Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls (2 page)

“Do call me
Maggie, everyone else does,” she said, without so much as wondering how he had
come to call her Hare and not Log, in the first place – old Mrs. Log had been
dead a good twenty years now and they’d just never bothered changing the name.
Most likely someone had told him so.

“Of course,
Maggie… now about that broth?”

Maggie Hare
bustled her new guest through to the pantry where she set a pan of yesterday’s
rabbit stew to cooking and settled down for however much small talk it would
take for her William to come rolling home.

Ambrosious
Black was the perfect gentleman, taking an interest in her ceaseless blather
and making her feel almost beautiful with his gentle manner and his pretty way
of talking – and it had been a long time since Maggie had felt beautiful. A
life with William Hare had beaten it out of her.

The old
grandfather clock in the corner chimed half past and then the hour, without any
sign of the master of the house. Maggie was fed up with making excuses for his
behavior – the truth, him being out all night tomcatting around with whores and
doxies down by the Cattle Market and Gallows Gate didn’t make for endearing
anecdotes to be shared with strangers. Instead, she dismissed his absence with
seven words: “William? He’s a drunk and a fool.”

There was
little more to be said on the subject.

“Well, if
you’ll excuse my rudeness, Mr. Black, I’m afraid I’m going to have to turn in.
A girl needs her beauty sleep, you know.”

     “Surely
not, Maggie. A natural beauty like yourself?”

     “Aye,
that’s me that is, a diamond in the rough. Well, goodnight.”

     Black
watched her go, content to just sit there for a while longer in the flickering
gaslight, thinking.

     Sometime
later he snuffed out the gaslight and wandered through the downstairs of Log’s
Lodging House in the dark, familiarizing himself with the lie of the land. The
privy was right beside his ‘room’ and it stank to high heaven. Mrs. Hare, he
decided, was not a fastidious cleaner.

     His room
wasn’t locked. There was no point, there was nothing to steal in there, not
even the mattress from the bed, which was a wooden pallet softened by mildewed
straw and a single moth-eaten blanket. There was a large double window at the
rear end of the room, held together by a simple latch, and a bare wooden table
that was fit for firewood if nothing else.

The room was
pitiful for the money – the Hare woman had played him for a fool with her
two-and-eight a night for a crib in a pigsty – but it wasn’t important. It
would suit him just fine. All his too long life he’d shied away from excess and
luxury. Excess led to weakness of body and mind. Weakness was for fools like
William Hare.

Black
unlatched the window and threw it open, letting the fresh air in and the stale
reek of urine out.

The fog, he
noticed, was already lifting. Come sunrise it would be as though the rows of
houses with their slate rooftops had never been away. That was how he liked to
think of it – not that the fog came and hid the houses but that it took them
away to some distant land where if the sleepers awoke they would see wonders
aplenty through their shuttered windows. It was a fine sentiment but hardly
likely. These fogs were not the same fogs that had gathered over the Island of
Apples so long ago. Now, perhaps in those mists miracles might have flourished,
but not in the choking factory smog of this filth-ridden city.

He settled
down on the cot, drawing the blanket over his body, content to sleep in his
clothes. But sleep offered Black no solace. He tossed and turned fitfully,
plagued by dreams of ancient deaths and treachery – familiar dreams peopled by
familiar faces, still alive with hope and the need to believe in all things
good, the same naïveté that would lead them inevitably into Hell.

And one face,
most beloved of them all, with red eyes, weeping blood.

*   *   *

Black started
awake, looking instinctively at his hands for the telltale blood and where once
he might have scrubbed them, over and over until his frantic actions actually
produced some of the blood of his dreams, he ignored the guilt and lowered
them.

While he’d
slept an owl had perched on the windowsill. It flapped its powerful wings
several times, banging them against the frame, its five-foot wingspan larger
than the window allowed. The creature watched him now, curiously. Behind the
great white bird, the first rays of dawn were creeping into the room, chasing
the shadows away to wherever it is that darkness hides.

