This time we get crime - on the highest level :)
The table was small. The four men around it were a tight fit. Nevertheless, reeked the room of power. The man closest to the window talked. It was easy to spot, that he was the unfitting member of their little group. They tolerated him, and it showed. He sweated and explained to much.
"So, what I take from this", interrupted a stoutly man with a face like a bulldog:" is that you are incompetent."
The man near the window fell silent.
A tall and elegant figure, obviously dominating the table, cleared his throat:" I think this might be a bit excessive. Young Mr. Balden has taken over for only two short months. I´m sure we can all put our self's back in his shoes. We all had to start, and we all made our mistakes and learned from them, haven't we, Cecil?"
What could have sounded like a reprimand was put forth with such warmth that the bulldog face of Cecil Mactorten, the Commish of the London day watch, was dragooned in a smile. It was a rare occurrence, like a somersault from the Queen.
The elegant figure nodded at "young Mr. Balden", the man by the window, who´s rigid body posture eased up a little.
"I always say: Only the ones doing nothing, do nothing wrong.", chirped a little chubby guy in a tweet suit. He gave the impression of a jolly salesmen behind a sweets counter, with his rosy cheeks and the twinkling little eyes. He was the chairman of the London trades guilt. He had smiled, and flattered his way into this position, but held it only because he knew when to stop the act, and actually act. These thrown out of the guilt, or worse, penalized by it, had learned to fear the little man, who hide a will of steel under all the joviality.
"You see Mr. Balden,", added the elegant Figure:" We know your task is a tedious one and we don't expect miracles. Just keep doing your work, its like a swamp you have to lay dry. We were all shocked to learn that you predecessor had embezzled the city finances in such a way. And we are so very happy to know an honest young man, like yourself, has taken over. Don't be discouraged if you find yourself being overwhelmed by this objective. Please ask for any help you need. It's a mountain you have to cross, and even Hannibal couldn't do that alone."
The men chuckled and young Mr. Balden took a deep breath.
"I see you have been working too hard this last weeks. You look exhausted.", the elegant figure considered the young man with concern:" You have to look after yourself, you know? Its no use burning the candle on both ends.", he let his eye wander over the little group:" I think there is no need to keep young Mr. Balden here for the rest of our little meeting.", heads shook in unison.
The elegant figure rose:" I´ll escort you out, and you´ll take my coach home. No, no argument. You´ll get home and you´ll sleep and take tomorrow off. No, I mean it.", they left the room and the smooth voice of the elegant figure died away.
The remaining three man looked after them. Mactorten´s flew-like cheeks reviled the second smile of the evening:" Has a way with words, doesn't he?"
"Sure has.", agreed the jolly little Man. He hopped of his chair and started tampering with a couple of bottles on the credenza across the room:" You want some brandy too? Terribly weather."
"Sure is. Bring me a tall one.", bellowed Mactorten:" You should see how many men I have out of action because of this cold. They drop like flies."
"You too, Mr. Tar?"
The third men answered in a low voice:" I don't drink."
"I always forget.", mused the little tradesman:" But then, who has heard of a sailor afraid of a drop."
Mr. Tar´s growl was a deep and dark rumble. He was the tallest of them, with square shoulders and an authority that had nothing to do with insignias. As the London Port Master, he was an imposing character. His hair was dense and grey, his face marked by sun, seawater and freedom. He had learned his trade from the bottom up. Had been a ship´s boy at the same age his friends had started running with the gangs. He had seen most of the known world. Had been at beaches with black sand and lizards the size of a dog. If he would have taken off his thick, blue wool coat, and the tightly knit roll-neck sweater, one could have seen the intriguing black patterns friends of other worlds had tattooed under his skin with shark teeth.
They called him "Mr. Tar" because if a man had looked like the Jack Tar, it would have been him. His real name had more or less been lost in the tides. And he wore this name like a Lordship, not as proud but with the dignity that should always come with so much respect. After all, it had been conferred to him.
