Chapter Nine

… and there was Minnie shaking her. ‘Wake up, girl. Things to do.’

A basin of cold water, a rag to wash with. Another corridor, leading further away from The Hungry Shag. Minnie in a kitchen, ladling maize porridge from a pot, fetching a jar of honey to sweeten it. This was a different Minnie. The slattern was gone. She was quick and curt and hard-eyed, a woman with no time for talk or pleasantries.

‘Wash it. Over there,’ when Fliss had finished her porridge.

Fliss rinsed her bowl in a tin tub on a bench.

‘Where’s Mutch?’

‘Gone. You’ll see him tonight.’

‘Where?’

‘Where I take you.’

‘Are they—’

‘No questions. Finish your drink. And fill your flask. You and me have got things to do. Take one of those.’ She pointed at two canvas sacks lying in a corner.

Fliss hefted one and slung it over her shoulder. ‘Heavy.’

‘It might be the lightest thing you lift today.’

They went into an alleyway at the back of the kitchen. It was unpaved, uncobbled, and slippery with thrown slops and water from drains. Minnie led Fliss through a maze of alleys, across a rope-maker’s yard, along the side of a tin-smith’s workshop, and brought them out on the river side, in the bustle and roar of loading and unloading. Here they were a working woman with a sack and her helper trudging behind. They went on as the river widened towards its mouth. Wharves and jetties gave way to mangrove swamps and rickety bridges sagging over side-creeks. The tide was high. In some places the water slapped the bottom of the planks. Minnie put down her sack.

‘Drink,’ she said, swiping midges away from her face. She took a hard biscuit from her pocket and gave it to Fliss.

‘Where are we going?’ Fliss asked. She could tell from the smell of the bundles in her sack that they were food. Bacon was there and salt fish. Fresh bread, too. And meat, from the lumpy feel of it. ‘Who’s this for?’

Minnie finished drinking. ‘Us,’ she said, wiping her mouth. She sighed. The walking had softened her temper. Or perhaps, Fliss thought, she was happy to be away from the tavern.

‘When?’

‘Maybe never if things go wrong. You brought some trouble with you, girl.’ She brushed sweat from her eyebrows. ‘But I’m glad something’s happening at last. Can you row a boat?’

‘I’ve never tried. I can swim.’

‘Might have to do that.’ Minnie grinned. ‘Mudlark, were you?’

‘Not long. I was …’ There was no need to hide things from this woman. ‘I was a dip.’

‘Good one?’

‘I never got caught.’

‘You wouldn’t have any skin left on your back if you had. Come on. Ways to go.’

Mid-morning. A track above the tideline ended at a creek fringed with mangroves. Minnie hauled a dinghy through the trunks and floated it. Fliss put the sacks in the bow and clambered into the stern seat. Minnie flicked the oars, spinning the dinghy like a water beetle, and sent it scudding down the creek and out onto the river. A battered old scow lay anchored hard against the mangroves. She looked as if she hadn’t sailed for years — a chained wheel, a grey sail roped lumpily on the boom, a mast with an amputated top. No name on the peeling curve of the bow.

A boy about ten years old appeared from the deckhouse. He was skinny, ragged, spotted with scars from some disease, but quick and eager, holding the dinghy while Fliss lifted the sacks on board.

‘Did your dad bring the other stuff?’ Minnie asked.

‘It’s all in there,’ the boy said.

‘Stow this. Quick.’

The boy hauled the sacks into the deckhouse.

‘Right. Jump in.’

He climbed into the dinghy and Minnie rowed back into the creek. ‘Now scat,’ she said.

The boy started along the track.

‘No talkee,’ she called after him.

He turned around and made an angry scowl and a fingerjerk of contempt.

‘Hey, Jed, you done a good job,’ Minnie said.

He bent his finger, cancelling its message, and disappeared into the mangroves.

‘He’s good,’ Minnie said. ‘Now, you. Can you find your way back?’

‘Yes. Where?’

‘Not The Shag. There’s no more Shag. Clean yourself up, then get to the square, watch the hangings.’

‘Hangings?’

‘There might be. But maybe not.’

‘What do I do there?’

‘Be early. Get near the gallows. Poddy and Zizz will be there, not together. You’re a good dip, eh?’

‘Yes.’

‘Get near them. Then—’ she felt in her pocket and brought out three small twists of paper — ‘put one in Poddy’s pocket, one in Zizz’s. No one sees.’