Waking to find
a menacing bird of prey in their room would shock most people, fearful of its
long curved claws and deadly hooked beak, yet it didn’t faze Black in the
least. Instead, it brought a contented smile to the old man’s weathered face.

“A late night,
my friend. I trust you found him?”

Seemingly
affronted that the old man had to ask, the large owl rotated its head toward
the window and closed its eyes without feeling the need to dignify the question
with a response. Ambrosious Black roared with laughter, climbing stiffly out of
his less than luxurious bed.

“I’ll just go
see for myself then, shall I?”

The owl had
nothing to say. It was already fast asleep.

Chapter

2

With the sun
barely over the horizon, Black presumed he’d find the common room of the lodge
dark and empty, everyone still tucked away in their beds. He was pleasantly
surprised to see a warm fire already burning in the hearth and Maggie Hare
bustling around preparing breakfast. Her dark hair was tied up in a tight bun
but strands stuck out in all directions, making it look like someone had glued
a bird’s nest to the top of her head while she’d been sleeping. Black stifled a
laugh. Perhaps her beauty sleep hadn’t gone quite as well as she’d hoped.
Still, Ambrosious gave her top marks for being up and at it, and tired as she
must have been she still greeted him with an enthusiasm he found honest and
refreshing.

“Top of the
morning, sir,” Maggie said. “Had a feeling you’d be an early riser, I did.
Thought I’d get the fire lit…nip the chill out of the room for ya.”

“Many thanks,
ma’am. You shouldn’t have bothered so. Still, I could get used to a woman who
knows how to treat a man like a king. Now if only I were a few years younger…”

“Oh, go on!”
Maggie said, blushing as red as the coals in the fire, unconsciously fiddling
with her hair, trying to straighten out the tangles. “I’m not much of a
sleeper… never was. May as well be getting ‘bout my business, right? Besides…someone
has to keep wee Donny company. He’s
always
up at the crack of dawn.”

Black was
confused. “Donny?”

“Behind you,
in the corner there. He’s easy to miss.”

Black spun on
his heel to see that the room did indeed have another occupant. Over by the
window, tucked in beside the grandfather clock, a tiny wisp of a man with a
shiny bald head and a salt-and-pepper‐colored beard sat hunched over a chess
board. He was oblivious to their conversation, intently studying the
intricately carved game pieces, his round spectacles hanging so low on the tip
of his nose the slightest movement would surely cause them to fall.

“I see why you
call him wee Donny,” Black said. “Not a dwarf, is he?”

“No. Just a
strange little old man. Been living here for years. Before I met William.
Before I took over from Mrs. Log, even. Plays his chess all morning, sleeps
most of the rest of the day. Why don’t you go say hi while I fix you up a
plate?”

“Sounds good.
I’m famished.”

“Then I hope
you like hard‐ boiled eggs, ‘cause our chickens are still learnin’ how to lay
kippers and bacon?”

Black smiled
at Maggie’s joke, one he was sure she’d used a great many times. “Eggs are
fine.”

*   *   *

What wee Donny
perhaps lacked in physical stature, he appeared to make up for intellectually.
Standing watching him play a chess match was one of the most astonishing things
Black had witnessed in quite a long time. Donny was playing himself –
simultaneously in charge of both black’s and white’s moves – and he did so with
such a ferocious speed that Black was sure there was no thought behind his
decisions, that he was just shuffling the pieces around at random. Not so. The
more he watched, Black was sure the tiny old man was playing textbook‐ perfect
chess, setting up classic attack and defensive strategies in the blink of an
eye.

The strange
little man even seemed to take on a different, distinct personality depending
on which side he was currently playing. His black side – the side that was
clearly winning – showed itself with a big toothy grin and larger eyes than
white, who would squint, grind his teeth, and grumble obscenities under his
breath. Black almost expected Donny to reach over to shake his own hand, after
the match ended. Instead, he just cleared the board and immediately began to
set the pieces back into position for the start of the next game.

