"THOSE SQUALLY WINDS COMING FROM THE SOUTH ARE going to keep the Britannia in port today, lad," Captain Cairns said when Alec arrived the next morning. "I've got to ring up the mates near Folkestone and tell them we'll not be coming."
Alec watched as the captain gathered his rucksack and set off to make the call. He and Douglas were left to themselves on the boat.
"So, Douglas," Alec began, hanging over the cargo hold, where the first mate was untangling one of the fishing nets, "are you from Dover or did you move here from somewhere up north?"
He didn't look at Alec. "Raised in London," he snapped. "Got tired of the thrashin's from me dad. Soon as aah could, aah made me way to the coast to get work on the docks."
"So you've worked the docks for a long time? You like the sea?" Alec took one end of the net and stretched it out for Douglas.
"Aye, aah've been a seaman many years. But aah hate the sea. Can't swim, don't like the smell of fish. The sea is me work, not me love."
"And do you have family here in Dover?"
"Aah've no use for a family," Douglas growled. "Just take me money and give me trouble. The pub, now, that's me family."
Alec stirred at the mention of the pub. "The White Horse Pub, isn't it? You go there most nights, do you?"
"Me an' the White Horse, we're family. The blokes there, they understan me an' the docks. Though aah finds plenty of drink and fightin' there, too. Aye, it's 'ome to me every night."
"And the man who talked about the tunnels, does he come often to the White Horse?" Alec asked, taking a chance that Douglas was still willing to talk.
"Most nights. As I told the captain, 'e meets the train and picks up supplies—but 'e's always there on Thursdays—payday. 'e blows in an' says 'e'll buy drinks for every bloke in the pub. Nobody believes 'im. 'e never has that many shillings, 'e just likes to look important an' thinks 'e's better than us because 'e doesn't work the docks."
"What did you say he did in the tunnels? Is he a cook or something?"
"So 'e says," Douglas replied. "But cripes, methinks 'e's just a loudmouth rotter without the brains or the strength to do the work on the docks, 'e's stout and not much taller than ye, an' always wearing a white seaman's cap. Too barmy to ever do a real seaman's job, though. Aah've seen 'is kind before. All blow an' no guts, 'e has to sneak out just to get a pint at the pub."
Just then, Douglas unraveled the last knot.
"There. Make it easier the next time we're out fishin'. Good thing, too. Aah was ready to drop the whole mess over the side."
Alec watched as Douglas stored the net and climbed up out of the hold. Captain Cairns returned at the same time.
"Sonny," the captain said. "Here's your wages for the week." He handed Alec an envelope. "Why don't you swab the deck and then go home? Douglas and I don't have much to do here, so we'll be leaving soon as well. No doubt your folks will be glad to see you home early."
Alec nodded and turned to his mop and bucket, thinking about what Douglas had just said.
"Always wearing a white seaman's cap." Alec remembered the night he'd sneaked out of the inn to bring his note down to the Britannia. The man in the white hat. It had been late, and the man had stumbled along ahead of him. He'd seen him going up Castle Hill Road. Maybe the bloke did stay at the castle.
"I'll be back tomorrow, Captain, if you think we'll sail." Alec put his mop and bucket in the wheelhouse.
"Aye, sonny. If the weather clears, we'll be shoving off at seven. We'll make a trip to Folkestone, so we'll leave early and be back by midday."
"I'll be here. We've only a couple of guests right now."
He couldn't hurry. His mind was filled with bits of news. Like a weathervane whipped by a squally wind, he felt himself spinning from one clue to another. The tunnels, the man in the white hat, the stories about the castle, the troops all leaving at once—somehow they fit together. But he wasn't sure how. Douglas didn't believe the man. But then where was he going the night Alec had seen him near Castle Hill Road? He had to have gone somewhere up that road. No, the scheme was too involved to be just pub talk. Something was happening up in the castle. Alec was going to find out what it was.
He would go to the pub. He couldn't wait another week; he was barely sleeping now. Besides, another week could be too late. No, it was payday. It had to be tonight. After his chores, he would sneak out and hide near the pub and follow the man. If he got lucky, maybe he would find out what he needed to know about the tunnels. He smiled as he pulled open the door. All this time he'd believed that Will was the spy. Now he could see Aga was right—Alec himself was the spy.
Inside, Aga was surprised to see him so early. "Alec boy. Just in time to help me With these potatoes. Do you mind, lad, peeling and cutting them up for supper? We've only two guests, but we've little meat tonight. They've cut our beef ration to one day a week. So potatoes and turnips will have to carry us for now. Can you help me out a bit?"
"Aye, Aga," Alec agreed. "I've come early to see what I could do. I'll start right now."
Working next to Aga, Alec let the knife slip and drop to the floor.
"Alec lad," Aga asked, "have ye forgotten how to peel potatoes?"
"No, Aga."
"It's early. No need to hurry," Aga assured him.
Alec was still trying to put the pieces of his plan in place. What if the man in the white hat spotted him? If he drank as much as Douglas said, he could get nasty. But if Alec didn't follow him, he might never know the truth. If there was bigger trouble in France, he needed to know.
It was settled. He was going that night. Just like Will, he'd made his decision; he'd see it through.
Later, while the guests finished supper, Alec climbed the rear staircase to prepare their rooms for the evening. Then he scrubbed the floors in the kitchen and stored everything in the larder before excusing himself.
