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“River Police’ll think of it,” the bargee said with a downturn of his mouth. “Got their long bloody noses into everything. Still, according to old Sawyer down the way—an’ ’e’s ninety if ’e’s a day—it used ter be a lot worse, before they came.”
Scuff was startled. “When was that?”
The bargee grinned. “Afore your time, son. In the 1790s, or thereabouts. When the French were all cutting each other’s ’eads off. Told yer, ’e’s ninety or more. Says the river were the worst place in the world then. Pirates all over the place. Murder was as common then as thievin’ is now. An’ thievin’ were as common as takin’ a breath of air. So what is it yer want, then?”
“Could anyone ’ave got that stuff to blow them up an’ put it in when they were on the river?” Scuff asked. “After dark, like? Or did it ’ave ter be when they was tied up somewhere? Like Westminster Bridge, or Gravesend?”
“Yer sayin’ as maybe one of us did it?” The bargee’s face was suddenly hard, his eyes angry.
“No I in’t!” Scuff snapped back. “What d’yer take me for? I know that. And like as not, the River Police know. But they in’t in it, are they! It’s bin taken off them and given to the regular land police, ’oo don’t know nothin’!”
The bargee glared at him, the splicing hook idle in his hand for a moment.
“An’ ’ow do you know that, then?” he demanded. Scuff had his complete attention now.
“I know a lot o’ things,” Scuff replied darkly. “An’ the sooner we get this sorted, the sooner we’ll ’ave the reg’lar police off our river and get our own police back, what we know ’ow ter deal with.”
“You cunning little sod!” the bargee said with feeling. He looked Scuff up and down again, this time taking more notice of his clothes, and particularly his boots.
Scuff wanted to tell him he had not earned them himself, but that would have destroyed what little respect this man had from him, so he smiled and said nothing.
He continued all day, searching out people he had known, either directly or by repute. He visited an “opulent receiver,” a fencer of stolen goods who specialized in small and valuable pieces: jewelry, carvings in ivory, miniature portraits, and other easily hidden things worth a lot of money. Already several items had turned up, taken from the corpses that had washed onto the shore. Scuff thought robbing the dead was despicable. But he also knew hunger, cold, fear, and loneliness, and hated them; his experience made him slower to judge, and allowed him to hide his disgust. On the one hand it was like being a carrion animal; on the other, the dead had no more need of treasures, and to the living they could mean the difference between survival and death.
He must be home in time for dinner, but not because he could not go without eating. He could, and had. But if he were late Hester would want to know where he had been and he would have to come up with a very good explanation. He had no idea how she did it, but she was uncannily excellent at knowing when he was bending the truth.
Therefore he spent another few pence going back across the river in order to be able to walk up the hill to Paradise Place not so very long after he should have done were he coming home from school.
Had he accomplished anything? Possibly not. He had asked a lot of questions, trying to find out where the man with the explosives could have got into the boat, and learned that it would have been almost impossible anywhere in the first half of the voyage, partly because it would have been daylight, and to do anything unusual then would’ve been terribly risky.
But the explosives could have been loaded at Gravesend. How could he find out whether they had? Gravesend was miles away, down the estuary toward the sea.
His legs ached as he walked up the hill away from the ferry landing. He had become unused to being on his feet all day. He might be learning all kinds of interesting, useless things at school, but he was also getting soft.
He passed an old woman he
knew and smiled at her. She pursed her lips and shook her head, but she wished him a good evening.
“Evenin,’ ma’am,” he answered politely. He was nearly home.
Who would do such a terrible thing as blow up a boat full of normal people, and in such a way that almost all of them drowned? Why? Did whoever had done it know that was what would happen? Of course! You put explosives in the bow of a ship, any fool knows it will sink. And any fool knows that all the people below deck will drown because there is no way on earth for them to get out in time.
He stopped still as if he had walked into a wall. That was it! It didn’t matter where the bomber got into the boat! Anywhere would do. But it mattered more than anything else where he got off! He must have known when it would explode. It was a horrible way to die—he would have left the ship before that! But where? And how? Someone swimming in the river would surely draw attention. Apart from the fact that hardly anyone could swim, the water was filthy enough to poison you.
And swim to where? They would’ve been out in the middle in the current of the incoming tide. And the Thames tide was swift and strong.
There would have been other boats around: ferries, barges, large ships coming in to anchor in the Pool of London. They could see each other because they carried lights—they had to. Law of the sea. But a swimmer didn’t! A swimmer could be struck, swamped in the wash, or, worst of all, caught in the paddles or the screws and hacked to pieces. Scuff shuddered at the thought of it and felt his legs go weak.
He put it out of his mind and hurried the last few steps home. He wanted lights, warmth, people, even if they scolded him for being late. It was very nice to be wanted.
“You’re late,” Hester said as soon as he was in the door. “Are you all right?”
Perhaps he should have been penitent—it would have been wiser—but he could not keep the huge smile from his face.
“Yes … I’m home.” He saw the irritation in her eyes and was not absolutely certain what it was. “And I’m hungry,” he added.
Monk came in a few moments later, and spoke only of the usual sort of business on the river. He did not even mention the Princess Mary, so Scuff thought he had better not mention it either. Hester did not refer to the fact that he had been late, and he was too grateful for that to risk anything but enjoying the good food and comfortable silence. He did not allow into his mind those who would be sleeping outside on the dock, as he once had.
CHAPTER
