Chapter 10: Aoife (part 2 of 3)

  As the carriages rumbled along the banks of the River Thames, Aoife lost track of time. The waxing moon peeked through in slivers, filtered by the passing posts and the shutters on the cabin window. She watched in quiet contemplation as the light caught her arms and hands, alternating between her taut knuckles and the stained sleeves of her jacket. Held tightly in her hands was the satchel that housed the family's ticket out of the city.

  Her sister sat beside her, lost in her own silent thoughts. She and Clodagh had not spoken much since their argument in the back of the smithy, and an unfamiliar awkwardness lingered between them. Aoife knew that the matters Clodagh raised had not been put to rest, and they would have to revisit their conversation some other time. For now though, it was enough that her sister was still with them, heading to the same destination.

  Destination. Home. The end of a journey. These simple ideas seemed to have eluded the Griffins at every turn. When Aoife had come into this world, she already had a home, fully formed—somewhere she could mature and grow old, surrounded by loved ones and defined by discrete tasks and goals. Ever since that home was lost to her and her family, they had been unable to settle down, beset by tragedy, the cruelty of cities, and their own frailties. They were about to embark on the longest, hardest leg of their journey yet, and all Aoife could hope for was that it would be their last.

  She should have been more anxious, perhaps downright terrified. The family's newest challenge should have been a cause for countless worries. Would the smugglers be capable enough to defend the boat from marine Maladies? How would they pay for things once they were on foreign land? How many months... possibly years would the journey to Temasek take and how would they afford protection every step of the way? Would her siblings struggle to settle into a foreign city, a new way of life?

  If these doubts had been thrust upon Aoife Griffin of Ember Lane, she surely would have been paralyzed by the uncertainty of it all. Yet she had left Ember Lane to follow her great-aunt from Temasek. Her mother would slowly but surely regain her strength and clarity of mind. And the prosperous Tao clan—her mother's side of the family—waited for them in a new city full of new possibilities. Aoife Griffin, descendant of Ruihong Tao, no longer felt alone with her burdens.

  The slowing of the carriage brought her out of her rumination. She leaned over and looked out of the shutters. The moon shone on the surface of the Thames and she could still see buildings on the other side of the river. The scenery hadn't changed enough for her to appreciate whether they had entered the Docklands. Then rather abruptly, the carriage came to a complete stop, and she could hear the neighing of horses and the sedating commands of the driver. Something about this felt wrong.

  Outside there were movement and several male voices—though she couldn't catch any of the words—followed by muffled barking. Samson had left his carriage. Just as she made up her mind to open the door and investigate, heavy footsteps approached her side of the carriage.

  "Aoife," the deep sonorous voice of Mr Rockford called through the window. "You better step out, child. Just you. Clodagh should stay in the carriage."

  His instructions brought her no closer to understanding but they at least confirmed that the carriages hadn't reached their stop. She twisted in her seat, her eyes searching for Clodagh's, and found them illuminated within a sliver of moonlight. Her sister looked hesitant, undecided whether she should be worried by the turn of events, which was largely how Aoife herself felt. She placed what she hoped to be a calming hand on Clodagh's shoulder and was heartened by her sister's hand reaching up to meet hers.

  Stepping off the carriage, she was greeted by the sight of Mr Rockford, his expression dour. With the full view of the river expanding before her, she realized that the interruption had come just on the edge of the docks. The Thames took a sharp, southerly turn here, the beginning of a parabolic bend that incorporated a peninsula upon which the Docklands were built. The peninsula in question now extended ahead of where the carriages had stopped. On it low-set buildings, some of them still lit, sat in orderly rows. Between them were dark irregular shapes of varying sizes that Aoife guessed to be ships. And in the distance loomed the city wall with the canal gates at its base.

  Their exact location appeared to be at the upper bounds of the peninsula, in a stretch of flat open ground with no immediately discernible features. If she looked to her right, she could make out large rectangular containers stacked on top and against each other on the edge of the river banks. And if she looked straight ahead, toward the three carriages stopped in front of hers...

