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‘Gentlemen, we must call this meeting to order. Are we all present?’
A murmur of agreement came from all those assembled. They were sitting around the table in the boardroom at the Gornstock Bank, drinking coffee and nibbling on a selection of biscuits and small fancy cakes. Mr Abraham Dumchuck rattled his small hammer on the table and everybody looked up.
Dumchuck would have described himself as portly; everyone else would have said fat. In his fifties, years of over indulgence had taken its toll. Jowly with little piggy eyes and just a few strands of thin hair covering his pate, he thought he cut an elegant figure in society. He dressed finely, as only the rich can, to hide his ever expanding waistband.
‘We have this morning received into our possession the loan kindly given to us by the Gornstock Assembly. It is a substantial sum and it will allow us some degree of freedom to resolve our obligations. It is my intention that we use this money wisely. There are many diverse investment opportunities which I’m sure will yield a substantial profit, and allow us to continue to be the lifeblood of the city. It is unfortunate that circumstances have dictated that we required a loan in the first place, but world markets have fluctuated, and in some cases ceased altogether. We also were too free with depositors’ money when it came to small personal and business loans, but steps have been taken to resolve these unfortunate dealings by offering them to certain financial institutions. Any questions so far?’
‘Yes, we’re out of ginger crunchies at this end. Could someone pass the plate please? Oh I say, are they cupcakes? We didn’t have any of those up here.’
Dumchuck waited patiently while the required confections slid along the table; when they settled again, he continued. ‘We have to decide now what constitutes our most urgent requirements, seeing as we now have money in the bank, ha, ha, ha.’ He waited for a response to his joke, but it died as it left his lips and he could already hear the gravediggers shovel. He coughed to hide his embarrassment and carried on. ‘So, gentlemen, your suggestions please.’
‘I suggest that we bring in the wine, if we are going to be here all day. Is there going to be lunch supplied? I have a dickey tummy and I have to eat regularly, don’t you know. Little and often is what my doctor tells me, little and often.’
‘Yes, Mr Bloomtit,’ answered Dumchuck, ‘so you have told us, on numerous occasions. I’m hopeful that we can conclude our business this morning though, if that’s any help.’
‘No lunch then? No wine?’
‘No to both, Mr Bloomtit.’
‘Bugger.’
‘It is, isn’t it, Mr Bloomtit. However I’m sure you can manage for just a short while.’
‘What about our bonus?’ asked Mr Jacobson. ‘We’re bankers, and we’ve put a lot of work into all this over the last few weeks.’
Dumchuck smiled benevolently. ‘I heartily agree, Mr Jacobson, we have indeed. It has been tough work too, lots of stress in making all these decisions, and it is not our fault that it all went wrong. I suggest that we should pay the full bonus that we are due; and perhaps a little extra for the anguish we’ve all suffered. Do we agree?’
The ‘here here’s’ were plentiful, with laughter, lots of foot stamping and banging of the table, the motion carried unanimously. Dumchuck wrote it down in his book.
‘Now gentlemen, there has been a request from one of the financial institutions that I spoke of, for a small loan of liquid capital. The Gornstock Trust and Holdings have generously bought some of our worst debtors off us, but they have now run into a little difficulty. It is my opinion that we agree to this request, as the rate of return that they are willing to pay is two per cent above rate, which constitutes a good return for our investment. Are we agreed?’
The bankers in the boardroom were still congratulating themselves on passing the motion for the bonus payments and were hardly listening to Dumchuck as he spoke; however, thinking that perhaps he was asking for only a small amount, they all agreed without another thought. Dumchuck wrote it down in his book.
‘Thank you, gentlemen. I will prepare a draft for them, a Banker’s Draft,’ he waited, but the shovel came out again. ‘Anyway,’ he hurriedly continued, ‘that now concludes the main business of the morning, so it’s just the little sundry items to deal with now.’
Dumchuck conducted everything else to his satisfaction; there were no dissenters as they were all still pleased with the bonus payments. More tea and cakes came in which pleased a few, but within a couple of hours they had finished the business, agreeing that from there on in they should be frugal with the bank’s money.
He closed the door as the last one left and smiled to himself, rubbed his hands in glee and then began a little jig. It had all gone so easily that he felt just a touch guilty; good old Mr Jacobson, he needed to get them in a good mood and bringing up the bonus payments worked perfectly. He thought he might have struggled to get the loan through to Gornstock Trust and Holdings, but it went through on the nod: all in all an excellent morning’s work.
The door opened and Pelegrew Kintersbury, Secretary to the Treasury, member of the Assembly, and co-conspirator, came in. A tall thin man with a generous amount of light wavy hair, the same age as Dumchuck, had sharp pinched features and a jutting chin. At the moment, his distinguishing marks were some nasty looking scratches on both cheeks of his face.
‘How did it go, Abraham?’ he asked, as he sat himself down.
