Chapter 10

Game of Chance

Out of the dank warmth of the Shamrock’s Lair, they splashed into the coolness of a moonless night. As Pence sped through the dimly lit roads like a jackrabbit through a country field, Clare labored behind under the burden of Seamus’s pack, which was much heavier than hers.

Racing through the city toward the harbor, Clare worried for a moment that Pence might be misleading them toward a retaliatory ambush. She saw justice in this possibility but didn’t believe it to be in the boy’s character.

“Where are you taking us?” Pierce appeared less convinced of the purity of their guide’s motives.

“Come,” Pence pleaded. “There is no time for gabbery. Miss Clare, tell your friend. We may be too late as it ’tis.”

The seriousness of his tone convicted Clare and apparently Pierce as well as they trailed without further protest the remainder of the way. They dodged horse carriages, late-night romancers, and a scattered army of miscreants who swaggered, peered from alleyways, and ogled them conspiratorially as the three scurried by them.

As they went deeper in their journey, Clare smelled the fishy odors of the approaching shores, and the lonely echoes of night gulls increased in intensity. Pence banked off the main road, sifting through darker, decrepit alleyways, prompting her suspicions to return.

At last, as they neared a corner, Pence halted, motioned them to a stop, and signaled for silence.

“Pence saw your brother in that building,” whispered the boy. “Don’t be seen or they’ll skin us all.”

Clare processed the severity of his words as she peered around the corner, gasping to recover her breath. Filtering through walls, into the streets, was the cruel waggery of drunken rogues. The two-story building was a brooding residence, with ragged fabric flapping from the windows. It leaned like a hunchback in pain, needing only a strong gust to topple it to ruins. A flickering light shone mutely through filthy glass, causing the figures inside to appear as distorted apparitions.

“Where is Seamus?” Clare asked.

“Not certain. Been following your brother. Yes. Sorry, Miss Clare. Looking for the chance to take what he owed Pence.”

“That’s not to blame,” she said.

“Not long when he came to port, Pence saw ’em being met by the O’Donnell brothers.”

“Who are they?”

“Thieves of the worst sort,” Pence said. “Swindling the farmies is sport to ’em. Cruel as you can imagine.”

“What was Seamus doing here?” Pierce said.

“Cards. Bones. Games of chance. Doesn’t matter. Just a cat toying with the mouse. Not sure why they don’t rob ’em and be done with it.”

Pierce put his hand on his forehead. “He had all of our passage fare.”

“Don’t even whisper that,” Clare said. “The trip will be ruined.”

“We’ll be finished. We got to take it back.”

The boy grabbed him by the arm. “You didn’t hear Pence. He might be dead, and you’ll be too. As well as Miss Clare.”

Just then the wooden door of the building creaked open, and two men with lanterns argued as they headed toward them.

“Hide!” Pence whispered urgently. “They’re coming.”

Pierce ushered Clare toward a crevice in the alleyway, which offered barely enough space for them to tuck in with their packs. Once settled, Clare was horrified to see Pence reclining against the wall with his arms folded, the pack he was carrying for her beside him.

The rancor approached.

“You’re a liar and you always have been. There was no less than twenty quid on the table the other day, and if Billy knew you pinched him, he’d run you through and pull out your guts. I’m inclining to tell ’em meself.”

The two figures rounded the corner into view, illuminated by the lantern held by the man who was speaking; who was stocky, bald, and raven faced.

“Who goes there?” he said, startled by Pence. “Why are you lurking about?”

“It’s just the orphan boy,” said the other man, whose face was scarred from eye to lip.

“It’s just Pence, Mr. O’Donnell,” the boy said to the bald man while stepping into their light.

Mr. O’Donnell grasped Pence by the collar and put a knife to his neck. “Wanna join your mam and pa?”

Clare could feel Pierce’s muscles tensing, and she held him back with all her strength while fighting her own instinct to leap to the boy’s defense.

“I’m just here to collect what’s due,” the boy said with surprising calm.

Mr. O’Donnell spat out a hacking laugh at Pence’s gravitas. “Due to you? We owe you something, laddie?”

“No sir.” Pence edged his neck away from the blade. “It’s the farmie. The man named Seamus. He owes five pence, he does.”

“Is that so?” Mr. O’Donnell grinned as he put his knife in his pocket. “What’s in the pack?”

“It belongs to the farmie. Pence is keeping it ’til he pays.”

Mr. O’Donnell snickered and with a wave the scarred man grabbed the pack. “We’ll help you keep him honest, laddie.”

Clare sighed deeply. Her entire life was in that bag. But it was the least of her worries.

“Would you mind tellin’ me where Pence can find him then?”

The scarred man knocked Pence’s hat off. “We’ll ask the questions.”

“Ah. We’ll give you that, orphan,” Mr. O’Donnell said. “For a few pence, ’tis all.”

“That’s what he owes me.” Pence seemed conflicted but relented, pulling out a leather pouch and beginning to count out some coins before it was yanked from his grasp.

“The fee went up a wee bit, if you don’t mind.” The bald man nodded to his companion, who flung Clare’s pack over his shoulder. They departed, passing the nook where Clare and Pierce cowered breathlessly.