  She saw why they had to stop and the reason for the distaste apparent on Mr Rockford's face. The path ahead of the first carriage was blocked by a throng of men. They were lined up across the road and each of them appeared to be armed, though Aoife couldn't see with what.

  Samson had gotten out of his carriage and now paced to and fro, punctuating his movement with barks at the shadowy figures around him. Three men stood apart from the main group, directly facing Aoife and Mr Rockford. From this distance, it was difficult to make out their faces but there was one figure she identified immediately, his lanky and oddly tilted silhouette unmistakable for anyone or anything else.

  "Carmichael," she whispered to the blacksmith, dread rising to her throat. "He knew we were going to the docks tonight?"

  "I must have been followed during the day," Mr Rockford replied in an urgent whisper. "Though I can't fathom why I would have been of interest to them. Tread lightly, child. It doesn't appear that his immediate intent is violence, so it may behove us to listen carefully to what he has to say."

  He placed a massive hand on her back, nearly enveloping her, and began to gently lead her toward the men in shadows. He then leaned down to give more furtive suggestions in her ear.

  "We are outnumbered and outmuscled. Our first priority must be to get as many members of your family as possible safely onto the boat. Do not be rash, but if it must come down to it, I will do what I can... to make them see reason."

  As Samson's barking grew louder, the silhouettes also began to take clearer form. Aoife found that she knew the other two men as well. To the right of Art Carmichael was a slight, hooded figure, the man called Souness—the Dragoon of Valor Company. And to the left was a wiry towheaded young man, his smooth face pale in the moonlight.

  Marlowe.

  Her heart skipped a beat, and hurt bewilderment mixed with her anxiety. Despite the petulant anger he had once shown toward Carmichael, Marlowe now stood beside the racketeer, every bit the henchman as all the other nondescript brutes. And was he not the one who had thrown the goblet to save Aoife from certain defeat? Throughout her involvement with the shady business at St Marcus, Marlowe had been the only person she had grown to trust... to care for. She hoped against fading hope that there was a reason for his being here that wouldn't put the two of them at odds.

  "Aoife," Carmichael's high-pitched voice sang out into the night, making Aoife's hairs stand on end. He spread his arms wide and appeared to smile broadly in a grotesque gesture of welcome. "Good of you to finally join us. We didn't get a chance to catch up after your... hasty exit. Why, you even forgot to collect your pay."

  Her once employer's dark irises seemed to fill the whites of his eyes; under the night sky, they were even more lifeless than usual. Beside him, Marlowe avoided Aoife's gaze and kept his eyes on the river with a sullen expression. As for Souness, most of his face was shadowed by his hooded cape; only his lips were visible and they were now drawn in a neutral inscrutable line.

  Upon Aoife's arrival, Samson the half-Maladous dog stopped his barking and sidled up to her, putting himself between her and Carmichael in a protective manner. Even in the tensity of the moment, a little part of her was surprised and touched. She placed a tentative hand on the warm furry back of the giant dog, which nearly came up to her chest. Somehow, that helped to calm her down just slightly. She shifted her gaze onto Carmichael and adopted the reticence with which she had coped with all of their previous interactions.

  "I know that look, Aoife," the racketeer happily went on when it became clear that she didn't intend to greet him back. "Always straight down to business with you. Like to keep things simple and goal-oriented. I admire that about you. Truly, I do. Which is partly why I'm not quite ready to let you go."

  Not ready to let her go. As if she were in his clutches to begin with. As if all this were some kind of game to him, and she simply hadn't unlocked the correct sequence of play that would let her win. She was tired of his maze of words, his insistence on constantly seeing a joke or a truth that weren't apparent to anyone else. Her desire for answers, for not being talked to in riddles for once, pushed through her caution. "How did you know we were coming this way tonight?"

  Her voice remained steady as she spoke, but her resolve cracked soon after when she saw the racketeer glance toward Marlowe, the boy who still refused to look at her. No. Please tell me it wasn't you.

