Julius and the Watchmaker (5 page)

‘The school is that way,' said Mr Higgins, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

‘So it is,' said Julius. He ran back and hurried past his grandfather with what he hoped was a convincing smile fixed to his face.

Once out of sight, Julius dropped the bag, and the smile, and collapsed against a wall to catch his breath. It was not a good idea to get too close to the school, which was only three streets away. Crimper and his minions could be scouring the borough for him at this very moment. They could murder him, toss him in the Thames and be back in time for the afternoon lessons. It was no use going back and confiding his difficulties with his grandfather. The last time he complained about being bullied, the old man had attempted to give him a boxing lesson.

‘Give the fellow a good punch on the nose, Julius Caesar. That will sort him out,' he had said, holding up his fists and ducking his head.

Julius picked up his bag and ran east along Gresham Street. He would keep running in the opposite direction from the school until the afternoon lessons began.

An hour later, Julius crept into the day yard. He pushed the forged letter under the headmaster's door and sprinted back out into Milk Street. Phase two of the plan was complete. Now for phase three.

Tired and sweating from all his running and worrying, Julius turned the corner into Warwick Lane. He dodged through the shoppers, street vendors, pickpockets and beggars. With a pounding heart, he arrived at Clements' pawnshop but lost his nerve and stopped at the door.

Julius's stomach was churning hard enough to make a pound of butter. He looked in the window at the display of pledged items. There were corsets, a trumpet, hats, cigar cases and even a shrunken head. He remembered Jack Springheel's blade flashing through the air and Crimper's terrified expression. He wanted to be close to Jack Springheel when Crimper came searching for him, even though it meant keeping an eye out for the street urchins, and Chinamen. He took a deep breath and walked into the shop.

Clements sat behind the counter smoking a cigar. He lowered the newspaper he was reading and blew out a cloud of smoke that lingered around his head and shoulders like a fog on the Thames. Then, to Julius's surprise, Clements' eyes opened wide in welcome.

‘Well, if it isn't our little bookseller friend. How are you, my boy?'

‘Very well, thank you, sir.'

‘You've found it then? I knew you would,' he said, as he leaned forward and eyed the carpetbag greedily.

Before Julius could speak, the tip of a walking cane shot out from behind the curtain separating the shop from the back parlour. It swept across the doorway, lifting the curtain to reveal Jack Springheel.

‘Our young friend returns,' he said, as he stepped up to the counter.

Julius's heart jumped. Last night's events came back in vivid colour. What seemed at first like a very simple and straightforward plan now seemed too ridiculous for words.

What were you thinking, Higgins?
He could imagine the two of them laughing their heads off at his plea for their help.

‘You have news of Harrison's diary?' said Springheel, arranging the ruffles on his cravat—it was canary yellow with black polka dots. His eyes bored into Julius.

Any words Julius ever knew left his head. All he could do was stare dumbly at Springheel.

‘Well?' said Springheel.

‘Er…yes, I do. The thing is…I'm in a small spot of bother. I was wondering…I need some lodgings, just for a week or two…until things settle down.'

‘Bother?' said Springheel. He turned to Clements. ‘I'm sure Clements would be delighted to have you as our guest. Wouldn't you, Clements.'

‘Would I?' said Clements.

‘Yes…you would,' said Springheel.

Clements swallowed. ‘I'd be delighted. But he'd have to do a few odd jobs around the place.'

‘You wouldn't mind doing a few odd jobs, would you, Julius?' said Springheel.

‘No, not at all. In fact, I was going to offer to do just that.'

‘In that case, we'd be happy to put you up,' said Springheel, looking at the carpetbag. ‘In exchange for the diary.'

‘Er…I don't have it with me…but I can get it… tonight.'

CHAPTER 5

Wednesday 5th July, 1837
2:48 AM

Julius lay on the rickety bed at his new lodgings, looking up through the skylight at the tiny stars. The carpetbag lay against the damp wall. On the upturned box that served as a bedside table a candle burned lower and lower marking the slow passing of time. Julius waited, wishing that he could wait forever for what he had to do next.

When the candle finally flickered and died, the room was clutched by darkness.

It grew suddenly cold. Julius pulled his boots on and crept down the narrow stairway. In the kitchen he found the backdoor key on the hook where Clements had said it would be. He walked out into the back alley and through New Market Square. No one was about at this time of the morning, except for a policeman doing his rounds. The full moon lit Julius's way as he went home to get the diary.

From the end of Ironmonger Lane the dark shape of his grandfather's shop sign stood out against the night sky.

Julius was skinny enough to edge himself through the shop doorway without causing the bell to ring. He closed the door and listened. The mantel clock ticked, but that was the only sound. The shop's interior was almost black; he felt his way to the back parlour and lit a lamp. The familiar room was full of shadows. They seemed to know he was up to no good. Julius slid open the writing-desk drawers, searching for the diary.

Where is it, Higgins?
Julius's desperation grew more intense the more he searched. It had to be in the parlour or in the shop. If the old man was keeping it under his pillow Julius stood no chance of getting it. He rifled through the papers and books on the writing desk. A pile of letters tumbled to the floor.