‘What are they?’

Minnie grinned sourly. ‘Just a thing to swallow. Works quick. Won’t hurt as much as they’ll hurt if they get caught.’

Fliss swallowed. ‘All right.’ She got out of the dinghy. ‘And one for Mutch?’

‘You won’t see Mutch.’

‘You gave me three.’ Then she understood.

Minnie nodded. ‘I guess you’ll be staying?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s no good me saying get out of there?’

‘No.’

‘Then it’s for you.’

‘Yes. All right.’

‘Don’t get in the way. And when it’s over —’ she gave a grunt of uncertainty — ‘come back here. Fast as you can or we’ll go without you.’ She shook her head. ‘You know how to bring trouble, girl.’ She spun the dinghy and rowed away.

She likes trouble better than being Old Minnie, Fliss thought.

Back at the wharves she washed her face and arms at a pump. She washed mud from her cloth shoes and dried them for half an hour in the sun, watching labourers work and clerks mark their tally sheets. She was aware of the twists of paper in her pocket. They clung together like a nest of spiders. One for her. She would be as dead as Keef and Lorna hanging on a rope.

She spent one of her groats on bread and cheese, then, timing herself by the afternoon sun, made her way towards Morisette Square. It was sunk in shadows when she arrived; lamplighters were at work, but the Hand, high over the fountain, glowed in a last ray of sunshine coming between houses.

The gallows were in place: black timber, white rope. The nooses hung side by side, like serving spoons on a scullery wall.

People were gathering — the same as the night before, it seemed to Fliss. Workmen, tradesmen and their wives, children riding on their fathers’ shoulders, old people in carts pushed by hired boys. Here and there carriages flanked by footmen edged into the crowd, with ladies at the windows holding nosegays and posies to keep out the stink of the crowd.

A troop of soldiers guarded the gallows. Two were fixing the Morisette flag on a pole bolted to its side. Fliss had been at hangings. The best times for dipping were when the trumpets rang out and the flag went up, and later when the hangmen kicked the stools from under the victims. You could empty a dozen pockets then.

She moved slowly, eyes darting, looking for Poddy and Zizz, careful not to brush against anyone. There were people who would strike out at a black girl, or mock her and turn her into sport. But most were happy and eager, and she passed unnoticed. Poddy, black like her, would have to be careful.

She saw him on the far side of the fountain, hooded and wearing a baggy coat that made him look fat. She worked her way towards him casually. His eyes flicked over her and away. He turned side on, staring as though at something across the square. She brushed past and her fingers, nipping a twist of paper, were in his pocket and out and scratching her face as she walked on, not here at all but looking for someone — who now had to be Zizz. Where was he? Close or buried somewhere in the crowd?

Close, in a good place for watching the condemned cart arrive — but where the edge of the fountain obscured his view of the gallows. There must be a reason. Mutch would have placed his men as carefully as pieces on a game board. Where was Mutch? And the others, there must be others. Three men could not snatch a woman and a boy in a crowd like this, in front of a troop of soldiers.

A cry of approval, almost of greed, went up, and grew and shrilled as whistles and home-made shriekers joined in. The hangmen were mounting the platform, one at each side. They were in costume, like mummers, but halved down the middle, shining, rippling with red and yellow — the Morisette colours — on one side, tar-black on the other, for death. Their eyes, their teeth, gleamed in their masks. Each stood wide-legged and with folded arms beside his rope. Assistants placed a stool, square and exact, beneath each noose.

In the uproar, Fliss slipped the second twist of paper into Zizz’s pocket. He was cheering like the rest of the crowd. She eased away. Where should she stand? Zizz, she decided. Close to Zizz. He was nearer the gallows than Poddy.

A trumpet sounded close at hand and the crowd grew still. The brass wail came again from the street leading from the Morisette prison into the square. A mounted soldier appeared, with the Open Hand standard held high. The condemned cart was coming. ‘Morisette, Morisette,’ the crowd chanted. Fliss saw ecstatic faces all around. She knew the opinion: Despiners might be grand and solemn, but no one put on a show like the Morisettes.

Four soldiers marched behind the standard, their ceremonial headgear — tall hats with red and yellow feathers — bouncing in time with their step. Now, Fliss thought. It had to be now. Once the procession turned into the square there would be no chance. She counted in time with the beating of her heart — now, now — wondering at the same time why Poddy and Zizz had waited by the gallows when they should be over there.

