Fixer swung open the iron door, they shrank back, winding arms and legs together. The big fellow didn’t budge, didn’t even look up. Leaning into the cage, the Fixer remembered that he’d left the Judicator in the cabin. If the darkie decided to turn on him he’d have to use the jemmy.
‘I know you understand me,’ he said. ‘I saw it on your face by the quayside. I need your help.’
The head turned, eyes fixed. Four limbs stirred. The Fixer backed out of the cage door. Even if he could swing it closed in time there was nothing to lock it with. The darkie was moving towards him, impossibly silent.
I’m a dead man.
Outside the cage, the darkie unfolded and stretched, like a big old tree creaking in the wind. Tar patches stood out as blacker spots against his skin. ‘How do you know I’ll not snap your neck, white man?’
Good English.
‘Because I trust what my instincts are telling me. If you run, there is nowhere you can go. With me, with a white man , there are many places we can both go. That’s the way of this country.’
‘Perhaps I do not want to run. Perhaps I do not deserve freedom.’
‘There is a woman and newborn child. We have to leave, now.’
‘Something has gone bad for you?’
‘Very bad. I need your help. They need your help. This is the bargain I offer. We are in fear of our lives. If I read your face right beside the dock today then such a thing means something to you. I don’t know why. I don’t care.’
He nodded back towards the cage. ‘What of their lives?’
‘They can’t come with us. Otherwise they may stay or flee as they wish. What do you say?’
‘I abandoned them long before reaching these shores. I shall go with you.’
‘An old barouche — a cart — is stored back of the warehouse with a nag to pull it. Take the child and fetch them. I shall collect the girl.’
The Fixer ran back across the yard and scrambled up the cabin steps. I’ll get her down if I have to put her across my shoulders, he thought. When he entered the cabin the three brothers were waiting for him. Two had drawn swords. The third was seated on an upturned box beside the newborn’s empty swaddling.
The Fixer caught the first one square on the face. Bone crunched under his knuckles. An elbow to the midriff took care of the second before a blade sliced across the Fixer’s temple, knocking him to his knees. He covered his face with both forearms and rolled across the floor. A boot cracked into his ribs. Hot pain across his chest as another blade cut into his skin. He saw the first brother, nose gouting blood, raise his sword. The Fixer slithered out of the way. The blade missed his throat and sliced a thick splinter out of the floor. Another sword caught him across the forearm, then another across his belly. He was done for, and he knew it.
The door crashed open.
A figure demoned out of the night. A sweeping hand caught one brother and hurled him through the closed shutters. Wood cracked. A breathless thud of a body hitting the warehouse roof. His sibling tried to bring his sword around but the angle was too tight. The darkie grabbed the hand holding the pommel and crushed it in a savage grip. His victim dropped the sword and stared at his broken palm. The darkie kicked him on the kneecaps and he went down like a sack of turnips. The third brother leapt up, fell over the Fixer’s legs and clanged his head on the end of the bed where the girl still lay, wide eyes drinking in the mayhem. The darkie grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him to his feet.
‘You cause any more trouble and I shall eat you whole.’
The man had wits enough left to nod before the darkie packed him out of the door. For good measure he picked the other one up and sent him sprawling down the steps after the first. Quiet settled on the cabin. The Fixer climbed to his feet and checked his wounds. Clean, but they would need stitching before the night was out.
‘They will come back?’ the darkie
‘I know you understand me,’ he said. ‘I saw it on your face by the quayside. I need your help.’
The head turned, eyes fixed. Four limbs stirred. The Fixer backed out of the cage door. Even if he could swing it closed in time there was nothing to lock it with. The darkie was moving towards him, impossibly silent.
I’m a dead man.
Outside the cage, the darkie unfolded and stretched, like a big old tree creaking in the wind. Tar patches stood out as blacker spots against his skin. ‘How do you know I’ll not snap your neck, white man?’
Good English.
‘Because I trust what my instincts are telling me. If you run, there is nowhere you can go. With me, with a white man , there are many places we can both go. That’s the way of this country.’
‘Perhaps I do not want to run. Perhaps I do not deserve freedom.’
‘There is a woman and newborn child. We have to leave, now.’
‘Something has gone bad for you?’
‘Very bad. I need your help. They need your help. This is the bargain I offer. We are in fear of our lives. If I read your face right beside the dock today then such a thing means something to you. I don’t know why. I don’t care.’
He nodded back towards the cage. ‘What of their lives?’
‘They can’t come with us. Otherwise they may stay or flee as they wish. What do you say?’
‘I abandoned them long before reaching these shores. I shall go with you.’
‘An old barouche — a cart — is stored back of the warehouse with a nag to pull it. Take the child and fetch them. I shall collect the girl.’
The Fixer ran back across the yard and scrambled up the cabin steps. I’ll get her down if I have to put her across my shoulders, he thought. When he entered the cabin the three brothers were waiting for him. Two had drawn swords. The third was seated on an upturned box beside the newborn’s empty swaddling.
The Fixer caught the first one square on the face. Bone crunched under his knuckles. An elbow to the midriff took care of the second before a blade sliced across the Fixer’s temple, knocking him to his knees. He covered his face with both forearms and rolled across the floor. A boot cracked into his ribs. Hot pain across his chest as another blade cut into his skin. He saw the first brother, nose gouting blood, raise his sword. The Fixer slithered out of the way. The blade missed his throat and sliced a thick splinter out of the floor. Another sword caught him across the forearm, then another across his belly. He was done for, and he knew it.
The door crashed open.
A figure demoned out of the night. A sweeping hand caught one brother and hurled him through the closed shutters. Wood cracked. A breathless thud of a body hitting the warehouse roof. His sibling tried to bring his sword around but the angle was too tight. The darkie grabbed the hand holding the pommel and crushed it in a savage grip. His victim dropped the sword and stared at his broken palm. The darkie kicked him on the kneecaps and he went down like a sack of turnips. The third brother leapt up, fell over the Fixer’s legs and clanged his head on the end of the bed where the girl still lay, wide eyes drinking in the mayhem. The darkie grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him to his feet.
‘You cause any more trouble and I shall eat you whole.’
The man had wits enough left to nod before the darkie packed him out of the door. For good measure he picked the other one up and sent him sprawling down the steps after the first. Quiet settled on the cabin. The Fixer climbed to his feet and checked his wounds. Clean, but they would need stitching before the night was out.
‘They will come back?’ the darkie
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