  "Turns out young Seth here is quite familiar with your daily routine, Aoife," Carmichael trilled, winking at Marlowe despite the younger man avoiding his eyes. "He helped us keep an eye on your aunt and that's how we found out about old Johnny here. The rest was a simple matter of letting Johnny lead us to the answers. Your friend has got quite the reputation and know-how around this town. I could learn a thing or two from him. Though I will say, my own friends can be fairly reliable too, as you can see."

  Carmichael looked around at the cadre of men behind him before settling back on Aoife with a contented smile. A spasm of vertigo hit Aoife as the full weight of his words sank in. Marlowe had betrayed her. But had he really? Had he ever promised his loyalty and friendship, or had the two of them been mere business partners of sorts, their relationship always ready to break down at the first sign of trouble or a better opportunity? Hadn't she herself been on her way to leave him and the entire city behind without a word of farewell?

  Suddenly, Aoife felt sick. Sick of her lot in life that had led her to these choices, sick of the illness in the city that drove friends against each other. Most of all, she was sick of the smiling thing in front of her who derived profit and amusement from their desperation.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  "What do you want from me?" she exploded, and felt Samson tense beneath her touch. There was a commotion as the men blocking the carriages stirred and several of them took a step toward her, their weapons raised; she could now see they were wielding batons. Marlowe started and finally turned to look at her with alarm, but his two companions remained all but motionless. Carmichael continued to fix her with his cloying self-satisfied smile. "I broke your rules. I admit it. Here," Aoife tore the satchel from her shoulder and threw it down at his feet. It made both thudding and clinking noises as its contents spilled out and rolled around on the pavement. "This is all I have left from my earnings. Take it. Just leave me and my family alone. I want nothing more to do with you."

  Behind her, Mr Rockford edged closer and put a hand on her shoulder, as if in reminder of their earlier exchange. Steady. Carmichael hadn't made his demands yet, and Aoife was already beside herself with rage. She needed to navigate this encounter with more caution. She wasn't doing this just for herself.

  "Oh, Aoife," Carmichael tutted, and Aoife watched as he bent his gangling frame to reach for the ground. He then began to pick up every coin and bill that had fallen out and put them back into the satchel. He worked slowly, humming an unfamiliar tune as he did. When the satchel was restored to its original state, he stood back up and held it out toward her. "For someone so sharp and agile in the ring, you can be a bit too single-minded sometimes. I don't want your money, Aoife. You earned and deserve every penny of it. I'd gladly pay you more, right now, if you and your family need it. But there is one thing I'd like you to do for me. One last favour, if you will."

  When Aoife didn't reach for the satchel, he kept his hand stretched in front of him and looked to the side, toward the carriages lined up on the road. "Perhaps, before we continue, we let your family through first, hmm? I don't have anything to ask of them, and I'd hate to keep them waiting when they've got somewhere to be."

  Aoife followed his gaze and looked toward the carriages herself. Only then did she notice that they had spectators—for how long, she couldn't say. From the front carriage, Niall had stepped out and looked on with wide eyes, his legs shaking and one of his hands held firmly to something behind him—Liam's smaller hand protruding through an opening in the door. Lucy had also come out, and she held a lit matchstick in her hand, which faintly illuminated her dignified scowl; she limped toward them now, eyes shifting from one perceived threat to another. Aunt Cara too had opened her cabin door a crack and poked a tentative head out, her eyes seemingly fixed on Samson. Behind them, Clodagh stood a few yards back, her face stricken and both of her hands balled up into fists.

  Carmichael was making a deal with Aoife. Her cooperation in exchange for her family's safe passage. While she stood there fuming and deliberating, the clock ticked steadily toward midnight and the smugglers' departure. She made up her mind and turned back to Carmichael, finally accepting the satchel from his hand. "Fine. You let them through now. I'll stay to hear you out."

  "And I stay with her," Mr Rockford growled behind her. Carmichael's smile broadened and his impossibly dark eyes narrowed to slits.

