City of Darkness

Chapter FORTY-NINE

8:20 AM





When Cecil Bainbridge awakened tangled in fishing nets, the irony was not entirely lost upon him. He fought his way free from his briny nest and forced open the top of the crate where he’d hidden the night before. The sun was blinding, so he lay back for a moment with the lid ajar, waiting until his eyes gradually adjusted and he could find his way out. The dock was filled with activity and Cecil crouched a few minutes more behind the crate, watching the people stream by. Not likely to see that Severin character again, he told himself. At least not in broad daylight. Finally Cecil stepped out and stretched, then began his cautious way along the waterfront.

There were a few forgotten coins left in his pants pocket. Perhaps enough for a plate of eggs or whatever people ate for breakfast in this godforsaken part of the city. The day may have been bright , but the wind coming off the water was brisk enough to send shudders through Cecil’s body and he went into the first pub he could find and took a seat at the bar.

“G’day, Sir,” the barmaid said.

“Is it?” Cecil was not only damp and dirty but cramped from hip to shoulder. It was nearly too much for a fastidious man to bear. But he was comforted to know that something about his presence still commanded respect from a serving girl.

He dug the coins from his pocket and placed them, in a neat line, on the counter before him.

“What can I get for this?”

“Toast ‘n kippers?”

He nodded. His eyes stung with salt and sleep and the remains of last night’s alcohol but down the bar a bit he could see an abandoned newspaper. An early edition, thin and incomplete as they often were, but he leaned over and seized it. The headline said RIPPER THWARTED and beneath it was a picture of the stolid looking man he’d seen the night before in the Pony Pub and a sprig of a boy who apparently was his assistant. They stared out of the grainy photograph as if they had been startled by the flash.

Cecil grimly skimmed the article then dropped the paper with a sigh. Both Micha and Georgy had been taken into custody and were likely singing their story to Detective Welles at this very moment.

He’d failed. Leanna and Severin were both quite utterly alive and if one of them didn’t manage to pull him down, the other doubtless would. He may as well finish his breakfast. He had paid everything he had in the world for it, and besides to his great surprise, it looked good. The kippers fried crispy, the bread fat and brown. Cecil bit into it with the concentration of a priest. There is a certain strange freedom that sets in when things have gotten as bad as they possibly can, he thought, a strange certainty that comes when there is only one thing left to do.

The answer was clear enough. Run. The continent, perhaps, for he had always been fond of Paris and Vienna. But those fair cities required scads of money and Cecil lacked even enough for a channel passage. He continued to steadily eat as he thought, not overly concerned with an analysis of where his plan had gone awry, for he suspected he would have more than enough hours ahead of him to replay the whole affair in his mind. Leanna was a damned lucky chit and perhaps that was all there was to it. He, in contrast, had apparently been cursed by the gods at birth.

He left his last coin in gratuity, more from habit than compassion, and the girl squealed “Come back again, Sir.”

Not bloody likely, Cecil thought, as he pushed open the scarred door and walked back into the dizzying brightness of the waterfront. A dozen or so fishing ships were to be found in the first basin but he walked swiftly by these, his boots skidding on the dock. Three larger ships lay in the next basin and at the first one he was abruptly turned away. The second was christened the Injured Pride which seemed to be a favorable omen, and Cecil walked up the ramp. The captain was too busy pouring over a pad of paper with a stubby pencil to return his greeting, but a half-dozen or so young boys scurrying about stopped to give him a proper stare.

“May I ask when you’re leaving, Sir?” Cecil began.

“You may ask and I may answer,” the captain snorted, spitting into a cup. Then, glancing up, “The tide turns at two this afternoon. What’s it to you?”

“Do you by any chance need an extra hand for the voyage?”

“You don’t look experienced.”

This was an undisputable observation, but Cecil knew he had to get out today, not tomorrow or the next. The captain turned and Cecil extended an arm to block his progress. “I won’t pretend I’ve been to sea, but I’m twenty-four, in good health and I can learn.”

The captain looked at him through rheumy blue eyes. “You haven’t asked wages.”

“I don’t care. I’m seeking passage.”

“You haven’t asked where we be bound.”

“I don’t rightly care that either.” Cecil hesitated. “Sir.”

Surprisingly, this proved to be the proper answer, for the captain leaned against the ship railing and looked Cecil from top to bottom, his face contorting in contempt when his glance fell upon his supple leather boots. “Well, everyone is running from something,” he finally allowed. “I daresay most of my crew didn’t turn to the sea as a first choice of life’s work.”

I bet the Virgin you’re right on that, Cecil thought, his eyes flitting from the rotting floorboards to the frayed rigging. The tub scarcely looked seaworthy.

“We’re short-handed true enough, Cap’n,” piped up one of the ragged boys who had been carrying provisions aboard. “What with poor Andy knockin’ up that wench and Harry down with the misery and a six week passage ahead.”

“Um,” said the captain, his interest in the subject obviously fading fast. “So grab one of the crates below, and come aboard. What’d you say your name was?”

“Jack,” Cecil blurted.

“Then fetch up a load and be quick on it. Today’s your schooling and by tomorrow you’ll be expected to be pulling your weight or you’ll be food for the fishes, right enough.”

“Aye, Sir,” muttered Cecil. The crates had no handles and he struggled to get the first one aloft, nearly pitching it into the water in the process to the great amusement of the rest of the crew. “Where are we headed?” he gasped out to the boy beside him, the one he supposed he had to thank for his job.

The boy shrugged, wiping sweat from his face. “Argentina, mate.”