Julius and the Watchmaker (14 page)

Julius watched the man's red face glow with joy as Mr Flynn patted him on the arm.

Julius and Mr Flynn made their way to the benches around the makeshift fighting square. Mr Flynn surveyed the crowd.

‘It's a good turn-out, and no mistake, young fella,' he said above the hubbub.

Julius was just about to ask him why everyone seemed to like him so much when he saw Crimper McCready standing beside his father, George McCready of McCready's Quality Meats. George McCready was a larger and older version of his son—a stale and slightly mouldy currant bun. Julius ducked behind Mr Flynn.
Cripes, Higgins.

‘Whatever's the matter, Julius? You look like you've seen a ghost,' said Mr Flynn.

‘Oh, it's nothing…I mean, I just saw someone from school, that's all.'

‘Now there's a coincidence. Let's say hello.'

‘No!'

‘No?'

‘No…I mean, well, you see, he's the one who wants to murder me…I think…or cut my ears off, or stab me in the eye—I don't think he's made up his mind.'
You're babbling, Higgins. Stop it.

‘Why would he want to do that?'

‘I…I seem to irritate him, I think.'

‘Oh you do, do you? Which one is it, young fella?'

‘The fat one, standing beside the other fat one… but I'd rather—'

‘Follow me. We'll sort this out,' said Mr Flynn.

In a moment Mr Flynn had caught the butcher's eye and nodded in greeting. Julius peeked out from behind him to see Mr McCready go weak at the knees and cough on the cigar he was smoking. As Mr Flynn strode towards him, the butcher's round face lit up like a small boy's in a sugar factory. Julius took a deep breath.

‘Mr Flynn, Danny “The Duke”, if I may be so bold, it is indeed an honour, sir,' said Mr McCready, blushing from ear to ear, which made him look like a raspberry.

Mr Flynn extended his hand and the butcher pumped it for all he was worth. ‘It is indeed an honour, Mr Flynn, indeed it is, indeed. I watched you knock out Freddy “The Frigate” McNabb at Spitalfields in '32. Won myself five pounds that day, ha, ha.'

‘Well I'm glad to be of service, Mr…?'

‘McCready, sir, George McCready. Allow me to introduce my son, Christopher, Crimper to his school chums. A fine boy and an enthusiast of the pugilistic arts if ever there was one, sir.'

‘How do you do, young fella,' said Mr Flynn, as he took Crimper's hand.

‘Very well, sir,' said Crimper, his face beaming with joy.

Then, Julius moved out from behind Mr Flynn, and Crimper's face collapsed into a confusion of surprise, anger and terror as his brain attempted to compute the extraordinary turn of events.

‘Here, Julius, meet Mister and Master McCready,' said Mr Flynn affably.

‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,' said Mr McCready, shaking Julius's hand. ‘Any friend of “The Duke” is a friend of McCready and son, ha, ha.'

‘Thank you, sir.'

‘Here Christopher, shake the young gentleman's hand,' said Mr McCready elbowing his gaping-mouthed son in the ribs.

‘Hello McCready, fancy seeing you here,' said Julius, extending his hand with a non-committal half-smile.

‘'Ello, 'iggins,' replied Crimper, accepting the hand suspiciously.

‘My word, do you fellas know each other?' said Mr Flynn in astonishment.

‘Eh…yes, sir…that is, we're at school together,' said Crimper.

‘At school? Sure you're a big fella to still be at the books, aren't you, Master McCready?'

‘Ah, well you see, Mr Flynn,' interjected Mr McCready. ‘Christopher is the shy type. He's not very good at putting himself forward…so the masters don't teach him…so he doesn't—how can I put it?—pass his examinations.'

‘Oh, I see, Mr McCready. You have a dilemma there, and no mistake. The boy can't be at school all his life, now, can he?'

‘No indeed, Mr Flynn, no indeed. He's needed in the shop but, if he can't add up and subtract…'

‘I take your point, Mr McCready,' said Mr Flynn, looking Crimper up and down with a studied air. ‘What you need, son, is someone to help you with the difficult bits.'

Crimper gaped and blushed.

Mr Flynn continued. ‘Now, this young fella here,' he said placing his hand on Julius's shoulder, ‘has brains to spare. I'm sure if you asked him he'd be more than happy to give you a leg up in the academic stakes.'

