Dodger

locker. But when not giving sailors nice long holidays, Mrs Holland arranged things.
    Around the docks Mrs Holland was Queen, and nobody questioned the fact when Bang was by her side. It would be difficult to pinpoint her actual occupation these days, though Dodger was well aware that once upon a time she had been both a nurse and a midwife, and apparently had made a living by causing things to turn up or more often to disappear. If you were the kind of person who would come seeking more definite information about her activities, you were the kind of person who was likely soon to be inspecting the Thames bridges from underneath.
    Dodger got along with the family, of course – especially Bang, who had once fascinated a young Dodger by showing him the scars where his shackles had chafed him most cruelly, and the place where he had been branded by the slavers like an animal. Despite his history, he was a gentle and very amiable person, although right now, answering Dodger’s knock, he was holding back the growling slathering dog of Satanic proportions that was the family’s front-line security. They also had a blunderbuss the size of a French horn and famed to be packed with black powder and rock salt and, on occasion for very special customers, miscellaneous nails as well for the hard of understanding.
    There was Mrs Holland herself, all chins and smiles, and that meant a lot of smiles above the blunderbuss. Mrs Holland had bright blue eyes which, Dodger had often noticed, twinkled with sincerity every time she told you an outright lie. As she put down the blunderbuss, she said cheerfully, ‘Dodger! As I live and breathe! Welcome! Welcome!’
    Very shortly afterwards, in her little private room, with the dog, name of Jasper, lying there peacefully in front of her but nevertheless ready to leap and snarl on command, she listened to Dodger’s story. She looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, ‘Ah well, it’s amazing how lively a corpse can be after it is dead. Stiff one day, and playful as anything the next. What you are suggesting ain’t no journey for the unprepared, but I have the knowing, oh yes indeed. I ain’t no stranger to corpses, as you are aware. So just you listen to your favourite aunty, right? Well, first of all, what you are going to need is . . .’
    Dodger learned things quickly, and after a few minutes said, ‘I’m in your debt, Mrs Holland.’
    She smiled at him and said, ‘You know, I always thought you were one of my smart boys, Dodger. As for being in my debt, well, who knows? One day you will have an opportunity to pay me back. And it’s all right – I know you are not a killer, so you wouldn’t be my chosen in that respect, but in other matters. Well, as they say, one hand washes the other.’
    Dodger glanced down at her podgy hands; it looked as if neither of them had been washed in a week, but he understood the meaning and accepted it. Favours were currency down here, just like they were on the street. He also knew she always had a twinkle in her eye for Dodger, although it didn’t do to rely on a twinkle.
    Just as he was leaving, she suddenly went all solemn and said, ‘I reckon you’ve been stirring things up, my little lad. And there’s some people that I don’t like the stink of the moment I hears about them, and one of them is a cove by the name of the Outlander – ever heard of him?’
    Dodger shook his head and Mrs Holland began to look uneasy. She glanced at her husband and then back at Dodger and said, ‘I don’t know if I’ve ever met him, don’t know what he looks like, but by all accounts he is your dyed-in-the-wool, stone-hard killing cove. I think it might be his first time in England, but I’m getting word that he’s been asking questions about “somebody called Dodger” and some girl. Don’t know much about him. Some say he’s a Dutchman, sometimes they say he’s a Switzer, but always they say he is a killer, who comes out of the dark and goes back into the dark and gets his money and disappears. No one knows what he looks like, no one knows him as a friend, and the only thing that anyone knows is that he likes the ladies. They say that he will always have a girl on his arm, never the same one twice.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘Don’t know as why I ain’t seen him here yet, given that liking. Maybe we will. But no one can tell you what he actually looks like. I mean that: sometimes they say that they’ve met him and he’s tall and thin, and