by Mick Finlay
‘Mabaso wasn’t there. It was Zixuko.’
‘Where’s the money and gold?’
Again, she talked to Senzo.
‘Go money,’ said Senzo at last, looking at the guvnor. He brushed one hand against the other. He shook his head. ‘Go.’
‘What happened to it?’
‘The Ninevites are an army,’ said Thembeka as Senzo went back to making the tea. ‘My cousins are only soldiers. They brought the gold to the caves and handed it over to the commanders.’
‘Why does Mabaso say it was your cousins who killed the boy and the guard?’
She snorted, waving away the tea Senzo offered her and taking up Gisele’s flask of gin. ‘The police want someone to hang. Mabaso’s just their dog.’
‘Why did you come here with them, Miss Thembeka?’ asked the guvnor, accepting a mug from Senzo.
She took a swallow of gin and grimaced. ‘To keep an eye on S’bu. He’s my nephew, William. He wants adventure, but he’s not ready for it.’
‘Why did S’bu come with you here?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I want to hear it, if you don’t mind.’
She took another swallow of gin. ‘He was houseboy for an Afrikaaner. That’s why he speaks Afrikaans, not English. At thirteen the family sent him away. The white families only want younger boys, you see. When they get too big they find another one. He went to Krugersdorp to find work. The master of one of the houses he called on was an agent for the mines. He offered him a job but S’bu said no. He didn’t want to work underground. So many of our men never return from the mines, and he didn’t want to be one. The agent had him arrested. Ten lashes and five months in prison for that.’
‘Ten lashes? For refusing a job?’
‘Why don’t you know what’s happening in your empire?’ she cried, throwing her hands in the air.
The guvnor bit his lip, shaking his heavy head.
‘I told you before,’ she said, trying to be patient with us again. ‘An African is not permitted to refuse work from a white man if he has no job. It’s the Native Laws. He was put in a man’s gaol. He was thirteen.’
‘Disgraceful,’ muttered the guvnor.
Senzo dumped some sugar in my tea and passed it to me. I kept close to the window, listening as I watched the path. Thembeka pulled her shawl closer to her neck. ‘Ninevites control the prisons. They made S’bu join them. We brought him with us to get him away from them. It’s no good for young boys in the army of the hills.’
The guvnor took a gurgle of his tea and looked at her for a while. ‘Thank you for explaining that, Miss Thembeka,’ he said at last. ‘But Constable Mabaso’s appearance makes things difficult for us. We have two different stories. Why should we believe you about the raid rather than him?’
‘It’s the truth,’ she said. She looked at me, then back at him. ‘Please don’t tell Mabaso where we are. Please. They’ll hang Senzo on the word of a policeman. That’s justice in Natal.’
‘But if the real murderer’s dead, and the gold’s with the Ninevites, why was Mabaso sent here? Surely it isn’t worth it?’
‘They like to hang anyone on a raid. They want to frighten the blacks and finish the Ninevites. And a white boy died, didn’t he? They want blood.’
A sharp noise outside made us all freeze. I couldn’t make out anything in the alley, so I shook my head. ‘Must be a cat or something.’
‘They’re taking a long time,’ said the guvnor at last. ‘I hope they haven’t gone to that boarding house you were in before you escaped. Are you sure you don’t know where it was?’
She talked to Senzo, then shook her head. ‘It was run by Mrs Farini. We don’t know where it was. All we remember are pubs and buses and churches. All these streets look the same.’
Senzo drank his tea, while I rolled a fag for him and another for myself. The guvnor gave Thembeka a bit of baccy for her pipe and we all lit up and had a little smoke, thinking it over. It was then I saw the four-wheeler pull up at the entrance to the path.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Senzo and Thembeka hurried up the stairs to the loft as the footsteps approached outside. A key went in the door.
‘It ain’t locked,’ came a bloke’s voice as it opened. ‘Not very clever, Nick, is it?’
‘Leave him alone, Dave,’ said Sylvia.
At first, Dave didn’t see us. Nick’s arm was draped over his shoulder. Nick himself was slumped and pale, his face wet, his eyes half-shut.
‘Who are you?’ asked Dave, stopping sharply.
