Free Black Wreath by Peter Sirr

ruefully.
    ‘Stay well, James, and stay alive,’ he said.

Eleven

Dunmain’s Man
    Buy sweet whey; buy the pure sweet whey
    Hard cruds here, hard cruds for the boys and girls!
    T he ‘cruds and whey’ woman moved slowly along the quay with her pannier on her head. A chimney sweep and his boy emerged from a side street, the boy weighed down with brushes and rods, both faces black even at this hour, and the shops and taverns were bustling into life as James walked slowly westward along the river, not sure where he was going. Everyone he saw was driven by a definite purpose, with a sure knowledge of where they were going and how, and where, their day was likely to end. Even the beggars assuming their positions along the quayside were working according to a plan as they stood or sprawled on the ground and whined for alms. And the seagulls crying above the ships knew what they wereabout and could, James felt, give a good account of themselves if they were asked. Only he had no clear destination in mind, and no notion of how or where his day might end.
    He was woken from these gloomy thoughts when he noticed a man standing at the corner, a broad, hulking figure, leaning against the wall and scanning the quays like some beast of prey. Everything about him proclaimed malevolence, from the darkness of his eyes and the twist of his mouth to the long arms and pale fleshy hands that looked like they would be very happy squeezing a throat. James shuddered slightly at the sight of him. Something about him seemed strangely familiar, as if James had seen him before somewhere. But where? And then he saw him, in his mind’s eye, walking down the aisle of the cathedral and looking over the mourners and onlookers with a glance of unconcealed contempt. He was one of the Uglies that his uncle employed to frighten anyone who might give him trouble, and do who knows what other evil deeds on his behalf. He looked like someone to whom violence came as easily as the leaves to the trees. What was he doing here? James could hardly stop looking at him, even though he knew it was foolish. The man seemed to have a force around him that could suck in the unwary.
    Suddenly James felt the man’s eyes on his own. James looked away quickly and continued walking along the quays, but he could feel the man’s eyes boring into the back of his head. Then he heard the man’s voice crash around his ears.
    â€˜You there! Little man, come here you, I want you!’
    Whatever he wanted, James decided he was in no hurry tofind out. He kept walking briskly, and when he heard the man shout again and, looking over his shoulder, saw his great bulk begin to shift on the cobbles, he darted up the quay as fast as he could and slipped into a narrow laneway. The laneway was dark and empty, but as James ran he saw no place where he might conceal himself. Maybe the man hadn’t seen him enter the laneway but had run past further up the quay. But that hope was dashed when a shadow darkened the lane even more and he heard the man running up the alleyway. For one so big he was surprisingly agile. ‘Come back here, boy, or I’ll throttle you!’
    As he ran up the lane James saw a narrow gap between two warehouses, and without a second thought, dived into it. He found himself in a courtyard strewn with lumber and barrels, some completed and some still being worked on. There were tools and benches, though no workmen yet. With a surge of panic James realised there was no way out of the courtyard other than by the gap he had entered. He looked around but could see nowhere to hide. He crouched behind a barrel, then opened the lid and, finding the barrel empty, he clambered in and closed the lid after him. He had no sooner done that than he heard footsteps on the cobbles of the courtyard.
    â€˜I know you’re here, you little scut. Come out now or it’ll be the worse for you!’
    Had he really seen him slip into the courtyard or was he