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Trugral brought them back to the steps and then showed them the periscope hidden in the wall that revealed the entire floor of the warehouse above. Cornwallis smiled to himself as he looked through the little glass window. He turned it from side to side as he saw three men, two of them struggling to hold on to a third as they crossed the floor.
‘There they are,’ he said triumphantly. ‘We haven’t lost them after all... and who is that?’ He studied one man closely in the half-light. ‘Oh, yes.’ He punched his hand into the air.
‘Let’s have a look,’ said Frankie, elbowing Cornwallis out of the way. He too then grinned when he saw the three men. ‘That’s Goup, the one who keeps falling over. The one on the left must be your friend, Maxwell, and the one on the right... Well, well, well.’
Rose couldn’t wait any longer, and as Cornwallis and Frankie exchanged knowing grins, she too looked.
‘Kintersbury, Pelegrew Kintersbury,’ announced Cornwallis. The “K” on the handkerchief, the matches from the inner ring: it all started fitting together. ‘They should be gone by now. How long have we been here, what, a couple of minutes? I wonder what they’ve been doing?’ Cornwallis voiced his thoughts aloud.
‘Goup looks like he can hardly walk,' said Frankie. 'If I didn’t know better I’d say he was drunk.’
‘Or drugged,’ suggested Rose, coming away from the periscope. ‘They’ve just gone through the door; so it’s all clear now.’
Cornwallis and Frankie both looked back down the passage at the same time to the large haul of drugs that just sat there; it must have been put there by Kintersbury and Maxwell. Rose must be right; they must have drugged Goup. But why? What do they intend to do to him?
The trapdoor swung down and they thanked Trugral for all his help before climbing up to the warehouse office. The dwarf waved a farewell and then flicked the switch, just as Cornwallis turned to offer more thanks and a promise of a few drinks the next time he was at the Stoat. The floor closed with a clunk and they felt strangely exposed after the confines of the tunnels. Rose walked forward a couple of steps and saw a little packet on a table together with a bottle and a glass. She knew they weren’t there when they had gone down.
‘Here’s your answer,’ she said, examining them. ‘They have drugged him.’
‘So they have,’ responded Cornwallis, coming over too. ‘Not going to be easy manhandling someone smacked up to the eyeballs; so let’s get after them and see what they’re up to now.’
They hurried across the warehouse and tentatively opened the door a crack. Cornwallis peered out through the small gap and saw their three targets just disappearing around the front of the building. He flung the door open wide and stepped out, closely followed by Rose and Frankie.
They half ran forward to the edge of the building and then slowed as they walked out onto the docks in as casual a manner as they could. They couldn’t see Maxwell and friends at first, the area was still busy, but a little gap opened up and they could see the three of them lurching along a wharf by the side of a ship, the same ship that had the carch loaded onto it earlier. A walkway led up to the deck, and Maxwell pushed Goup up and handed him over to a couple of sailors. Kintersbury then spoke to someone who looked like a ships officer, culminating in them shaking hands. The sailors then helped take Goup away, into the bowels of the ship. Cornwallis looked again at the name before ushering Frankie and Rose away.
‘We can’t let this ship leave,’ said Cornwallis. ‘I’m going to have to see the harbour master, see if we can get it stopped.’
‘I think you’re going to be a bit late for that,’ replied Frankie. ‘Look.’
The three heads looked at the sudden activity on the ship, a whistle blew and the ship filled with sailors running to their posts.
‘Oh Gods,’ voiced Cornwallis with feeling.
‘Not to worry, Mr Cornwallis,’ said a confident voice at his side.
‘Sorry?’ Cornwallis turned to see a small man in a round topped hat wearing a long coat and he looked down at him suspiciously. ‘What are you talking about, and who are you?’
The little man smiled. ‘Well, I’m me of course, but you can call me, er, Mr Sparrow.’
All contact with the shore was then broken as the last of the workmen left the ship and the gang-planks hauled up. The mooring ropes were pulled in and a tug, which Cornwallis hadn’t seen, began to tow the ship out into the middle of the river.
Frankie sidled over to stand at the side of Mr Sparrow who just looked up at him and grinned some more. Rose stood behind him, just in reach.
‘Your two little birds are flying away, I see; they don’t like hanging around do they?’ said Mr Sparrow, watching Maxwell and Kintersbury hurrying down the docks. ‘They must be very busy people. I recognise Pelegrew Kintersbury, but who is the other man? And who did they escort onto the ship?’ He turned his head slightly to catch Rose in his vision. ‘I know you are very good, Miss Morant, but alas you are not quite good enough, not yet at any rate, and I would so hate seeing you hurt.’
If Rose had learnt one thing in life, it was that a little man with a lot of confidence could be a big problem. She sensed that there was more to Mr Sparrow than met the eye, that he could more than live up to his promise, and that she didn’t really want to find out what that promise was. She took half a step back.
‘Okay, Mr Sparrow, I’ve had enough. Have you been following us?’ asked Cornwallis, getting a little angry now.
‘Of course. The question you are going to ask now, is why? So I will say just this. The Bagman wants to see you.’
‘The Bag...? Oh no.’
Mr Sparrow laughed. ‘I’m afraid so, Mr Cornwallis. It’s out of my hands and perhaps you might learn something to your advantage. He will tell you everything he wants you to know. Are you going to tell me who those gentlemen are?’
Cornwallis looked at Sparrow and just shook his head slowly.
Mr Sparrow grinned. ‘So be it, Mr Cornwallis. The Bagman will inform me when you inform him.’
Rose listened in confusion. ‘Who’s the Bagman?’ she asked, seeing the look on Cornwallis’ and Frankie’s faces.