‘Like a dream, old boy, like a dream.’ He looked at Kintersbury’s face and his eyes widened. ‘What happened to you?’ he asked, looking at the scratches.
‘That’s good,’ he replied, ignoring the question for the moment. He helped himself to one of the few cakes left over from the meeting and chewed it slowly. ‘However, not everything has gone as well, I’m afraid.’
Dumchuck stared hard at Kintersbury. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that your little mistake has led to the demise of Roland Goup’s cleaner. If you hadn’t let your wife send all the paperwork to Goup, then we wouldn’t be in this situation. We’ve had to make Goup disappear as he is not the most robust of men if it came to an interrogation; I have him safe somewhere at the moment.’ He indicated his face with a slight wave of his hand. ‘I got this at his office; a cat seemed to take exception to me being there when I tried to burn the building.’
‘Oh Gods.’ Dumchuck looked horrified. ‘We only had to ask Goup for the paperwork back and then nothing like this would have happened.’
‘No, no, no. We couldn’t, as he had already sent in the return to the department. He would have been audited and it would have been found “missing”. We had to do the burglary to dispose of your mistake fully and completely,’ he explained. ‘I have already suggested that there were errors with the return, and thankfully, my Minister believes me. Dooley wanted to send in the dogs with the amount of money in that return, this way there is no evidence at all, and we can blame the police for their shortcomings. Unfortunately, Radstock happened to be at Scooters Yard for some reason and has put Cornwallis on to it, which could be a little problematic. However, we are tying up the loose ends; the burglar we used has already had his association with us ended,’ he smiled to show his meaning, ‘and we are hopeful that everything else can be resolved just as easily.’
‘Oh, I do hope so,’ said Dumchuck. ‘We can’t afford to let things go wrong now.’
*
CORNWALLIS WAITED IN the office hoping that Frankie would return. He couldn’t give him very long as they needed to be back at Brownlow’s pretty sharpish. He’d had the message that Frankie had sent and he returned one of his own, suggesting that he untangle himself from the mess at Scooters Yard quickly. Cornwallis really did need him, and it was sod’s law that MacGillicudy had chosen this day of all days to land one on Grinde.
Rose had gone to get the cat from the back of Goup’s office; they had thought long and hard on the way back from Brownlow’s as to how they would follow Maxwell; the chances of being able to follow on foot were remote, especially if the cart got up some speed. Two people running through Gornstock would elicit some worried looks, as anybody running in this city would be doing it to get away from the person holding a meat cleaver, who would invariably be chasing. He also considered the fact that he didn’t think he could run further than a few hundred yards without having to stop to draw breath, which would be seriously embarrassing, especially if Rose could. It was about time he got himself some hooves and wheels he thought, in the meantime, he would grab a cab, then try and get the cat on the back of Maxwell’s cart.
He paced the office as the clock ticked on, waiting for the footsteps on the stairs. He wasn’t happy about letting Rose go, but the options were somewhat limited; someone had to stop at the office in case the cat couldn’t be found in time and he didn’t want her to have to go and follow the cart on her own. He couldn’t give her much longer now, he had to go, and soon.
There were some footsteps on the stairs and Cornwallis breathed a sigh of relief, but then he noticed that unless Rose had put on an awful lot of weight in the last hour or so then the footsteps weren’t hers, they were far too heavy and slow for a girl of Rose’s proportions.
‘Good job you sent that note back, Jack,’ said Frankie, as he breezed into the room. ‘Managed to show it to Bough and he let me go. Poor old MacGillicudy is right in the shit now, but jeez, did he catch him a good ‘un.’ He mimed the punch that Grinde had received. ‘Best straight right I’ve seen for a long time. Here, where’s Rose?’
Cornwallis returned the grin. ‘Gone to find your friend, the cat. She should have been back by now but we can’t wait any longer, you got here just in time, we need to go.’ He explained briefly what had gone on. ‘I’ll leave a note for her to meet us at Brownlow’s and hope that she’s not too far behind. You can tell me all the details of your incarceration later as you will need to make a slight detour first. I want you to go and see Gerald. Brownlow’s family could be in deep trouble and we need to get them safe.’
‘Bloody hell, you mean I ain’t got time for a coffee?’
‘You haven’t got time to fart, Frankie. Here’s the sign I’ve agreed with Brownlow, half a doodled note. He has the other half and this is the address. It will tell him to trust the bearer of this piece and to do what they say. Ask Gerald to hide the family somewhere and I’ll square it with him later.’
‘So where do I catch up with you?’
‘Maxwell will pick the coach up at four or thereabouts, so I should be in a cab just down the street. If I’m not there then you’re too late, just come back here and wait.’
‘Don’t like the sound of that, we ain’t gonna know where you are; I'd better get a move on then, ain’t I.’
