Before the Storm (13 page)

‘I study this sort of thing at school, remember?'

‘Yeah, yeah, each accordin' what 'e knows an' all.'

‘In short, no Germans.'

‘Next we'll – there's a copper on that table, off to yer right.'

‘Where?' gasped Daniel, glancing around at once.

A man in a shabby suit gave a slight smile in their direction, then waggled his finger from side to side. Barry spread his hands and shrugged.

‘He is not a policeman!' snorted Daniel, turning back to Barry. ‘He has no uniform.'

‘Nah, he's a copper spy. Constable, like.'

‘The police have spies?'

‘Yeah! Gotta be pretty stupid to be caught by one, mind, but there's some folk wot's that thick. Old Barrington there, like, 'e stops me an' searches me bag, last month. Finds a florin, an' says where did I steal it, like? I says please sir, I never done nothin', an' that I found it in the gutter. Old tosser keeps the florin an' lets me go with a caution.'

‘But why not hide the florin too?'

‘To give the twerp somethin' to find! Jeez, Danny Boy, don't you know nothin'? That made the cove pleased with 'imself, so he calls off the search of Barry's bag. Meantime, I has fifteen shillings in me secret bag bottom, and I now know what one more copper spy looks like.'

‘So the florin was a decoy.'

‘Yeah, sort of.'

Daniel was very well educated and was not short of intelligence, but Barry's sheer rat cunning had him awe-struck. Their two cups of coffee arrived, and while Daniel managed to force himself to drink his, he could not pretend to enjoy it. Patrons came and went. Daniel noticed that the girl with red hair kept staring at him. Muriel someone, that was her name. She and Emily did not like each other.

‘Barry, there's a girl with a sketchbook over in the corner, to my right. Long, red hair.'

‘She's 'armless,' said Barry after flicking a glance across her.

‘Is her name Muriel?'

‘Yeah. Muriel Barker or Banker or somethin'.'

‘Baker?'

‘That's it! Her mum's got a shop, sells art stuff, an' she does stuff in some art school, too. Don't mind 'er. She's not police, she's not German, an' she's not sellin' nothin'.'

Barry began to break open his collection of discarded cigarettes and salvage the tobacco. Constable Barrington had five cups of coffee over the following half-hour.

‘I can't see how he can drink so much,' muttered Daniel.

‘Well, just watch – not right at 'im! Don't you know nothin'? Be casual, like. There, see, 'e added a bit of the old Lady Frisky to the cup.'

‘Lady Frisky?'

‘Whisky! From that silver flask.'

‘Oh.'

‘Reckon I could get a pound for that from Lurker the Worker. A guinea, if it was full.'

They sat there for another ten minutes, watching people come and go. From time to time men would come up to the plain-clothes policeman, and some would slip things into his hand. Daniel began to get used to watching people out of the corner of his eye. He watched Muriel Baker a great deal. Although she was about the same age as Emily, Muriel dressed rather more exotically than Daniel's sister, and actually wore make-up. Her mother was something to do with the local artistic community. Barry had mentioned that. Daniel found himself thinking that Muriel was rather attractive, but he hurriedly reminded himself that she was as much as two years older than him. He was so intent on watching Muriel without being seen to watch her that he suddenly realised that he had missed a very important detail amid the noise, smoke and melodeon music in the café.

‘The five men at that table beside Constable Barrington,' said Daniel softly, leaning across the table and looking directly at Barry. ‘They're speaking German.'

‘Yeah? Five Germans, and Foxy say that five Germans done the damage wot hasn't happened yet. Reckon we got them spies by the danglers, Danny Boy.'

It was at this point that Barry did the unthinkable. In his haste to dash off and speak to someone, he abandoned his bag to Daniel's care. Daniel laid a protective hand over the bag. Constable Barrington flicked a glance his way, but did not move. Within a minute Barry was back, having realised that he had parted company with his bag. He snatched it away from Daniel without a word, then embraced it for a moment, as if trying to make up to a jilted sweetheart.

‘Got the word on 'em,' Barry reported quietly. ‘Waiter back there is Luker the Lurker.'

‘Who is he?'

‘Mate of Lurker the Worker, wot's a mate of Dad's on the railways. The German coves turned up three months ago. All speak English with accents when they want to order, and reckon they're artists. Can ya tell what they're saying?'

‘Something about Australian wines being good, but that they would be much better if Germans made them.'

‘Is that right, eh? Reckon that daft BC cove was talkin' chapter and verse?'

‘Something about them just does not add up,' continued Daniel.

‘Yeah? You spotted somethin'?'

‘Well, their German is good.'

‘What? Danny Boy, have a brain, they're Germans! Germans speak German better than anyone else.'

‘No, not quite. I speak good English, but I don't speak it like an English teacher. Those five speak German like my German teacher. He always speaks German perfectly, so that his pupils don't get bad habits. Trust me, Barry, their German really is too good.'

‘Don't see how that helps us.'

‘Neither do I, but it's worth remembering.'

‘Reckon we oughta get goin' now.'

‘Why?' asked Daniel, casting a hurried glance at Muriel, who was still sitting by herself and occasionally sketching something on a pad. ‘We just found the spies.'

‘Yeah, but old Barrington is lookin' for 'is silver flask, an' I don't want to be in 'ere when the fun starts.'

‘You couldn't have stolen his whisky flask, you never went anywhere near him.'

