Chapter 6

ANOTHER NIGHT, ANOTHER RIOT

His head ached. Blood dripped from his scalp on to the pavement. He crawled along through the moving forest of legs.

He heard someone say, “Come back, here, you bastard,” and never thought it was directed at him. Not until the agony of a leather boot smashing into his thigh was followed by the same voice saying, “I told you to stop, you fucking Jew.”

Jonas Troy rolled on his back and writhed in pain, clutching his leg.

Above him stood a policeman, wielding his truncheon. Around him, men fought. The noise was deafening. The violence was brutal. Not only fists and feet, but knives and broken bottles were being used. And Troy glimpsed one fellow cracking another over the head with a brick. The crowd swarmed. It came close. Too close. Feet stamped near Troy’s head. The bobby swung his club to clear space for himself.

He looked down at Troy again and said, “Now get up, you; you’re under arrest.”

“What for?” said Troy.

The policeman, a big bear with claws and whiskers to match, grabbed Troy’s jacket and then lifted him off his feet.

Like being on a swing as a child, Troy wheeled in the air, and his belly tumbled.

The bobby bashed him against the window of the Ten Bells. Troy’s head snapped back. Glass smashed. His nape stung, shards piercing his skin. Blood ran warm down his back. He was dizzy, seeing double. His thigh was numb, and he thought he might not be able to put any weight on his leg. And to prove his theory, it buckled when the constable put him down roughly.

Troy staggered away. The bobby followed—cheeks red, huffing and puffing, bashing over the head anyone who came to close.

Troy said, “Tell me why you’re arresting me.”

“You’re a Jew troublemaker.”

“I’m not a Jew. I’m not a troublemaker.”

“Shut your mouth—and stop trying to get away from me.”

“There’s a woman . . . ”

“There always is.”

“She’s in danger.”

“It’s them that are dangerous round here, mate.”

“Constable, you can come with me.”

“No, mate, you’re coming with me.”

He nailed Troy—cracked him on the shoulder with his truncheon. But Troy threw a punch. The right hook caught the policeman on the jaw, making him stagger but not dropping him. Troy’s hand hurt now. He shook it, grimacing. He’d broken his knuckles on the constable’s face.

The bobby shook off the blow. “Assaulting a police constable is a serious fucking offense, son. You’re getting a hell of a thrashing when I get you back to the station.” Rage reddened his face, and he snarled at Troy, attacking.

No choice, he thought; I’ve got no choice.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and told the constable, “Forget about this. Let me go.

I’m warning you—forget it.”

“Don’t you fucking threaten me, Jew.”

The constable charged. He ran straight into the knife and dropped to the street, writhing and clutching his belly.

“Keep your hands there,” Troy told him, blood dripping from his knife. He wheeled, ready to sprint down Commercial Street towards Miller’s Court, but he stopped in his tracks.

Standing a few yards away was a young girl. But she was not an ordinary girl. She was a vision. She was a ghost. He could see right through her. But she was still staring at him. He looked at her face, and he thought he knew her. He studied her clothes. They were unlike anything a girl would wear—to start with, she wore trousers and a strange, peaked cap with the letters “NY” emblazoned on it.

Troy reached out for the girl, and she reached for him.

He felt a connection. He felt as if she were part of him. As if she were his future.

Then he saw into the girl’s heart and knew everything about her. And with that knowledge, he realized that the war he was fighting today would be fought again tomorrow and for many tomorrows to come.

“Go and save her, little seer,” he told the girl, and then he ran past her, looking into her face. He saw himself in her features. The girl watched him. He kept looking at her and bumped into someone. He staggered and got ready to defend himself.

“Murdering police constables, now, are we, Mr Troy?” said the man he’d bumped into.

Troy quickly looked back and the girl was gone, and then he spoke to the man. “He’s going to kill Mary Kelly, detective inspector.”

The policeman raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”