Frankie hurried out and hailed a cab. He had to get south of the river into the Brews and back north in space of just an hour and a bit; he just hoped the traffic would be kind to him.
Cornwallis finished the note to Rose and left it on the desk; he dropped a few coins next to it so she could pay her fare, and left. He just hoped she wouldn’t be far behind.
*
HE HAD A GOOD VIEW of Brownlow’s from where he waited, just up the road on a bend and he told the driver to look as though he was having a break. The driver relished the opportunity of a chase into the unknown; he’d been hoping that something would happen to brighten his normally dull day.
‘Well, guvnor, whenever yer ready, just give me the word,’ said the driver, munching on a cheese sandwich. ‘Ain’t nobody in this ‘ere town can get away from me.’ This was his proud boast and Cornwallis had heard it before.
‘I never doubt you, Coggs, but we don’t need to go hell for leather all the way through the city. All we need to do is to follow at a discreet distance.’
‘But that ain’t no fun, Mr Cornwallis,’ replied Coggs with an air of disappointment. ‘This ‘ere ‘orse goes like the clappers when it’s got a mind to. Two wheel cornering’s are no trouble to this ‘un, I even got it to do a four wheel drift once; shit, you should ‘ave seen that. Beautiful it was, beautiful.’
‘I’m sure it was, but let’s keep to the sedate, this time.’
Coggs happened to be one of Cornwallis’ ever increasing circle of contacts; he’d used him quite regularly as he had proved that he could keep his mouth shut when the need arose. This was one of those times, and Cornwallis breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted him on the rank.
He checked his watch again; still no sign yet of Maxwell and four o’clock approached fast. He hoped Brownlow would manage to keep his composure and not give the game away; he had to take the risk, he just had to hope that nerves wouldn’t get the better of him. He turned his thoughts to the coach that picked Maxwell up earlier, a pool coach from the Treasury — but who had authorised it? Now, that question needed answering. Names of the officials in the department were going through his mind; Dooley, the minister; Kintersbury, the department’s chief secretary; also Witchet, Foogarly, Noundon and Inkley, all juniors in the department. There were others who could have access to a coach, including runners and messengers or even the caterers. Boil it all down, practically anyone could get hold of a Treasury coach. Kintersbury: now why did that name nudge the memory banks? He thought a moment longer and then remembered the handkerchief with a “K” embroidered in the corner. Could it be him? Might be an idea to see if he has some nasty scratches on his face; another task for tomorrow, he thought.
‘Is this the one, sweetheart? Only I’s quite happy where I’s is if it ain’t, youse know.’
Cornwallis heard the voice before he saw the owner and he breathed a sigh of relief, one out of two wasn’t so bad. He poked his head out of the window and smiled as Rose came walking up with Fluffy cradled in her arms. She stroked him and the cat definitely grinned. He flung open the door and Coggs looked around just as Rose disappeared inside. The driver gave a low whistle of approval, but he spoilt the effect by having a mouthful of sandwich at the time.
‘Just in time, Rose,’ said Cornwallis. ‘I was getting worried you wouldn’t make it. Hello, Fluffy,’ he said to the cat as he bounced against her chest as she sat down. ‘Thanks for agreeing to help.’
‘Youse is the boss man, ain’t youse, sees youse at the window. Youse laughed at me, didn’t youse?’
Cornwallis chuckled. ‘Not at you, Fluffy; at Frankie. I enjoyed seeing him try to handle you.’
‘Well, that’s all right then. Only I don’ts like it when I gets the piss taken out o’ me, people’s tend to live to regret it.’
The cat settled itself on Rose’s lap and began to purr contentedly while Cornwallis looked on. A definite pang of jealousy tingled his neck, but then he wondered why he should be jealous of a cat?
Rose scratched the back of Fluffy’s head as he lay curled up on her lap. ‘He was no trouble, only too willing to help. Apparently the box of fish worked wonders for him and can he have another?’
‘When he’s done what we want,’ replied Cornwallis easily.
He reached forward to pat the cat but then a movement took his attention away. A carch, a cross between a cart and a coach, drew up outside Brownlow’s and the driver got off to open the gate.
‘Yes. I think we’re in business,’ said Cornwallis triumphantly.
Rose looked up and the cat took a little interest too. ‘Never seen one of them before,’ she said, observing the carch.
‘New thing,’ answered Cornwallis. ‘Not many of them around. The front end is a two seater coach and the back end is a cart for carrying stuff around. That’s a long wheelbase one, triple axle, should take quite a load.’
‘So what’s I ‘ere for then?’ asked the cat.
Cornwallis grinned. ‘What we want you to do is sit by the gate, and when the carch comes out, hop on the back. We want to know where it goes. We will be following, but if we lose it then you would be our insurance, if you like. We would wait and you can walk back. If you get near what seems to be their destination then we will stop and wait for you to get out before going any further. Is that clear?’
