THE DEPRIVED... Chapter 3... Part 7.

A continuation of my book.

The River Thames was already busy with paddle-ships, barge-ships and skulled rowing boats keeping to midstream with their klaxons, hooters and shouts filling the air as all tried to pass the other. The tide was way out with the mud-banks already spewing the filth from overrun Cesspits and broken sewer mouths.
Beth and Sam descended the steps which lead them down to the stench of beach, to watch the Mudlarkers already waist deep in the sewage, scooping it up in their hands and straining in through their fingers. Beth remembered the last time she had seen these strange people who made a living from the mud, the time she had sat with Kilpatrick high on the dockside wall when the Lighter-Ship had run aground.
Sam drew back from the stench and leaned over, beginning to feel sick.
“Come on Sam.” called Beth as she began to move towards the crowd of Mudlarkers, who shouted and worked the body-soil.
“What do you want? You’re not a Mudlarker!”
Some of the Mudlarkers had stopped sifting through the remains of body soil, carcasses of horses and other assorted waste to look at Beth as she approached.
“We’re looking for whatever’s useful!” cried Beth, standing her ground as the Mudlarkers moved towards her.
“Well you can’t just do that.” claimed a tall thin boy who now stood in front of her.
“Why not?” demanded Beth.
“Because the Master who runs this bit of the trawl hasn’t said you can.” replied the boy.
This statement was agreed upon by some more of the Mudlarkers who had now come up and surrounded Beth.
“So take me to see the Master.” said Beth.
“I’ll take you but not him.” replied the boy, thumbing at Sam and walking away.
Sam had got over his urge to be sick, moving up to stand alongside Beth.
“You’ll go nowhere without me!” cried Sam.
“Then you don’t get to see the Master and you can’t work the mud!” cried the boy, turning back.
This cry was taken up by the rest of the Mudlarkers who began to throw handfuls of sewage at Beth and Sam.
“I will go with you!” shouted Beth, hurrying after the boy as he continued to walk away.
“Wait for me, Sam!” she shouted back.

The Master of the Mudlarkers was a man of some twenty years old, burly and rough who wore a bowler hat and red neckerchief around his neck. He squatted on a large round boulder just inside the mouth of a sewer pipe and spat on the ground, his eyes on Beth as she was led in by the boy.
“This trouble girl wants to work here.” said the boy.
The Master picked at his nose.
“Does she now?” he said. “And does you know the costing of working for me?” he added, looking at Beth.
“What’s the costing?” asked Beth.
“First is as all the girls know and that’s to pleasing me in the pipe and if you gives me the pleasures of asking then I allows the working. Do you wants to pleasure me?” leered the Master.
“No!” cried Beth, walking away.
“Suits yourself.” called the Master as Beth joined Sam who sat with a large piece of driftwood and fashioned a knob-stick with his knife.
“We do it your way, Sam. And I’m not into arguing.” cried Beth.
Sam laughed out loud as he continued to saw at the end of the stick and then hefted the finished club with a flourish.
“I’m ready, Beth.” he announced.

 

The night brought its dark and with it came Beth as she wandered slowly past the Brown Bear Inn. Sam had hidden himself in the shadows of an alleyway further along the street, his hands hot as they held the club and waited. He was filled with a passion of excitement and fear, concentrating on the need to stop shaking. From within the tavern came the shouts and laughter of men and women in their cups and Beth retraced her steps past the tavern, to stop and peer in through the steamy windows before blowing on her hands in the cold night air.
“Are you game for a little of my fancy?”
A seaman, swarthy and large and bearing a scar to his left cheek caught Beth by the arm.
“No!” cried Beth, fearing that the man was too big and capable for Sam to deal with.
“Why are you out here on such a night if not for a man’s fancy?” he shouted, the cloth of his coat rough on Beth’s face as he pulled her into a hug.
“I’m waiting for my father and his friends to come out from the tavern!” cried Beth as she struggled to break free.
“Then we’ll make merry till he comes out!” laughed the seaman.
The man’s grip tightened on Beth’s arm and he began to drag her down towards the alleyway. Sam had seen the man grab hold of Beth and begin to pull her towards the alleyway. Without thought he rushed out at the man, raising the club.
“What is this!” cried the man as Sam came upon him from behind, swinging wildly with the knob-stick.
“Run Beth!” screamed Sam as the man, though hurt and with blood streaming from a cut to his head, began to wrestle Sam to the ground and then lying on him and shouting at the top of his voice.
“Help! Murder! Call the law!”
Sam was too small and was pinned helplessly to the ground as the man shouted out his distress. Shouts came as customers came out from the tavern with men running towards the alleyway and helping the seaman up while other strong hands caught hold of Sam to lift him up and carry him back to the tavern while others went in search of the policemen who roamed the beat.