Scooters Yard

by Clive Mullis

  MacGillicudy and Cornwallis began to explore the alley, a dark narrow alley with three-story tenements lining the length. Compared to the slums in the Brews, these were positively upmarket. They took their time as they walked slowly up, looking in all the doorways and recesses as they went. They were pretty certain the driver had come this way but they didn’t know what they were looking for. It could even be possible that the driver was hiding out along there somewhere, waiting for the fuss to die down before scurrying back to wherever he came from.

  They just found the normal rubbish that littered these little alleys, old bags and wrappers for takeaways and the odd empty bottle. The alley seemed to run parallel with the main street for most of the way, but then it doglegged left. Cornwallis peered into the doorway of a shop which used to sell second-hand goods, and right at the back of the doorway, deep in the shadows, he spied a little bundle. Looking closer, he could see a pile of clothes, folded neatly with a hat sitting on top.

  ‘I think we’ve struck lucky, Jethro,’ he called. ‘Come and look at this.’

  MacGillicudy joined Cornwallis and they both stared at the bundle. ‘Could well be the stuff he wore. Strange that it’s piled like that though, must be a very neat assassin.’

  They pulled the clothes out and took a look at the overcoat, scarf, and the big wide-brimmed hat. MacGillicudy nodded to himself as he studied the garments.

  ‘They’re the ones. I’d bet my promotion on that. I think we’d better treat it as evidence and get it pictured; but not here, we’ll get it done later.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Cornwallis’ mind sprang to life. ‘If you were planning on blowing up a watch-house, and were thwarted in the attempt, and were trying to run away; would you stop and take your time and fold the clothes you’re discarding? I’m only asking because I’d just rip the clothes off and throw them anyhow into the corner; wouldn’t you?’

  MacGillicudy turned his head to Cornwallis. ‘Yes, I would too. So…?’

  ‘How many men in this city fold clothes like that?’ replied Cornwallis, a hint of a smile on his lips. ‘Do you? Now, be honest, Jethro, because I don’t, and nor does Frankie. That is proper folding. Look at how he’s folded the coat; it’s a perfect square, each side equal. The scarf’s the same, placed in the exact centre of the coat with the hat on top. That is not normal behaviour.’

  ‘So what are you thinking?’

  Cornwallis grinned. ‘I’m thinking that we have a clue.’

  CHAPTER 6

  Rose took her time in studying her recruits. They were up in the dormitory, and as the girls sorted out their stuff and checked the beds for comfort, she stood at the door, watching their reactions and seeing how well they mixed together.

  ‘I’ll give you fifteen minutes,’ she said eventually, pleased with how things were going. ‘Then we’ll meet downstairs to have a brew and go through what will be expected of you.’ She gave herself a mental slap; I just said brew, she thought, and I’ve only just put on the uniform. She shook her head and then left them to it, giving them a short time to get organised and have a few minutes to themselves. As she left, the room began to crackle with excited chatter as they all started to get to know one another.

  Rose smiled as she pushed open the door to the office, to hear Diffin in the midst of giving last minute instructions to Briggs and Spooner.

  ‘You will have six each to start with, and you will keep to the instruction list. You will treat them as if they were male and on no account are you to go easy on them. Ignore any girlie tricks, and if you try it on, I can assure you that your good ladies will find out. So, no invitations to have a look at your truncheon. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ said Briggs and Spooner together.

  ‘Good. Go and get the kettle going.’ He looked up to see Rose standing there. ‘Oh, Miss Morant, are they ready for us now?’

  ‘Soon, Toby,’ replied Rose. ‘They’re just sorting their beds out and will be down shortly.’ Diffin could be strange, she thought. Sometimes it’s Rose, other times it’s Miss Morant. She just wished he’d make his mind up.

  ‘Good. Right you are. Good.’ Diffin began to fiddle with some papers on the desk.

  Rose watched as Briggs and Spooner left the office, and then came over and put a hand on Diffin’s arm. ‘Toby, they’re just people, you know: not some different species, just exactly the same as you or I — they’re just girls.’

  Diffin pursed his lips. ‘I know, I know.’