‘The Bagman is very bad news,’ explained Cornwallis, keeping his eye on Sparrow. ‘He’s what you might call the last resort. If the Bagman is involved then it is likely to be something really bad. He’s Gornstock's rat catcher.’
‘Very apt description, Mr Cornwallis. Now, if you would like to come with me you can forget about our two friends for a while, I’m sure you will catch up with them later.’
Cornwallis sighed, he wasn’t expecting this turn of events, but he knew he had no option; if the Bagman wanted to see you, then you saw him. ‘All right, we’ll come with you, Mr Sparrow.’
Sparrow nodded at the wisdom of this. ‘However, just you, Mr Cornwallis. Mr Kandalwick and Miss Morant can take the rest of the day off.’
Cornwallis felt hamstrung as the little man spoke. He couldn’t ignore a summons from the Bagman and the little man Sparrow, confident that he was going to be obeyed, stood patiently waiting with a wide grin on his face. Cornwallis began to argue, but in the end Sparrow produced the required proof of his identity and Cornwallis’ arguments petered out. In the end, he reluctantly instructed Frankie and Rose to return to the office and told them he would see them later, if not there, then down at the Stoat. He told Frankie to see if Algernon had managed to ferret out any information, even if he just found out what they had already learnt; but he might have heard something else. Coggs still waited, along with the cat, so he left it to the two of them to sort out what they owed while he accompanied Sparrow to see the Bagman; a meeting that could be very short — or one that could be very long.
Sparrow kept up a steady stream of conversation as they walked along the docks, with Cornwallis doing his best to ignore. He wasn’t in the mood for polite chit-chat and Sparrow’s warbling’s had begun to get on his nerves, though he did manage to find a grin when he noticed that the birds had splattered Sparrow’s hat. The little man walked on, oblivious to the speckled state of his head attire and continued to point out various ships and their intended destinations.
Mr Sparrow had a small two-seater hidden away in an Inn up by the bridge. No money changed hands when he retrieved it so it seemed likely that they had an agreement between them. Cornwallis was just about to ask when he realised that he wouldn’t get an answer; instead, he slumped down in the seat, crossed his arms and stared silently up the road.
Cornwallis had to concede that Sparrow knew how to drive, he seemed to flow through the traffic with consummate ease, and when they got to the junction where Coggs had created mayhem, he just breezed through without even stopping. Dewdrop still stood there trying to direct traffic, still confusing everything with his vague signals, but not Sparrow; Sparrow didn’t even blink.
Cornwallis supposed that they were heading for the Assembly at first, but now they had missed several turns that would have taken them there in just a few minutes. He looked at the calmly relaxed Sparrow who seemingly hadn’t a care in the world; he just guided the horse with a barely perceptible flick of the wrist. Cornwallis began to wonder where on twearth they were going, when Mr Sparrow u-turned in the street and then went back the way they had just come, they seemed to pick up a little speed and he then began turning into side streets as they headed back towards the river.
Sparrow briefly turned his head to look at Cornwallis. ‘Can’t be too careful you know; we don’t want any unwelcome interest in our movements.’
‘No, of course not,’ replied Cornwallis, with a degree of unease. Sparrow was concerned that they might be followed, and he had taken a long detour just to check it out.
When they eventually arrived at the Assembly, Sparrow turned down by the side of the big building and then out onto the embankment at the rear. A short ramp led down into the bowels of the building and the horse didn’t even hesitate as they headed into the darkness. Lamps lit the way now and the close confines amplified the noise of the coach; after a few yards, they came off the ramp and into a coach park. Sparrow eased them into a parking spot and applied the brake. An old man immediately came out and begun to unhitch the horse. The smell told Cornwallis that there was stabling nearby; either that or someone had a very severe stomach problem.
Sparrow climbed down and indicated that Cornwallis should follow. They crossed the coach park and headed to a small door on the far side. Cornwallis took the opportunity to look at some of the vehicles parked up; some were sleek and nimble, built for speed and manoeuvrability, while some others were large and appeared heavy as though armoured. Most though were nondescript, plain coaches that would blend into the background. An array of carts and wagons looked like they were falling apart, but knocking into one, Cornwallis found that looks could be deceiving; it was as solid as a rock.
The door thumped shut behind them and Sparrow stood and waited. They were in a small room devoid of furniture with just a little window at the top of the wall and another door below it. After a couple of minutes, Cornwallis heard a click and that door swung open. Sparrow beckoned him forward and they walked through into a warm bright corridor. There were noises: bangs, scrapes, squeaks and a few raised voices coming from the various doors that lined the corridor. Cornwallis wanted to look in to find out what was going on, but Sparrow led them past all these and down to the far end. He opened a door and they entered a large reception room, sumptuously furnished with sofas and small coffee tables with a variety of newspapers and journals, and of course pot plants. A desk, covered with little personal mementos and more plants, placed in front of another door, was devoid of an occupant. Cornwallis surmised that he would shortly find out where that door led. Sparrow indicated that Cornwallis should sit down.
Cornwallis picked through the titles of some of the journals; Ladies View, Classic Carts, Collider Monthly, all weeks out of date, when the door opened and a pretty little girl walked in carrying a tray with some mugs and a pot.
‘Good evening, Mr Cornwallis, Mr Sparrow,’ she said brightly.
Mr Sparrow jumped up from his seat and smiled back broadly. ‘And a good evening to you too, Miss Wren, can I help you with that?’ he enquired hopefully.
‘I can manage, but thank you all the same. It’s coffee you drink, isn’t it, Mr Cornwallis; black, no sugar?’
Cornwallis nodded that it was.
‘Mr Sparrow likes his sweet, don’t you, Mr Sparrow.’
‘Just like you, Miss Wren, hot and sweet.’
‘Mr Sparrow, please. What will Mr Cornwallis think?’ and she giggled.