‘Sounds like a lot of walking to me,’ replied Fluffy. ‘A double box of fish at least.’
‘I think we can stretch that far for a job well done. They’re inside the yard now, so they’ve just got to load the crates and then they’ll be away. We won’t be far behind if all goes well.’
Reluctantly Fluffy relinquished Rose’s lap and dropped down onto the floor. He stretched slow and long and then sat back down. ‘Well, are one o’youse buggers gonna open the bloody door?’
Cornwallis leant across Rose and flicked the handle. Fluffy jumped down and then sauntered over to the gate. He sat down and began to lick his paw as he waited.
‘You can get back up now, he’s gone.’ Rose tapped Cornwallis on the shoulder, who still stretched across her, looking out the door.
Cornwallis turned his head and grinned apologetically. ‘Sorry.’
He sat up and looked forward, straight into a face that only a mother could love: the driver Coggs, leaning down and leering through the window.
‘Oi, you need to get ready, Coggs, put your dinner away and wait for my word, okay?’
Coggs grinned. ‘As you say, guvnor.’ He gave a little salute and then turned back around.
‘Really,’ exclaimed Cornwallis. ‘Give them an inch...’
Rose raised a laconic eyebrow; the exact same thought went through her mind too.
Cornwallis brought Rose up to date as they waited. He still prayed that Frankie would make it back in time but now he was losing hope; he knew the bridge could be a bugger, and it didn’t take much to snarl it all up. The gate began to swing open and he watched as Fluffy stood up and walked nonchalantly through.
The carch pulled out and the gates closed behind. It then began at a steady pace down the road and Cornwallis ordered Coggs to follow. He took a last look behind and saw a cab approaching with a figure leaning out of the window, Frankie had arrived at last, but he couldn’t risk stopping to wait as the carch had begun to pick up a little pace and they would have no chance of getting in contact with it again. He leant out of the window and waved, and Frankie rewarded him with a thumbs-up.
‘Don’t get too close now, Coggs,’ yelled Cornwallis, above the noise of the cab. ‘Don’t want him to get suspicious.’
Coggs yelled something back that Cornwallis didn’t quite catch, Rose did though and she smiled. It would be best if she didn’t repeat it, as she knew for a fact that he had a father.
The traffic slowed the carch down, and as they got closer they could see Fluffy on the back by the tailgate, the cat wedged between the crates and appearing to be enjoying the ride. They had two carts between them and the carch, which appeared to be heading towards the river, but Cornwallis couldn’t relax; he fidgeted and kept giving pointless instructions to Coggs, who Rose could tell was getting more and more wound up.
‘Why don’t you just let him drive?’ she asked, with a sigh of exasperation.
‘I am,’ responded Cornwallis, ‘I’m just helping him along a bit. There’s an art to tailing someone, just don’t want to give the game away.’
The traffic stopped at a busy intersection and a feeler up ahead tried his best to make things worse. His arms seemed to be waving in all directions at once, but it only created havoc. As they inched forward, Cornwallis could see Dewdrop, his face a picture of despondency, as his arms whirled around him. Cornwallis managed to find a smile, and the sight of the feeler in his agony made him at last relax. The cab stopped for a few minutes while Dewdrop tried to sort the mess out, so Frankie took the opportunity to run the few yards to jump in with Cornwallis and Rose.
‘You cut it fine,’ observed Cornwallis as Frankie sat down and got his breath back.
Frankie shot Cornwallis a look of distain. ‘Fine? And whose sodding fault is that then, eh?’
‘Now, boys,’ interjected Rose. ‘We’re all here now, and that’s the important thing.’
‘You trying telling his lordship here; had me gallivanting all over the place.’
Cornwallis grinned wryly and held his hands up. ‘All right, you win. Now did you get to Gerald?’
Frankie nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s all getting sorted. He’ll get them safe, but you need to go and see him later to find out where they are. Apparently, he’s heard a little about Maxwell, by all accounts a mean vicious bastard. He’s come from out of town, so background’s unknown. The finance place employs him as an enforcer, and he really enjoys his work. He’s recruited a few of the more dense thugs that Gornstock has to offer, pays good money too. Gerald says he did for Freddie.’
Rose saw the body nailed up in her mind and gave a shudder, ‘Sounds like a nice man.’
‘Hey up, we’re off again,’ observed Cornwallis.
Dewdrop had cleared a bit of the jam which allowed the carch to go through, then stopped the vehicle in front of Cornwallis which made him seethe.
‘Go around, Coggs,’ he shouted. ‘Ignore the feeler.’
‘Right you are, guvnor,’ acknowledged Coggs. ‘On your own head be it.’
Frankie grinned. ‘You can’t do that to Lord Cecil you know.’
‘Lord Cecil? What the hell are you on about?’
‘Dewdrop has been calling himself Lord Cecil to attract the ladies, isn’t that right, Rose?’