The crowd noise deepened to a subterranean roar. Then shrieks of glee rose above it. Four black horses, plumes nodding on their heads, drew the condemned cart out of the prison street. Anton Morisette led the way on his white horse. Behind him walked a drummer, beating a single note. Mounted soldiers, red and yellow, rode on each side of the cart, which had none of the grandeur of the one that had carried Lorna the night before. No fluted roof, no roof at all, just plain wooden rails, and wheels sheathed in iron not gum. Inside? Fliss darted from side to side but could not see Lorna or Keef. A knot of people stood in the centre, hiding them.

Now, she pleaded.

The crack of gunshots answered, so sharp they seemed to cut into her. Anton Morisette’s hat flew from his head. Behind him a horseman slumped forward in his saddle.

Fliss ran backwards and forwards but the people in front of her made an unbreakable wall. She felt for her knife: she would stab her way through. A hand fell on her shoulder and clamped tight. ‘Stay.’ It was Zizz. He moved away. She saw Poddy through a sudden gap, closer to the fountain, fingering a button on his coat.

The cart? She hunted for it, found it for a moment, lurching on, making waves of people as the horses knocked them aside. Anton, leaning sideways on his mount, had one hand locked on the bridle linking the front pair and seemed to be pulling the team along. Blood ran through his hair and down his face.

The cart broke free and reached the gallows. Lorna stood in the centre, supported by a woman on either side; and Keef was there, wearing a prisoner’s gown belted in the middle. Two men held him on his feet. His head lolled like a drunk man’s.

Fliss felt herself falling, falling away. She had believed. Now, disbelief. There was no rescue.

Two more shots sounded by the street entrance. Anton dropped the bridle and swung around. Shadowy men moved in the windows of a darkened house. They fired again and disappeared as he screamed orders. The soldiers at the gallows and those by the cart ran in formation, knocking people aside with their rifle butts.

Anton and his horsemen surged after them; then came a new roar as the front of the house blew out and debris rained on the crowd. And Fliss saw the plan at last. No soldiers at the gallows: they were trapped in the crowd, which seemed to slide backwards and forwards and tangle and swirl as men grabbed their wives and women their children, all trying to get away in different directions. Others stood dazed, immovable. Half the troopers had been thrown from their terrified horses and the others, even Anton, were struggling to calm their own.

Now, she thought. Now. She fought her way towards the cart.

The men holding Keef kept him upright by his arms. The women with Lorna stood so close they seemed to hug her. She could not see Poddy and Zizz in the people milling about. And where was Mutch? The house with its front blasted off was burning now, but they would not be there when Lorna and Keef were here.

Then Zizz! There he was — at the cart, uncoupling the team while a man Fliss had not seen before held the lead horses still. And Poddy now, running, trailing a rope that unwound from under his coat, and throwing it in an easy loop over the fountain statue, and running again and hooking it — the hook gleamed like a tooth — to the swingletree behind the rear horses.

Two men climbed onto the prisoners’ cart. Mutch! Mutch at last. He took the women holding Lorna, one in each arm, and threw them over the rail; bundled Lorna in his arms; ran to the front rail — while the other man, quick, so quick, was at the guards supporting Keef. Fliss saw the double flash of a knife, and they fell. Keef fell, too. He crumpled, and the man dragged him to the rail and heaved him over.

One of the hangmen fled, ripping off his mask. The other gave a roar and jumped down from the gallows platform. He ran to the cart where Mutch was handing Lorna down to — who? Minnie! The hangman seized Lorna, tried to tear her away — and Fliss, without thinking, ran at him, low and fast, and speared her knife into his back. The hangman fell to his knees, then slumped on his belly with a sigh, and seemed to sleep.

The horses were straining. Poddy and Zizz lay on the backs of the lead pair, urging them, leaning along their necks and shouting in their ears. The rope about the statue tightened. It pulled against the Hand. But the Hand did not want to fall, it seemed to pull back. The horses strained, and a crack like a gunshot sounded at the statue’s base. It tipped and the whole of it fell, toppling like a tree. It shattered the stone surround. Water poured into the square and slid under people’s feet, making them run sideways and skate and fall.