  Rose didn’t think he actually did. She might have to have a word with the commander if Diffin carried on like this. Up until now, he had behaved reasonably; but with the girls upstairs, and instruction about to begin, he seemed to be getting particularly jittery.

  The girls sat in the canteen, each nursing a freshly brewed cuppa, and each with a biscuit to dunk.

  Rose sat on the edge of a table and slurped hers as she spoke. This should have been Diffin giving the welcome speech, but at the last moment, he cried off, begging her to do it for him. ‘First of all, ladies, welcome to the Police Force. You’re going to be just the start, the pioneers — a new breed of feeler. In a month’s time, you will have finished your training and will then be able to take your rightful place on the streets of Gornstock. You will be walking your beat with all the might of the police force behind you, and all the powers of a constable will be in your hands. To get you there, I will introduce Sergeant Diffin and Constables Briggs and Spooner. Ask them anything you like, as all three have a vast experience of police work.’ Already bored with the sound of her own voice she decided to change things. ‘Now, ladies, I want each of you to introduce yourself,’ and she pointed to the girl on her far left to start. ‘Mindy, I believe?’

  Mindy nodded and nervously began to give a brief introduction. ‘My name is Mindy Witchity. I’m twenty two years old and I used to work in a tannery, dunking the skins in wee and scraping off the fur. Half a dollar a day, and I spent most of it on soap to get rid of the whiff.’

  Verity came next, a ladies maid to the wife of an Assembly member, followed by Jules, an artists’ model. Hettie used to be a street cleaner and Regina a sausage stuffer. Gladys did the washing up in a cafe and Bragwin worked as a milk-maid. Hope said she greased balls in a factory while Tiffany said she was really Lady Tiffany, but everyone called her Tiff, and that she didn’t do anything at all, apart, that is, from telling other people what to do. Olive shovelled horse shit while Felicity once adorned page three of some of the more downmarket tabloids as a regular woodcut print. Winnie had done a stint as a barmaid at the Roosters Revenge. Twelve girls, all between the ages of twenty one and thirty two, all single, and all eager to get started.

  Rose studied them more keenly as they spoke and decided that they had chosen well. The criteria were bags of common sense, reasonably fit, active and a decent dollop of cynicism. They all gave a good account of themselves and she believed they would all be a credit to the force. In her mind, they couldn’t be anything else, as she had noticed the change in the attitude of the men whenever she went to Scooters Yard. A moderating feminine effect on the whole masculine world would undoubtedly improve things — even the toilets might begin to smell better. There might be a few problems when they landed on a watch-house, but she was confident that the girls would be able to handle themselves should things get out of hand.

  ‘I will now leave you with Constables Briggs and Spooner,’ she said, winding it all up. ‘It will now be their task to teach you all you need to know. The night chaperones will be here later and so will the doctor to give you a health check. Measuring for uniforms will be in a few days’ time. Now, good luck, girls.’

  Briggs and Spooner began to divide the girls up into two groups, while Diffin and Rose retired to the office.

  ‘Well, what do you think, Toby?’ she asked, as she relaxed back in her chair.

  Diffin sat awkwardly in his seat. ‘As girls go, they seem all right,’ he conceded.

  Rose sighed deeply. ‘It’s happenin
g, Toby, and there’s nothing you can do about it. In the beginning, you seemed to be a bit more accepting of the whole thing. Now, you seem to have gone backwards and not forwards. Tell me, what does your wife think about it?’

  ‘My wife?’ Diffin didn’t seem to like the question. He began to fidget and look around the room awkwardly until Rose’s stare pinned him down. It took a few moments before he deigned to answer. ‘In all honesty, she doesn’t know. I’m not sure how she would react if I told her that I’m working with women. She can get a bit difficult, you see.’

  ‘Difficult? Why?’

  Diffin shrugged his shoulders and lapsed back into silence.

  ‘Toby, she must have heard that girls are joining the force. Everybody in Gornstock has.’ A light flared in her mind. ‘You’ve done something, haven’t you?’

