Midnight is a Place

  Lucas lit the tiny bead of light and stared about, his eyes slowly becoming accustomed to the gloom. They were in an oval, brick-vaulted passage, which stank and sweated and ran with damp. Dripping swags of weed or moss hung overhead and horrible-looking gouts of thick slime trickled down the curved walls. Beside them, six inches below the pavement on which they stood, was an eight-foot-wide brick culvert through which rushed an evil-smelling torrent, foaming and gurgling. "Where is this?" said Lucas. "Where are we?"

  It was hard to make oneself heard above the noise of the water, and the loud hollow echoes which caught every word and flung it back and forth.

  "Where? In the town drain, o' course. Didn't you know? We're in the sewer. Leastways this here's the main one; there's three running down to the river, an' a whole network o' smaller branches in betwixt. I don't go in those, so much; the rats is too bad. And you dassn't go too far, acos of the tide; it comes up, see, so you have to watch it, and get yourself near an entrance, time she's due to rise. Up to there, she can come, on a full tide."

  And he pointed to a crusted mark on the wall, far above his head.

  Lucas shivered. Being shut up in the dark was one of his private dreads, and he could not conceive of any place more horrible than this black, foul-smelling tunnel. At any moment he thought he might suddenly begin to scream, as the full sense of his situation pressed in on him. But Gudgeon seemed perfectly at home here. He began to walk along at a measured pace, fishing and poking with his pole in the thick and frothy current. Occasionally he drew something out; more often than not he threw it back. Lucas followed him, doing likewise.

  From time to time the liquid flowed over the footway, sometimes knee-deep. Then they were obliged to wade. Tom gestured that Lucas should keep well away from the edge of the footway. From time to time he imparted more information about his way of work.

  "There's three of us working the sewers at the moment, me and Lammas and Bugle. Bugle, he has the west tunnel, Lammas has the east, and I keeps to the middle acos I've been at it the longest. The middle's the likeliest for finding tosh, but all's good. Lammas, one time, he found a orrery in the east."

  "What's an orrery?"

  "I dunno. But it's val'ble; he got thirty nicker for it from the museum. Old Hobday he sells my tosh for me, acos he knows best where to take it an' it saves me trouble, saves me having to get cleaned up. Looking for the things is what I like, for it's more romantical. Mind, some o' those dealers can chouse you to the bone; Hobday, he's fair enough, though.

  "Now, remember: alius go where you know, otherwise you may end up in trouble. There's a many side branches where the bottom's guv way and they haven't paved it since I was a nipper; you could go in deeper than the whale hole. So keep to the main drag. Then, never stay in more than six or seven hour, acos of the tide; you got to remember that."

  "Is there anything else to remember?" said Lucas, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. He groped up a heavy thing out of the water, on his pole, but it felt very undesirably soft and slimy, so he hurriedly flung it back.

  "The rats is very dangerous—that's sartin; if you should go up a side branch, always go with another cove, for the varmints are too wide-awake to tackle you then; they know they'd git off second best.

  "Then you want to watch out for the hogs, too."

  "Hogs?"

  Lucas tripped over an irregularity in the floor and only just saved himself from plunging into the sewer.

  "Ah. There's a quantity of wild hogs got down into the sewers; don't ask me how they got there for I don't know, but they've been here since Bugle's granda's day; he can remember them. I daresay a couple found their way in some cold winter, and they've bred; they like it down here.

  "Now those hogs are man-eaters; you don't want to tangle with them. You hear them coming, you climb up out o' harm's way."

  "Climb up where?"

  "There's manholes ivery now-and-now; where iver there's a manhole, there's a ladder; or should be, long as some thoughtless cove hasn't swiped it without considering the welfare of his mates."

  "How can you tell when the hogs are coming? What kind of a noise do they make?"

  "Jist a moment." Gudgeon stooped down, rummaged expertly with his pole, and fetched up a dark, square object which proved, when he wiped the slime off it, to be a box secured with a cord.

  "Now a box is alius romantical, for you don't know what might be inside," he observed, feeling it all over. "Come you round here, boy, then we'll get the light from your bull's-eye too; that's the dandy; that's why we carry them this way, strapped to our chestes, so as to leave our maulers free—you need that with the rats too. You want to open a box careful, like, for if there's small things in, like as it might be pearls or di'monds, you don't want to spill 'em; there would be precious little chance of picking them up again."