‘Yeah, but Luker the Lurker did, then didn't I just go over to whisper with Luker the Lurker?'

‘So you stole from the waiter what the waiter stole from the policeman?'

‘Er, yeah. I sorta reckon stolen stuff is lost property, an' finders keepers is the rule there.'

Back in the street again, Daniel stood in front of Barry as he huddled in the doorway of a closed shop and hid the silver flask in the false bottom of his bag. Presently there were raised voices from within the café, and some minutes later Constable Barrington stormed out. Catching sight of Barry and Daniel, he strode over, seized Barry by the collar, and made him empty his pockets and open his bag. Finding nothing, he turned on Daniel, searched his pockets, and confiscated two shillings and a postcard.

‘I'm watching you, sonny,' he said to Daniel as he turned to go.

Barry slapped Daniel reassuringly on the back as Constable Barrington vanished into the crowd.

‘He said he's watching me,' quavered Daniel.

‘Yeah, so?'

‘What if Mother finds out?'

‘Jeez, Danny Boy, the cove says that to everyone. Is 'e watchin' ya now?'

‘No, but –'

‘Then there ya go!'

Barry and Daniel loitered outside the café. Muriel Baker came out, paused to glance at Daniel as if to confirm that he was who she suspected, then walked on. She's going to tell someone, thought Daniel. At least it won't matter if she tells Emily. Moments later Barry sampled the whisky from the stolen flask, and very nearly choked. It was while Barry was bent over with Daniel thumping his back that the Germans emerged from the café. With Barry gasping for air, they shadowed the group as they wandered along Acland Street, then turned down an alley. Telling Daniel to stay and watch, Barry dashed to another laneway to flank the Germans, but soon emerged looking angry and puzzled.

‘Lost 'em!' muttered Barry. ‘Did they come back out this way?'

‘No. There were a lot of people coming and going, but nobody that looked like them.'

‘Yeah? Then they either got some doorway to duck in, else they got disguises.'

A large, black coach rumbled out of the lane and passed them. It was certainly not the sort of coach that five artists could have afforded.

‘Still, we know they're in town.'

‘But wot else d'we know?'

‘They are acting suspiciously. They speak German too well, and they vanish after coffee.'

‘Yeah, well, I bet your German teacher vanishes into the dunny after he has a coffee, but that doesn't mean we can nail him for tryin' to blow up parlyment. We lost 'em! Cove's a real worry if Barry the Bag loses 'im.'

Daniel was ready to fall asleep as he and Barry boarded a train going south at Balaclava Station, yet Daniel knew that he still had to survive a dinner with his family, Fox, and BC.

‘Barry, do you, like, do that sort of thing all the time?' he asked as the train pulled away from the platform.

‘Do wot?'

‘Dodge the police, lurk about in cafés with artists and secret police spies, all of that.'

‘Nah, I just breezes in, nicks wot's easy, then comes back in a month or two, when folks 'ave forgotten me.'

‘It was terrifying at the time, but now it seems so exciting.'

‘Excitin'? Wouldn't say that. It's business, ya know? Dangerous business, but once ya got the rules, still business.'

‘I felt like a master criminal.'

‘Trust me, Dan the Man, we're just small-time thugs. Still, nobody bothers with the small fella, that's why I get by.'

‘What did you think of Muriel?'

‘The daft baggage in the café who was lookin' at ya?'

‘Yes.'

‘I'm not too popular with 'er mum. She wouldn't stock certain merchandise of mine in 'er shop.'

‘Do you think Muriel's pretty?'

‘Pretty?' responded Barry, as if he had once heard the word long ago, but it had not been explained to him.

‘Yes, pretty. I think she is,' Daniel said dreamily.

‘Yeah, so wot?'

‘Nothing.'

It was clear to Daniel that in spite of all Barry's postcards, rubber devices, and luridly instructive books, the idea of romance had somehow bypassed him completely. Why does she have to be older than me? wondered Daniel, who thought of everyone who was both older than himself and female as a cross between a sergeant major and Emily.

They got off at North Brighton, where Barry's father shouted at him for not cleaning up the station for the following day's inspection. BC was gone from the packages room when Barry and Daniel checked there.

‘Well, Dan, I got a cartload of work to get the place inspectional,' said Barry, taking a broom. ‘Ya best be off to dinner.'

Daniel reached out for the broom. ‘I'll sweep the platforms, Barry, you do the cleaning things that I don't know about.'

‘Ya daft?' exclaimed Barry, who was clearly incredulous. ‘Why?'

‘I'll just be another bum on a seat at dinner, no harm done if I walk in late.'

‘Ya still 'aven't said why.'

‘You need help, and we're mates.'

Barry removed his grubby cap and scratched his greasy hair.

‘Er, shit, ta. I mean, I got lots o' mates, but none wot would do nothin' for me. Not unless there was somethin' in it for them, anyways.'

‘So, I'll sweep the platforms?'

‘Yeah, yeah, but just sweep the dust onter the tracks as ya go, no big piles, inspectors don't like that. Oh, and toss the papers an' food scraps in a bin. Inspectors go on about encouragin' rats if ya sweep that stuff onter the tracks. I'll get the packages back in order in here, and give the place a dust. Lor, but I 'ope yer sister can scav a room for that BC. He's a dark one an' I want 'im outta here. Wouldn't put it past 'im to shoot the bloody station inspector, judgin' from what he an' Foxy did to the push an' those three coppers.'