, yes.’
‘Well, we are all free Americans,’ said Roche. ‘Even if we might be in prison.’ He stepped forward a few paces, then checked back. ‘I faced the tars of HMS Glasgow back in ’76,’ he said to Joe. ‘Now, they were scary.’
With Joe a few paces behind, Roche walked towards the Allies.
‘Prodigious fine day!’ he said, hailing them like officers on the bridge. ‘My friend and me are jus’ borrowin’ a book or two. We’ve settled with Mr Morris below. We’ll jus’ find what we need – you … carry on.’
Roche and Joe turned and walked a few paces to the book tables.
‘They can “carry on”, can they?’ whispered Joe. ‘And in their own cockloft?’
‘It’s our cockloft. Theirs is in Six …’
Lane’s weasel voice stopped them in their tracks. His words were laced with threat. ‘Mr Roche, ain’t it?’ he said.
Roche nodded.
Cobb shrugged. Ash tumbled on to his beard. ‘You been associating with the wrong kind, Mr Roche, like your friend here?’
‘You mean King Dick?’
Cobb leaned forward, the burnt-out stub of the cigarillo now stuck to his upper lip.
‘His name is Richard Crafus and he’s just another sailor from Maryland. He’s no king to us, though it serves the English well to treat him like one. You’ll not call him king in this block. He’s a thief, a cockroach. A leech that has attached itself to all of us.’ He sat back, staring at Roche. ‘And as we just saw, a wild man, a thug who threatens us all. You’ll be needing to guide this boy. Help him get used to things …’
‘I don’t need any guidance,’ said Joe.
‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Lane.
‘We jus’ wanted some books,’ said Roche.
‘So you said,’ said Lane. ‘And that’s strange, when we’re all s’posed to be goin’ home, Mr Hill. Why the need for books when the peace is about to be ratified?’ He used both hands to smooth and separate the two forks of his beard.
‘For readin’,’ said Roche. ‘A useful distraction, don’t you find? C’mon, Mr Hill.’
They turned and carried on towards the shelves.
‘Quick as you can,’ whispered Roche, his eyes flicking along the rows of books.
‘Found them,’ hissed Joe, and pulled two volumes down. He turned for the door.
‘Mr Hill, if you please.’ Lane was pointing at the books.
Roche steered Joe around. ‘Oh, I see. You’re the librarians!’ he said. ‘I thought we’d fallen upon a gang of cut-throats and pirates. Then we really would be in danger. But if you jus’ want to see the books …’
All the Allies now jumped to their feet, chairs flying. An assortment of knives had appeared on the tables, but Lane’s was already in his hand. Joe and Roche halted mid-stride, Joe holding out the books as if a peace offering.
Cobb squinted at the title then sat down again, the other Allies following suit.
‘You both need copies?’ said Cobb. ‘You putting on a play or something?’
‘We’re jus’ readin’, Mr Cobb,’ said Roche, getting irritated. ‘C’mon, Joe, we got to be goin’.’
Lane hawked noisily. ‘Is Habakkuk Snow in your play, too?’
Joe could now see the evidence of the gun that had exploded in Lane’s face. His beard had grown around a burn which had charred his skin to the colour of tobacco. His eyes narrowed but the thickened skin around them barely moved.
‘It’s not my play …’ he began.
‘Precisely,’ said Lane. ‘Then leave it to ’em. The Negroes like a pantomime. I seen one of them … it was most entertainin’.’
‘You saw a show in Four?’ said Joe, surprised. ‘With all those coloured men around you? Must have been like the old days on the Bentham.’
Lane held up his knife, pointed it at Joe’s chest. ‘I’ve cut men for less,’ he spat. ‘Take your books and run away, boy.’
Joe and Roche had got to the door when Cobb called after them. ‘Either of you two sailors been in prison before?’
They shook their heads.
‘Getting out and going home,’ said Cobb. ‘They’re thoughts that can do strange things to a man. It can be a dangerous time. We all lose our inhibitions. Act a little crazy, do things we shouldn’t. You should be watching yourself, my young friend.’
‘What was that?’ said Joe, as they hurried down the steps. ‘Was he warning us or threatening us?’
‘Both, I reckon,’ said Roche. ‘And he’s right, too. We saw it in the market square: if you’ve got money, you spend it; if you’ve got liquor, you drink it. And if you’ve got a score to settle, you might feel you need to make haste.’ By the front door, he held Joe back. ‘You happy playin’ in Four, Joe? If you spend too much time in the Negro prison, that might look like you don’t want to be with your own mess. Word’ll spread quickly here.’
Joe looked disgusted. ‘Will, you sound like the Allies.’
Roche shook his head. ‘This is nothin’ to do with ’em. This is ’bout us.’
‘Really?’ said Joe, unconvinced. ‘Well, where do you suggest we meet, given that the Negroes aren’t allowed in the other blocks?’
Roche heard the edge in Joe’s voice and shrugged. ‘Jus’ lookin’ out for you.’