Cornwallis thought that he might like to vomit. Sparrow leered at Miss Wren with undisguised lust, but when he had looked at Rose he had been completely devoid of any emotion, and you just couldn’t compare the two. He looked at him properly now he had taken off his hat and coat: a wiry individual about the same age as himself with very ordinary looks. A face that could fit in anywhere in any circumstances, or it could be instantly forgotten; which he desperately tried to do now as Sparrow perched himself on the corner of Miss Wren’s desk and spoke to her in a soft voice. Cornwallis was thankful that he couldn’t hear what he said to her as she grinned and grimaced along with it, and then he whispered something into her ear which resulted in big wide eyes and a very suggestive smile.
A bell sounded and straight away Sparrow got off the desk and hurried through the door. Miss Wren became all Miss prim and proper again, told him to stay sitting down, and then tried to look busy by scribbling in a book. This surprised him, as she must have been the only girl working in the Assembly at a desk; and not the tea girl as he thought. After a few minutes, the door clicked open and Sparrow put his head through, he winked at Miss Wren and then beckoned to Cornwallis to come through.
The room was enormous. It stretched away with chairs and couches lining both walls and a hand woven rug, all of sixty feet, ran all the way along the floor to a massive oak desk at the far end of the room. Paintings lined the wall; portraits of past Wardens of Gornstock looked sternly down, whilst on the opposite wall there were landscapes of various ages depicting Gornstock as it grew. A line of lanterns, equally spaced along the walls, cast a warm glow on the whole; which went against what Cornwallis now felt.
Mr Sparrow walked down the centre of the rug and urged Cornwallis to follow; eventually they arrived at the desk and came to a halt. As they waited, the large leather chair began to slowly spin around, revealing the occupant. A slim skeletal looking man with a hairless dome, a small pair of spectacles, giving him a sinister look, and wearing a very well cut suit. He didn’t smile as he leant back in the chair.
‘Good evening, Mr Cornwallis. So good of you to come.’
‘Did I have an option?’ replied Cornwallis through thin lips.
‘Not really,’ came the honest reply. ‘Now, would you be so kind as to tell me who you were following, and who left Gornstock on that ship?’
Cornwallis tried to take a few moments to think, unusually, from what he heard about the Bagman, he had come straight to the point with no verbal jousting, no beating about the bush, and no lulling into a false sense of security. ‘Why do you want to know?’ he replied, with a confidence that teetered on the edge; the Bagman did that to most people.
The Bagman’s lips widened in a smile, but the eyes told a different story; they were like two shards of ice. ‘Because, Mr Cornwallis, I have a vested interest in the assignment you are currently undertaking. Let us be frank, it will make things an awful lot easier in the long term, and probably the short term too. Now, a burglary at Roland Goup’s office started it all for you, however, for me it started some time before that. It had come to my attention that Abraham Dumchuck had made a big mistake, a very big mistake, involving his tax returns.’
Cornwallis’ eyes widened at this, they had thought about the name of Dumchuck back in Goup’s office, so it was his file that went missing.
‘Yes, our Gornstock Bank’s president. Now we heard about this mistake and took steps to seize the documents ourselves. At the time we decided to do it surreptitiously, as the sums mentioned were enormous, but unfortunately, our Mr Dooley, the Chief of the Treasury, didn’t make a copy; he just sent the return back. So we had to retrieve it by placing one of our operatives into Goup’s office, however, something unfortunate happened to her.
Cornwallis was shocked. ‘You mean Eliza Knutt?’
Mr Hawk nodded. ‘Yes, her real name, I may add, as we didn’t have time to establish a proper background. Quite sad really, very sad; she was one of my better agents, a tragic coincidence to have that nasty thief there at the same time. Now, would you please answer my questions: the man with Kintersbury, and who did he put on that ship?’
Cornwallis sighed to himself. It wouldn’t take much for the Bagman to find out anyway, and he had already been given another snippet of information. ‘They put Goup on the ship, the other man is called Maxwell, a very nasty piece of work. He has something to do with Gornstock Trust and Holdings.’
‘Thank you Mr Cornwallis.’ He turned to Sparrow and steepled his fingers. ‘Well, you know what to do, don’t you, Mr Sparrow?’
Sparrow smiled. ‘I will order it done now, sir.’
Sparrow turned, caught Cornwallis’ eye, and then marched back down the centre of the room. The Bagman flicked a button on his desk and the door at the end clicked open. Mr Sparrow pulled it and went through, as the door shut there was another click. Cornwallis furrowed his brow.
‘Yes, Mr Cornwallis, the door is locked. Some people try to leave in a hurry for some reason; I couldn’t begin to understand why.’ He scrutinised Cornwallis for a few moments and came to a decision. ‘Mr Sparrow will stop the ship some way down the river, so there will be no chance of a message coming back to Gornstock.’ A yelp came from the reception and then a peel of laughter. ‘Ah, Mr Sparrow and Miss Wren must be getting reacquainted, the young today, eh? Never miss an opportunity, do they?’
‘Obviously not,’ he answered indifferently. A thought crossed his mind. ‘Does everybody have bird names?’
The Bagman smirked. ‘For the moment, yes, though we might change it in due course, just for securities sake.’
‘So, what do they call you? Bald eagle?’ asked Cornwallis, putting an edge to his voice.
A flinty glint passed across the Bagman’s eyes, and then quickly vanished. ‘Tsk-tsk, Mr Cornwallis, there is no need for that. Actually, I’m Mr Hawk, so you weren’t far away. Now take a seat, please.’
Cornwallis looked around. The closest chair was very low and a few feet away from the desk, but there were some dining chairs a little further down the room, so Cornwallis walked down, picked one up and returned, placing it directly in front of the desk. He sat down and crossed his legs.