‘Mr Arrowood,’ said the guvnor. ‘This is Mr Barnett. We’re friends of the ladies.’
‘It’s fine, Dave,’ said Leonie, appearing behind him in the doorway. ‘We know them.’
As Dave stood there trying to decide what to do, Gisele and Sylvia took Nick and led him past us into the kitchen.
‘How is he, Sylvia?’ asked the guvnor.
‘He ain’t being sick so often,’ she said, straightening her wig under her bonnet. ‘Poor darling.’
‘How did you get in?’ asked Dave. He was about my size, but uglier. He wore a pair of thick leather gloves.
‘Housebreaking,’ said the guvnor. ‘Mr Capaldi asked us to help him find the Africans. We wanted to ask the ladies if they’d seen them. There was nobody here, so…’
Dave wiped the moisture off his moustache with the back of his glove. ‘You seen the Africans, Leonie?’
‘No,’ she answered.
He stood back to let us out. ‘Goodnight then, gents. It’s late. The artists need their sleep.’
Behind us in the kitchen, Sylvia set the mattress under the window and helped Nick lay down.
‘Of course,’ said Arrowood, giving a little bow. I joined him, tipping my hat. Dave was thinking hard, probably wondering if there was something else he should ask us.
‘Just one more thing, sir,’ said the guvnor. ‘We need to speak to S’bu, the youngster. It’s rather urgent. Can you tell us where we can find him?’
He stiffened. ‘I thought you said you’re working for Mr Capaldi?’
The guvnor smiled. ‘Yes, he asked Mr Barnett here to help him.’
‘He did, mate,’ I said. ‘Ermano and Ralf were there. You can ask them.’
‘Well, I don’t know where he is. Now, it’s time you went home, gents.’
I drew out my pistol. Arrowood did the same.
‘Where are S’bu and Mrs Fowler?’ he asked.
‘You ain’t with Mr Capaldi,’ said Dave, his eyes on my gun.
‘We decided not to help him after all, Dave,’ said the guvnor in his most cheerful voice. ‘We’re from the Aborigines’ Protection Society. Where’s the boy?’
Dave looked me up and down, then his eyes fell on the guvnor standing behind. ‘He ain’t got the Zulus. He’s had me out looking for them, you mug.’
Behind us we heard Nick retch.
‘You were guarding them before,’ I said. ‘Where?’
‘We use a boarding house in Vauxhall, but they run off. That’s what started all this.’
‘Where in Vauxhall?’
‘Opposite the gas works on Wandsworth Road. Cross in the window. You can’t miss it.’
‘You found them at the Quaker Meeting House,’ I said. ‘You captured S’bu back.’
He shook his head and sighed. ‘Not me, mate.’
‘Your boss did.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then who?’
‘Mrs Delacourte’s men.’
I stepped forward and shoved my pistol in his belly.
‘Where are they?’ I asked again, my eyes level with his. Close up, I could see he was ragged from tiredness.
He held my gaze, the faintest smile on his face. He scratched the scar that wormed from his forehead to his cheek. He was a cool one, all right. ‘Don’t know, mate, but the other two are upstairs. As you already know.’
The guvnor flitched. ‘How did you—’
‘Nick told us, didn’t he? Day a
fter Mr Capaldi came here.’
‘Then why doesn’t Mr Capaldi capture them?’
‘Why would he? They got nowhere else to go.’
‘But they’re witnesses.’
‘Nick told us what they saw. A couple of blokes with guns. We got the descriptions. They’re Mrs Delacourte’s men.’
The guvnor frowned. He scratched his whiskers. ‘Let’s sit,’ he said, pointing at the kitchen with his gun. I got behind Dave, the pistol in his back, and guided him through. Leonie stood by the pantry watching us. Sylvia knelt on the floor next to Nick’s mattress. We made Dave sit on one of the benches, while I stood behind him, the guvnor easing himself down on the other side of the table. Instead of speaking, he stared at the lamp for a few moments, pondering.
‘The police went to search Madame Delacourte’s premises yesterday,’ he said at last. ‘Has your master told the police that he’s identified the murderers as her men?’
Dave shook his head.
‘Why not?’
