Julius and the Soulcatcher by Tim Hehir Read Free Book Online Page A

gave it to me. We ’ave to find ’im and sort ’im out.’
    Mr Flynn put the jar in his overcoat pocket.
    ‘You’re staying here,’ he said. ‘And when I come back we’ll be talking about diaries that don’t belong to you.’ He tipped his hat to Mrs Trevelyan and walked out the back door.
    Emily glared disbelievingly at Julius.
    ‘He guessed,’ he said.
    Emily continued to glare.
    Julius hesitated under the eyes of everyone. Then he turned to go.
    ‘Goodbye, Julius,’ said Clara.
    ‘Oh, yes, goodbye.’
    He ran to catch up with Mr Flynn who was slapping flour from his sleeves.
    ‘That girl will be the living death of me,’ he said.
    ‘I think we should put some feelers out at the bare-knuckle bout tonight,’ said Julius. ‘Somebody’s bound to know about Tock, or Rapple and Baines, at least.What do you think?’
    Mr Flynn did not reply.

    Later that evening, after supper of honeyed ham, baked potatoes and boiled beef with Mr Higgins, Julius and Mr Flynn arrived at a vacant warehouse on the southern bank of the Thames.
    The babble of the bare-knuckle crowd rose to a cheer—someone had landed a punch. Julius and Mr Flynn were late, and the first bout was already in its final blows as they entered. Julius wedged himself in the corner of the ring to watch.
    The smaller man, Giles ‘the Gentleman’ Farnsworth, was hunched behind his fists. His opponent, Jimmy Knottley, reeled back, throwing up a fin of blood and sweat. He fell against a dandy, who dropped his opera glasses. The lord shouted something into his ear. Knottley ignored him and rebounded into the fight just as the Gentleman sidestepped and rolled his left shoulder to prepare the right. The crowd saw what was coming. Their roar instantly changed to a shared intake of breath. The next second would be talked about for years to come and it seemed everyone knew it. Giles Farnsworth landed an exquisite knockout punch to the side of Jimmy Knottley’s jaw. A gob of saliva shot out of Knottley’s mouth as hecrashed, unconscious, to the ground. The crowd erupted, and the warehouse walls quaked.
    Julius looked through the haze of cigar smoke at the fallen boxer. After many nights like this he still could not bring himself to cheer, even though he knew the clamour was almost as much for the fallen boxer as for the victor, at least among the aficionados.
    Crimper McCready was in the stands. Julius could see him cheering loudest of all, jumping up and down as if his ecstasy was too great to contain.
    Knottley woke with a jolt when the smelling salts were waved under his nose. The crowd cheered again. His coach poured a tot of brandy between his bloodied lips. Gentleman Giles accepted the pats on the back and pumping handshakes from his supporters. Knottley rose to his feet, with the help of his seconds, bloody and sand-caked from where he had fallen. He took a few staggering steps toward Giles who embraced him like a long-lost brother. The crowd cheered again. The two pugilists spoke a few quiet words into each other’s ears and then went out of the arena, arm in arm, to clean off the blood and celebrate the fight with tankards of ale and fat cigars.
    When the noise died down Mr Flynn tapped Julius on the shoulder. ‘I’ll make some enquires,’ he said. ‘Here’s a few shillings for a drink. But only one, mind.’
    ‘Thank you, Mr Flynn. I’ll meet you at the door in half an hour.’
    Julius squeezed through the crowd to the makeshift bar. Everyone knew he was a friend of Danny Flynn, the champion bare-knuckle boxer of all London, so no one gave him any trouble.
    ‘What’s up?’ said Crimper, slapping Julius on the back, slightly less hard than he had that morning.
    ‘Want a drink?’ asked Julius.
    ‘Jolly decent of you, old man,’ said Crimper.
    Julius held up two fingers to the barman who responded with two tankards of foaming porter—Baxter’s Brew, better known in the area as Badger’s Piss. Julius dropped a shilling on the counter, and