A bell sounded nearby and the hubbub of the crowd rose in pitch and intensity as the sportsmen moved to take their places.

‘Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Flynn,' said Mr McCready, extending his hand through the jostling crowd.

‘Likewise, I'm sure, and you too, young fella. Remember what I said now,' said Mr Flynn slapping Crimper manfully on his shoulder. Crimper's reply was lost in the throng as Julius and Mr Flynn made their way to the front of the stalls.

‘He won't give you any more trouble now, Julius,' said Mr Flynn, as he settled back into his seat and exchanged nods with the two boxers who were entering the square for the first bout.

CHAPTER 13

Friday 7th July, 1837
1:34 AM

Julius and Mr Flynn left the warehouse in the early hours of the morning. Julius's head was swimming from the cigar smoke and the two or three nips of brandy he had accepted from people's hip flasks between bouts. Mr Flynn chuckled as Julius skipped along, boxing with the moonlight shadows.

‘That was amazing, Mr Flynn. A…may…zing! I never had such a good time in all my life. Those bare-knuckle boxers are good fellows, aren't they, Mr Flynn.'

‘They are indeed, none better.'

Julius jumped up and jabbed at Mr Flynn's shoulder. ‘I could be boxer, if I had a few lessons, couldn't I?'

Mr Flynn backed off, pretending to be in pain. Julius advanced, jabbing at his stomach and side.

‘Mercy, mercy,' said Mr Flynn.

‘Take that, and that.'

Mr Flynn ducked down low to protect his stomach and Julius launched an assault on his hunched shoulders, but the champion boxer lunged forward and scooped Julius up and whirled him around on his shoulder.

Julius laughed. His head was spinning.

‘I'm getting dizzy,' said Mr Flynn, as he let Julius down and ruffled his hair. ‘I'm glad you enjoyed the evening.'

‘I'll say,' said Julius, looking up at the dark face under the rim of the top hat. He took in a deep breath to try to clear his head. ‘I was wondering, Mr Flynn?'

‘Yes?'

‘I was wondering…well, everyone wanted to shake your hand—they hung on your every word. How do you do it? How do you get people to like you so much?'

‘Oh, that. Well, young fella, it's like this. We might not want to admit it, especially not to that lot in there, but we all have a hard life and we all want to be lifted out of it once in a while. If someone will give us a kind word and a bit of attention it does the world of good. So, I suppose, that's what I do. The fact that I could beat any one of them to a pulp plays a big part in it too, of course.'

‘Yes.'

‘Let's get home. Mrs Mottel will probably be waiting up, worrying,' said Mr Flynn, leading Julius down a dark alley. ‘I know a short cut.'

After they had been walking for a while Mr Flynn stopped. He glanced over his shoulder.

‘What is it, Mr Flynn?'

‘It's the sound of three or four fellas creeping up behind us,' said Mr Flynn, louder than he needed to.

He ushered Julius on, and they walked in silence for a time until they came to an intersection of two alleyways. The moon hung overhead, casting a silver veil over the darkness. More sounds of shuffling feet came from ahead of them.

‘Here, hold on to my hat, young fella. Stick close into the wall, things might get ugly,' whispered Mr Flynn, and cracked his knuckles. ‘You might as well come out, you're making that much racket you'll wake the dead,' he said to the darkness.

Two crouched figures emerged from the alley to the right. The moonlight fell on the domes of their billycock hats and their hunched shoulders. Julius could hear movement in the shadows behind him, but he could see nothing.

‘What can I do for you, gentlemen?' said Mr Flynn.

One of the men straightened his back and stepped out into the middle of the alley. His face was obscured by a neckerchief tied across his nose and the brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes.

‘It's strictly a business matter, Mr Flynn, no disrespect intended. We're under orders to deliver the boy to a gentleman,' said the man.

‘Would the rogue go by the name of Springheel, by any chance?'

‘No names was given, Mr Flynn, only the promise of two sovereigns apiece.'

‘Well, you'll have to earn it, gentlemen, because I'll not give up the boy without breaking a few skulls.'

‘Like I said, Mr Flynn, it's only a matter of business,' said the man as he nodded to his companion to step forward. ‘You fellows in the back, you heard Mr Flynn—let's get this done with,' he called.

