‘I told you,’ Murch insisted. ‘She’s got away somehow. And the bugger with her, bald and half-blind, that’s him. They gotta be locked up again, quick. Get ’em.’
Casper stopped rowing. He raised one oar two fisted. ‘Come try it, you bastards. An’ won’t be me what drowns.’
Wood scraped on wood. The other boat, higher-prowed and faster, crunched into the side of the smaller wherry with a splintering of planks. Water gushed through the hole. The two boats wedged, embraced, the invading keel a hand’s breadth from Tyballis as she cowered back. She sprang away, clinging to the opposite gunwales. Both wherries tipped, unbalanced, shuddering and oozing filthy water. Casper thwacked his oar into Murch’s face and the lantern tumbled from its pole, hurtling into the river. Black confusion descended. The stars blinked high above, a dizzying dance, the only remaining light. Shouting, cursing, creaking wood, the heaving splash of rolling water and the thump of men, heavy-booted, clambering forwards to free their craft.
The smaller wherry rocked wildly, tipping to either side as the larger boat edged out backwards and freezing water flooded in. Casper, feet slipping on rolling wet planks, raised the oar again – once more into Murch’s face, and then point hard to the larger boat’s swinging keel. Both wherries tipped and capsized in a tumbled rush, each dragging over the other. The river Thames swallowed six floundering, scrabbling, shouting bodies. Twisting, desperate arms outstretched, Tyballis screamed as she was flung into the eager sucking waves.
She opened her eyes underwater. A murky swirling blindness closed around her, a swaying obscurity of indistinguishable rubbish and the filth of the city. Her sodden skirts dragged her down. She kicked her feet but found nothing beneath. She could not breathe. Water filled her nose and mouth. For one moment through the gloom she saw legs, arms, boots and hands grabbing at each other, one heaving the other up, lunging, panic, and another pushing down. Then a face – a great bruised forehead, nose smashed, eyes shut, rocking a little as if in a dream – caught in the waves of the others’ desperation but then loose, rolling gently to the bottom, and was gone. Murch would not capture her or anyone else again. But she was out of breath herself, her lungs empty, body flung first against the legs of another and then caught in the swell, lifted briefly, but finally sinking. Behind Murch, she imagined the riverbed waiting for them both.
Something tugged, she heard the terrifying roar of the hungry water and felt hands tight beneath her arms. She had no strength to fight. She let the monsters take her. The waters parted as she plunged upwards, screaming silently in terror and pain. But suddenly cold air slapped against her face, her eyes stung and she heaved a gasping thankful breath. A faraway voice croaked, ‘There now. Got you safe.’
Through the night’s frost she peered, still gulping air. ‘Casper?’
‘Course it is.’ He was hunched beside her, rubbing his empty eye socket, streaming water from back and shoulders, his four thin strands of hair sleeked down over his nose. ‘You all right?’
She nodded, shivering, and crouched where he had dropped her, doubled over, chin to her knees, belly and lungs wretchedly sore. ‘The others?’ She looked up, blinking water. Through the night’s shadows, darker shadows crawled long and monstrous from the water, shaking their heads like hounds after hunting in a storm.
‘Run,’ Casper yelped, struggling to his feet. He reached out, grabbed her arm, and stumbled head first into the deeper dark away from the river. Tyballis thought she would be sick but swallowed it back, her stomach tight, head reeling, feet obedient to the need. The darkness took them. She was aware of huge shapes passing, the cranes and sheds of the wharf, then larger buildings, and the opening into an alley. Casper swung her sharp right and in, and together they ran blindly. Stubbing her toes, then squelching into the soft earth of the unpaved lane, Tyballis realised she had lost her shoes. Her clothes were drenched and the cold bit but Casper’s grip on her arm dragged her on. At first she heard the clump of chasing boots, her heartbeat as loud, but then all sound faded and soon they were running in silence. Only the faint clammy shiver of breeze froze their ears. Then Casper slowed, and Tyballis, leaning heavily against a wall, stopped. Heaving, panting, desperate for breath, she bent, staring down at her mud-caked toes. Finally, unable to stop, she was violently sick.
Casper waited. ‘Best spit it out,’ he approved. His voice sounded uneven and cracked. ‘No river’s best drunk whole. But not too long, mind, missus. I reckon we’s not outta trouble yet.’
Tyballis gradually straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and pushing the dripping hair from her eyes. ‘They’re still behind us?’
Casper shook his head and river water flew. ‘Not far’s I can tell, they ain’t. But won’t take no risks. Still a fair bit to go afore we’s safe at Crosby’s.’
‘I saw Murch dead,’ Tyballis whispered. ‘The others won’t recognise us without him. But we can’t go to Crosby’s. In the middle of the night? Without Drew? Soaked, freezing, filthy? After all that time locked up – starved, unwashed – we must have looked like beggars before the river took us. Now I stink of vomit. No respectable house would let us in.’
‘I ain’t sleeping in no bloody cold streets tonight,’ Casper objected. ‘I’s worn, and I’s froze. If them snotty buggers at Crosby’s won’t let us in, then I’ll break the bloody door in and remind them who we is.’
‘I have a better idea,’ Tyballis assured him. ‘Not as warm and not as cosy, I’m afraid, but just as safe. It’s my own house, and no one can refuse us.’
The dawn was already a fragile pink over the rooftops as they came to Whistle Alley. The door to the Blessop house was barred, but Tyballis knew how to push the back door open a crack, then lift it from its latch, rattle and force it wide. Inside, a musty smell of damp disuse and rat droppings hung heavy. The little hearth still held a smattering of ashes, and sticky black stains spread across the floor, memories of struggle and of blood.
‘Right nice,’ nodded Casper, collapsing onto a stool. ‘An’ all your’n, is it? You’s a wealthy woman, mistress.’
‘I have not one penny,’ she smiled, sitting heavily on the little chair by the empty hearth. ‘And I know you have nothing either. We’ve no food nor drink nor anything to sell. It will be a problem, I’m afraid.’
Casper managed a tired grin. ‘Not for me it won’t be, missus.’
She smiled again. The first smiles for a long time. Freedom, safety and shelter felt good, but her stomach, empty and sore from vomiting, was unlikely to be filled again any time soon. The next few days, whatever Casper’s talents, would likely be desperate. ‘Well, there is kindling in that tub,’ she pointed. ‘I am so horribly tired. With a nice fire to warm us up and dry us, I’m sure we could sleep right through the morning. Maybe right through the day.’
‘But no tinderbox? Mine’s soaked. It won’t be lighting no fires never again, I reckon.’
‘There’s usually one in the tub with the kindling.’ Tyballis looked vaguely around. ‘It still feels like home. In a way, I wish it didn’t. But it will serve us for now, and since you saved my life, Mister Wallop, I think you deserve the proper bed upstairs. I shall sleep down here. And if you’re too tired to light a fire, I shall do it myself.’
‘I’ll be doing that,’ Casper said, quickly kneeling beside the tub of sticks, ‘and you’ll be going upstairs to that proper bed you talks of. Me – I’s happier on the floor anyways. Now get up them stairs, my girl, and get them wet clothes off. Look after you I can, but not nurse you if you catches the pneumonia.’ She opened her mouth to object, but Casper shook his head.
The first tiny crackle of burning wood turned to a glare of genuine warmth. Tyballis sighed. ‘My own little fire again,’ she murmured. ‘I never thought – I never expected – I never wanted ever to sit here again. Yet now it seems so utterly sweet. I have nearly drowned, yet come back to life. And I find life is good, after all.’