At Swim, Two Boys Part 50

"Now now, fair's fair. They may be old but the heart's in the right place. I was thinking if it wasn't time we put some beef into the home defenses. Enter stage right, an old sweat of the Old Toughs." He laughed at his humor and Doyler nodded his head. "Hasn't the Castle called me in special to discuss the matter. Down this way you say?"

"Over the river and right by the bank." A group of cavalry officers was strolling up with their judies on their arms. It wasn't only peelers Doyler had to look out for. He'd often be dodging the canes of the military.

"Jim will be delighted now that I met you. Have you any message at all?"

The officers pa.s.sed under the portico. Doyler held up his paper for them to read. The canes swaggered. One of the ladyfriends looked back amused. "I don't know now, Mr. Mack."

"Will I say you're looking fine and smart, and that'll do?"

He stared after the officers. "Tell him I'm a Citizen soldier."

"Citizen soldier," repeated Mr. Mack. Doyler felt him, in girth and circ.u.mstance like a peeler himself, looking gravely down at him. "Is that what this uniform is about?"

"That I'm in the Citizen Army and I'm under orders."

"I was wondering what was this you was caught up in. Are you sure now you know what you're about, young man?"

"Mr. Mack, I tell no lie, but I've known since before I can remember that this was what I wanted."

"Well now." There was a genuine concern in his big round face. He had his hand in his pocket.

"Ah no," said Doyler, "I couldn't take that."

"Take heed of an old soldier now. You won't never fill a tunic without a good feed first. Get along and get something to eat. Something with peas. You're not getting your greens at all, by the looks. I know you're a sound man for a lend."

"All right, Mr. Mack, I will so, and I'll have it back-"

"Don't be in any hurry about that." Doyler was looking down at the money. He felt Mr. Mack's hand on his shoulder. "You know now with your folks gone and all, you might kip down the night at home with us. If you wanted to get out of this, a moment even. Jim would go crackers to see you."

"That's kind of you, Mr. Mack."

"Mind now, I mean it."

"Thanks for that, Mr. Mack."

"Not a word."

Doyler wandered back to Liberty Hall. A couple of kidgers, seeing him in uniform, play-marched beside him. He felt lonely in himself, very lonely in the tenement-shadowed streets. The guard at the door told him he was wanted above. It was his captain. "I hear you were trying to get yourself arrested again, Private Doyle."

"I was trying to sell the paper, sir." He'd sometimes get this off the officers, a carpeting for selling in the main thoroughfares. But Doyler couldn't see much use selling to people who wanted to read the paper. It was the people who didn't, or didn't know they wanted, you had to catch. Else you was talking to yourself.

"When will you learn, Doyle, that there is such a thing as a revolutionary moment. And that moment will not be decided by a harum-scarum hothead getting himself arrested for selling without a license and answering the police in Irish."

"Yes, sir."

"Good. They tell me you've been looking for a gun."

"I believe I've paid up regular as the next man."

The captain was writing on a slip of paper. "We had a shout from one of our people. Volunteers are s.h.i.+fting pieces down Ferns way. Our man thinks there might be one goes missing first. You up for that?"

"From under the nose of the Volunteers? Too right I am."

The paper slid over the table. Doyler picked it up, but before he could read the captain had it plucked away again.

"You're a puzzle to me, son. I think you'd prefer a rifle off the Volunteers than off the constabulary. Or off of the British Army even."

"Maybe I would."

"The Volunteers are our friends now. You want to remember that."

"Then why am I pinching a gun from them?"

His captain watched him a moment. He gave the paper back. "Could be some of them are more friendly than others. Dismissed."

MacMurrough rapped on the door of a shed. An inquiry was hailed and he answered his name. Hurried movement inside, nails hammering into wood. Eventually bolts withdrew and the door opened a pinch. It was daylight outside, but whoever it was shone a hard torch in his face.

"All right."

MacMurrough squeezed in the door. "I understand you have a consignment for Ferns."

"You're early."

"Yes, we are rather. Less difficulty finding the place than antic.i.p.ated."

"We?"

"Yes, my aunt. She's waiting in her motor-car. Eveline MacMurrough." He still had a hand at his head, s.h.i.+elding his eyes. "Look here, is that light necessary?"

The torch flicked off, and MacMurrough saw it was indeed a gloomy interior. Sort of railway sort of shed. He believed he recognized the man. He had been one of the customers in that peculiar tobacconist's his aunt had recommended. With sly humor they had watched him, and with that same humor the man watched him now.

"I have the order checked for you," he said. "Glad to say everything present and accounted for."

"Well, if you would point me to it, I shall be off."

The man shone his torch on a bench at the back. There were three wooden boxes, long boxes marked crudely in red, Piping. Piping. It was evidently the lid of one of these MacMurrough had heard being hammered. "Are they heavy?" It was evidently the lid of one of these MacMurrough had heard being hammered. "Are they heavy?"

"I think you'll manage."

MacMurrough humped them to the car, one at a time, lifting them over the Stepney wheel, and on to the rear seat.

"Do be careful, Anthony. If you only knew the bother they have caused getting them."

"What are they, Aunt Eva? As though one couldn't guess."

The man held the door while he returned for the last box. He was leaning to lift when he heard the distinct catch of a bolt pulled back. He quickly glanced. Poking from some crates, point blank, a rifle, aimed at him.

It was a situation in which only the rifle was familiar. A Mauser, MacMurrough noted, and an ancient one at that. He had frozen in mid-hump. He could make out hands, fingers, arms in the shadows, but no face. He saw the bolt lifted and pushed home. s.n.a.t.c.h. The finger c.o.c.ked. MacMurrough was thinking how extraordinary to be lured to this out-of-the-way place when she might have had him shot anywhere. The finger pressed. His eyes were closing. The finger pressed, till-crack. Fired dry. Nothing. The face lifted from the sights. White teeth, a chip off the middle, Doyler grinning from the dark.