Coggs pulled the coach out which made a pretty little open carriage, containing what appeared to be a mother and her daughter, on the way back from a shopping expedition, swerve to avoid an accident. The assortment of bags leapt around, spilling its contents and sending clothes, cosmetics, and confectionary everywhere, into a sort of consumer’s trifle. Coggs yelled an apology and carried on; he sped past the cart in front and on into the intersection, just as Dewdrop allowed a wagon from the side to move. Someone screamed abuse at Coggs who gave better back. Dewdrop stood mesmerised, unsure what to do. A cart, the driver thinking that the feeler had allowed him to move, took the chance and entered the melee at pace; another wagon didn’t stop in time and ploughed into the back of a coal wagon, the bags lurching at the sudden stop and toppling over into the street. Other carts and wagons and carriages all saw an opportunity and went for it, all of them aiming straight at Dewdrop who stood forlornly in the middle. Coggs, with a devil like grin, waded through it all, standing on the plate and giving an excited “Ye, ha,” as he cracked the whip.
Cornwallis, Rose and Frankie sunk down into their seats trying to hide their faces, but as they went past Dewdrop, Cornwallis looked up, gazing straight into the face of the young feeler. The feeler’s face was a picture and Cornwallis decided to cast all caution to the wind and grinned back; that’ll teach him to go to Mikel An’ Jello, thought Cornwallis, evilly.
The screams and yells from the intersection receded as they got further away from the carnage; Coggs turned around and looked in with a wild joyous expression. ‘Will that do ya, guvnor? If you want, I can turn around and we can do it all again,’ he said hopefully.
‘Thank you, Coggs, but I think once is enough.’
‘Right you are then, guv,’ he acknowledged with a serious degree of disappointment.
Rose had slunk down to the floor during the episode and was now regaining her seat. ‘Nothing like being subtle and discreet is there?’ she commented to Cornwallis, as she got comfortable.
‘Hmmm, perhaps that didn’t go quite to plan,’ he replied contritely. ‘Ah well, we’re still in touch with the carch, if nothing else.’
‘Let’s hope they weren’t looking behind during all that ruckus,’ said Frankie, who enjoyed it all no end. ‘A good bit of driving though; got to take me hat off to Coggs, the way he got through it all.’
They continued the chase as though nothing had happened, and it appeared that those on the carch had not seen the problems that Coggs had caused either. Cornwallis breathed a sigh of relief. The bridge was up ahead and they proceeded in a much more sedate fashion now, so Rose and Frankie explained about Dewdrop, much to Cornwallis’ amusement.
Just before they got to the bridge, the carch turned right and went down a slope to the north shore waterfront and Cornwallis instructed Coggs to follow more slowly and carefully now. The carch pulled away and appeared to be heading towards the north docks where a few ships were moored. The carch began to slow down and Cornwallis ordered Coggs to pull up somewhere out of view; they daren’t go any further without being seen and suspected.
Cornwallis got out and stood at the side looking forward, seeing lots of activity in the distance. It came to him suddenly that the carch had stopped roughly where the disused warehouse that MacGillicudy had searched was located. He scratched his chin in thought and walked forward to the edge of the river. He looked down into the murky brown depths and sniffed, smelling salt and wet vegetation, but most of all, wee and shit. A turd floated by, hit the bank and did a little pirouette before re-joining the flow once more.
‘You seem to be fascinated by something, let’s have a look.’ Rose had come up to his shoulder and followed his gaze. ‘Oooh, nice. Get another and you can have poo races.’
Cornwallis chuckled. ‘The start would be interesting, arse over the rail, trousers around the ankle, three, two, one, and strain.’
Rose laughed, and it made Cornwallis think of a fresh clear mountain stream tinkling its way down over the rocks.
‘What you doing?’ asked Frankie, coming to join them.
‘Racing,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘But Rose declined to start.’ He received a nudge from an elbow which actually hurt. ‘Right, back to work,’ he said, rubbing the spot happily.
They stared along the busy wharves towards the ships, full of activity from the loading and unloading of goods and equipment. Massive cranes were swinging out over holds and drawing up the cargo, and then teams of workers were putting it all on carts and barrows and dragging them away. Streams of workers were moving along gang-planks with the smaller boxes and crates, dodging and weaving between it all. The crane drivers were big powerful polar bears and gorillas, the strongest of the strong, as they had to power the massive mechanisms needed to lift the huge weights. It was Gornstock’s hub, its lifeblood, where goods from far and wide came to the city, and exports, Gornstock’s finest, for the delectation of the world, went out. Cornwallis knew that this made Gornstock tick, the thing that kept the city running, commerce on a massive scale with the whole world involved. If a country produced something commercial then it was likely to turn up here.