The Commish took his huge Brandy and sipped at it. He clicked his tongue appreciatively:" Another thing Barwick knows how to do."
The little Salesman had made his way back to the table and climbed on his seat, his glass wasn't smaller than the one of the Bulldogged faced man twice his size. He took a hearty gulp:" I think it´s tactic. You are much easier to deal with when you are drunk."
The Bulldog-face bellowed a laugh:" Now Mr. Pinnel, one could become the impression that you are a little too familiar with these tactics."
Mr. Pinnel shrugged his small shoulders:" You have to know how to take them. Oh must you do that in here? Your baccy is like pitch."
Mr. Tar, who had pulled out a meerschaum pipe, paused, only to continue with the words:" I can open a window if you prefer."
Mr. Pinnel puffed himself up like an angry sparrow but left it at that.
Mr. Tar lit his pipe and they sat in silence until fast steps announced the return of the major.
He came in the room like a frigate under full sail, his dark green coat flowing wide around his thin figure. He stopped in the doorway and called in the room:" Have you gentleman eaten already?"
Affirmative murmuring met him, except from Mr. Tar who said:" What´s on the menu?"
"How about a bacon sandwich?", asked the major.
"With mustard?"
"What do you take me for?", the major answered in honest indignation.
"I´ll take one then."
The head of the major disappear around the door frame:" Beltem? Yes, terribly sorry to disturb you, do you think two bacon sandwiches would be within the realms of possibility? – Oh excellent. With mustard if we want to keep the city peace. Thank you.", the head reappeared and he strolled over to the credenza before coming back to the table.
He sat down, straightened his robe and smiled:" Terrible cold, isn't it?", he rubbed his hands together.
The huge fire in the fireplace behind them warmed the room nicely, not even frost patterns had appeared on the windows. But it seemed like the right thing to say.
Mr. Tar – the only one of the group who really spend his days in the burning cold of the docklands – said:" I take your word for it."
Mr. Pinnel snorted derogatorily.
"Now, now.", intervened Lord Barwick, before someone was stuffed into the chimney – administrative meetings could be very lively:" As I understand, our valued Mr. Tar here has a matter to discuss."
All eyes set on the seadog, who relit his pipe and said:" I need more men."
Bulldog Mactorten growled:" So do I."
"Cecil, please. Why the sudden need Mr. Tar? Your crew has been constant for about… six years now I think."
"Seven.", answered Mr. Tar:" To many larcenies. There have always been thefts, don't get me wrong. But I don't like these ones."
The major furrowed his brow:" What about them?"
"They don't steal the right things."
"How can one steal the wrong thing?", asked Mr. Pinnel arrogantly.
"They made their way on one of the East-Indian Clippers only to steal their provisions. They could have taken the spices, the tea, even gold was stored, but they took five barrels of stinking, half rotten fish. They killed two Guards on their way in, at the only time during the night when only two men would have been there, and they did it so quietly and so quickly, that the changing only found the bodies because they stumbled over them. They must have done it under ten minutes.", Mr. Tar sucked on his pipe, staring in the eyes of a truly puzzled major.
"And because of one robbery you want more men?", Lord Barwick asked finally.
"No.", said Mr. Tar:" This is the twelfth. But it's the first one they killed."
Silence settled over the table.
"What does that mean?", asked Lord Barwick.
"Damn if I know.", answered Mr. Tar:" But between loosing a barrel of herring and losing two men, there is an obligation to act. Don't you think?"
"And you think more men will help you with this?", asked Mactorten:" The docklands are huge, how many men do you want? Six for every ship? Let the sailors stay on the ships. They can guard them."
Mr. Tar ignored the throw-in.
A knock on the door prevented the answer form Lord Barwick.
Beltem, the secretary, a small weedy man with huge eyes and sparse hair, brought the sandwiches. He put them on the table and vanished, with the unmistakable grace of a man talented in being unobtrusive.