  This box, however, was a disappointment, for it proved to contain only papers; and they were in such a damp, sodden, and blackened condition that it was doubtful if anybody would be able to make anything of them, and certainly not Gudgeon, who, as he told Lucas, had never had the time to learn reading or scribing. However he carefully stowed it away in his bag.

  "Mind you, old papers can be worth a mort; you don't want to go a-throwing of them out. Onct Bugle he found an old parchment saying as the town hall belonged to some monastery; caused a lot of trouble, that did, for the Blastburn Post printed a story about it, and the old prior he made a commotion and said as how his monks ought to have their hall back agin."

  He moved on, swishing along up to his knees in the scummy fluid, which had again flowed over the footway.

  "Did they get the hall?" Lucas asked, wanting to keep the conversation alive. The silence, with its echoing drips and splashes, was too uncomfortable.

  "No, they niver did; the mayor was one too many for 'em."

  "What sort of a noise do the hogs make?" Lucas presently asked again.

  "You hears 'em a-squealing and a-swishing along, nine or ten at a time. One thing, they dassn't ever swim, for a hog'll cut his throat with his trotters if he attempts swimming, so, if they comes arter you and there's no ladder within running distance, take to the water."

  "l see."

  Lucas felt he would rather die than plunge into that disgusting stream, but no doubt if it came to a choice between the sewer and nine man-eating hogs, he might feel differently.

  "Hold on a moment, I think I've got something!" he suddenly exclaimed, and pulled up his hoe, which had caught onto a heavy weight.

  "Easy does it, then, boy; don't get excited and frantical."

  With due care, Lucas pulled the thing to the side and eased it out.

  "What a strange shape; it seems to be made of wood, but what can it be?"

  It was wooden, but had ancient leather straps attached to it, most of them half rotten; among the tangle of leather was a rusty metal hoop, about six inches in diameter.

  "I know what it is," said Gudgeon presently, when he had examined it, "'tis an old saddle, that's what it be, an owd wooden saddle." He wiped it with the edge of his coat, shone his light closer, and exclaimed, "By Gar! If that baint beginner's luck for you!"

  "What's so lucky about an old saddle?"

  "Why, look at the edge of it, boy! 'Tis all set with sappheralds and carbuncles."

  Indeed, when Gudgeon had rubbed a bit more of the slime off, Lucas could see that the saddle must once have been very grand indeed; perhaps it had belonged to the prior of the monastery that Gudgeon had mentioned—or, more likely, to some much earlier prior. It was made of wood, but had once been padded. The padding was now rotten. And traces of gilding remained here and there. Precious stones were set in the pommel and crupper; he could see them wink red and blue in the light of the bull's-eye.

  "What a find, eh!" Gudgeon kept exclaiming. Lucas, however, felt that the saddle was going to be a considerable nuisance if he was going to be obliged to carry it around all day. He suggested that they should either take it back directly, or leave
it in some safe spot from which they could retrieve it later.

  "No, boy, no. That won't do. Fust, if we go back now, that's a waste of time; no sense in going over the same ground twice. Second, there's no place you can leave it without the tide'll come up and sweep it away. You should never park your tosh. We doesn't come back this way, see; we goes on down and out to the riverbank; that's why I doesn't take the tosh to old Hobday in the evening, but keeps it till next day. That way, we can stay in the sewer longer, and there's a chance to wash the things in the river and let 'em dry off overnight. Where did you say you was lodging?"

  "In Haddock Street."

  "Ah, well, that's right handy, then. No, you fetch that saddle along, boy."

  So Lucas had to carry the heavy, awkward thing, and he soon heartily wished that he had not found it. Gudgeon did not offer to help with it, though Lucas gathered that the profits from the day's haul were equally split between them.

  In spite of the fact that Gudgeon was due to benefit from the saddle, he did not seem altogether pleased that Lucas had found it; after referring to beginner's luck several times, he lapsed into a rather surly silence, broken by complaints that Lucas was shining his light too high, or too low, that he was keeping too close to his partner, or not close enough. And he kept a very sharp eye on all that Lucas did, as if expecting that he might pocket his finds without mentioning them to his partner.