Because of the amount of workers flooding over the area, it made observation difficult, so now they had to be patient and wait until the cat came back. Cornwallis began to pace with the enforced hiatus in proceedings, always keeping a wary eye on the wharves and of course the seagulls, who took obvious delight in targeting anyone beneath them. A good few minutes passed and he decided, regardless of whatever was happening, that he had to know, when the cat made a sudden appearance amongst the throng, sauntering along with its tail high in the air.
‘Hey, Fluffy,’ cried Frankie. ‘Over here, son.’
The cat swung over and Cornwallis opened the door to the cab. The cat jumped in first followed by Rose and Frankie; he climbed in last.
‘Well?’ asked Cornwallis when he’d sat down. ‘What happened?’
Fluffy jumped up onto Rose and padded her lap before settling down contentedly. ‘They’s loading them crates onto that big ship out there, but I’s suspect youse thought that. The interesting thing is that the man I scratched is there, youse know, the one ‘oo let yer man outta the winda.’
‘Is he?’ exclaimed Cornwallis. ‘What’s he doing?’
‘Looks like ‘e did the supervising. Buts when most of it were done, him and the man on the cart went into the warehouse thingy. Big and dark in there, youse knows, followed ‘em a while to sees what they’s up to.’
‘And...?’ encouraged Cornwallis.
‘Don’ts know; they disappeared down an ‘atch in the floor. Couldn’t follow then, so I fought I’d come back to find you lot.’
‘Can you show us?’ asked Cornwallis, getting excited.
‘Naw, don’ts feel like it.’ The cat paused and licked a paw. Cornwallis, Rose and Frankie exchanged looks. Cornwallis was just about to say something when the cat sort of grinned. ‘Just me’s little joke, course I can.’
Another look passed between the three and an audible sigh of relief went through the cab.
‘He, he, he. Youse fought I weren’t gonna take youse there, didn’t youse? Just fer a minute, be ‘onest.’
‘I think you can say the thought crossed his mind,’ answered Rose for Cornwallis, just before he decided to strangle the thing. She looked over at him and cocked her head slightly.
‘Very good, Fluffy, very funny,’ said Cornwallis stiffly. ‘Now let’s get going while there’s still a chance of finding out what they’re up to.’
The cab door opened and they all alighted. Cornwallis told Coggs to wait until they returned, and then Fluffy led the way along the dock towards where the warehouse. They dodged past all the workers, narrowly avoiding being run over more than once and eventually came close to where the carch had stopped. The carch itself was just disappearing into the distance after unloading the coach that tried to kill Cornwallis. They looked at the ship, a big three-masted monster, weather stained and encrusted with barnacles from the open seas. The name was “Greyhawk”, but where it came from, or where it was going, there was not a clue. Cornwallis filed the information away in his mind until later; it would be interesting to find out where it was destined. Fluffy rubbed up against Rose’s leg and she looked down.
‘This way,’ hissed the cat, and led off down the side of the warehouse.
There were big double doors at the front, but they looked like they hadn’t been opened in years, which indeed they hadn’t; not since the Great East Company went out of business some five years ago when the chairman did a runner with all the money. He was kind enough to send back a postcard to his former associates saying “Having a lovely time, wish you were here,” just to rub salt into the wound.
Fluffy took them to a little side door which had well oiled hinges, indicating that it had been used many times before. Cornwallis turned the handle and the door swung silently open. They stood inside, waiting, until their eyes adjusted to the dim light, and then they saw just a vast empty and dusty place. Dusty that is, except for large stretches of the floor which had been swept clean. MacGillicudy hadn’t mentioned that, thought Cornwallis, and he was as sure as night follows day that he didn’t clean up as he searched.
The cat padded softly across the floor to a sectioned off part of the warehouse where a few old bags of tea leant against a wooden post. Fluffy entered a big office which had a few old tables ridden with woodworm and a few broken chairs with their legs at odd angles, which had all been pushed up against the rear wall.
‘This is where they’s went,’ he said, cleaning his whiskers.
Cornwallis cast his eyes around but had to admit he couldn’t see a thing, there didn’t appear to be a hatch anywhere. He looked closely at the floor again in case he missed something obvious; but no, he could see nothing.
‘All right, Fluffy, I know you’re sitting there waiting to tell us. You have that superior look on your face.’
‘Ah. Us cats is always superior, didn’t yer knows that? That lamp on the wall, give it a tug.’
Frankie got there first. ‘You mean this one?’ He pulled at it before the cat could answer and a cranking noise began, followed by the grind of machinery and then a section of the floor where Cornwallis stood began to swing away.
‘What the f...!’ cried Cornwallis as he found himself lowering beneath the floor at a strange angle. He jumped back up before he slid into the unknown and then looked askance at Fluffy. ‘You could have warned me.’
The cat just grinned.
