Cuttlefish Read Free Page A

tons of coal keeps moving for a while, like. So, it's sorry that I am. But a barge isn't like your motor-bicycle, Lieutenant. Can't start fast, can't stop fast. Can't do anything fast.”
    â€œPah. Mind your cheek, you Irish scum,” said the young officer, “or I'll have you locked up for disrespecting an officer. Now, I'm to search your vessel for a woman and a young girl.”
    â€œBe my guest, sorr,” said the bargee. “No one in my cabin, as you can see, eh? T'eyre not here, unless t'ey're lying on my coal. But look for yerself, sorr. Maybe t'ey're buried in it. Here's a shovel if you'd like to dig t'rough it all.”
    There was the meaty sound of a slap. “I warned you not to give me any more of your lip. I'll take you with me…”
    â€œAnd what'll you do with t' barge, sorr? Nowt to tie her to here. She'll drift. Likely to block the canal. Colonel'll have t'at shiny pip off of your shoulder for t'at, I'm t'inking,” said the bargee, calmly.
    There was a pause. An exasperated sigh. “Get on your way, then.”
    â€œWhy t'ank you, sorr,” said the bargee with mocking politeness. “I'll be doing t'at if you'd get off of my barge, like.”
    A few moments later the big pistons began clanking again and the vessel shuddered and pushed on through the water.
    â€œStay down,” said the bargee quietly. So they did. The journey seemed endless.
    â€œWe're coming up to Mag's crib. Get yourselves off. And good luck,” said the bargee.
    They scrambled up out of the coal and leapt out onto the muddy bank, which was here overhung by willow trees. There was a half-tumbled-down thatched cottage just beyond the trees, and her mother, as coal-black now as the angry-looking man from Queensland in the book had been, led them through the tangle of mallows and bramble towards it.
    Someone must have been watching, because the door opened before they got to it. “Get inside wit' you,” said the old woman in the doorway, hastily, peering around for any watchers. They scrambled in and she closed the door and bolted it behind them. There was not much light inside, with what little there was coming from a fire and two very small deep-inset windows, and it was hard to see much. But the poverty was obvious.
    The old woman pointed at a wooden settle. “Sit you down. Padraig will be along soon.”
    â€œMother, what's going on?” Clara asked, as soon as they'd sat down.
    Her mother was silent for a while, and Clara was about to ask again when she said, quietly, “I…I made a mistake. I've got into a situation where they're going to kidnap me, or if they can't do that, kill me. And they want to take you to use as a lever on me, darling. They told me I should cooperate or you'd be hurt.”
    â€œWho?” asked Clara.
    â€œThe Mensheviks. And now it seems as if the agents of Imperial Intelligence are after us too. The Russians brought me to the school to fetch you. But of course, the school porters won't allow men inside the gates of an all-girls school. I told the Russians you were doing some extra lessons, and it would take me a few minutes to get you out. They told me I'd have to hurry because Imperial Intelligence had just raided our house.”
    â€œOh.” Clara swallowed. She barely knew who the Mensheviks were, other than Russians. But she certainly knew who Imperial Intelligence were. They had arrested her father. “Who…who are these people? The bargee…this old woman? And what are we going to do?”
    â€œFriends of your father's,” said mother, in that grim, defensive tone she always used when she mentioned him. “Friends of my mother's—your grandmother—too.”
    â€œShe was a fine lady,” said the old woman, nodding, smiling, showing missing teeth. “Had her heart in the right place. And don't you worry, dearie. Padraig will sort it all out.”
    Her mother said nothing. But Clara felt