‘He don’t trust the coppers to do it right. Reckons they’ll do the Zulus for the murders whether it was them or not.’
The guvnor pushed himself up and started to pace the sticky wooden floor. ‘Where else does Capaldi keep people?’
‘Sometimes they stay in the boarding house, but he prefers this place ’cos they use the hall out there to rehearse.’
I heard a noise in the corridor and spun around, pulling my pistol from Dave’s back. It was only a cat, but in a flash Dave had my forearm in his grip. He gave it a sudden, wrenching twist.
A bolt of pain went through me, and before I knew it he held my gun in his palm.
‘Stupid,’ he whispered, jabbing it hard in my gut. ‘Very stupid.’
He stood, facing me.
‘Let them go, Dave,’ said Leonie. ‘They were just leaving.’
‘I don’t like being threatened, sweetheart.’
‘Come on, Dave,’ I said, just as cool as him. ‘What are you going to do with the gun? You shoot me and my guvnor shoots you.’
‘Least you don’t get to do for me, Jumbo,’ he growled.
‘We were never going to shoot you, and you know it.’
For a few moments we stood in silence, the guvnor standing with his gun trained on Dave, Dave with my gun stuck in my belly.
‘So what now?’ I asked at last.
‘Mr Capaldi gets to decide that.’
‘I don’t think so, my friend,’ said Arrowood. ‘You can’t leave the ladies alone because for some reason I don’t understand, your employer appears to insist on their being under guard. And you can’t send him a message because there’s nobody to take it.’
‘We’ll wait until tomorrow when Ralf comes.’
‘You’d have to stay awake all night.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, why don’t we sit down at least?’
Dave nodded. The guvnor lowered himself onto the bench on the other side of the table. I sat opposite, Dave to my side, his gun now planted in my kidneys.
The guvnor looked over at Leonie. ‘Why don’t you all go up to bed? Nobody’s going to get hurt tonight.’
‘Do you know how stupid this is?’ she asked.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the guvnor. ‘But there seems no other way.’
Leonie shook her head. She looked from the guvnor to Dave.
‘Go on,’ said Dave. ‘But leave Nick here.’
The three women shuffled out and slowly climbed the stairs, leaving the four of us alone in the kitchen.
‘You look tired, Dave,’ said the guvnor.
‘I ain’t tired.’
‘Dark and puffy under the eyes, pale skin, drooping mouth. You look like you haven’t slept properly for a while, my friend.’
Dave clicked his tongue.
‘Your limbs are heavy,’ said the guvnor in the voice he used to soothe the babies.
‘What?’
Arrowood glanced under the table. ‘Those legs look like lead.’
Dave glanced down, puzzled. ‘Eh?’
‘You’re so tired, Dave. So tired.’
‘I told you…’
‘Your eyes want to close.’
‘Shut your mouth, will you?’
‘Mr Barnett and I will wake each other up if we fall asleep, but who’ll keep you awake, my friend? How will you stay awake all night? You’re so tired already. You didn’t plan on this job, did you? Your arms are like dead weights. You want to shut your eyes, just for a moment. Go on. It’s fine. We’ll still be here.’
‘Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.’
‘You do look tired, mate,’ I said.
He was blinking. He rubbed his eyes with his other hand.
‘Were you working last night?’ asked the guvnor.
Dave made no reply.
‘Drinking?’
The hard man shifted on the bench, pushing the pistol tighter to my side.
‘It’s uncomfortable, being so tired,’ continued the guvnor, his voice low and soft. ‘The body yearns for sleep. The mind turns in on itself. The heart becomes irregular.’
Dave’s eyelids lowered. He swallowed.
‘You look whacked, mate,’ I said.
‘You can hardly keep your eyes open,’ said the guvnor.
Dave shook his head and stood, pulling the gun away from my side. ‘Go on, then, hook it. Both of you.’
I reached for my gun, but he jerked his hand away. ‘Don’t take the piss, mate. Now, get out.’
The guvnor paused. ‘Is Mrs Fowler safe?’ he asked.