Black decided
not to bother him, moving over to the window to have a look outside. As he’d
predicted, the thick fog of last night was but a memory now, replaced by a drab
grey sky filled with sickly dark clouds ready to burst with rain at any moment.

Another lovely
morning in Edinburgh!
Black thought.
God how I miss being back home in…

“What
opening do you prefer?” Wee Donny asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Pardon?”

Donny
pushed his spectacles back into place, and squinted up at Black. “Chess
openings, of course! Which one do you prefer using?”

“Oh…well
I’ve always been a fan of the Gambits. King’s Gambit more than Queen’s, but I
like them both.”

The
little man hunched over the chessboard screwed up his face as if he’d bitten
into something sour. “King’s Gambit! Are you daft, man? No one falls for that
move anymore. You’ll never see me give up control of the center of the board
just because you dangle a pawn in my face; I can assure you that!”

“You’d
decline the gambit, then?” Black asked, amused by the old man’s passion for the
game.

“Decline
it! I’d hammer it right back down your gob! Check mate in twelve or thirteen
moves.”

“I
see…well we wouldn’t want that now, would we? What opening would you suggest?”

Wee
Donny scratched his bearded chin for a moment, considering the question
seriously. “Seeing as you’re obviously no’ a master, like myself, I think you’d
be better off using a sound defensive opening like the Knight’s Sacrifice.
Protect your king at all times, right? That’s the way to win!”

The
smile vanished from Black’s face, gone as if his face had never known how.
Unwanted visions flashed in his mind, rapid-fire images of men screaming in
agony on a field of emerald‐ green grass. Of men writhing in pain, futilely
reaching out for help as they lay dying in puddles of their own blood. And once
again of the great man who wept crimson tears—

“…chance
to attack your opponent’s weak side,” Donny said, but Black had been lost in
his dark memories.

“Sorry…what
were you saying?” Black apologized.

“The
sacrifice, mate! Aren’t you listening? The Knight’s Sacrifice?  Have you ever
used it?”

“That
I have, old‐timer…a long,
long
time ago.” There was a somber quality to
Black’s voice, a tone filled with heavy burden and dark regret. Donny didn’t
notice, happy that he had found a worthy playing partner.

“Wonderful!
Have a seat and let’s see how you fare.”

“Me?
Play chess?” Black asked, shaking his head. “God, no. I studied the moves for
years, sure, but I’ve never actually played the damn game. Always thought it a
bit silly, truth be told.”

Wee
Donny was confused. “Never played? But you said—”

A
loud crash in the hallway, followed closely by the slamming of the front door
stopped the little man in mid-sentence. Both he and Black turned quickly to investigate.
Entering the room – or rather, stumbling into it– was a tall stocky man with
greasy black hair dressed in a pair of soot-stained dungarees and a threadbare
wool sweater. He had a thin face, wild bloodshot eyes, and the aroma of someone
who’d either been out drinking all night or had recently had the misfortune of
falling headfirst into a giant keg of whiskey.

“The
master of the house?” Black bent down to quietly ask Donny. Fear was shining in
the little man’s eyes, telling Black everything he needed to know.

Donny
nodded once, then quickly hunched back over the chessboard, trying his best to
disappear into his chair. From the look on his face, if he’d been able to jump
right into the chessboard, hide among the pawns and rooks in the only world
that made any sense to him anymore, Black was sure he would have gladly done
so.

“Maggie?”
the new arrival shouted. “Where the hell’s my meal, woman?”

Black
looked over just as Maggie had been entering the room with a plate full of
eggs.
His
eggs, presumably. The smile slid from her face, seeing that
her husband had finally returned home. However it wasn’t replaced by the angry
scowl Black had expected, hearing the harsh way she’d talked about Mr. Hare
last night. She was angry all right, but being careful not to let it show. What
her face
did
show was a look remarkably similar to that of Wee Donny’s.
For all her brash talk, Maggie was obviously frightened of her man.

“William.
I didn’t know you were home,” Maggie said. “Umm…these eggs are for—”

“For
who…?” Hare asked, his voice rising, his dark eyes swiveling to take in Wee
Donny and Mr. Black. Maggie didn’t know what to do. Her eyes found Black,
silently pleading. Black nodded in her husband’s direction, understanding
perfectly.