"The city treasury does not have the means to even top up the watch.", the major said under the unbearably smug gaze of Mactorten.
"One would think after 12 robberies your men had to at least have a hint.", Mr. Pinnel snapped.
To his surprise did Mr. Tar not snap back, but nodded:" That's exactly my point. If my men can´t catch them, they have to have inside information. That means someone wants these barrels stolen, and I can´t imagine its because of the fish."
"Have they always stolen fish barrels?", asked Mactorten.
"No. But always nearly worthless stuff. Empty water barrels. One- or two-times trunks with the rest of the rusks."
"Always on the same ships?"
"Different ships."
"I see no system there." Announces Mactorten.
Mr. Tar bite into his sandwich, in what looked like a desperate attempt to prevent the need to answer.
"That was the big news?", asked Mr. Pinnel, he had finished his brandy and looked ready for departure:" Some petty thefts our sea-master can´t solve?"
"I think,", the major, intervened before Mr. Tar could swallow the bite:" this meeting is closed.", He got up again to escort them to the door. Only Pinnel and Mactorten followed him. Mr. Tar stayed with his sandwich.
Lord Barwick brought the two out of the room, not out of the building. Mr. Tar was still chewing when he returned to the table. He sat down again and started on his own meal.
The eat closemouthed for a while. Snow started to drift against the window obstructing the view of the dirty street.
"What has you so worried about this?", the major eventually asked.
Mr. Tar growled a little:" There must be something inside that barrels. Opium, I thought first, but Bulldog said nothing about more drugs in the city. On the other side, he is an idiot. But that lieutenant of his a least knows his ass from his head.", Mr. Tar chewed contemplative on the crust:" It´s getting uncomfortable in this city. And I don't talk about the weather. That only made it worse. The problems have been there long before and never have been addressed. His Majesties policy left thousands without means, and you know where this will end up. They stand on the streets, angry and with not much to lose. They are ready to do anything."
Lord Barwick took a mouthful of his brandy:" I know.", he said dull.
Mr. Tar narrowed his eyes:" No word from Tyhmoteos?"
Barwick shook his head:" Tyhmoteos.", he made a strange singultus kind of noise:" What a name.", he looked simultaneously lost in the moment and the past. Emotions flashed over his face, and he tried to blink them away, not really succeeding. Finally a paint expression stayed while he stammered:" His mother selected it. And when she … I had to give it to him. It was the last thing she gave him."
Mr. Tar radiated compassion:" We keep all eyes open. We will find him."
"I still don't understand it. He must have been on his way home. And he is by no means helpless."
"I know.", growled Mr. Tar, he distinctly remembered the young man with the too long hair working his way at the docks. He had come to like him. A lot of the workers liked him, even when he had to go by the strict rules of the East India. Somehow the boy always managed to get some hearth between the paragraphs.
Lord Barwick downed the last of his brandy and visibly shook himself:" Tell me then, what do you think is in it?"
"Weapons."
"Weapons?"
"What else would you need for a rebellion?"
"That's nonsense. If they – whoever this ominous people are – are bringing weapons in they need people who can fire them. A gun is no knife. You have to know what to do with it. You have to teach people. Otherwise they will shoot their own foot."
Mr. Tar contemplated that:" It just a hinge. Something is very wrong."
"Very well then.", the major said:" I can give you 15 more men."
"But I thought the cities means-"
"I will pay them myself."
"Lin!"
"No, no, I´m responsible for this city. And I take this very seriously. Take 15 men. Wherever you see fit. I doubt that it will be enough if something really is going on, but with a little luck we can nick this in the butt before it gets out of hand."
They finished their sandwiches.
"Send the bills to Beltem."
"I will.", said Mr. Tar, he got up and put a hand on the majors shoulder on his way out:" A lot of people are looking for him. We will find him."
With that he left.
The Major waited until he heard Beltem bow the man out, then he said:" Let´s hope you don't."
Hopefully you liked it. I´m always happy to hear your thoughts about it.