Banker's Draft

by Clive Mullis

  ‘Yes, he did, but if you remember, I declined. This morning, you say? Well, well, well. I’ve been so busy with this expenses lark that I haven’t had time for anything else.’

  Cornwallis nodded. ‘Just as well you didn’t invest then, as it turns out. Abraham Dumchuck is involved somewhere too. Look father, I went to see the Bagman the other day, and I suppose I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he tried to get hold of Dumchuck’s tax return, which was mistakenly put in. The two names, Kintersbury and Dumchuck, are interwoven into this whole thing.

  ‘The Bagman? Oh Gods, then it must be bad.’ He shook his head as though to clear out his ears. ‘I believe a lot of members have invested in the Gornstock Trust and Holdings, if that has gone bankrupt…!’

  ‘Look, keep your ears open for me, will you, but don’t mention Kintersbury and Dumchuck. Incidentally, you spoke to Radstock for me as you said you had a little leverage with him, I’d be interested to know now what that is. Only he’s the Bagman’s poodle, and he’s feeding him information.’

  ‘I… I don’t know if I can do that, it’s rather personal, you know.’

  ‘Look, father,’ Cornwallis’ temper began to rise. ‘So far I’ve had three, possibly four, attempts on my life; thankfully each one has failed, but there could be another. I need to know all I can about everyone involved, and Radstock is involved somewhere.’

  The earl wrestled with his conscience for a time, but at the end of the day Radstock was only an Assembly member, and if his son’s life was truly at stake? ‘Only if you promise to keep it to yourself.’

  Cornwallis nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Well, Radstock,’ began the earl, ‘has a little problem with the ladies. He can only get off, if you pardon the expression, when he is being humiliated. He goes to a dominatrix not far from here, for… er, relief. He is particularly sensitive about it, which I find strange, as half of the Assembly are into something along those lines, but he tries to keep it quiet.’

  Cornwallis’ face took on a grin, his temper deflating rapidly. ‘Oh, that is interesting. And how do you know about it?’

  The earl grinned too. ‘Not what you might think. He drunk a little too much one night after a busy day in the house, he and I were up in the bar when a cleaner began working; he got quite excited. I suppose he thought I hadn’t noticed to start with, but it became a little too obvious, to his shame, so over a few drinks it all came out — not that, thankfully,’ he added, as his son’s grin widened.

  ‘Takes all sorts, I suppose,’ replied Cornwallis, ‘I expect that the Bagman knows all about this. Do you know the address of the lady he sees?’

  ‘Oh, now you’re asking. Let’s have a think for a moment.’ He drummed his fingers on the desk while he wracked his brain. Radstock had told him, now where did he say…? ‘Got it,’ triumphed Cornwallis senior. ‘Havelock Crescent, very upmarket; which is why I remembered.’

  ‘Expensive area,’ agreed Cornwallis. ‘Thanks for that.’

  ‘Just keep it to yourself, if you would. What are you going to do now?’

  ‘I’m going down to see the Bagman, see what more he’ll tell me. Oh, by the way, I believe Roland Goup is in his clutches, if everything went according to plan. I’ll find out while I’m down there.’ Cornwallis got up and headed for the door. ‘I’ll catch up with you later if I can, do you know the quick way to the Bagman?’

  The earl shook his head and then looked at his son earnestly. ‘No. Nobody wants to know that little bit of information, in case he gets to hear that you’ve been speaking about him. There are a lot in here who don’t believe he even exists. Jocelyn, take care.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will,’ replied Cornwallis, turning at the door.

  ‘And Jocelyn,’ called his father as he pulled the handle. ‘Don’t forget about Rose!’

  CHAPTER 13

  The problem in trying to find a secret department in a building as big as the House of Assembly is where to start. Cornwallis knew that if he went outside and around to the back he could probably get in through the underground coach-park, however, Mr Magpie would probably still be following him, and at the moment he felt like he wanted to catch the Bagman unawares. He suspected that Mr Magpie waited outside, ready for him to come out, so he would only do that if he found no other way. Perkins was the obvious choice; he’d been in the House so long he must know everything about the place.