‘Interesting, Mr Cornwallis. Most people sit down on that one,’ he pointed to the low chair nearest to him. ‘But not you, you are going to try to intimidate me. The next thing you plan to do is lean forward and put your arms on my desk, but it won’t make any difference, except it’ll probably hurt your shoulder, but full marks for trying.’
Cornwallis raised an eyebrow, because he was planning to do exactly that; and how did he learn about his painful shoulder? Of course, he mentally slapped his head, Sparrow.
‘Word travels quickly, Mr Cornwallis,’ he said to the unspoken question. ‘Your little coming together with the coach was most unfortunate. Now then,’ he continued, dismissing the subject. ‘Why have I brought you here?’ Mr Hawk leant back in the chair and smiled. ‘That is what you are asking yourself; and you will be pleased to know it is because you are doing far better than I thought you would.’
Cornwallis noticed that his concern over Miss Knutt had disappeared. ‘And what does that mean?’
‘It means I’m not going to take this investigation away from you, however, there will be some conditions.’
‘Hang on,’ said Cornwallis, holding up a hand. ‘I’m only involved because Radstock heard a rumour and happened to be at Scooters yard at the time, he apparently said that he didn’t want the police involved with the investigation.’
‘Yes, he did. Mr Radstock is a very good boy, you know; he does, and believes, everything we tell him. And before you ask, he is not one of us. We intended to let you investigate the burglary, letting you flounder about, trying to find the perpetrator, which of course, you would never have done, and we would then have known what Dumchuck was up to. Also, we didn’t want the police to go through Mr Goup’s files, because there are a few things there that need to be kept quiet. Radstock really enjoys thinking he knows things others don’t. Eliza, may the Gods bless her soul, was going to “find the burglary” and inform the police, and then Radstock was to be there to make sure you got the job. You got the job, but Eliza died and then you began to investigate a murder. It is unfortunate that the police now have the files at Scooters Yard; we thought you might put them somewhere else, so now we are going to have to retrieve them. We will have all the other evidence you have too; the handkerchief, the trousers and jacket, the rags for the attempted arson, the little matchbook, we will even take the pictures off your hands. Those are the conditions, I want all the evidence and all the information you have.’
‘What if I refuse?’
‘You won’t, Mr Cornwallis, because if you do, you will be ruined.’ The Bagman smiled without humour. ‘I will make sure of that, and you know that I can. You are resourceful, Mr Cornwallis, your interest has been piqued, and you want to know how it all ends. I am giving you the chance to find out, but if you don’t, then your career as an investigator will come to an end.’
Cornwallis felt deflated. ‘Then I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t.’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. Just think of it as an opportunity.’
Cornwallis laughed ironically. ‘Some opportunity.’
Mr Hawk swung in his chair. ‘It could well be, Mr Cornwallis. Now, you can tell me what you know of this Maxwell and Kintersbury.’
Cornwallis tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling; he blew his cheeks out and then let the breath out slowly. ‘Not much to tell, Maxwell has something to do with Gornstock Trust and Holdings and threatens people to get their money back. Kintersbury I don’t know yet, he’s only just come into the picture.’
Mr Hawk’s eyes twitched momentarily and then he nodded. ‘And how did you get to find out about Maxwell?’
Cornwallis noticed the twitch and for some reason felt the back of his neck tingle. ‘When we were searching for the coach which took Goup away on the night of the murder, it led me to Brownlow and Son, a coach company down Woodlands. Maxwell forced Brownlow to lend him one of his coaches as he is having trouble paying back a loan; he threatened the family of the man if he didn’t do as he was told. I also found the coach that tried to run me down in Brownlow’s yard; that has something to do with Maxwell too.’
‘That’s interesting. Did you know that Kintersbury bought Gornstock Trust and Holdings some eighteen months ago?’
Cornwallis shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘And that he’s been buying up all the personal and small business debts from the bank since then?’
‘I didn’t know that too. It sounds like he’s being very heavy handed in getting the money back.’
Mr Hawk leant back in his chair. ‘You mean like Brownlow? Yes of course, collateral damage, I’m afraid, generally sound business sense. Sometimes the company oversteps the mark, I’ll agree, but as it’s helped the bank, and in turn the city, that has been overlooked.’
Collateral damage? thought Cornwallis; like everyone else, the Bagman doesn’t worry about the little people. ‘Drugs are involved too; the dwarf tunnels have a pile of drugs and it’s too much of a coincidence that Maxwell and Kintersbury have just started to use those tunnels, presumably they were brought in by that ship, so it would seem that they are dealing in them.’
‘That’s Kintersbury’s ship. The drugs may be a sideline, or if big enough, financing.’
‘Kintersbury is a rich man. The drugs are big enough, I assure you; send one of your men down to look.’
‘I might well do that, Mr Cornwallis.’
The pair regarded each other for a while as if weighing up everything they’d heard; at least Cornwallis assumed that, because he was doing a little weighing up himself. He had kept back the knowledge that the handkerchief and the matchbook tied Kintersbury to the scene, and he also decided not to say anything at the moment of his suspicions that Maxwell had killed Freddie, who had killed his Miss Knutt. He was just wondering if the Bagman knew all that when Mr Hawk cleared his throat.
‘I think our little discussion has come to an end, Mr Cornwallis. Can you think of anything else that might be of some interest to me?’
‘No, I think you have the lot.’
‘And what a lot it is. Remember, Mr Cornwallis, your future rides on this. Find out what is going on, for your own sake.’