MacMurrough threw the box in the back of the car. "Drive," he told his aunt.

"I had every intention."

"Now. Get us out of here."

They were out of the docks area and its wretched slums, and people in the streets had ceased pointing at the lovely motor. MacMurrough's fright communicated in a resentment toward his aunt. "Really, Aunt Eva, you cannot continue in this way. I will not tolerate any more these manipulations. If you wish me to run guns with you, have the decency to ask. You must surely know by now I am entirely under your thumb."

"I really don't think-"

"No, you really do not think. When will you learn that rifles are dangerous toys? Most especially in the hands of children."

"I really don't think," Eveline repeated, "those constables ahead are directing traffic."

MacMurrough looked. They had crossed the river and were coming towards Trinity. The flow of traffic had slowed almost to a standstill. Four policemen advanced down the line. They carried carbines. "No," he agreed. "They are checking the vehicles."

"We have been betrayed."

"How can you know that?" But already he was thinking: Doyler. Stupid vindictive renter. I'll wring his neck for him.

"Perhaps now you will understand the need for secrecy." She pulled out her traveling-gla.s.s and actually checked her face powder.

"Turn the car," said MacMurrough.

"There are more behind. And if I judge by their absurd hats, two plain-clothes government men."

MacMurrough turned. They were there. The traffic was stopped both directions. Hopefully he threw a rug over the boxes. They looked like three boxes of rifles with a rug on top. The traffic inched them to discovery.

"You must take this."

"I don't want it. What is it?" It was her Webley of course. "Aunt Eva, I can't start shooting people."

"Whatever happens, they must not get the rifles. I have bartered half my jewels and all of my influence for these rifles. I accepted nothing shoddy or made-in-Birmingham. These are German rifles." b.l.o.o.d.y vintage ones at that, MacMurrough might have told her. "They must go to Ferns. They are nine, which minus the one the Citizen Army will have filched makes eight. We cannot proceed without them."

"We cannot proceed at all."

She put her gla.s.s away. "Hold tight," she said. "If I am hit, you may need to take the wheel."

"Be careful! What are you doing?"

"The back of my hand to caution."

The engine raced, she loosed the clutch, the car slammed into the motor in front. Reverse now, and she smashed into the lorry behind. MacMurrough put a hand to his face, smirking behind it, more in shame than in fear. Slam into the front again, smash behind, till she made a clearance. The police were running. The Webley slipped to the floor. He bent to retrieve it and heard a singing noise pa.s.s where his head had been. Now they were wildly into the middle road where they slithered over the tram-lines. The policemen in front were kneeling to fire. "Shoot!" she called. "Before they shoot us, d.a.m.n you!" He fired aimlessly, but it scattered the men. They veered crazily between two trams. She flung the car into a dizzy turn while sliding along the seat, virtually into MacMurrough's lap. They sc.r.a.ped through the opposing traffic. Stalls were overturned, he caught the briefest whiff of oranges. Shots fired after them. They were down some side street, up another, safe.

"Where are we?"

"Temple Bar."

"Aunt Eva, you are indisputably a wonder."

"We must thank goodness for the Wide Street Commissioners. Except my poor Prince Henry-"

Some bowler-hatted a.s.s stepped into the road. He looked for all the world to be studying the tops of buildings.

"My G.o.d," she said. She swerved, but to avoid him she must mount the pavement. She rounded the corner and, watching it coming, smashed into the corner lamppost.

She shook herself. But she could not shake herself free. She heard the tramp of boots behind. Her nephew stupidly talking to her.

"Go," she said. "I can't without you."

"I cannot s.h.i.+ft my legs."

"I must fetch an ambulance."

"I don't need an ambulance. I need my nephew to go. Go to Ferns. Everything is prepared for you." In her agitation she was thumping the horn. "Will you go! Please, for my sake."

He was walking backwards from the car. The pain was in her back. She was pa.s.sing out but she could not afford to fall yet. Go, you fool. The police were nearly upon her. She pushed on the horn. Go, Anthony, go. He turned on his heels, running, and her eyes in redness closed.

Mr. Mack arrived seconds before the constabulary men. "Officers, officers, I saw everything. I was only looking for the street name-"

"Did you see a man get out?"

"I did, officer. He went off towards Trinity. I can explain all. I was only looking for the street name. I never heard a whisper till-Why, I do believe it's Madame MacMurrough it is."

"You know this woman?"

Mr. Mack watched the posse of officers charging entirely the opposite direction for Trinity. "Where are they going?" he asked.

"You said Trinity. Now do you know this lady?"

Mr. Mack's eyes skewed east and west. "Which way, your honor, would you say Trinity was?"

It took the better part of three hours, but Mr. Mack at last found his way, courtesy of the Dublin Metropolitan Police, to Dublin Castle. While he was being led through the courtyard to the DMP office, there to explain why he had aided a fugitive in escaping the law, from a window above two splendid officers of the crown, in scarlet undress and blue undress, contemplated the scene.

"Hmm," said the lieutenant in blue.

"Well, it doesn't look as if our man will show," said the captain. He sat down, angling his chair on its two back legs "Hmm," said the lieutenant again. "What is this Georgius Rex anyway?"

"Load of codgers. Make tea mostly for the troops."

"What's a Sinn Feiner want joining that for?"

"Rifle," said the captain. "We let them march with Martinis once a month."

"Oh," said the lieutenant blandly. "Dublins, wasn't he?"

"Quartermaster-Sergeant, it says. Turned tail in the Boer War."

"What sort of a rotter leaves his regiment in a wartime?"