  The elevator pinged to announce that it had reached the floor and the door opened slowly. Cornwallis stood in front and waited while the flunkey inside helped an old member out. The flunkey looked at Cornwallis and beckoned him in, but Cornwallis shook his head and wondered how the man could bear to stay all day in that infernal contraption. The stairs would be a bloody sight safer.

  Perkins polished the big wooden desk with an oily rag, moving it in neat little circles and bringing about a shine that would shame a diamond. He paused for a moment and then vigorously increased his effort until the offending blemish departed.

  ‘Ah, Perkins,’ said Cornwallis coming to stand at the desk. He leant forward and rested his elbows just on the spot which had received the extra oomph. ‘I need to ask you a question.’ He noticed that it wasn’t exactly a rag he polished with, but a gerbil.

  Perkins stopped polishing and looked up. The gerbil squeaked, shook itself, and then scampered to the edge of the desk and jumped down. Perkins looked down at Cornwallis’ elbows and then looked up again. ‘Of course, sir, how can I help?’ he replied, without a hint of rancour.

  Cornwallis smiled back. He felt a little guilty about leaving a mark on the desk, but the Assembly worked like this and he had to act in the appropriate manner. A porter was a servant and the members the masters, when he’d gone, he would just polish the desk again, but if anyone else did the same, then Perkins would read them the riot act. ‘I think it might be an idea to speak a little quietly, if we may, I need to see the Bagman.’

  Perkins hardly even blinked. ‘The Bagman, sir? I’m not sure I know whom you mean. There’s not a member here of that name, that I can recall.’

  ‘I think you do know who I mean,’ he replied, leaning in closer. ‘In fact, I have already seen him, but now I need to see him again, and I don’t really want to have to go outside, if at all possible.’

  Perkins opened his mouth to deny the existence of the Bagman again, but then thought better of it as he looked into Cornwallis’ eyes. He coughed politely and then flashed a wry grin. ‘The Bagman you say, sir?’

  Cornwallis nodded.

  ‘Perhaps I may have heard of a gentleman who holds that title,’ conceded Perkins, after a pause. ‘Now, let me think.’ He tapped his lips with his finger as he regarded Cornwallis thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps it might be better for me to send a note to someone who could be of assistance to you,’ he said in the end.

  Cornwallis looked back at Perkins and felt the jarring in his ear; Perkins had not uttered the word “sir” once in that last sentence. ‘I think the best idea would be for you to show me the way, while your assistant takes over for a while. After all, as you said earlier, your family and mine have always looked after each other.’

  ‘Er…Well, that’s right, sir.’

  The “sir’s” back now is it, thought Cornwallis. Then it dawned on him. ‘Perkins, I would like to ask you a question, if I may?’

  ‘Go ahead, sir.’

  ‘Thank you. Now, how do you think the members here would take it should someone start spreading the rumour that the head porter is in fact working for a Mr Hawk, otherwise known as the Bagman, eh? That nondescript entity that hides away and is always digging around and looking for information to use in, perhaps, not a nice way. That secret department which deals with all the nasty, grubby, damning and grotesque activities that could be used to exert a little pressure here and there. Would you say that it wouldn’t exactly help your career prospects?’

  Perkins stared at Cornwallis for a few seconds as if weighing up his answer. The threat implied was
all too clear. ‘I would say, sir,’ he said in the end, ‘that a situation like you describe would not exactly be desirous. Although I refute the implication that I am in the employ of the man you describe, I think that it might be wise for me to follow your suggestion and take you to see the man that I believe you would like to see.’

  Cornwallis grinned. ‘A good decision, Perkins, I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’

  It was obvious really. Perkins was in a position to hear all the tittle-tattle, all the gossip, see who met who and for what reason and where. Totally anonymous, as all servants are, to the ruling classes who could speak in his presence of things that they would never dream of saying to someone who actually mattered. Perkins must hear all the snippets of information, just the sort of thing that the Bagman would want to hear. Cornwallis watched as the Porter instructed his assistant and then spoke to the guards behind, clearly Perkins wasn’t exactly comfortable in letting his assistant loose on the desk without a martial presence — who knew what mischief the youngster could cause in his absence?