Like the morning sun, it dawned on Cornwallis that if it all went wrong, then the Bagman would lay the blame squarely on his shoulders. It made him feel angry just to think about it. The Bagman has all the resources there is, teams of people and equipment, but he wasn’t putting any of them at his disposal. He was being threatened, oh, in a polite kind of way, but a threat nonetheless. The more he thought about it the more furious he became. The Bagman seemed to notice as his face broke out in a condescending all-knowing grin. Cornwallis felt like he wanted to explode; he stood up angrily, placed both arms on the table, and leant forward. Mr Hawk retreated just an inch, but Cornwallis noticed, he seemed to notice it all now, and he desperately wanted to say something, wanted to threaten the Bagman, wanted to make the Bagman frightened of him; but the words wouldn’t come. He stared hard as he fought his temper and finally he slapped the desk and turned, then marched back down the centre of the rug and wrenched at the door. It wouldn’t open.
‘We will keep in touch,’ said the Bagman from afar. ‘We will keep in touch.’
The door clicked, and Cornwallis finally managed to drag the door open. He strode through and Mr Sparrow and Miss Wren stopped talking mid flow. Cornwallis shot them both a look and then walked across to crash the door into the next room too. Mr Sparrow hurried after Cornwallis as he strode down the corridor, he could see how angry Cornwallis was, so didn’t even bother trying to open a conversation. At the end of the corridor Mr Sparrow leapt in front and opened the door, he then guided Cornwallis through the coach park and out into the evening sun.
‘I will come and see you very shortly, Mr Cornwallis,’ said Mr Sparrow, by way of parting.
Cornwallis turned and fixed him with a flinty look before spinning around again and marching off. Mr Sparrow let out his breath like a deflating balloon.
Mr Hawk looked up as Mr Sparrow sat down. ‘Well?’ he enquired.
‘Very, very angry,’ replied Mr Sparrow.
‘Good, we need him to be angry. I think we’ve given him enough to get on with now; we’ve pointed him in the direction of Dumchuck, so that should be sufficient for him to get his teeth into it all. I just wish we could have got hold of those documents at Goup’s though, it would have made things so much simpler, Mr Sparrow.’
‘Yes, sir, I quite agree. Do you want me to follow Cornwallis again?’
‘No, he knows you now. We’ll get Mr Magpie to go snooping around instead.’
*
CORNWALLIS’ TEMPER slowly returned to normal as he stormed through the streets of Gornstock. The steps were getting lighter and slower as his shoulders began to relax; and then he began to think. He had seen the Bagman flinch, only at the end, but there had been a definite reaction there. He smiled to himself in triumph, the Bagman may not be quite as confident as he appeared.
They weren’t at the office when he called in, so that must mean they had gone down to the Stoat. Dusk descended fast, with the long shadows melding into one great lump of dark. The street lamps were being lit as he made the short journey down to the pub. He felt much more like himself now, he could put it all into perspective; the Bagman was unsure of something.
Frankie and Rose sat outside minding their drinks when he entered the square, he noticed that they had thoughtfully provided one for him and they both looked up expectantly when he came over and sat down. He didn’t say anything at first, just lifted the glass and downed it in one.
‘Well? asked Rose, with an enquiring twitch of her head when he’d finished.
‘Well, indeed,’ replied Cornwallis, now grinning, ‘I think another one of these is called for.’
‘Not too many,’ warned Frankie. ‘We have to go and see Gerald, don’t forget.’
‘Oh bugger.’ Cornwallis had forgotten; a request by Gerald is just as important as one from the Bagman. ‘I’ll just have one more while I fill you in, then the three of us can go to the Brews. Anything from Algernon?’
Frankie shook his head. ‘Nothing so far, but he’s still keeping his ears open.’
‘Bugger,’ said Cornwallis and then he spent the next half hour going through his interview with the Bagman.
He was desperate for another pint, but it wouldn’t do to see Gerald with anything other than a clear head. When he dropped the name of Dumchuck, Frankie gave a low whistle; the whole investigation could be the downfall of a lot of important people, but Rose couldn’t understand why the Bagman had let them continue if he had known all this.
‘Because,’ answered Cornwallis, and he had been thinking the same thing. ‘Because he’s not certain. I don’t think he told me everything, but he said he’d ruin me if I stopped. You have to listen to threats like that from someone like him. He wouldn’t do it lightly, so that means there's something he can’t get to — or someone.’
‘So we have to find out who or what.'
Cornwallis nodded. ‘For our own salvation, if nothing else. Right, let us go through everything again: Freddie the Weasel killed Eliza Knutt at Roland Goup’s office, after she was put there to lift some papers belonging to Dumchuck. We saw Maxwell, who Gerald said killed Freddie, who also threatened Brownlow, and who, with Kintersbury, helped Roland Goup onto the ship; the same ship which is believed to be involved in drug smuggling. Now, are Kintersbury and Dumchuck working together, and where did Dumchuck get all the money in the tax return? Kintersbury owns Gornstock Trust and Holdings, who employs Maxwell. But at the moment, we only have evidence to lift Maxwell. The cat put Kintersbury at Goup’s office, so we can surmise that Maxwell must have been there too; but Goup is only a witness, so Kintersbury hasn’t done anything illegal.’
‘He tried to torch the place,’ interjected Frankie.
‘Yes, but it would be the cat’s word against his; and who out of the two of them is a member of the government?’
‘Point taken.’
‘The drugs are illegal, but we can’t prove Kintersbury is involved with them, yet.’
‘Gerald,’ indicated Frankie, tapping the table. ‘We can’t keep him waiting.’
‘No, you’re right. Let’s all think about it and we’ll decide what to do in the morning.’