  ‘Done something? Gods, no, not a thing.’ A look of panic crossed his face. ‘Honestly, no, I haven’t. She’s just a bit fixed in her ideas, that’s all. You know; I work and she cleans the house type of thing. I think you could call her a traditionalist. She doesn’t like things to change, and she likes to know what’s what all of the time. Girls as feelers will rock the boat, and she doesn’t like the boat being rocked. Keeps lists you see; all the time there are lists. Get up in the morning and that gets ticked off the list. Has breakfast, then she ticks that one off too. I go to work, another one. Day in, day out. Tick, tick, bloody tick. The only time she ain’t ticking is when she’s asleep.’

  ‘Oh, Toby, you poor thing. And I thought you were happily married.’

  Diffin had a confused look on his face as he looked up. ‘Poor thing? I am happily married. Suits me down to the ground, it does. Don’t have to do a thing at home.’

  ‘Oh. I thought…’

  ‘Well, you’re wrong. The only thing that gets on my nerves is the scrape of that bloody pencil.’

  MacGillicudy and Cornwallis came hurrying in.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Rose,’ said Cornwallis breathlessly. ‘You need to get out of that uniform as quick as you can.’

  ‘Why?’ she replied, raising an eyebrow.

  Cornwallis smiled. ‘Because we have work to do. Come on, hurry up and get that lot off. We’re going to see someone.’

  ‘And there was me thinking you were getting romantic; you really know how to charm a girl.’

  ‘Er…? Come on, stop playing about.’

  MacGillicudy grinned. ‘The path of true love, eh?’

  Rose got up off her chair, patted the commander on the arm and smiled. ‘If only you knew, Jethro. If only you knew.’

  As Rose went upstairs to change back to her civilian clothes, MacGillicudy turned to Diffin. ‘Everything all right, Toby? I thought I heard a bit of a discordant note as we came in.’

  ‘No, Commander, you heard wrong. I was just explaining something to Miss Morant, that’s all. No, it’s all going as expected. Briggs and Spooner are taking the lessons as we speak.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be leaving you to it now. Just one thing, that cart we stopped from delivering earlier had a surprise in its back, we’re just about to go and find out what. There are still a few feelers outside and I’ve told them to guard the academy. Only those who are meant to come in, are to be allowed in, and I’ve told them who they are; anyone else they are to arrest. We found the clothes the driver wore, but I’ll tell you more when we’ve got a bit more information.’

  Diffin’s eyes opened wide. ‘Really, sir? That sounds, er, interesting.’

  ‘It could be, Toby. Keep an eye on the lads outside, and don’t tell the girls.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Diffin smartly.

  Rose came back down in her normal attire and immediately the three of them left Pendon and headed off to the edge of the city.

  Cornwallis explained to Rose about the contents of the cart, and that Frankie had gone on ahead with the horse and cart to an alchemist who occasionally did some work for Gerald. ‘Hopefully, he will shed a little light on proceedings,’ he said, as he wrapped up the clothes they’d found before walking determinedly down the road. ‘We need to get to the bottom of this before he tries something again,’ he added sombrely.

  They popped into MacGillicudy’s house on the way so that the commander could change into his civilian clothes; a high ranking police officer would elicit more than just a few remarks, considering the area where they were going to visit, leaving the package of clothes in a locked cupboard in his backroom, intending to pick it up later. They hailed a cab to take them the rest of the way to the alchemist.

  They crossed over the River Sterkle by way of the Gornstock Bridge. Just over the bridge, on the south side, sprawled the slum area known as the Brews. A dark, dank and unforgiving slum; some of the residents had lived their whole lives in the half-light, never having ventured outside its limits. But that wasn’t their destination. They were to go right past the slum and follow the course of the river to the eastern edge of the city, where the tanners, dyers, metal workers and glue factory were situated; the clue to the nature of the businesses involved easily identifiable by the grim cloud of smog that hung over the place — the smell reminiscent of the morning results after eating an over-ripe Kebab that had extra chilli sauce. The alchemists’ workshops were a bit further away from the city, shunned even by those base industries, with a thicker pall of smog, and an even thicker smell — if this smog had colour, it would be a rancid browny-green. The distance between the alchemists and the industries allowed a bit of room for when one of the alchemists decided, by accident or design, to blow himself up — which wasn’t an infrequent occurrence.