Hobnail boots clanged on the cobblestones behind Julius. He leapt back into the shadow of the nearest wall. Two masked men rushed past him. Mr Flynn stepped into the centre of the crossroads. He did not appear to be aware of the villains bearing down on him from behind. The moon shone like the oil lamp above a boxing square. Julius bit into his knuckle to stop himself from calling out.

The first masked man ran at Mr Flynn. But, at the last moment, Mr Flynn stepped back with his right foot and his right elbow shot out like a piston. It was a bull's-eye on the villain's nose. Julius heard the crunch of bone breaking and the man landed flat on his back on the cobbles. His billycock hat rolled into the gutter.

‘Well, he's earned his two sovereigns. Who's next?' said Mr Flynn.

The leader raised his fists and nodded for his companion to follow. ‘We'll go at him on two fronts, lads,' he called to the other figures skulking in the shadows. Three of them took their places behind Mr Flynn. They too had neckerchiefs obscuring their faces and hats pulled down tight on their heads. Mr Flynn waited with his hands by his sides.

Suddenly, one of the three villains behind him moved forward. An instant later the leader of the gang moved in too. Mr Flynn side-stepped and blocked the leader's punch and smashed a right jab into his face before pulling him into the path of the other man, smashing their heads together. As the leader and the other man fell to the ground Mr Flynn spun around and caught one of the other men with a jab to the stomach as he ducked under the man's roundhouse punch. Quick as a flash he delivered a knockout uppercut to the jaw and turned to take care of the remaining two who were crouched on each side of him. One of them lunged forward and grabbed him around the neck from behind. The other one took aim and would have landed a perfect knockout punch if Mr Flynn had not ducked. The fist landed instead in the other man's face, sending him reeling back into the shadows cursing his companion.

‘Do you want to try again?' said Mr Flynn to the man left standing.

The man jabbed nervously at the air a couple of times and Mr Flynn ducked gracefully. ‘We can call it a night if you want, my friend; you've earned your two sovereigns by now, I'd say.'

‘You know I can't, Mr Flynn.'

‘Okay, then.'

Mr Flynn's fist shot out and cracked the man's chin and he fell like the last sack of the day from a coalman's cart. The final man had by now managed to untangle himself from his leader and was backing away into the shadows rubbing his forehead. Mr Flynn followed him.

Julius came out from the shadows to congratulate Mr Flynn. But a sweaty hand grabbed him from behind and held him tight.

He could smell the stale cigar smoke on the hand clamped across his mouth. He struggled but could not move. Jack Springheel stepped into the moonlight. It glinted on the golden tip of his cane as he twirled it through his fingers. He followed Mr Flynn down the alleyway and out of sight. Julius felt a wave of strength surge through him. He bit into the fleshy hand and his assailant cursed in pain.

Julius struggled to break the grasp and tried to call out a warning, but the hand clamped over his mouth again. He dropped Mr Flynn's hat as they wrestled frantically in the darkness until he was slammed against the wall and slapped hard across his face.

‘Damn and blast it, Higgins. We're only trying to do you a good turn,' said Clements, between wheezing and heaving for breath. ‘Hold still and we'll spring you from Flynn and his vile saboteurs. They're foreign agitators. They'll stop at nothing.'

‘I don't want to—'

‘Hush, Higgins,' said Clements. ‘Plenty of time to explain it all. You've had a nasty experience, what with being kidnapped and all.'

Julius squirmed his head into position and bit down hard on Clements' thumb. ‘Damn and blast you to Hades,' Clements yelled, as he jiggled up and down, cradling his wounded thumb. Julius ran towards the crossroads and straight into Jack Springheel who was coming around the corner.

‘Julius, it is so good to see you again,' he said, grabbing Julius by the jacket.

‘What…what have you done with Mr Flynn?'

‘Mr Flynn won't be troubling us anymore, Julius. You can be assured of that.'

Julius pulled himself away, dodged Springheel and headed down the alley.

‘Mr Flynn, Mr Flynn.'

He had only gone a few paces when the remaining villain came at him from the shadows and caught him by the shoulder.

‘Let me go,' said Julius, but the man dragged him back to Springheel.

‘You're safe with us now, Julius, and we shall never let you out of our sight again,' said Springheel. ‘We had an agreement, if you remember? You were to do any “odd jobs” Clements might require. Well, it just so happens that one has come up.'

‘Yes, Higgins,' said Clements, wrapping a handkerchief around his swollen thumb. ‘And we'll all be as rich as kings when we've finished.'