The floor cranked to a stop and the three craned their heads over to look. There were some steps leading down about twenty feet to the floor beneath where a passage, hewn from the rock, led in two directions. There seemed to be lanterns in a small alcove at the bottom of the steps, presumably for anyone stupid enough to go exploring. The three looked at each other until Cornwallis decided that they really had no option, they had to be stupid enough to go exploring.
Fluffy went back to wait with Coggs and Cornwallis wanted Rose to go with him, but she didn’t move, adamant that she was coming along and no amount of effort would persuade her otherwise. Cornwallis, having lost the argument, led the way down and Frankie found a match to light a couple of lanterns while they decided which direction to go. Dust on the floor could come in very handy in some circumstances, and this was one of them. Rose looked down and saw footprints. A couple led off and then returned in the direction of where they left Coggs, but there seemed to be more activity in the other direction where there were several sets of prints both coming and going.
‘Looks a no-brainer,’ said Cornwallis, ‘we’ll go that way. We’ll stick close together, and we’ll keep our voices down. Now let’s see what we can find.’
They found the switch to close the trapdoor and then began. The height of the passage allowed them to walk upright to start with, and then it seemed to lower a little as they moved further along, but just wide enough so that two could walk side-by-side; so Cornwallis and Rose went in front, with Frankie bringing up the rear. The passage seemed to change direction frequently, switching one way and then the other, and though they were listening intently, they heard no sound apart from their own shuffling footsteps. They advanced slowly, following as much as they could the footprints in the dust; there were offshoots, and they stood at these and shined their lanterns into the depths for a few brief moments before continuing. None of them voiced their fears, but all three were dreading something unknown in what appeared to be age old tunnels; there were rumours aplenty of what lay beneath the surface in old Gornstock: ancient flesh eating beasts, big fiendish ogres and devils and imps that would suck the very being out of you, leaving behind just a living breathing shell. Cornwallis shuddered as the thoughts played around his mind. He cast his eye to look at Rose walking next to him and saw her intense concentration as she looked forward into the black depths beyond the lantern light.
The footprints had gone, or more to the point, the dust had gone, so they had nothing to follow now. They decided to stay in the main passage, as there were just too many alternative tunnels, and it would take an age to check every one; Maxwell could have ventured into any one of them. They were in a labyrinthine maze with no way of telling where you were; any sense of direction had long gone and it was now just a case of not getting lost. Cornwallis voiced the opinion that they should turn back, which pleased Frankie no end, as he began to get just a tad jittery. He bunched up as close as he could get to the two in front, his nose virtually on Cornwallis’ shoulder as they negotiated a sharp left turn, so close, that when the noise came eerily through the passage he slammed into their backs as they stopped. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, his tension rising,
Cornwallis didn’t answer; he just looked forward instead and tried to tune his ears to the noise.
‘I said, what’s that?’ repeated Frankie, nearly at screaming point.
‘Shush,’ said Rose, bringing a finger up to her lips.
The tension grew, neither of them willing to go another step further. They heard a scraping noise again and then a sigh. Frankie gripped Cornwallis on the shoulder so hard that he had to prize the fingers off.
‘It’s the Multi-Headed Grip Thranglar,’ ventured Cornwallis at last. ‘It devours anything in its path. It favours eating its dinner from the feet up so it can enjoy the death throes of its victim; it has the added advantage of its victim not being able to run away if it feels it just needs a snack. How the hell do I know what it is?’
‘Bastard,’ exclaimed Frankie, ‘I believed you there for a moment.’
Cornwallis shook his head. ‘Look, wait here a minute and I’ll go and see if anything’s there.’
Frankie didn’t argue, he remembered the bogey man of his childhood, and how he would always keep his hands inside the bed when he lay there in the dark, convinced the bogey man waited just under the bed to grab his arm the moment he let it dangle, a feeling that had never left him, even now.
Rose offered to go with Cornwallis but he shook his head.
‘Best keep back until we know what it is. I won’t be long.’
Cornwallis patted Rose on the shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. He then began to inch his way around the corner, holding his lantern as far out in front as he could. So far so good, he thought. The passage seemed empty, so he took a few tentative steps forward, but he failed to see the passage leading off to his left, and as he came abreast of it, he felt a draft of air whistle into his ear. He stopped abruptly and swallowed hard; he could sense something there, something very close to him, and if he turned, he felt sure he would come face to face with the lurking beast. He swallowed again, then slowly turned to face his nemesis, ready to scream out loud and run.
‘Sorry mate, it’s the Multi-Headed Grip Thranglar’s day off. But if you want, I can chew yer legs off for yer.’
Cornwallis stared ahead, straight into the blade of a very sharp axe. He then followed the handle down to the hand of the dwarf holding it.
‘Afternoon,’ said Cornwallis, recovering instantly and feeling a whole lot better. ‘Nice day for a stroll.’
The dwarf grinned. ‘Aye, that it is. But what I want to know is why you is taking a stroll in one of our tunnels?’