*
THE BREWS TOOK ON A different complexion during the night, the only light coming from the moon and the occasional weak candle glow seeping from a house. It was just as well really, because the squelchy stuff they were treading on didn’t encourage discovery. Rose couldn’t believe the poverty she saw, the children were still out and about and resembled feral creatures dressed in rags. They clung to her jacket, begging for money, for scraps, for anything at all, as she passed by. Arms like thin skeletal demons reached out of the darkness and sent shivers down her spine. The adults all stood in groups of twos and threes and watched without concern through their alcoholic mist. Occasionally they were followed, but a quick threat from Frankie generally did the trick and the followers melted away into the dark dank passageways. A scream began from somewhere behind and echoed all the way through the streets and passed them by before ending far ahead in a gentle sigh. Rose edged towards Cornwallis until she welded herself to his side.
‘If you stay being an investigator you are going to have to come in here quite a lot,’ said Cornwallis quietly. ‘Outsiders don’t last very long in here, and yes, I know you can look after yourself, but this is the Brews; it’s everybody’s worst nightmare. It’s just as well we’re seeing Gerald, he can put the word out that you’re not to be touched.’
Rose didn’t argue; she had never been so scared in her life.
They went down a few more alleys, past several Brew Houses and through a wide square where thin emaciated women were touting for business; the nature of the business being quite plain from the grunts emanating from the alleys that ran off to the side. Eventually they came to a large tall house that backed onto the river. Outside were several of the inhabitants drinking and playing dice. They waited until a couple of the men looked up and noticed them standing there, and then one of them grinned evilly through a rotten set of teeth. Frankie stepped towards him so he could be recognised, and with a nod of acknowledgement, the man lurched to the side to create a little gap for them to walk through. Cornwallis held on to Rose’s arm as he guided her past the men. She looked at all of them in turn and saw from the returned scrutiny, that if it wasn’t for Frankie and Cornwallis, she would be anything but safe. Frankie pushed at the door and it scraped open. He then stood aside as Rose and Cornwallis went past and then turned back to the men and leant forward to speak quietly into one of the men’s ears. The man nodded and said something in return. Frankie’s mouth opened, but then he shut it quickly before patting him on the back.
‘They’ll keep an eye out,’ he informed Cornwallis as he pushed the door closed. ‘Apparently, we’re already being followed.’
Cornwallis nodded. ‘That’ll be Sparrow, I expect.’
‘This place was bad enough during the day,’ observed Rose soberly. ‘But at night it takes on a whole different persona. Just how do people live here?’
‘They have no choice,’ replied Cornwallis easily. ‘But they’re used to it, it holds little fear for them as they know and understand the rules. In actual fact, to most of them it’s the safest place in the world, except if you go against the rules.’
They were in a large bright vestibule with a winding staircase reaching up, it was clean and tidy and strangely aromatic. Cornwallis led the way up the stairs closely followed by Rose and Frankie. The guard at the top of the first flight nodded and indicated that they could proceed through the double doors into a comfortable lounge-type room. They waited for a few moments in the opulence, the thick expensive carpet underfoot, the luxurious sofas, the paintings on the walls; a total contrast to the area that they were in. A door opened on the far side and a dapper looking man beckoned them through.
‘Here we go again,’ muttered Frankie wryly.
Rose looked askance at him, her mind already a jumble of confusion made worse by Frankie’s quiet mumbling. She felt Cornwallis’ hand on her back as he took a step forward, and with a strange reluctance, she joined him.
The door led into semi-darkness with a thin flickering light from just a couple of candles in sconces on the wall. Another opulent room, but this one smelt a little musty. The deep red carpet had a pattern of stars amongst a geometrical design, and standing on it, a highly polished large rectangular table, with ten chairs around it. Silently they walked forward, and Rose saw at the end of the room an enormous gilded chair set on a little platform. In front of it, a half-circle of big comfortable arm chairs coming from an age long ago. Cornwallis urged her on until they came to stand in front of the big gilded chair, and then the dapper man smiled and indicated that they could sit.
‘Why we have to go through all this, I don’t know?’ groaned Frankie. ‘I were here just a while ago, it’s not as we need to be dramatic every time.’
‘Rose hasn’t been here before,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘I expect this is for her benefit. Gerald likes to create an impression, don’t forget.’
‘Yeah, but all the same...’
A lot of muffled swearing came from behind the gilded chair, interrupting Frankie. Rose craned her neck and noticed that the wallpaper billowed, in fact, it wasn’t a wall at all, but a curtain, and it looked like someone was struggling to find the gap.
‘Oh, this is just great,’ moaned the curtain. ‘What pillock did it this time, eh?’
The dapper looking man stood there wide eyed for a couple of moments and then dived behind the chair in order to help.
‘Was it you, Crinning?’ said the voice, when the man drew the curtain aside. ‘I specifically said to put the gap on the sodding line. If I wanted you to put the sodding thing to the side, I would ‘a said put the sodding thing to the side. I wanted it there.’ A stamp of a foot indicated where precisely the gap should have been. ‘All right, just go and get the coffee, see if yer can get that right.’
The man disappeared behind the curtain and a few moments passed, then a grinning face suddenly emerged through the now properly positioned flap. This face belonged to someone else, a small tidy looking man with salt and pepper hair. He wore a dark suit covered in sparkly little buttons, with a white cravat tied around his neck and he carried a hat in his hand, which also sparkled. He had a cheeky face full of mischief which carried an ever present smile. ‘Evening Cornwallis, Frankie, an’ this must be the delectable Miss Morant, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Evening Gerald,’ returned Cornwallis with a smile. ‘It seems to me that not all went according to plan.’
‘Staff,’ replied Gerald. ‘Who’d ‘ave the buggers?’ He looked at Rose and winked, before going forward and taking her hand in his. ‘Not one of my best entrances, my ducks, it normally works much better ‘an that.’
‘Really?’ replied Rose, smiling.
‘Oh yes, I’ve ‘ad some nearly cack ‘emselves.’ He let go of Rose’s hand and turned to go and sit on his chair. ‘Lights,’ he yelled.
