was on the right side of the door, standing in a chilly stone alley that led inwards from the old moat of Castle Rushen. The formidable keep, which was the main part of the prison, rose like a grey cliff behind him. It was surrounded by a great curtain wall, making the old moat into an enclosed prison yard. Ben couldn’t meet Drew’s eyes. He’d come here to help him if he could, but the plain fact was there was nothing he could do.
‘He didna say so, Drew. That doesna mean he winna.’
‘Bastard! Poxy whore’s son! The bastard!’ Drew Scott shook the bars of the grille, but the dungeon door was too solid to budge an inch.
A harsh voice came from the darkness below him. ‘Stow that racket! And get out of the bloody light.’
Drew ground his teeth. ‘Pack o bloody Manxmen. Give themsels airs. Think they own the bloody place. Dinnae want to be locked up with common felons! Common felon! That’s whit the bastard called me … I’d knock his bloody brains oot but!’
‘Ay well.’ Ben sighed. He glanced swiftly down at Drew’s face. ‘Don’t do onything, Drew, however much they rile you. You’ve no been charged yet, even. Turnkey telt me this was just the holding cell. It’s no like they’ve put ye in the main prison bit. But if there’s any more trouble now …’
‘’Tweren’t nothing! You saw, Ben! The cully spat in my face! An I floored him. What of it? What kind a man wouldnae, if a cull spits in his face and calls him another thievin Scotchman? I never got called a thief. Never! I’ve no stolen aught!’
‘That wasna what he said. Another of Atholl’s thieving Scotchmen was what he said. He wasna saying you had your hand in another man’s pocket. He meant the late Duke.’
‘Dukes arena anythin to do wi me! Just as well. Young Archibald’s more’n enough. For Chrissake, Ben, you mean he’ll do naught? He’s no goin to get me oot o here?’
‘Well … what I mean is … he will, Drew. He must. What would Mr Stevenson say, supposing Young Archibald left you be?’
‘Mr Stevenson isnae here though, is he? There isnae naebody here but Mr Stuck-up Lick-yer-arse Fidget-face. And when did he ever give a damn? He’d let me swing an no lift a finger to save me, so he would. I tell you, Ben’ – Drew’s voice grew shrill, and Ben drew back involuntarily – ‘he’ll let these bastards hang me, an no give the snap of his fingers for’t, so he will.’
‘Who said onything about hanging, Drew? Your man’s no deid nor like to be. They threw a bucket of water ower him and he came roon soon enough.’
Drew put his face close to the bars and whispered, so Ben had to come right up to the grille to hear him, ducking his head and putting his ear close to the metal. The stench from inside was appalling. ‘Man in there says they transported a fellow who knocked oot a man just the same as what I did. Tavern fight. Just the same. Transported, Ben! Convict ships! They do a lot o that here. That’s what they’ll do to me if Young Archibald doesnae go bail for me. Christ, man, I got tae get oot o here. Where is the bastard?’
‘Young Archibald? He’s away to see a fellow,’ said Ben, not meeting Drew’s eyes. ‘Water Bailiff, he said. About the new light. Legal stuff. But Drew, they kinna transport you. They kinna! You’ve no done notheen hardly. Few days in here, that’s what it’ll be, just. Few days, couple o weeks maybe. That’s all.’
‘All! That’ll lose me ma joab! Ben, I got to come wi you. I got my joab to do. You cannae go oot there wi’oot me. Whit’ll ye dae wi but one chainman? Whit’ll ye dae? He’s got to get me oot but!’
Ben dropped his eyes. There were a few limpet shells among the refuse on the ground, and he clumsily ground them under his boot. ‘Well … thing is, Drew … Young Archibald told me to see about hiring another man. Just for this job, like. Just if you couldna mak it this time roond.’
‘Bastard!’ Drew spat furiously, and Ben flinched. ‘He’ll bloody leave me here to rot! Throw me oot like yesterday’s bones! He’ll report me and lose me ma joab, so he will! He isnae even goin tae see the magistrate, you mean? You mean he isnae goin tae dae naught for me, Ben?’
Ben looked down at his feet. ‘He’s in a hurry, Drew. Waste of time, see, having to deal with this Water Bailiff. He wants to get off as soon as possible to this Port St Mary, and find this boatman. You know how he hates politics. He wants to get on with the job. He doesna want to lose another day.’
‘The devil! Doesnae want to lose a day! An me like to lose ma life! There’s no justice in it, Ben. The man’s a murderer. He’ll have ma blood oan his hands, sure as if he’d knifed me hissel. He’s killt me, Ben!’ Drew’s voice grew shrill.
‘Stow your noise, blast you!’ The voice from inside the dungeon was as hoarse as a dying crow.
‘That’s no fair,’ said Ben reasonably. ‘It’s no a hanging matter, I telt ye that. It wis just a brawl. And it was you that floored the cully. No one else. Young Archibald wasna in the tavern even. It’s notheen to do with him really.’
‘Christ, Ben—’
‘You there!’ The turnkey’s voice sounded from the gatehouse up above. ‘Five minutes, I said. That’s ten minutes gone! You’ll be losing me my place, with your ingoings and outgoings. Out you come there!’
‘Outgoings is right,’ muttered Ben. ‘I got to go, Drew. I’ll speak to Young Archibald, though. I swear I will. Don’t give in to the doldrums, mate. I’ll—’
‘Get the hell out of there, I say!’ The turnkey’s boots clattered on the stone steps. ‘Get the hell out or I’ll charge you double!’
‘I’m coming!’ Ben leant towards the grille and whispered. ‘Keep your hairt up, Drew. They kinna hang ye. They won’t even keep you in here more’n a day or two, not if I can stop it. Here’ – he reached into the pocket of his frieze jacket, and pulled out a greasy packet – ‘It’s bread and pickled onion. Fresh fae the baker. I thought you might be glad o it.’
Drew seized the bread, and thrust it into the bosom of his jacket. ‘Ay well, thanks for that. And Ben …’
‘Ay?’
‘Would you have a bawbee about you? I dinnae get no grub in here withoot. I paid ma last sixpence and what did I get? Bloody stewed limpets. Limpets! Beggars’ broth! He cannae leave me in here, Ben. You tell him …’
‘You come on out o’ that!’
Ben fumbled in his purse and drew out a shilling. After a moment’s hesitation he passed it through the bars. Drew snatched at it, and feverishly pocketed the coin. ‘Don’t let them bloody debtors see! Thanks, Ben. True blue, that’s you. But that Young …’
‘I got to go, Drew.’
‘Find oot!’ Drew shouted after him, as Ben followed the turnkey away. Drew clung desperately to the bars. ‘Find oot what they’ll do! And tell Young Archibald … Ben, you’ll come back, right?’
‘Ay, I’ll do that …’
‘Like hell you will,’ snarled the turnkey, grabbing Ben’s arm and dragging him away. ‘Out, you! And be thankful I wasn’t taking another shilling. Five minutes indeed. I’ve a mind to be reporting you to—’
‘Stow it,’ said Ben. ‘You got your shilling. I doubt you’ll be reporting that. I’m off.’
As soon as he was outside the great gates Ben drew a deep breath of clean air, and stood up straight, blinking. He tended to slouch, which perhaps came from stooping down to get on a level with his fellows. For Ben was known to be good company, though steady with it. He’d drink with the others, but no one had ever seen him the worse for it, and it was reckoned to be impossible to provoke him to argument, let alone fight. He had an ugly freckled face, wiry reddish hair, and mild blue eyes. His father had been employed by Robert Stevenson as a stonemason at Pentland Skerries, and stayed with the firm thereafter.