Back in his room, Alec waited for Aga and the others to settle into their quarters. When he didn't hear any more activity in the kitchen, he opened his door just a crack to see that the kitchen was dark. Creeping past the cooker, he leaned over the hearth for a moment to warm his hands and listen for any movement. Then he held the door until it latched, and took off.
He passed the Fifty Shilling Tailor Shoppe and Cooper's Sweets before turning toward Snargate Street and the pubs. He strained to see in the pitch-black streets. Storefronts were dark, and silent flats stretched three floors above him, the buildings standing like sentries on guard.
He was glad that he often used the shortcut through the pub section. In the blackout, he would not have been able to tell one building from another if he had not seen them in daytime. But he was certain of where he was going, so the darkness worked in his favor.
"Hey—you there! Lad! What are you doing?" a voice bellowed. He didn't recognize it, but since the blackouts, people had been warned against robbers roaming the streets.
He took off on a run through the alleys behind the shops. The stranger's steps echoed behind him, but they grew quieter as Alec outran the man, darting around corners and sliding under fences. He slowed to a walk, heard nothing, and covered the next two blocks, ending up kneeling behind a rubbish bin across from the White Horse.
His breathing came in short puffs. He'd been tired before he left, and now the run from the stranger had drained him. He began to think he was wasting his time. But his chores had ended early; his parents thought he was safe in his room. No one would be looking for him. He would hunker down and wait. That was the plan.
He watched the pub doors swing open as sailors staggered out of the White Horse and down the street. He was grateful for Douglas's hint about the mystery man. Even in the darkness, Alec knew he could spot a white hat.
He wondered what time it was. Normally, he could hear the church bells chime, marking quarter hours, but since the war started, churches were forbidden to ring their bells unless signaling an air raid. Guessing it must be nearly curfew, he was ready to abandon his post and head home when the pub door swung open again, and out stepped a man wearing a white cap. Alec held his breath. How could he be sure it was him? But Alec was relieved to see the man turn to his right and make his way toward Castle Hill Road.
Alec swiped at his dusty clothes and hurried to fall in behind the man. He followed at a distance, this time keeping an eye out for anyone who might interfere. A couple was coming toward him. Alec pulled his hat lower—he mustn't be recognized. But they passed without looking at him. He crept along behind the man, ready to stop and turn aside if the man glanced his way. As they moved past York Street toward Castle Hill Road, Alec worried again about the time. If his mum or father checked his room and found him missing, he'd have a mess to explain. But he was too close now to give up and go back. He hurried along. They passed the Church of St. Mary at the foot of the hill, its cemetery standing silently nearby. The old tombstones spied on Alec as he followed his quarry.
Castle Hill Road turned sharply to the left, and Alec watched as the man took shorter strides up the steep section that led to Dover Castle. Suddenly, the man sat down on a rock near the side of the road. Alec supposed the man must be catching a bit of wind. He stepped behind a short hedge to keep from being spotted.
Short of breath himself, Alec turned his head and inhaled deeply, trying as much to calm himself as to recover his wind. Then, after a few moments, he felt better and peeked around the hedge. The man was not there! Jumping up, Alec sprinted toward the rock where the man had been sitting. He peered up the hill but saw no sign of the white cap. He looked in every direction. Then he spun around and strode quickly up the road, thinking maybe the man had turned another corner, but still Alec saw nothing. The mystery man had simply disappeared.
Alec couldn't believe it. The man had to have gone up that hill. Alec recalled his adventures with Georgie. There was only a tiny ledge on the other side. The man wouldn't have gone on that at night. So Alec crept farther along the path, certain that the man could not have outpaced him. But there was no sign of him. Puzzled, Alec stood in the night air and gazed once again up the hill. Nothing. One moment the man had been there; the next moment, he was gone. A wasted night, Alec decided as he started for home.
He made his way back down Castle Hill Road and across York Street to the Shaftbury Inn. He grabbed the back door handle and entered the kitchen. He stood a minute, listening again for anyone stirring about, but the only sound he heard was the deep snoring of Aga from her spot behind the kitchen. He made his way to his room and closed the door.
The cool night air on his sweaty body made him shiver. He stirred the embers in his fireplace and thought again of the man. How could he have been so stupid? If only he had kept his eyes on the white hat the entire time, he would have discovered how the man entered the tunnels. He felt like a fool. How could he ever be a seaman or a soldier like Will? He couldn't even follow a silly drunk in the dark.
Too discouraged to get up and change into his night clothes, Alec lay there in the dark, blaming himself for his carelessness. If he didn't get another chance to follow the man, he might never know what was happening with Thomas and Will. What if commands were coming from the castle tunnels? How would he ever know?
Then he heard a sweet voice reminding him, "You found him once, lad. You'll find him again. You're no quitter, Alec Curtis."
And Margaret was right. He was not a quitter. He needed to believe in himself as much as she had believed in him.
He relaxed, but sleep did not come until well past midnight. It wasn't a restful sleep. He dreamed of bombs dropping and soldiers scrambling over one another, seeking a safe place. He woke in the night, wondering what it all meant. He even imagined he'd heard Will call his name. But that was silly; Will was in France. Nonetheless, the dream was so haunting, he sat up and wished for the darkness to end. That dream had made his next step even more important. If there were tunnels, he must find them—and soon.