Suddenly the room lit up, bright as day. Rose turned around and saw lanterns swivelling from their hidden compartments, snapping as they found their fixture. Gerald seemed to be pleased that at least something worked to plan.
‘Well, Cornwallis, yer Brownlow family. Put ‘em up safe we did, ‘ere in the Brews, nice gaff as well. We ‘ad a bit o’problem wiv the watchers though. There were two, but we did fer ‘em, so’s there’s two less now.’
Cornwallis raised an eyebrow.
‘Crinning will tell you where on yer way out. Yeah, nasty bit o’work you’ve picked up there.’
‘Thanks, Gerald. Frankie told me what you know about Maxwell, and you’re right, he isn’t very nice.’
‘Did you know you’ve been followed ‘ere too?’
Cornwallis nodded. ‘I expect a Mr Sparrow; works for the Bagman.’
Gerald shook his head and corrected him. ‘A Mr Magpie in fact, who works for the Bagman. There is also a Mr Scrivey, who don’t work for the Bagman, ‘e works for your Mr Maxwell, or ‘e did until a few moments ago.’ He turned to Rose and mimed a hand cutting his throat. ‘Keeps on at this rate an’ ‘e ain’t going to ‘ave anyone left to work fer ‘im.’
Rose’s eyes widened in shock.
‘Um,’ began Cornwallis hesitantly, equally shocked, ‘er, thanks.’
‘No need to thank me, Cornwallis, just keeping the place tidy. Anyway, ‘e was one of ‘em ‘o did fer Freddie the Weasel.’ Gerald smiled again, pleased at the reaction. ‘Now, where the hell is that coffee? Crinning,’ he yelled.
Crinning appeared with a tray and another flunkey came behind carrying a small table. The man put the table down and the tray went on top. Gerald rubbed his hands together and then began to offer each of them a mug. Cornwallis took a few moments to get himself together after the revelation — would it have been another attempt on his life?
‘Now,’ said Gerald, settling back into his chair. ‘Miss Morant, or can I calls yer Rose?’
Rose nodded that he could.
‘Good. Word on the street is you is now working fer Cornwallis ‘ere.’
Rose nodded again, not quite sure yet about Gerald; there was something not quite right.
‘I suspects that ‘e brought you ‘ere to get to know me as yer needs to know the rules.’
‘Er, yes. I think so.’
‘Well, the rules is simple ‘ereabouts. Yer don’t mess with the Brews, yer don’t go a thieving or a murdering wivout my say so; but yer can investigate all yer like, an’ you can arrest if yer need to as well. No one will touch yer if yer keep to the rules, it’s a case of you scratch my back an’ I’ll scratch yours. Cornwallis and me made up the rules so’s that ‘e could investigate freely, as there are some ‘ere ‘oo like to play away. To my mind, it’s their lookout if they go a thieving or somesuch outside of ‘ere. But inside the Brews, it’s my business.’
‘Sounds simple enough,’ responded Rose, with a degree of hesitation. There was still something about Gerald that she couldn’t put her finger on. She looked across to Cornwallis and Frankie, but they just sipped at their mugs. ‘Er, can I ask you something, um... Gerald?’
Gerald relaxed back, nodded that she could, and beamed. ‘Of course yer can my darling, harsk away.’
She wasn’t sure how to ask what she wanted to know, she just wished that Cornwallis had told her more about this man than he had; in any event, she’d started, and now she had to go through with it. ‘Who are you?’ she asked, quietly. ‘I mean, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m struggling to come to terms with the fact that you rule here. You don’t seem to be like the others.’
Gerald didn’t turn a hair, he just laughed. ‘Yer mean a little fella like me, ‘ow can ‘e control it all, eh?’
Cornwallis thought he’d better intervene. ‘I’m sorry, Rose, but I haven’t told you very much about Gerald; things seemed to get in the way. Gerald has some special talents— ’
Gerald leant forward and held his hand up. ‘Yer can stop right there, Cornwallis,’ he said with a frown. ‘It’s only right that I answer ‘er. After all, you’ve ‘ad your chance.’
Cornwallis opened his mouth to say some more, but then thought better of it. He settled back into his chair and waited for Gerald to continue; in any event, both he and Frankie had gone through something very similar in the past, and it would be interesting to see how Rose reacted.
Gerald got up and stepped down, coming to stand in front of Rose. ‘Up yer get, my girl, I ‘ere’s your pretty ‘andy in a scrap. Now we’ll see just 'ow ‘andy.’
Rose looked across at Cornwallis who sighed. Frankie jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow and indicated that she should do as Gerald asked.
When she reluctantly stood up, she found she could look down on the top of Gerald’s head; he was even smaller than she had first thought, wiry, yes, but she knew she could do some serious damage to him if she really wanted to.
He looked up into her face and grinned. ‘Come on then my girl, try an’ knock seven colours o’shite outta me.’
‘I’m not sure about this,’ she said nervously, already regretting asking the question in the first place. Later on, she intended to really rip into Cornwallis for not saying anything about this man before. Something was going to happen to her, but she hadn’t a clue what. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we just leave it there.’
‘Oh no, Rosie, my luv,’ Gerald sprang back and began to dance about like a prize-fighter. ‘Get stuck into me girl, come on, let rip, gimme yer best shot.’ He sprang forward and shot a hand out to give a playful tap on her arm. ‘Yer don’t react, girl, I’m going to end up ‘urting yer, come on, let an old man ‘ave some fun.’
Rose closed her eyes; she couldn’t back out now, she had to do as Gerald asked, even though she knew she wasn’t going to win, she even suspected that he might be even quicker than her: she should have seen the signs well before this. She opened her eyes again and looked at him, fixing her gaze on his eyes as she tried to gauge his strength and speed. She knew that you could read a lot in the eyes, but she was disconcerted when she found that nothing came back; he appeared to have eyes that were empty, black depths of absolutely nothing. A shiver ran down her spine; and then she went for it.