‘Christ. How many times d’you want me to tell you? That ain’t us. Go and ask Mrs Delacourte.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
I went to collect the guvnor early next morning. Outside was grey and cold, carters and crossing sweepers hunched into their coats, scarves and shawls covering all but their eyes. Inside the shop, Mrs Pudding was mixing up the gubbins in the gubbins pot, the heat from the ovens just beginning to warm the place. The family hadn’t cleaned up from the night before, and the little tables were strewn with crumbs and mouse pellets and dried smears of gravy. They used to be so clean, but things had changed in that family. They were dirty beggars these days.
‘Morning, Norm,’ she squawked, not even looking up as I wrestled to shut the sticky door. ‘Not there!’ she suddenly cried, throwing her stirrer at Little Albert. It struck his forehead, making him drop the metal tray that he was trying to balance on a stool.
‘I told you not to do that, Ma!’ he shouted, swinging his arm across the counter and knocking a stack of filthy bowls to the floor.
‘Don’t lose your rag with me, my boy!’ yelled Mrs Pudding.
‘Shut your hole!’ roared Little Albert.
He was always her favourite son on account of him being a little slow-witted, but they’d been arguing a lot over the last few weeks, arguing in a way they never used to do. I didn’t know what was up between them. Not wanting to hear any more, I hurried through to the back corridor.
There was no answer at the guvnor’s door, so I let myself in. The window was wide open, the coals glowing in the grate. The guvnor’s mattress stood against the wall, a stack of papers by the door. Both babies were in their crates on the table, and Flossie was underneath with the cat.
‘Hello, darling,’ I said, squatting down to see her proper. She looked a sight better in a dress and jumper than when we’d first met her: then she wore a sack with three holes cut in it.
Instead of answering, she held up a new dolly.
‘That’s nice. What’s her name?’
‘Annie,’ said Flossie. ‘Mrs Isabel gave it me. Her baby’s real sick like Davey was.’
‘You miss Davey, don’t you?’
Her eyes fell. ‘Yeah,’ she whispered.
‘You want a biscuit?’
She nodded. I straightened up and looked at the two babies. Leopold was asleep, all but his wide face buried under a stack of blankets. Mercy’s pink eyes were open
, gazing up at the ceiling.
‘Hello, beautiful,’ I whispered, stroking her clenched hand with my finger. She didn’t make any movement, no twitch of her cheek, no ghost of a smile. Her skin was drawn across the bones of her face, her little lips like dried petals.
‘Morning, Norman,’ said Isabel, coming down the stairs. Her shawl was loose over her shoulders, her hair undone.
‘They’re no better?’ I asked.
‘Leo’s been asleep since yesterday afternoon. Mercy, well…’ She came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing her raw nose. There was no life in her eyes. ‘She just stares.’
‘Any more news from the doc?’
‘He told us to give them beef tea, but I told him they won’t take it.’ She stepped into the small pantry. I listened to her clink around in there for a few moments, not knowing what to say. The orange cat came out from under the table and rubbed its side along my leg, its back arched, a ferocious purr coming out of somewhere inside it. Isabel returned with a small cup. ‘Maybe you can try.’
I pulled the chair up next to the table and brought a teaspoon of tea to Mercy’s parched lips. She didn’t respond, so I let a small amount fall into her mouth. It spilled out the corners of her lips and down her cheeks. I tried again with a full spoon. Again, it spilled out, but now she began choking. I was sure she was going to cry, but she just coughed and coughed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, until all the tea had risen and rolled down her face. I turned my head, not wanting to see that cracked brown tongue jerk out of her sweet button mouth again.
‘I don’t think she can swallow,’ said Isabel.
‘It is typhus, then?’
She nodded, holding my eye. She wrapped her hand in the shawl and laid it on the side of her face.
‘And the doc didn’t have any medicine?’
‘He said there’s nothing that works. The apothecary suggested Jesuit’s bark. Have you heard of it?’
I shook my head.
‘It’s from Peru, but it’s very dear. He’d heard of someone having good results with it, but he couldn’t swear by it.’
‘Are you going to try it?’
‘If we can find the money. It’s forty shillings, he thinks. William has nothing at the moment, but he can ask Lewis, can’t he?’
‘Maybe,’ I said, shifting on the hard chair: one side of me was hot from the fire, the other frozen from the open window. ‘I hope so. You’re looking thin, Isabel.’