Stop and think, Higgins. Where did you last see the diary?

That's it. He spun around and looked at the chair his grandfather had been sitting in when Professor Fox called. He carefully lifted the cushion. There it was. It was so obvious that it was the last place he would have looked. He snatched the diary, hugged it to his chest and reached out to turn down the lamp.

‘Julius Caesar?'

Julius spun around. Mr Higgins was standing in the doorway leading from the stairs. His nightcap was perched precariously on his head and his skinny legs poked out from beneath his nightshirt.

‘Aha! I knew you were up to something.'

‘No…I—'

‘What's that you have there?' said the old man, pointing to the diary.

‘Nothing.'

‘What are you up to? Tell me, now.'

‘Nothing.'

‘It's not nothing. Why are you sneaking about in the dead of night like a…like a sneak-thief ?'

‘I'll explain it all later. I promise,' said Julius, edging towards the door.

Mr Higgins snatched the diary from his hand. ‘Thinking of going into business for yourself, were you?'

‘No, it's—'

‘I knew this would happen one day. I should call the peelers. That's what I should do.'

‘No, please,' said Julius, clasping his hands around the diary. ‘It's not what you think.'

‘Give it back,' said the old man. He pulled the book from Julius's grasp.

‘No, please. I'll explain later. I need—'

‘It's come to this: stealing from your own flesh and blood!'

‘But, I'm in a bit of bother, Grandfather, I—'

‘Oh, you're in a bit of bother, all right, a lot of—'

‘Please. I'll explain later. Please. Let go, let go,' Julius cried. He wrenched the book away with such force that the old man fell back onto the stairs.

Julius dropped the diary and went to his grandfather.

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—'

‘Get back,' cried the old man with anger and disappointment is his eyes. ‘There's bad blood in you… bad blood. Get out, get out.'

‘But—'

‘Police, police,' shouted Mr Higgins.

Julius scooped up the diary and ran out into the night.

Julius was out of breath by the time he ran into the embankment wall. He slumped against the cold, damp stones. Sweat trickled down his forehead, and the sound of his panting and his heartbeat rose above the lapping waves and the distant fog horns and the creaking and groaning of the ships further along the river. His hand clutched his jacket to feel the diary inside. He held it tight, but part of him wanted to throw it into the river and run away somewhere where no one would ever find him again.
What have you done, Higgins? And what did Grandfather mean? What bad blood?

A line of mist floated above the water, like a ghostly white veil in the moonlight. Julius watched it drifting and shifting. As his breathing slowed he rested his head against the damp wall and looked across the river. He could see the city's ebony silhouette in the white moon's glow. Julius stared up at the vast dome of the night sky. His grandfather's face was sharp in his mind—the expression of contempt and betrayal stabbed at the deepest parts of him.

You must go back, Higgins.

Just as he was about to turn away there was a sound. Julius held his breath and listened. It was a rhythmic splashing coming from the river below. He peered through the mist and strained his ears. There it was again. An unmistakable rhythmic splashing, as if someone were wading through the water using their arms as paddles
.

It must be river men searching for corpses.

Julius leaned over the wall to get a closer look. For a moment he thought he could see movement below. Then a heart stopping sound came from out of the mist. It was the most pitiable noise he had ever heard, a cross between a baby's cry and wounded dog's wail. He jumped back from the wall.

He waited a moment, then looked again, down and to the right. A black shape emerged and cried out again as two arms reached out imploringly towards the mud-encrusted embankment wall and groped their way along the stones to the rusty iron rungs of the ladder.

Julius retreated. The creature groaned with the effort of heaving its sodden body up the ladder.

It clambered over the wall and Julius turned and ran for the nearest doorway, where the shadows would hide him. The creature cried out mournfully and looked around in quick movements of fear and confusion. Julius stepped back and collided with a bucket of rotting fish. The rats balancing on the edge of the bucket scattered. They screeched in fright and the bucket tipped over spilling a stew of fish guts, bones and river water on the cobbles. Julius let out a cry before he could stop himself.

The creature stopped wailing and looked in Julius's direction. Julius held his breath. He prayed to be mistaken for a pile of debris. The rats scurried away, and with a squelching sound the creature stepped forward. Water dripped from its dark clothes like water from a dying fountain.

‘Get back!' yelled Julius.

‘Aaaarch graach jahaar,' said the creature, holding its arms out.

‘Get back, I said,' yelled Julius again, trying to scramble to his feet, but his boots were too thick with fish slime to get a purchase.

By now the creature was near enough for Julius to see him. He wore a dark coat with tails that hung nearly to his ankles and sleeves that were too short for his long thin arms. His collar sat high around his cheeks, which were as grey as a cadaver's.

Julius backed up until he hit the wall. He looked to his left and right. How far could he run before he slipped and broke his kneecaps?

The creature came closer, stretching out a hand towards him, close enough for Julius to see his face. His eyes were large and staring, with black pupils and red whites, the nose just a sliver of gristle with nostrils. River water dripped from its tip. Grey-black lips opened to show two rows of pointed teeth, and black oily hair stuck to his forehead.

‘Aaaarch graach jahaar,' said the creature again.