Mutch ran with Lorna in his arms. Minnie had thrown a cape over her, hiding her face and the belted shift she had worn on the cart. ‘Woman hurt. Way. Way,’ Mutch shouted. People took no notice. Some were wandering, going in any direction, confused by the chaos. Others ran with arms out, heading for exits. Men hauled their wives, women pulled their children. Lorna was not the only person carried. No one took any notice of her and Mutch, or of Poddy and Zizz, hauling Keef. A carriage with the driver flogging his horses lurched by. Footmen ran in front of it, lashing people out of the way with their quirts. Poddy and Zizz dragged Keef around its back, losing ground. Fliss caught up with them. She ran behind Keef. His feet, bare for the execution, bounced on the cobbles, but Poddy kept his head safe, lifting it by the hair.

They neared the side of the square away from the fighting. Fliss heard hooves behind her, another carriage. But no, a single horseman, high in his stirrups, coming fast. He had them in sight. Anton Morisette. He had his horse in hard control, stepping it through the crowd, striking a path for himself with a flattened sword.

A cart pushed by a boy was in his way. It tipped and fell on its side, spilling an old woman on the cobbles. Anton Morisette cursed. Beyond the cart he sighted the men dragging Keef. He saw Keef’s face and gave a shout. ‘Hold him. The Despiner.’ Still the cart held him back. He thrust his sword into its scabbard and drew his pistol. Poddy and Zizz were blocked by fallen people, with Keef stretched behind them on the ground. They looked back helplessly as Anton aimed. He had a clear shot. His horse, well trained, stood motionless.

Fliss jumped forward. Her knife was out, sticky with the hangman’s blood. Again she used it like a spear, thrusting not stabbing. It dug into Anton Morisette’s thigh, almost in the spot where Keef had stabbed him at the wall. Anton jerked in the saddle and lost his aim. Howling, rage overriding pain, he turned to Fliss; saw and recognised her face as he must have seen it, uplifted at the wall, as she pulled Keef through. Snarling, blood-streaked, he shifted his pistol round. Fliss was too fast, already moving. She stabbed her knife into the horse’s rump. The animal squealed and reared, and Anton’s pistol went off as he struggled not to fall. The horse bolted, scattering people, with Anton slipping sideways in the saddle. Had he fallen? She could not be sure.

Poddy and Zizz worked their way clear. She saw them making for the mouth of a covered lane between two houses. There was no sign of Mutch.

She ran again, weaving in and out, entered the lane, slid through the people clogging it and came to a wide street. A small unmarked carriage, little more than a cab, waited on the far side, with its horse trying to skitter away from the people streaming by. Mutch was lifting Lorna to Minnie inside. Poddy hefted Keef, and Minnie hauled him in. Zizz slammed the door.

‘Wait,’ Mutch said. ‘You. Fliss. In you go, quick.’

He gave her a push that tumbled her on top of Minnie. The carriage set off with a clatter of hooves.

‘Don’t climb all over me, girl,’ Minnie said.

‘Where’s Keef? Is he all right?’

‘He’s sleeping,’ said a voice from the corner.

‘Lorna. You’re Lorna. They’ve been torturing him.’

‘They beat him. They burned him. There were things they wanted to know.’

‘About the wall?’

‘Yes. The wall. So I put him to sleep.’

‘You can do that?’

‘With people I love.’

‘And kept him sleeping?’

‘I didn’t think he’d want to know he was being hanged.’

The carriage passed under a lamp and Fliss saw Lorna’s face. She was smiling, but her cheeks were wet. Keef’s head lay in her lap, where she cradled it against the jolting of the cobbled road.

‘It’s a good trick, but you’d better wake him now,’ Minnie said.

‘Soon. Thank you for saving us.’

‘Thank Mutch.’

‘And thank you — Fliss? You’re Fliss?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry you had to kill a man.’

Fliss wondered what she should say. No trouble? It did not seem bad to her to kill a hangman.

‘Too much gab. We haven’t got away yet,’ Minnie said.

Fliss kept quiet. There were things she had to ask Lorna, but they could wait. Empty streets rattled by. After a while the softer noise of mud and sand.

She wondered how Mutch and Zizz and Poddy would get to the scow. She would not feel safe if Mutch was not there.

‘Is he coming? Mutch?’

‘He’d better be,’ Minnie said. Fliss could feel her grinning. ‘He’s my man.’

Fliss did not know why this pleased her so much. She laid her head on Minnie’s shoulder.

‘Tired, girl? There’s more work yet. Sleep when you’re back at your wall.’ She turned to Lorna. ‘You’d better wake your brother. There’s no one to carry him.’