  Cornwallis followed as Perkins led the way into the lobby and over to the elevator, they then waited for a few moments until the elevator pinged its arrival. The door opened and the flunkey, who Cornwallis saw earlier, gave a deferential nod of the head; Cornwallis suspected that the nod wasn’t for him, but for Perkins.

  ‘Where to, Mr Perkins?’ the flunkey asked jauntily.

  ‘Below please, Kelvin, the basement if you please.’

  ‘Right you are, sir,’ he replied, as he closed the door. ‘Hang on to the rails please.’

  Cornwallis had never been in the contraption before, and as the door closed, he wished he had kept up with that tradition. Kelvin pressed a button and he heard a grinding noise as the machinery came to life. As the bears began to pedal, the elevator lurched up a few feet as the ropes twanged, and then they began to descend. Cornwallis gripped the rail even harder, and his face paled as he waited for the inevitable plunge to his death. The sound of a flute began to fill the compartment as it slowly rode down; Cornwallis looked around in confusion until Kelvin pointed to the roof and smiled.

  ‘We decided to try to entertain our customers,’ he explained. ‘Makes the trip go all the quicker and takes the mind off the claustrophobia. We’ve tried a few different instruments,’ and he shook his head as he went through the list. ‘The bagpipes were okay for a time, but the squeal as they started up began to fray some o’ the members nerves. We tried a string quartet once too, but then the viola player fell off and unfortunately, the union said we couldn’t use any more than one musician after that. I said we’d make do with a trio, but they wouldn’t have it; a bloody viola player, what use is one o’them anyway?’

  Cornwallis nodded as Kelvin droned on; he really wasn’t interested and just wanted the whole bloody thing to come to a stop, properly of course, and not a bone crunching, wood splintering crash that heralded an elevator incident.

  ‘Here we are, Mr Perkins, basement level.’ The elevator pinged its arrival and the flute abruptly cut off as if someone had grabbed the thing in frustration and had bent it over their knee. ‘Thank you for riding with us today and we hope to see you again for your return trip,’ intoned Kelvin, keeping to the script as he opened the door to allow them out.

  Perkins went to walk forward but then turned around and stepped back in; he prised Cornwallis’ fingers off the rails then helped him out. ‘Takes some getting used to, these things, but once you’ve done it once, it’s a lot easier the next time.’

  ‘There’s not going to be a next time,’ growled Cornwallis. ‘I assure you, Perkins, it’s the stairs for me, and I don’t bloody care how bloody far it is.’

  ‘And I thought you young men were all for new technology.’

  ‘Not this young man, Perkins,’ replied Cornwallis, leaning against the wall. ‘That thing is a step too far as far as I’m concerned.’

  Perkins hid the smile and then coughed as he grabbed hold of a lantern and lit it from the one next to the elevator. ‘If you would like to follow me, sir. I will guide you through. Very few members have ever been down here, so you might find it’s not up to the standard you’re used to, a bit dusty and dirty you see.’

  ‘Dust and dirt are fine by me, Perkins. Lead on.’

  The basement level is what Perkins had called it, but it seemed more like the bowels of the House. Deep beneath the Assembly, there were a series of tunnels all disappearing off into the dark dank reaches to only the Gods’ know where. It occurred to Cornwallis that if this were the bowels, then perhaps the Bagman presently sat in the arse-hole. He grinned to himself; and the thought cheered him up no end.

  ‘Where do all these tunnels go?’ asked Cornwallis. ‘And what are all these pipes?’

  ‘The tunnels have been here for years and years. They were here before the Assembly in the days of the Morris Council,’ explained Perkins. ‘Some of them go on for miles. The Morris was a different thing in those days, they ruled by fear and violence and they would move around the city unseen and without going above ground. Most entrances have now been blocked up, sir, but you’d be surprised where some of them came up. Don’t you read your history, sir?’

  Cornwallis shook his head. ‘What about these pipes?’

  Perkins sniffed. ‘Sir, these are the sewer pipes. There must be over a thousand people in the Assembly and, if you pardon my expression, sir, all that shit has to go somewhere. Beneath us are the main sewers which take the waste out to the river; if someone upsets the maintenance manager then he gives them a shovel and sends them down. Doesn’t do to upset the maintenance manager, sir.’

