Black Wreath by Peter Sirr Page A

play?
    Darcy seemed to read his mind. ‘And we can blood the boy,’ he said.
    The others nodded their enthusiastic agreement.
    ‘What does that mean?’ James asked.
    ‘What do you think it means?’ Darcy snapped, anger edging his voice again. ‘Do you think we keep you for a pet? You’ll earn your keep, you’ll do what you’re told tonight, or you’ll feel the cudgel on the back of your head.’
    James said nothing, but sat scrutinising his muck-caked shoes.
    They agreed to meet in the Quaker graveyard near Stephen’s Green after dark that night. Kelly, Hare and Kitty sloped off then with a look of shifty sullenness about them, so that James didn’t doubt that they had some side business of their own, and that some of it would certainly involve waylaying some unfortunate woman and robbing her pocket.
    ‘Alright, boy, you and I will make a team,’ Darcy said. ‘Stay here and wait. I have some things to do. Meet me by Ormond Bridge around nine o’clock.’
    He threw James a loaf and a thick slice of ham, much as an owner might throw his dog some scraps, James thought, but he ate nonetheless. Crime was hungry work, he was finding.

Fifteen

The Blooding of James
    J ames waited a little way from the lantern on the bridge. He was learning, day by day, to melt into the shadows, to disappear into the folds of the city. Dublin at night in this district was a sinister place, filled with the songs and complaints of vagabonds, the hard laughter of shapes clustered in doorways, and the dark fury of coaches hurtling down the quays as fast as the coachman could drive the horses, in case anyone thought to stop them. It was a place where, at any moment, your life might be threatened or terminated with a few quick knife thrusts. How many grim-faced Kellys and Hares were lurking here now, waiting for their victims?
    James froze as he felt a sudden hand on his shoulder, but it was only Darcy, who seemed to materialise out of nowhere like a spectre. He felt James start.
    ‘Is James Brown frightened of his own shadow?’ Darcy laughed. He led the way across the bridge, entered a tavern atthe sign of the Bear, and called for gin. He drank swiftly and urged James to do the same.
    ‘We’ll need it this night,’ he said. ‘Courage, guile and warmth, all in a single bottle. It’s a miracle, don’t you find?’
    James struggled with the drink, wishing he could spit it out.
    Darcy enjoyed his clear discomfort. ‘Can’t drink either, James Brown? One of these days, if you live much longer, we’ll find something you can do.’
    They went out onto the street, climbed up the hill under the gaunt frowning cathedral and made their way through the narrow streets around the castle until they arrived at the Quaker graveyard. James shivered as they entered. He thought of the graveyard where Miss Deakin had brought him the day he left his father’s house for the last time. That had been the beginning of his misfortune, and he didn’t expect much good could come from this encounter. They stood behind some trees at the back and watched the entrance. They didn’t have to wait long before they heard low voices and a soft whistle. Darcy whistled back and they could soon make out the shapes of Kelly, Hare and Kitty. Kelly and Hare didn’t look too secure on their feet, James noticed, and as they approached he could smell enough drink on their breath to wake half the poor Quakers from their rest. Only Kitty was light on his feet, tense and ready for action.
    ‘What’s the plan?’ he asked Darcy as soon as they reached the cover of the trees.
    ‘To die rich,’ Darcy said evenly. ‘Tonight’s lodgement will be provided by some stuffed buck who is about to stray fromThe Beaux Walk, with a little help from our young and good-looking friend here.’ He indicated James with a mock bow.
    The Beaux Walk was one of the sides of Stephen’s Green. James had often strolled there with his father in the days before he met Miss Deakin. That was