‘He’s awake,’ Lorna said. ‘But he’ll start to hurt soon.’

‘He can rest on the scow. He’s got to walk now.’

The carriage stopped, the door opened and the boy Jed looked in. Behind him was a man holding a lamp.

‘Quick,’ Jed whispered. ‘Tide’s going.’

Fliss jumped out while Minnie lifted Keef from Lorna’s lap. It took a moment to get him down. He was only half-awake, mumbling and groaning. Fliss supported him.

‘Keef,’ she whispered.

‘Where …?’ he groaned.

‘We’re going on the river. Lorna’s here.’

The carriage turned silently on the soft ground.

‘Give him to me. Take her,’ Minnie said. She half guided, half lifted Keef into the waiting dinghy.

Fliss took Lorna’s hand.

‘There’s mud.’

‘I can feel it,’ Lorna said.

‘Dinghy.’ She guided Lorna to the seat. Keef was sitting on the bottom. Lorna found his shoulders and held them.

‘Lorna,’ he whispered.

‘We’re safe. Fliss and Minnie saved us.’

‘Not safe yet,’ Minnie said. She rowed out of the side-creek, with Jed keeping watch in the bow, and in a moment the dinghy bumped along the side of the scow. Jed scrambled onto the deck and came back with a hooded lantern. Clumsily they got Keef and Lorna on board. Jed rowed away, and Minnie led them down steps into the belly of the scow. The lamplight showed rough bunks, each with a blanket. Dimly seen in the bow was a small galley. A low door in the stern hid a washroom, or perhaps, Fliss thought, a place for hiding people. She saw how goods could be piled in front to hide it. Keef, half-blind in the dim light, felt his way to a bunk. He slumped down. ‘Lorna?’

‘I’m here.’

‘I’m sore.’

‘I know.’

‘Anton was asking how I got through the wall. He was burning me.’ He swallowed. ‘And now I’m here.’

Lorna made him lie more comfortably. Her touch was so sure, Fliss found it hard to believe she could not see.

‘I put you to sleep. Remember how I could do it when you were young? You should sleep now.’

Minnie had gone back on deck. She hissed Fliss’s name down the hatchway. Fliss climbed up, pleased to leave brother and sister alone.

‘Get the sail ready while I unlock the wheel.’ She brought another lantern from the deckhouse. ‘Soon as Mutch is here we’re away.’

‘Where?’

Minnie shook her head. ‘Wherever he says.’

Fliss unbound the ropes holding the sail to the boom. She wondered if she should try to haul it up.

‘Leave it,’ Minnie said. ‘Get out something for us to eat. There’s meat and bread in the sacks.’

Fliss looked into the hold as she passed. Keef seemed to be sleeping and Lorna, too, lay on a bunk. She let herself into the deckhouse and broke chunks of bread from a loaf and tore lumps of meat from a haunch. Her knife which had killed a man was no good for cutting food any more. A barrel stood in a corner. She sniffed it. Wine. She found a jug, half filled it and stood it on the table. She found mugs and a plate and took food into the hold, grinning a little as she went. Rough wine, cold meat, barley bread: no fit meal for Despiners.

‘Keef. Lorna,’ she whispered.

‘He’s sleeping.’

‘Won’t he need food?’

‘When he wakes up. You eat, Fliss. I’m not hungry.’

‘I’ll leave it on this empty bunk. Can you find it?’

‘Kirt will. I’ll wake him soon.’

Fliss heard sounds on the river, a whispered word, and felt the bump of a dinghy on the side of the scow.

‘Mutch is here,’ she said. ‘Someone will be down soon.’

She hurried on deck. Mutch, Poddy and Zizz were hauling the dinghy onto the scow. Minnie laid the oars inside.

‘Food in the galley,’ she said.

‘No time yet. Got to get away.’ Mutch touched the back of Minnie’s neck as she stowed the oars. She grinned up sideways in return.

‘They all right below?’ he said to Fliss.

‘He’s sleeping. She’s watching,’ Fliss said, hearing too late that ‘watching’ was wrong.

‘Lazy bugger,’ Zizz said.

‘Leave them now. We’ll talk later.’ Mutch gave a tight grin at Fliss. ‘Nice work with that knife. Keep it sharp. Now let’s move.’

‘Where to?’ Minnie said.

‘To the wall. If they don’t catch us.’

‘Ahh,’ Zizz groaned.

‘Bloody cakewalk,’ Poddy said.