  Cornwallis grimaced. ‘No, I’ll bear that in mind.’

  They carried on passing storeroom after storeroom, with Cornwallis looking in when he noticed an open door. He saw that some were stacked with books and parchments, others with sacks of grain, and there were barrels and barrels of wine and beer. There were all sorts of things, everything, he supposed, to keep a well-oiled machine like the Assembly going, and all down here. It really opened the mind; he had never giving this sort of thing a moments consideration before, but now it quite impressed him. Perkins got a bit of speed on and he hurried to catch up. Lanterns down here were few and far between and Perkins had stopped giving a commentary and just ploughed on silently, expecting him to keep up as he darted into different entrances. Cornwallis generally had a good sense of direction, but now he was totally lost. A few furtive looking men passed by occasionally, doffing an imaginary cap at Perkins and scurrying about between the various rooms that were down there. Eventually they came to a thick oak door bound in iron and looking as formidable as a castle, with an eye-slit that could be dragged open from the other side. Perkins stopped and turned.

  ‘Here we are, sir. I think this is the place you’re after.’ He tugged at the lever that jutted out from the wall and waited.

  Perkins stood patiently waiting with his arms crossed. The minutes passed by slowly with the only communication between the two being a few brief half-smiles. Cornwallis began to think that maybe they should pull the lever again, or even better, start hammering at the door, because at least then he would be doing something to get some sort of attention from whomever happened to be on the other side. Suddenly, he heard a click and a thunk, and a pair of eyes stared back at them through the slit in the door, the eyes regarded them for a second or so and then the slit shut. A moment later a blaze of light came from mirror backed lanterns that were hidden in the walls; the whole tunnel lit up in a sunburst, and then the slit thunked open again. The eyes regarded them for a second time.

  ‘What you want?’ the eyes asked curtly.

  ‘This is Mr Jocelyn Cornwallis and he wishes to see a Mr Hawk,’ replied Perkins evenly.

  ‘Appointment?’

  ‘Er, not that I am aware of.’

  The slit slammed shut again and then the lights went out.

  ‘What happens now?’ asked Cornwallis, already wishing he had gone aro
und via the coach park.

  ‘We wait, sir,’ replied Perkins. ‘It could be a while though.’

  But strangely, it wasn’t a while, as after only a few minutes the lights came on again, the slit opened, the eyes looked, and then there came a creak and a clicking noise as keys rattled in the door. Silently the door swung inwards and the eyes beckoned Cornwallis in.

  Cornwallis turned to thank Perkins but the door had already closed, the words petering out in his throat as the door clunked shut, the clinking of the keys following immediately.

  The owner of the eyes turned and looked at him, with the distinct impression of not being impressed. The man had a shaven head, solidly built with muscles along his arms where there shouldn’t be muscles; like a brick outhouse with the sinews being the pipes.

  ‘Just need to see Mr Hawk for a short time,’ said Cornwallis, his confidence ebbing a little under the intense scrutiny of the eyes. ‘Will you show me the way?’

  ‘I’m afraid he can’t, Mr Cornwallis,’ said Mr Sparrow, walking into the room and nodding at the eyes. ‘What would we do if we had another visitor, eh? However, I can.’

  Cornwallis let out a groan of disappointment, he so wanted to catch the Bagman unprepared, but now there was no chance of that; might as well have gone the long way around after all.

  Sparrow smiled. ‘Now, now, Mr Cornwallis, aren’t you pleased to see me?’ He turned his attention back to the eyes. ‘Checked?’ he asked.

  A shake of the head followed and then the eyes took a pace forward and grabbed Cornwallis roughly and spun him around so that he faced the wall. A shove in the back pushed him forwards and his legs pulled back so that they splayed out. He then had the most disconcerting experience he had ever had as the eyes frisked him from top to toe in the quickest and most thorough way possible; he half expected the rubber gloves to come out.

  ‘Oi, mind the jewellery department,’ Cornwallis exclaimed indignantly, as he felt his groin being examined.

  Sparrow laughed. ‘Very witty, Mr Cornwallis, but you can never be too careful.’