Cornwallis looked at the dwarf: yes, he might be short, but everything else about him was big. The shoulders were enormous, the arms massive, the hands big and calloused, the chest like a two hundred gallon barrel.
‘Sorry, must have got lost.’
Rose and Frankie heard the exchange and came around. They stood next to Cornwallis and looked down on the dwarf, while he in turn scrutinised them.
‘I’ve seen you,’ he said to Rose eventually. ‘Black Stoat, the other day. You broke up a fight. Very impressed we were too.’
‘Thank you,’ answered Rose, smiling down at him. ‘I remember you too, Trugral, isn’t it?’
The dwarf grinned back. ‘It is; thank you for remembering. Most people don’t, you know; a dwarf is just a dwarf to most of them, too much like hard work to remember something simple like a name.’
‘I’m sorry if we’re trespassing,’ ventured Rose, ‘only some men came down here not so long ago, and we were sort of wondering what they were up to.’
‘Ah. Them.’
‘You know who we’re talking about?’ interjected Cornwallis.
‘Oh yes, you don’t want to go mixing with them, they’re trouble.’
‘We know,’ replied Cornwallis, ‘that’s why we followed them down. We’re investigators, working with the police.’
Trugral scratched his beard with his free hand, but he wasn’t letting go of his axe just yet. ‘Investigators, eh? Well they certainly need investigating and that’s one reason why I’m here, to prevent incursions. There are limits, you know; these tunnels are pretty much sacred to us, but they had permission to use a few of them, but not this one.’
‘Permission?’
‘Aye, permission from the King of the Dwarfs. They were keeping one of you lot, I mean human, down here. We kept an eye on him, so to speak.’
‘Where?’ asked Cornwallis, eagerly.
‘Down there away’s,’ he pointed back the way they had come. ‘You missed a passage on your right, they goes down there. The place where they held the man is an old guardroom; didn’t know anything about him, but he looked harmless enough. Gave him some food and water and kept him in light.’
‘I presume then that the King agreed to all that?’
‘Sort of, they were just going to leave him there. We felt a bit sorry for him actually, so gave him the chance to get out, but didn’t; seemed like he wanted to be a prisoner.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Rose.
‘We left the door unlocked. Never tried it once, did yer man. Just sat there or walked around the room.’
‘Why are you telling us all this?’ asked Frankie, a little confused.
Trugral shrugged his shoulders. ‘Why not? They made it plain they don’t like dwarfs, so I reckon, I don’t need to like them.’
‘Sounds fair enough,’ reasoned Frankie. ‘You say held, so I take it he’s gone now?’
Trugral nodded. ‘Took him away about ten minutes ago.’
‘Ten minutes? Then why haven’t we seen them?’
‘Because you’re in the wrong passage. If you were in the right passage; then you would have seen them. Do you want to see the guardroom?’ When Cornwallis hesitated, Trugral just grinned. 'Don't worry; you'll still catch up with them.'
Trugral took them down a shortcut with Frankie moaning all the time about how they had just missed Maxwell, for some reason his fears of the dark tunnels had totally evaporated. The guardroom wasn’t far, and within a couple of minutes, they were looking at the now empty room.
‘Table, chair, mattress. Nothing else. He must have been bored out of his mind,’ said Cornwallis. ‘And you say the description Frankie gave you matches the man in here?’
Trugral nodded.
‘Definitely Goup, then. I wonder why they’re taking him out now?’ Cornwallis tapped his lip in thought for a few moments. ‘I’m going to have to speak to the King, you know, I just hope he’ll be agreeable. Could they get out another way?’ he asked.
Trugral shook his head. ‘No, not for them. They get out the same way as you came in. I’ll inform the King and I’m sure he’ll be accommodating; he does enjoy all the little webs you humans weave. I tell you what, I’ll take you back; that way you won’t be dawdling and you can catch them up; and I can show you something you might find interesting, seeing as you’re investigators.’
‘And what’s that then?’ asked Frankie.
‘Bit of patience, you’ll see.’
Trugral led them confidently down the tunnels so fast that the three had to nearly run to keep up; he stopped at a couple of openings and whistled each time, waiting for a reply before carrying on. Notifying the guards, he explained, just in case they thought we were being overrun, as there hadn’t been this much traffic down here for a long time. It seemed to take only about half the time to get back to the warehouse entrance, but Trugral didn’t pause, he just walked on past the steps and on into the other side. He stopped a little way up and then stood aside to let them see. ‘All this has suddenly appeared, but I don’t know whether it’s got anything to do with your friends or not.’
Cornwallis, Frankie and Rose looked into an alcove which was stacked with small parcels. Frankie leant forward and picked one up; he sniffed it at first, then slid a fingernail down the side to open it up. He grinned, and then showed it to Cornwallis and Rose.
‘Drugs. There must be millions of dollars’ worth here. That’s what they’re up to: drug trafficking.’