William Monk 16 - Execution Dock

tea, an’ all?”
    “Thank you,” Monk replied. “I don't mind if I do.”
    It took them quite a while to find a boy willing to speak to them, and it was Orme who finally succeeded. It was in one of the alleys close to the water. The passageway was so narrow a tall man could stretch his arms and touch both sides at the same time, and the buildings almost met at the roof edges, creating the claustrophobic feeling of a series of tunnels. It was crowded with shops: bakers, chandlers, ships’ outfitters, ropemakers, tobacconists, pawnbrokers, brothels, cheap lodging houses, and taverns. There were openings into workshops and yards for the making, mending, or fitting of every piece of wood, metal, canvas, rope, or fabric that had to do with the sea and its cargo or its trade.
    The wood creaked and settled, water dripped, footsteps soundeduneasily, and the shadows on the walls were always moving. Sometimes it was caused by light from the shifting tide in a dock inlet, water slapping against stone walls, or the thump of timber against the sides. More often it was someone running or creeping, or carrying a load. The stench of river mud and human waste was overpowering.
    The boy refused to be named. He was thin and sallow. It was hard to tell his age, but it was probably somewhere between fifteen and twenty. He had a chipped front tooth, and one finger missing on his right hand. He stood with his back to the wall, staring at them as if expecting an attack.
    “I in't swearing ter nothin’,” he said defensively. “If ‘e finds me, ‘e'll kill me.” His voice wobbled. “
Ow
d'yer find me, anyway?” He looked first at Monk, then at Orme, ignoring Scuff.
    “From Mr. Durban's notes,” Orme answered. “It's worth two shillings to you to answer truthfully, then we'll forget we ever saw you.”
    “Answer wot? I dunno nothin!”
    “You know why so few boys ever run away,” Monk told him. “Young ones we can understand. They've nowhere to go, and are too small to look after themselves. What about older ones, fourteen or fifteen? If you don't want to go to sea, why not simply leave? Customers are coming and going from the ship, aren't they? Couldn't you go out with one of them? He can't keep you locked up all the time.”
    The boy gave him a look of withering contempt. “There's twenty of us or more. We can't all go! Some are scared, some are sick, some are just babes. Where can we go? ‘Oo'd feed us, get us clothes, give us a place ter sleep? ‘Oo'd ‘ide us from Phillips, or ‘is like? There's just as bad on shore.”
    “You're on shore now and safe from him. And I'm not talking about the young ones. I asked about boys your age,” Monk pressed him. “Why don't they go, one by one, before he sells them to a ship?”
    The boy's face was bitter. “You mean why'd ‘e kill Fig, an’ Reilly an’ them like that? ‘Cause they stood up agin ‘im. It's a lesson, see? Do as yer told an’ yer'll be all right. Fed, somewhere ter sleep, shoes and a jacket. Mebbe a new one every year. Make trouble an’ yer'll get yer throat cut.”
    “Escape?” Monk reminded him.
    The boy gulped, his thin face twisting painfully. “Escape, an’ ‘e'll ‘unt yer down an’ kill yer. But before that, ‘e'll ‘urt the little kids left be'ind, burn their arms an’ legs, maybe worse. I wake up in the night ‘earin’ ‘em scream … an’ find it's just rats. But I still ‘ear ‘em in me ‘ead. That's why I wish I ‘adn't left, but I can't go back now. But I in't swearin’ ter nothin’. I told Mr. Durban that, an’ I'm tellin’ you. Yer can't make me.”
    “I never thought to try,” Monk said gently. “I couldn't live with it either. I have enough already, without adding that. I just wanted to know.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out the two shillings Orme had promised the boy. He held them out.
    The boy hesitated, then snatched them. Monk stood aside so he could pass.
    The boy hesitated.
    Monk backed further away.
    The boy dived past him as if terrified he would be seized, then he ran with surprising speed, almost silent on the cobbles. Only then did Monk realize his feet were bound in rags, not boots. Within seconds he had disappeared into one of the many alleys like a tunnel mouth, and he could have been no more than the voice of a nightmare.
    As they walked back towards the open air of the dockside, they kept in step with each other, walking single file because there was no room to do anything else.