After a few steps Mr. O’Connell shouted back to Pence, his voice echoing through the alleyway. “My brothers took your boy for a swim. Good luck getting paid.”

The two of them cackled and returned to their bantering, which trailed as they faded from sight.

Clare leapt from the shadows and went over and smothered Pence with her arms and tears.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Clare. That was foolish for me to lose your pack.”

“You’re sorry?” Clare realized her body was quivering.

“I should have given them a good comeuppance,” Pierce said.

“What did they mean about Seamus?” Clare asked.

“It’s not good,” the boy said. “Follow Pence.” He grabbed Seamus’s pack from Clare and flung it on his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Miss Clare. Won’t lose this one. Promise you. But if your brother is where I think, we must hurry.”

They were on the run again, and without a pack, Clare had less difficulty keeping pace. She soon discovered they were only a few streets removed from the water’s edge, and they gulped the viscous sea air as their labored breathing and heavy steps accompanied the screeching of gulls and the creaking of the great, shadowy skeletons of ships moored in the harbor.

Pence came to the entranceway of a long, wooden pier, and after shedding the pack on the ground, he hurtled down the rattling timbers with the tail of his coat flapping in the wind. Pierce dropped his pack as well, with Clare scampering right behind them.

When Pence arrived at the cap of the pier, he collapsed to his knees. And after peering over the edge, he turned toward them and waved frantically.

In a moment, all three were there to see a body hanging upside down, tethered to the pier by a frayed cord.

“Seamus!” Clare screamed.

The rope had been measured in such a way that his head was under the water. His only means of survival would have been to pull up with his legs to keep from drowning, but it appeared the fight was gone.

Her anger at Seamus for his foolishness vanished with the thought of his suffering. “Please, dear God. Let him be alive.”

Pence and Pierce grunted under the strain of pulling up Seamus’s lifeless body and Clare tried to as well, but there was no room for her until the hem of his pant legs were in reach. And with her assistance, they had his cold form on the splintered planks of the dock.

Clare wrapped her arms around him, desiring to give him every last breath of her warmth as they untied the rope from his ankles. “God. I beg You. Don’t forsake me.”

She stroked Seamus’s cheeks and kissed him on the forehead. Even with her uncontrollable sobbing, she could smell the reek of whiskey, which gave her hope he was breathing.

A noise came from his chest and then Seamus gurgled before water and then vomit spewed from his mouth. It was a joyous sight to Clare, and she tilted his head to the side. His pale flesh was frigid to the touch.

“Get me a blanket,” she shouted.

“There’s a bonfire over there.” Pence pointed behind them.

Clare followed the trace of his finger and saw the lapping tongue of a distant fire lighting the darkness. With a clumsy start, and having to readjust their grip several times, they lumbered down the pier and onto the shoreline in the direction of the flames, nearly dropping Seamus several times.

As they approached, she saw a rudimentary camp had been erected on a grassy hill just above the woodworks of the harbor. Peppered around were several dozen slumbering on the ground, but a few remained awake and huddled around a diminishing fire. The startled faces, their eyes glistening as gems in the light of flames, soon arose to assist them, and in a few moments, Seamus was close to the heat and wrapped in wool, with many caretakers looking down at him with concern.

Several attended to stoking the flames with pieces of flotsam gathered from the waters. Clare leaned over Seamus and caressed his face with her hand and fallen tears. He was groggy but color appeared to be returning, and he struggled to open his eyes.

“Here is some hot tea,” said a woman with broad shoulders and a bent to her hip. Clare received the mug, which was warm to the touch.

“Help me sit him up,” Clare said without pause for manners.

The woman chided her companions. “Shame on all of us. We should have aided the boy.”

“Muriel, dear. Your words are true.” A man with ever-smiling puffy cheeks had eyes of remorse. “We thought it proper to keep out of it.”

“And because of our cowardice?” Muriel said. “The poor boy’s nearly gone.”

“It was far away,” the man said, this time for Clare’s ears. “We heard shouts, but it was hard to see. Still, we knew someone was in trouble. If we were in our own town, I suppose.”

“It’s a grievous excuse.” Muriel shook her head. “You’re welcome here now.”

A young man came with a stack of blankets and laid them beside Clare.

“I understand.” Clare looked at Muriel. “We would have behaved the same.” She put the mug to Seamus’s lips. “Drink,” she urged him and he did.

Muriel pulled some cheese curds from her pocket and handed them to Clare. “I’ll stay up with our visitors,” Muriel said to the others. “Off to bed, you all. Long day tomorrow and maybe the Lord will forgive us.”

They were tired enough to acquiesce, and with Pence and Pierce returning to the pier to retrieve their packs, Clare and Muriel were alone to tend to Seamus.

“Clare.”

“Seamus!”

“Clare. I lost it all, didn’t I?”

“Rest now. It doesn’t matter.”

“Clare. Why didn’t you let me drown?”

“Shhh.” She ached for her brother. “Not another word.”

“It’s what I deserved, isn’t it?” He spoke with hollowness in his voice. “Perfect that way, don’t you think? You should have left me.”

Seamus closed his eyes and soon he was sobbing, and Clare cried with him. Muriel wrapped an arm around her.

Oh, why did she ever leave home?