  "Wonderful. That won't be a problem at all," he exclaimed, and Aoife felt a paltry easing of her worries. With Mr Rockford by her side, they were still heavily outnumbered but at least she wouldn't be alone. Wasting no time, Carmichael turned and shouted out orders. The men quickly and quietly moved apart and cleared a path for the carriages.

  "Aoife!"

  She turned to find Clodagh running up to her. Up close, she could see her sister's face was screwed up in frantic concern. Before Clodagh could say anything, Aoife thrust the satchel into her chest and whispered to her in sharp rapid bursts. "Hold onto this money. You'll need it to pay the ferrymen. If they try anything funny, tell them they'll have to reckon with Johnny Rockford. And maybe Lucy could talk some sense into them."

  "Aoife, what are you doing? You're not really going to—"

  "Listen to me, Clodagh. I'm going to take care of whatever this is and come find you guys at the docks. Try to stall the ferrymen for as long as you can, but do not let them leave without you, do you understand? It's up to you now."

  "But Aoife, you can't—"

  As much to shut her sister up and move things along as it was a sign of affection, Aoife pulled Clodagh in for a rough hug then pushed her away. She then turned her attention to Lucy but quickly saw that her great-aunt needed no whispered words of encouragement. The two of them exchanged a nod, and Lucy limped over to Clodagh to guide her back to the carriages.

  Aoife turned again and rushed over to the front carriage. Niall still stood by the door, shaking. She reached across him and opened the carriage door wider to find Liam—face scrunched up and close to tears—leaning over the seat. She wrapped her arms around both of her brothers and kissed Liam on the top of his head.

  "Don't worry about me, you two," she whispered, trying to keep her tone calm and gentle. "I'll be back with you in a flash. You just behave yourselves, you hear? Listen to Clodagh and Great-aunt Lucy."

  She let go and turned to leave but felt a tug at her sleeve. Niall held onto her with a clenched and trembling fist, his eyes downcast and filling with tears. His shoulders were hunched as his breathing took on a harsh and whimpering quality. Aoife was reminded of Ma on the night of Lucy's first visit, and she understood that Niall wasn't looking at her—not really. Instead, he saw Da, Meadbh, and Rian, and yet another of his family about to leave him behind.

  Aoife fought back tears of her own and grabbed her brother by the face with both hands. She placed her forehead against his and summoned her warmth. In the same moment that she felt her own nerves ease, she sensed the warmth diffuse into Niall and his shoulders relax. When she looked at him again, his teary eyes were in the present, meeting hers.

  "Be careful, Aoife," he whispered. She helped him readjust his glasses, and let go again. This time, Niall lifted himself back onto the carriage and closed the door behind him.

  As Aoife turned to the next carriage in the queue, she saw Lucy and Clodagh in the distance, deep in conversation beside the rear carriage that Aoife had ridden. Her sister might take some convincing, but she entrusted that task with her great-aunt. She strode over to the second carriage, the one previously occupied by Lucy, Ma, and Fiona.

  Against all odds, it turned out that her mother had been the calmest one throughout the ordeal. Inside the carriage, Ma sat quietly, holding a confused but equally tranquil Fiona against her chest. She looked up and smiled as Aoife opened the door.

  As she took in this unexpected sight, Aoife was momentarily lost for words. She leaned in and reached out a hand to stroke Fiona's hair. She opened and closed her mouth several times, searching for the right words that would both justify and placate. But before she could find them, her mother reached over and put a hand on her cheek.

  "I trust you, love," she said. Aoife brought her own hand up to rest on Ma's, and let herself be soothed by her mother's words. How long had it been since the last time she could do that? "Look after yourself and come back to us, Aoife Griffin. You're my brave big girl."

  Because you're my brave big girl, Aoife Griffin.

  Her father's words echoed and rang together with her mother's. She had to trust herself, to always have the courage to do what was right for her family. She gave Ma's hand a quick squeeze before letting go, then closed the cabin door.

