Steve Augarde - X-Isle

Also by Steve Augarde

The Various
Celandine
Winter Wood

T he steady chug of the diesel engine drew closer, and eventually the salvage boat emerged from the mist, a blank grey shape steering a middle course between the ghostly lines of chimney stacks that rose from the water. It turned right and came sailing up John William Street.

There was a general scuffle of movement as the crowd edged a little further down the muddy bank. From where they stood, the two parallel rows of houses that had once been John William Street descended into the oily waters, so that the rooftops became a guiding channel for the approaching vessel, the steep pathway up to the bowling green acting as a kind of jetty.

Tense and expectant, the boys sat like jockeys astride the shoulders of the men fathers, uncles, elder brothers as though they were waiting for the start of a race. Many of the boys carried backpacks with extra clothes and belongings, in case they should be chosen. And on their foreheads, in paint or felt-tipped pen, many had scrawled the letter X, the symbol of their hoped-for destination.

Get closer to the front, Dad see if you can get to the front. Baz put his hands on his fathers damp mop of hair and tried to urge him forward.

Doesnt matter where you stand, son. The muffled voice was calm. Its what youve got that counts. Its all down to whether youve got something they want.

And that was true. Already some of the boys were holding their offerings aloft bags of sugar, bunches of runner beans, packs of cigarettes, whatever pitiful resources they had been able to muster in the hopes of buying their passage on the boat.

Idiots. It was stupid to show what you had. The gangs of thieves Teefers who circled the edge of the crowd would be taking note, getting ready to pounce once the trading was over. The Teefers would get much of it in the end, but there was no point in serving it up to them on a plate. Safer to keep your hands in your pockets until the last minute. Baz didnt even know what his father was carrying. Now some skinny boy over to the right had just lost his goods, judging by the brief scuffle that had broken out.

Skinny boys. Always skinny and always boys, for thats all that Isaac would take. No girls. They had to be boys, and they had to be small for their age. They were hoisted upon the shoulders of the men so that they could be seen for what they were small and light. Some of them had taken off their shirts, lest there be any doubt, and their thin torsos glistened in the sticky heat.

The boat was drawing up to the tarmac pathway now, and its crew could clearly be seen: three burly men standing on the foredeck with machine guns slung over their shoulders. The Eck brothers. Isaac, Luke and Amos. Between them they controlled the coastline, the salvage trading, and the lives of all who stood before them. But it was Isaac, the eldest, who skippered the boat, and it was Isaac who would make the decisions. He was the one to watch. And with his long dark hair and beard you could pick him out easily enough. The younger brothers were both shaven-headed.

Keep back! Isaacs voice rang loud through the still air. Oi, you get off the slipway!

A boy had broken away from the crowd and taken a few steps down the strip of tarmac. He was waving what looked like a pack of cards.

Get back, I said! Isaac raised the automatic and fired off a short burst duh-duh-duh-duh a crashing echo that bounced around the half-submerged rooftops. The boy scuttled backwards into the crowd. The salvage boat rocked closer to the makeshift slipway, its sign clearly visible now, painted in blue lettering on the bow: Cormorant. One of the brothers threw a loop of rope over the buckled gatepost that had once marked the entrance to the bowling green. He hauled on the rope and the boat swung diagonally towards the shore, until its nose bumped gently against the tarmac. The man held it there, kept it steady and then secured the rope to a cleat, repositioning his shotgun with his free hand so that it swept upwards towards the crowd. The diesel motor was kept running on fast tickover, in case of trouble.

Recruiting today! Isaacs voice rose above the noise of the diesel. Were looking for two new lads this trip. Orders from Preacher John.

A murmur ran through the crowd. Two recruits! There was never usually more than one place on the boat, and often none at all.

Baz took a closer look at those around him, trying to judge the competition. Many of the boys looked quite a lot bigger than him. Theyd have to have brought something pretty special to be in with a chance. A few were obviously too young to be of much use. There were maybe a dozen who seemed about right.

He noticed a lad with black hair away to his left, sitting upon the shoulders of a woman. Both were wearing the same yellow-coloured T-shirts. The woman looked oriental Malaysian perhaps the boy less so. It was unusual to see women here. Things could get rough, and a woman alone was easy prey for the Teefers. Whatever she had brought in that carrier bag was unlikely to leave with her.

The dark-haired boy was also scanning the crowd, weighing up his chances. He looked across at Baz, realized that he was being watched and turned away. Neither of them smiled. No sense in getting friendly with the competition.

Right then! The skipper jabbed a burly fist into the air, two thick fingers extended. Weve just dropped a couple o lads off a little way up the coast. They got too fat and lazy, as usual, and so it was back home to Mother for them. We molly coddle em, thats our trouble. So now Preacher John wants me to pick two new ones. You know the rules by now. Free board and lodging for all boys we take, and you can trust us to look after em. We feed em well, and theyre a dam sight safer over there than they are here. Had no complaints so far. But they have to work, and those that arent up to scratchll soon find themselves sent back. So dont waste our time on buying a passage for useless layabouts. Lets see what youve got for me, then.

This was the signal for the bidding to begin. All hands were raised aloft, and each was waving some hopeful offer a packet of lentils, a bar of soap a ticket out of here for those who were lucky on the day.

Dad? Baz was getting worried. His father had made no move as yet, but kept his hands jammed firmly in the pockets of his battered raincoat. Playing it close, as always.

Lets just hold on a minute, son. No point in showing what youve got if you know you cant win. What do you see? Anything good?

Baz looked around, ignoring the usual rubbish and trying to pick out the treasures. Um packet of rice. A rabbit no, two rabbits cigarettes soap powder couple of big candles more cigarettes Blimey. Look at that. A box of cornflakes.

Cornflakes! Now there was something you didnt see every day. It was the kid with the black hair, the one sitting on the shoulders of the woman. Where on earth had they managed to get cornflakes from?

Cornflakes?

Yeah just over there. See em?

Hm. Good shout. Could be an empty box of course.

Isaac and his brothers were considering the goods on offer. The three of them stood close together on the foredeck of the boat, craning their necks as they studied the crowd, occasionally drawing each others attention to this object or that.