  The cab driver pulled over by a smeltery, reluctant to go any further, so the three got out to walk the rest of the way. It wasn’t far, but far enough away for the smeltery not to get caught up should anything untoward happen with the alchemists — the cab driver had obviously had prior experience.

  A couple of chimneys were belching out a kind of smoke ring, to add to the cloud hovering just above the height of the rooves, as they sauntered up to the battered old iron bound door of the man they had come to see.

  Lenny wore many hats, one of them being an experimental alchemist. He also did a good trade in inventions that very nearly worked, and as a painter of paintings that very nearly looked like what he meant to paint. In actual fact, he was very nearly a genius.

  Cornwallis rang the bell and waited patiently as he knew it could sometimes take quite a while for Lenny to decide whether he wanted to answer the door or not.

  The door flew open after several minutes and an apologetic Lenny came rushing out. ‘I’m dreadfully sorry; I’ve been examining the barrel that Frankie brought along.’

  A small thin old man, he had a bald pate with a halo of long grey flowing hair and a matching beard that reached nearly down to his waist. A pair of spectacles with thick lenses perched on the end of his nose, hooked around his ears by two bent bits of thin metal. He wore an old brown pair of trousers about three sizes too big; the only thing holding them up being a pair of thin strappy braces. His open-necked collarless threadbare shirt had faded blue and white stripes, the sleeves rolled tightly up to the elbows. He looked harmless.

  ‘You say Frankie’s already here, Lenny?’ interrupted Cornwallis. ‘He made a good bit of time with that old nag.’

  Lenny nodded and twitched his head. ‘He’s told me how you came across the barrel and what you thought it would do. He’s around the back, Mr Cornwallis. I understand Mr Gerald is coming along too.’

  Frankie had sent a boy into the Brews with a short note to Gerald about what had happened at the police academy. More of a courtesy than anything else, Gerald would hear about it anyway and it might be prudent to let him know first. He sent a message back saying that he wanted to be there, being somewhat curious as to the item described.

  Cornwallis and Gerald had come to an agreement a few years ago. The King of the Brews and the investigator had agreed that Cornwallis could investigate in his domain as long as the inve
stigation concerned something that had happened outside of the Brews. In return, Cornwallis agreed that he would hand over anything that had its roots in the slum, as Gerald liked to keep his own place nice and tidy. The police weren’t involved in the agreement originally, but since MacGillicudy had taken command, an understanding had developed with them too. All in all, it worked, because all involved wanted a nice easy time. Where the slum was concerned, Gerald could supply that.

  ‘Hmmm, that might not be a bad thing, actually,’ said Cornwallis to MacGillicudy. Someone from the Brews could be involved, so it made sense to ask Gerald to keep his ears open. ‘Lenny, you haven’t met Rose before.’ He held out his arm. ‘Rose, this is Lenny. Lenny, this is Rose.’

  Lenny turned his head and his eyes lit up as he peered at Rose. He pulled off his spectacles and gave them a big rub before hooking them around his ears once more. ‘Oh my,’ he said at last. ‘Oh my, but you are more beautiful than I ever imagined, my dear. I, of course, have heard about you, but never thought I would ever have the pleasure of meeting you. Come on in and have a cup of tea.’

  ‘Er, Lenny,’ said Cornwallis. We’re not here for tea.’

  ‘No, no, no. Of course not, silly me. Come in anyway, and you and the Commander must come in too.’

  The front door led directly into the workshop. The tiny windows letting in only a small amount of light, supplemented by a half dozen tallow candles that crackled and spat, throwing out a weak illumination. It didn’t seem to hinder Lenny though, as all around were workbenches with the surfaces overflowing with all sorts of interesting looking things.

  There were flasks, retorts, phials, pestles and mortars, crucibles, dishes, funnels, big bellows, little bellows, and medium sized bellows. Strange looking pipes twisted and turned and all manner of odds and ends littered the little workshop benches. There were a few smoke blackened glass tubes, held by clamps to the tables, and paired with little dishes of something burnt beneath. Around the walls were shelves groaning under the weight of numerous bottles filled with crystals and coloured liquids — they could contain anything, but visitors hoped that Lenny knew what they contained, which didn’t always prove correct. Cupboards were everywhere, and so full, the doors could hardly shut.