  Lucas began to wish very much that Gudgeon would find something of comparable value to cheer him, but this did not happen. He found some iron spoons in a leather bag, and a section of chain mail, a carriage wheel, and half a wooden clog; while Lucas found a lead inkwell (broken), a stone jar (broken), and a skeleton which Gudgeon identified as belonging to one of the underground hogs.

  "They eats each other when they has nowt else."

  Anxious to steer the conversation away from hogs, Lucas asked, "Do we stop for dinner?"

  "No, it ain't convenient. We'd have to go above ground, for you can't bring vittles down here. It ain't worth stopping for all that time. Eat a big breakfuss—that's what I alius does; I has black puddings and chitterlings and bread and treacle and tea."

  Lucas wished that he had done likewise, or at least that he had eaten more than a few spoonfuls of frozen porridge. He felt faint from hunger and terribly low-spirited. Would he have to spend the rest of his life in this awful place? How could he bear it?

  Dear Greg, he began in his head, I am at present engaged in fishing for tosh in the sewers of Blastburn....

  Curiously enough, when he began hunting for suitable words to describe the awfulness of the sewer, it began to seem slightly less awful; in a way he could almost admire it, and understand how Gudgeon seemed to be quite happy to spend all his days here looking for treasure in the dark and filth.

  After all, it was a whole part of the town that most people were quite unaware of, and yet it must be quite close to all the main activities going on up above.

  "Where are we now?" he asked. "What's overhead?"

  Gudgeon paused and reckoned in his head. "We've come about a mile—I reckons it in steps; also we've jist passed the twenty-third branch."

  Some of the "branches" were merely holes in the wall, out of which gushed more liquid, sometimes very much warmer, sometimes much colder, than that through which they were wading. Other branches were almost as big as the main drain, with their own footways, and had to be crossed by little plank bridges; many of these were not in good repair.

  "We'll be under the fish market now," Gudgeon said. "It bain't far from here to the Tidey; we've come more'n halfway."

  I bet there aren't so many people in the town who have been under the fish market, Lucas thought.

  "What happened to your last mate?" he asked.

  "Geordie? He fell into the Muckle Sump—that's a bad place in number eighteen branch, the one we call Slaughterhouse Way acos it runs down from the meat market; Geordie made sure he could see a woman's bracelet a-shining, and he leaned over too far, trying to reach it; 'tis like a bog there—not water, more slurry—an' it pulled him in fast; I heard him call and I come back, but he'd gone. He were a good boy; best I've had; it were a pity."

  "Oh." Lucas digested this in silence for some time. He did not ask what had become of Gudgeon's other boys.

  The long day wore on—if day it could be called in the black underground. At last a faint glimmer of light began to be visible, a mere pinhead, far, far ahead. Gradually it grew bigger until they were walking in twilight, then in gray daylight. Finally they came out under a brick arch on to the slimy mudbank of the river. The tide was very low, and a variety of objects—dead seagulls, bits of boats, bottles, broken oars, anchors, and barrel staves, were visible, stuck in the mud.

  "This is where we finishes off," Gudgeon explained. "It's handier when the tide's low like this. O' course it ain't alius so. Now we got about a three-quarter-hour afore dark, so you go that way an' I'll go this, and we'll meet agin here by an' by. Give a shout if you find anything."

  Lucas promised he would, but he could see that Gudgeon did not trust him, and kept a suspicious eye on him from far off. Nothing of a particularly exciting nature was found on the riverbank, however, and they presently met again to wash off their troves in the river water which, if by no means crystal clear, was at least a great deal cleaner than that of the sewer.

  Then Gudgeon said he would take charge of all the findings.

  "You lodging at Tetley's? 'Tain't a bad house, but there's sailor-men and all sorts there; you can't trust 'em. The tosh'll be safer at my place."

  Gudgeon, apparently, lived in a derelict boat farther down the riverbank; its chief attractions seemed to be that he was undisturbed by females, need never wash, could suit himself, and had all his things about him.