  By then, Lucy was limping back toward this carriage, Clodagh presumably back in hers. Aoife turned her thoughts to Aunt Cara, and remembered Samson. The enormous dog would be a handful to stuff back into the carriage, so she needed to get a move on.

  She heard Samson before she saw him. In her absence, he had taken to growling—low and constant. He presently bared his unnaturally sharp teeth, furs bristling and eyes directed squarely on Carmichael.

  Aoife trotted over to him, not entirely sure how to proceed. Aunt Cara never used a collar or leash, claiming that her dog was too smart and independent. With no physical leverage, she was reduced to... firmly suggesting to him that he move along.

  "Come on, Samson," she panted while pushing against his hefty frame, her face half-buried in fur. He wouldn't budge an inch, and continued to growl, his attention now completely fixated on Carmichael. Whatever eerie otherness the racketeer exuded evidently had an effect on the dog as well. As Aoife struggled with Samson, Carmichael himself seemed to suddenly notice the beast's presence. He perked up and trilled to Aoife brightly, apparently pleased with his discovery.

  "Oh, the dog can stay if it wants to. In fact, I think I prefer that it does. Yes, let's do that. Let the dog stay."

  Aoife stopped pushing and looked up at Carmichael incredulously. What could he possibly want with Samson? She then looked to Mr Rockford, who took a moment before nodding. They couldn't waste more time.

  Just then, there came a whimpering voice from behind them. "Samson?"

  Aunt Cara had opened her door wider, and now had one foot on the ground. She looked in their direction but her panicked eyes were focused only on her dog. She called out again, louder this time. "Samson!"

  The mutt did not respond, persisting in his hostile appraisal of Carmichael. Aoife suddenly had the disquieting notion that the racketeer was somehow controlling Samson's behaviour.

  She shoved the thought aside and dashed over to the third carriage where Aunt Cara half-showed herself out of the door. Her normally unflappable aunt was in the sorriest state she had ever seen her; she seemed genuinely distraught at the prospect of leaving her companion behind. "Aoife, you have to call him back. Samson, he... he doesn't play well with strangers. He needs me."

  I need him, Aoife heard. True to form as a Griffin, this woman had survived her fair share of displacement and hardship. Aoife knew that, as strange as he was, the giant mutt had been integral to Aunt Cara staying sane and strong throughout her solitary years in Thameside. Samson was family too. She put a hand on her aunt's arm and gently pushed her back toward her seat. "I'll stay with him, Aunt Cara. Please, I need you to help Lucy and Clodagh look after the children. I'll be back before the boat leaves. With Samson."

  She emphasized the last two words and saw her aunt relent, at least in body. The worry on her face did not fade one bit as Aunt Cara shrunk back into her seat. Aoife gave her a final bracing nod then closed the door.

  Her family were all aboard. She turned around and saw that Mr Rockford was already at the helm of the first carriage, exchanging words with the driver. She took a few steps back as the first carriage rumbled into motion, soon followed by the rest.

  Aoife kept an eye on the procession as she walked back toward the river, toward Carmichael. Mr Rockford joined her shortly. Samson hadn't moved from where she had left him, and he hadn't let up with his low growl. She sidled up and joined him in facing Carmichael. "Well, what now? I think you've gathered that I'm in a bit of a hurry."

  "Yes," he sang appreciatively. "Don't worry, this shouldn't take too much of your time. Not at all. Shall we walk? There's a spot just ahead that I think you'll find is more to your advantage."

  Without waiting for a reply, he twirled around and began ambling in the same direction as the carriages, causing his men to reorganize themselves hastily. Souness turned and followed without hesitation, as if he had anticipated the move. His cape rustled softly as he walked. Marlowe, on the other hand, looked around uncertainly before stumbling after them at the tail end of the group.

  To her advantage, Carmichael had said. Whatever machinations he had concocted this time, Aoife was well past guessing and worrying. She had played his games long enough, and this would be the final round. No matter what newfangled rules and challenges awaited, her task couldn't be simpler. Win, then go back to her family.