Ring of Terror by Michael Gilbert Page A

thought we was, getting ourselves transferred to this division. Talk about the bloody Tower of Babel. Squareheads, Polacks, Guineas, Johnnies and hundreds of thousands of Shonks. Fourteen to a room and one bed. Either they take it in turns, or some of them sleep on the floor.’
    ‘Uncomfortable either way,’ said Luke. ‘That’s a lovely black eye you’ve got. Been fighting someone?’
    ‘In this part of the world, life’s one long fight. How’d I get this shiner? I got it yesterday. Rescuing a sailor from a fate worse’n death. From death too, like as not.’
    ‘Tell,’ said Luke, settling himself comfortably.
    ‘Well, I was proceeding along Cable Street, getting dark, and mist coming up from the river, and I was thinking as how nice it would be if I was back home with my slippers on and a glass of something in my hand when I saw these three men coming along, arm in arm. Friendly types, was my first thought. When they got up to me, I saw the two on the outside was nasty-looking hunkies.’ Joe demonstrated what he meant by frowning ferociously and sticking his jaw out. This made Luke laugh.
    ‘Laugh away,’ said Joe. ‘It weren’t funny. Not really. The one in the middle was a sailor – not much more’n a boy – and as anyone could see, he was drunk as parson’s cat. Couldn’t hardly stand up. I said, “You leave that boy alone.”
    ‘”We leave him, he falls down,” said the tough character on the right. “We take him home.”
    ‘”I know just where you’re taking him,” I said. “Somewhere you can finish emptying his pockets. And then empty him into the river. Not tonight, though. This ain’t your lucky night.”
    ‘He didn’t seem anxious to let go of the boy, which handicapped him somewhat, so I hit him.’ Joe smiled at the thought. ‘A four o’clock one. Right on his snozzle. He let go the boy then and come for me. So I kicks him in the goolies.’
    ‘Wasn’t that a bit rough?’
    ‘I had to protect myself, didn’t I? Then I got me old whistle out and blew it. Always creates a good effect. The other man took one look at his friend lying on the ground trying to be sick and cut off smartish down one of the side streets. The only one who didn’t seem to appreciate my efforts was the boy. He said, “You’ve hurt my friend. Only friend I’ve got,” and blow me down if he didn’t square up and belt me in the eye. It was what you might call a parting effort, because as he did it his knees gave way and if I hadn’t grabbed him he’d have finished flat on his face. I got him up over my shoulder and left the field of battle as the crowd started to gather. One of the men knew me and gave me a hand with our gallant tar and we got him into the church refuge just round the corner. When we got him there he fell flat once more and this time, just to show how comfortable he was, he started to snore. It didn’t seem to worry the refugers.’
    ‘I expect they’re used to that sort of thing. What did they do with him?’
    ‘They said they’d put him to bed. He’d be all right in the morning. I wasn’t too sure about that, so I went round next morning and had a word with the boy. He was called Bill Trotter and he was off the brig Alice. The usual story. Came on shore with a friend from another ship. Both of them with their pay in their pockets. Friend went off with a girl, leaving young Bill on his tod. Easy meat for the squareheads. Seeing he was still a bit shaky I went back with him to his ship.’
    ‘The Alice you said.’
    ‘Right. One of the “A” line – Alice, Annabel, Audrey and Amelie. They call them brigs, but really they’re brig-rigged schooners. They do most of the east coast work, up to Scotland. The “B” line – Betsy, Belinda, Beatrice, that lot – they’re more enterprising. Sometimes compete with the “A”s, but mostly they push out across the sea, heading for Copenhagen and Gothenburg. Now—’ Joe wagged a schoolmasterly finger at the invalid,