  '"Tis better for a tosher to live separate. I'll take care o' the things."

  There was such a sharp, mistrustful gleam in Gudgeon's eye that Lucas thought it best not to argue, though he would have liked to show the saddle to Anna-Marie, having struggled with it so far.

  As they toiled up the slippery mudbank toward Haddock Street's little row of houses, now shrouded in blue dusk, a shadowy figure hailed them from farther along the bank. "Hey-o, Gudgeon, me old mate! Any good pickings?"

  "So-so; very so-so, Mr. Bugle," Gudgeon replied, shaking his head. "Pickings ain't what they used to be." It was evident that he was not anxious to discuss the day's haul with the new arrived, a thin man with a pronounced squint. He kept the saddle, wrapped in a muddy bit of sailcloth, under his arm, and said, "This-yer's my new boy. Luke, he calls hisself."

  Bugle walked beside them a short way, discussing current trends in sewer harvest; Lucas gathered that the sort of things which could be found varied considerably according to season; in the winter there tended to be more jewelry and dead bodies; in the summer, more household goods. Gudgeon remained silent and made it plain that he did not welcome Bugle's company.

  "Well, I'll be ganning," Bugle said at length, and turned off up a narrow alley.

  Gudgeon waited until he was a good distance off and then said to Lucas, "Never tell 'em what you've got, even if they should ask."

  "Why not?"

  "Tain't owt o' their business, the prying skivers. They'd like to know what I got, but I don't ever let 'em know. Understand?"

  "All right."

  "See you in the morning, then." Gudgeon gave Lucas a last long narrow-eyed scrutiny, and finally made his way off in the direction of Wharf Lane, which was where he kept his boat.

  As Lucas walked along Haddock Street he was surprised to see the figure of Bugle reappear.

  "Hey, boy!" Bugle called softly. "Hang on a moment!"

  "What is it?" Lucas wondered if he was going to be interrogated about their day's catch.

  But Bugle had a different intention.

  "Here, you, what's-your-name. You're new to the town, ain't you ? I wanted to give you a word o' warning. Just you watch out!"

  "How do you mean?" Lu
cas was rather startled.

  "Watch out for old Gudgeon, I mean! He uses up tosh boys uncommon fast. You're the third he's had this year. All kinds o' mishaps comes to Gudgeon's boys."

  "Oh?" said Lucas.

  "It's my belief he ain't pleased above half if a boy finds summat val'ble; he's a bit queer that way, Gudgeon is. Like, today, for instance, if you was to have found a gold crown or summat, 'stead o' going half shares, he might a' preferred to shove you into the Tidey and keep the whole takings. See? So, like I say, keep a watch out. I'm jist a-warning you out o' friendly motives, an' for the honor o' the profession."

  "Thank you sir," said Lucas. "I'm much obliged."

  Bugle nodded, and vanished up an alley called Sea Coal Lane.

  Lucas walked home very thoughtfully.

  Although the wind was icy and flurries of snow were once more beginning to blow down the street, Lucas went round to the pump in Mrs. Tetley's back yard, drew bucket after bucket of cold water, and scrubbed himself and his clothes until he felt very much like a burning icicle. Only when he could not bear the cold another second did he stop, wring himself dry as best he could, and go into the back kitchen.

  There he found Anna-Marie, stirring away industriously at a potful of something that looked and smelled deliciously like mutton and lentil stew.

  Lucas thought he had done a tolerably good job of cleaning himself up, but even before Anna-Marie had turned around and seen him, her nostrils curled up like those of a suspicious cat. As he shut the door behind him, she spun round, exclaiming, "Luc-asse! Dieu-de-dieu-de-dieu-de-dieu! Where ever have you been?"

  Luckily Anna-Marie had again done well on the second day of her reconditioned-cigar business; during the morning she had picked up another three bags of stubs; during the afternoon she rolled and sold them in the market at sixpence apiece. She had earned twenty-eight shillings, deducting the price of papers and the rent paid to Mr. Hobday.

  It was possible to pay off the Friendly Club boy entirely and buy more eggs and milk for Mr. Oakapple, and a few necessities, for Lucas and Anna-Marie had escaped from the fire with nothing but the clothes they wore.