“They’re
for you William, of course,” Maggie answered, placing the eggs down in front of
him. “Eat up, while they’re hot.”

Hare
grumbled something incoherent then greedily started shoveling food down his
throat. Maggie started to head back to the pantry, but turned to meekly ask,
“What took you so long, William? You…you promised me you wouldn’t be staying
out all night like this anymore.”

Hare
glared at her, a line of yellow yolk running down his chin, dripping onto the
plate. “None of your god damned business, woman! Mind your tongue and just be
thankful I bother coming back to this dump at all. Hear?”

“Yes,
William. Sorry…it’s just that—”

“If
you really need to know,” Hare interrupted, “I was chased around all bloody
night by a muckle big bird. Everywhere I went this beast followed me. Scared
me, it did. I’m man enough to admit that. I stayed in the pub until the sun was
up and I was sure it was gone.”

“Oh,
come on now, William. Surely you can come up with a better lie than that?”
Maggie said, some of her fire rekindled by her husband’s outlandish story. “A
big brute like you scared of a sparrow!”

“This
wasn’t some stupid wee sparrow, Maggie. It was a great white monster: big
yellow eyes with huge black claws and a curved beak. You should ‘ave seen it
Maggie! I tell ya, there was something ‘no natural about it!”

“Blimey!
What kind of bird was it?”

“How
the blooming hell should I know, Maggie? My mate, Burke, thought it was maybe
an albatross. He said they’re evil, bringing disease and bad luck to whoever
sees them.”

“Your
friend’s been reading too much
Coleridge,
”
Black butted into their conversation, helping himself to a seat at Hare’s table.
“It wasn’t an albatross…it was an owl. A Snowy Owl to be precise. Quite rare in
these parts.”

“My
friend doesn’t read, Mr… Who the hell are you, anyway?” Hare asked, ignoring
Black and looking toward Maggie for the answer.

“Sorry,
dear. I meant to introduce you. This is Mr. Black. He’ll be staying with us for
a few months or more, using your old workshop out back. Paid half up front he
did too, so mind your manners.”

A
light went on in Hare’s eyes, a greedy gleam that made his tired, bloodshot
eyes look even worse. Suddenly, he was cheery and all smiles, Black’s new best
friend whether he wanted one or not.

“Pleasure
to meet you, sir,” Hare said, reaching across the table, extending his large
sweaty hand for Black to shake. “Maggie been treatin’ you fairly?”

“Oh
yes. Like a King! I was hoping for some eggs, though.”

“You
heard the man, Maggie. Make yourself bloody useful and get the man some eggs.
Do I have to think of everything around here for ya?”

“No,
William. You don’t. Eggs will be right out, Mr. Black. Sorry for the wait.”

Maggie
shuffled off to make more eggs, leaving Black and Hare alone at the table, each
silently sizing the other up. It was Hare who spoke first.

“You’ve
seen it, then? The white bird?”

“Now
and then, yes, but let’s talk about something else. Something important. I have
a proposition for you.”

“A
propo… what? What does that mean?”

Black
smiled, “It means that if you’re up for a little hard work, and can keep your
mouth shut, you’re about to make a whole lot of money. Understand?”

Hare
was smiling now, too. “Perfectly, Mr. Black. Perfectly! What would you have me
do?”

“Two
things. First, meet me at the docks tonight at eight o’clock. I have some
crates arriving by ship that I’ll need you to bring back here to my room.
They’ll be heavy and I don’t want them broken, so you might want to bring
someone along to help. Your nonreading friend, perhaps?”

“Done.
What’s the second thing?”

“We’ll
talk about that later.” Black rose from his chair. “Depends if you bungle the
delivery, or not.” He turned and headed for the front door.

“What
about your eggs?” Hare asked.

Black
paused but didn’t turn around. “You eat them, William. If things go as planned,
you’ll need all the strength you can get.”