‘So, my girl, now’s yer understand. Yes?’ asked Gerald, once they had finished.
Rose found herself nodding. She now knew how this little man could control everything about him, how he could have the power of life and death in this slum; she was only grateful that he seemed content to keep it here and not attempt to control the whole city.
She had decided to get it all over with quickly, so let him move a little closer to her as he danced around. He tapped her once again on the arm, but this time as he recovered from the movement, she pounced, spinning around and flicking out with her foot while at the same time bringing her arm scything through the air, aiming for his neck. The feeling as she connected had been unreal; like hitting candyfloss, as if the air had suddenly become sticky and the force of her blows had become bogged down. Her movement had carried on slowly for a microsecond, and then her blows found normal air again and the momentum continued. She finished spinning and then stumbled, losing balance, expecting something to happen, but not this. She sort of lurched into Gerald, and then the feeling became more intense as his head disappeared into her chest as she flung her arms out wide to stop herself falling. She then felt him move through her, straight through her, and then out the other side. She fell to the floor as his body left hers and gasped in shock. She turned and looked up at him as he stood looking down; he was smiling, full of mischief again.
‘Good try, Rosie my darling, nearly got me there.’
‘Wha... wha... what happened?’ she spluttered, totally confused now.
‘Let’s sit yer down and I’ll tell yer,’ he said, offering his hand to help her back up.
As she sat back down her hands began to shake, and she felt a rising nausea in her throat, but slowly, little by little, it all began to subside. Cornwallis and Frankie were grinning from ear to ear while Gerald sat motionless in his chair. She couldn’t comprehend what had just happened, she must be dreaming, it just couldn’t happen.
‘Yer didn’t ‘urt yerself?’ he asked, now a little concerned.
Rose shook her head; this all felt very, very, wrong. Yes, after that, she could understand how he could control everything, the question now was, how did it happen?
‘It’s a long story really,’ he said, when he saw her looking back to normal. ‘I used to be a very good burglar, back in the old days, an’ I made quite a tidy sum. But I got curious one day, because rumour ‘ad it that a lot o’ money could be made at the Collider. So being daring an’ all that, I decides to take a look. There weren’t much in the way of security, as they didn’t expect anyone to try an’ get in. I sort of got through one of the vents that took the air into the building, an’ I crawled through until I found the chamber that ‘oused the Collider. It took some time, I can tell yer, an’ a few wrong turns as well, but eventually I found it. An’ do you know what?’
Rose didn’t, so shook her head.
‘There were nobody there, the whole place empty. No people, no guards, no keepers, no nobody. I thinks, I’m on to a good ‘un ‘ere, as I looked through the grate. I lifted it up an’ dropped down, an’ then the Collider were there in front of me, all these little desks an’ toggles an’ things, all lined up in front. It looked like a great big mirror, it did, but it sort of hummed, an’ I goes up to it to take a look. It were the strangest thing yer could ever imagine, there were me looking back, but it weren’t me, an’ behind the other me, I could see loads o’ people running. What’s going on ‘ere? I says to myself, an’ I pushes a finger towards the Collider. The other me did the same, an’ our fingers sort of touched. It went even weirder then as my hand got sort of drawn in; the next thing I knew, all o’ me got sucked in, an’ suddenly I were on the other side, an’ I wasn’t in the Collider anymore. I were in a strange looking street, an’ all these people were running towards me. They didn’t look too friendly like, so I wanted to get back. Fortunately, I still had a foot on this side, so I tries to back into it again. Just then, these people stops, an’ one of them points a sort of pipe thing at me. Next thing I know the pipe thing explodes, it goes bang, just as I manage to get back again. I felt something ‘it me, an’ I thought, that’s me gorn; I should’ve been dead, but I wasn’t.’
Rose looked at Gerald in disbelief; she’d never heard a tale as strange as this. ‘But how...?’
Gerald chuckled. ‘Ow did I do that?’ He sort of mimed going through a body and Rose nodded. ‘It were explained a while later. I sort of noticed that I weren’t the same anymore, a bit like a ghost, but not a ghost. Sometimes I were real an’ other times I weren’t. Just think what it felt like, not knowing what you is. I found I could pass through things when I wanted, but could be solid too, when I wanted. Weird didn’t come close to ‘ow I felt. So I harsked. Found a keeper willing to talk an’ I harsks him some questions. ‘E said that if someone did fall into the Collider then they would probably cease to exist; not so much die as not exist anymore, as yer would just disappear into yerself on the other side, sort of fall between the universes. But I didn’t, I got back, an’ ‘e reckoned that if someone did that, then they was here an’ between at the same time. That’s why I can pass through things, an’ why things pass through me — because sometimes, I ain’t ‘ere. Over time I’ve learnt to control it.’
‘That’s incredible,’ exclaimed Rose; she looked to Cornwallis who just finished draining his mug. ‘It beggars belief.’
‘It does, but it’s true enough,’ said Frankie instead. ‘Now you know why Gerald has so much power, it sort of makes it difficult to hurt him.’
‘But what happened to the other you?’ she asked.
‘Don’t rightly know, but I suspect that I died when that pipe thing went off. Whatever ‘it me stung a bit, I can tell yer.’
Rose looked crest fallen, ‘I find that very sad,’ she said. It sort of made real the knowledge that there are countless you’s out there, all having different things happen to them. Her mind spun with the possibilities, some of which she didn’t really want to contemplate. All of them: living, breathing, walking, talking, doing all the things that she could do, all in the other worlds. How did her life measure up against theirs? ‘Very sad,’ she said again; and really meaning it.