Part 27 (1/2)

Boyce and his magnificent uniform already had the attention of the crowd gathered there on the steps. The sight of his sword, flas.h.i.+ng in the grey afternoon, elicited a spasm of alarm. Like a flock of startled geese the people retreated, leaving Cracknell exposed before the fuming Brigadier-General. He began to speakjust as Boyce lunged.

The sword was ceremonial, intended for grand parades rather than slaughter, but the Brigadier-General still managed to drive it a good few inches into his foe. Cracknell wavered for a moment, his lips moving wordlessly, and then dropped to his knees. With a grimace, Boyce planted a highly polished boot in the centre of the Tomahawk's collarbone and made to pull the sword out; but the awkward angle, and the sheer force with which the officer wrenched it towards him, caused the slender blade to snap suddenly. The two men flew apart. Cracknell hit the Exhibition steps with a heavy groan, his umbrella leaping from his hand and bouncing down to the turning circle.

The Brigadier-General quickly regained his balance, altered his hold on the sword's filigreed hilt and prepared to stab at his enemy with the broken end. Before he could do this, a large constable intervened, seizing his arm and commanding him to desist. Boyce tried to shake this man off, and the next instant half a dozen constables were on the Crimean hero, wrestling him to the ground.

Raindrops struck against Cracknell's face, filling his eyes, his mouth, running down through his black beard. Someone close by called for a doctor. He managed to lift his head, and received a blurred impression of a hard, straight protrusion with a jagged end, poking up just above his right nipple. Beneath it, under his cloak, a bright red blot was spreading steadily across the grubby white of his s.h.i.+rt.

And past this he could see Boyce, still struggling to get at him, yelling with helpless, choking fury as he was taken away. Although now faint with pain, the Tomahawk could not help but let out a shallow, coughing laugh.

'II am well,' he announced hoa.r.s.ely, to no one in particular. 'Quite well ...'

At Sea

July 1857

1.

And so, the column concluded, the Brigadier-General is now in the Brigadier-General is now in custody of the Manchester police, charged with attempted murder custody of the Manchester police, charged with attempted murder a man disgraced. The precise motive for the Brigadier-General's a man disgraced. The precise motive for the Brigadier-General's vicious a.s.sault remains unknown. His victim a.s.serts that he was vicious a.s.sault remains unknown. His victim a.s.serts that he was present as an independent citizen, there only to cheer his monarch. present as an independent citizen, there only to cheer his monarch. The Exhibition authorities have pleaded ignorance; its chairman, The Exhibition authorities have pleaded ignorance; its chairman, Mr Thomas Fairbairn, has said that the Brigadier-General had Mr Thomas Fairbairn, has said that the Brigadier-General had spoken briefly with the Queen and then excused himself from the spoken briefly with the Queen and then excused himself from the building rather suddenly. The picture saloon in which this audience building rather suddenly. The picture saloon in which this audience took place was closed to the public the morning after the incident, took place was closed to the public the morning after the incident, but has since reopened with the display slightly adjusted. It all seems but has since reopened with the display slightly adjusted. It all seems to be an impenetrable mystery. to be an impenetrable mystery.

In the wake of this brutal and unprovoked attack, however, we note that questions are being posed in certain quarters about the note that questions are being posed in certain quarters about the Brigadier-General's private affairs. These have focused upon his Brigadier-General's private affairs. These have focused upon his recent acc.u.mulation of wealth, and the suggestion that he benefited recent acc.u.mulation of wealth, and the suggestion that he benefited from inappropriate links with a certain Manchester foundryone from inappropriate links with a certain Manchester foundryone that prospered during the late war. The police seem reluctant to that prospered during the late war. The police seem reluctant to scrutinise this matter, but we understand that a number of informal scrutinise this matter, but we understand that a number of informal investigations are already underway. investigations are already underway.

The victim, Richard Cracknell, the Tomahawk of the Courier, lies injured in the Manchester Royal Infirmary; yet already he is lies injured in the Manchester Royal Infirmary; yet already he is writing again, and has promised this publication a full account of writing again, and has promised this publication a full account of the attack, as well as his views on the rumours of further wrongdoing, the attack, as well as his views on the rumours of further wrongdoing, for inclusion in our very next number. for inclusion in our very next number.

Kitson put down the paper. So there it was. Somehow, Cracknell had prevailed. He looked around the state-room of the H. M. S. Stromboli H. M. S. Stromboli. It was decorated in a spa.r.s.e, functional style; a smattering of travellers sat eating sandwiches from paper parcels and leafing idly through books and magazines. Despite everything that had occurred, he felt the slight rekindling of an all but forgotten regard. A little disquieted by this, he rose to his feet, picking up the European railway almanac he had just purchased from the counter at the stateroom's aft end, and headed for the door to the deck. He left the copy of the London Courier London Courier lying on the table. lying on the table.

A group of chattering children hung from the rail of the Stromboli Stromboli like was.h.i.+ng on a line. They were staring at the coast that emerged steadily from the haze before the s.h.i.+p, pointing out details to one another as it drew nearer. Parents and governesses stood close behind, hands clutching their hats and bonnets to their heads, their shawls held tightly against the brisk sea wind. Squinting in the afternoon suns.h.i.+ne, Kitson could see a long strip of yellow beach, some low cliffs, and the rise of green fields beyond. Directly before the like was.h.i.+ng on a line. They were staring at the coast that emerged steadily from the haze before the s.h.i.+p, pointing out details to one another as it drew nearer. Parents and governesses stood close behind, hands clutching their hats and bonnets to their heads, their shawls held tightly against the brisk sea wind. Squinting in the afternoon suns.h.i.+ne, Kitson could see a long strip of yellow beach, some low cliffs, and the rise of green fields beyond. Directly before the Stromboli Stromboli was their destination, the port of Boulogne, a jumble of pale stone crowned with steeples. The bay was crowded with vessels, from fis.h.i.+ng skiffs to large steam cruisers like the one he stood upon. Kitson rested against the rail and put his left hand upon it. The polished bra.s.s was cold to the touch. He looked down at his new plain silver ring, tapping it against the rail. It made a pleasingly sharp, reverberating sound. was their destination, the port of Boulogne, a jumble of pale stone crowned with steeples. The bay was crowded with vessels, from fis.h.i.+ng skiffs to large steam cruisers like the one he stood upon. Kitson rested against the rail and put his left hand upon it. The polished bra.s.s was cold to the touch. He looked down at his new plain silver ring, tapping it against the rail. It made a pleasingly sharp, reverberating sound.