Brian Jacques - The Ribbajack

Every one of the four days her dad was home, Miggy Mags rose early. She fed Sailor on bacon rinds, crusts spread with molasses and the odd cracked egg, which Atty left out for her. She went about her tasks with a will, the object being to get them out of the way so she could spend time with her father. Everything went well until the third day. Paddy had taken Miggy for a visit aboard the Bengal Pearl, a delightful day out for her. Her dad’s shipmates, both crew and officers, went out of their way to make her happy. Most of the men were bachelors and had no children of their own. They were enchanted with Paddy’s young daughter. Miggy was given a tour of the vessel, from stem to stern, by two whiskery old salts. A wheelhouse officer even let her turn the massive brass-bound mahogany steering wheel, allowing her to wear his peaked cap. She was served afternoon tea in the crew’s mess with the captain, doctor, purser and all hands attending. Miggy was treated to ham sandwiches, Madeira cake and Ceylon tea. The captain showed her how to stick out a little finger when holding the delicate Satsuma china cups, which he had provided for the occasion. The purser asked her to pour tea for them, chuckling as he referred to her as “Mother.” It was early evening when they came ashore, Paddy swaggering proudly alongside his young daughter. Miggy had some coins and handcrafted trinkets donated by her dad’s shipmates. It had been a day to remember.

But disaster awaited them on their return to the Mersey Star Boardinghouse.

Atty Lok came hurrying up the quayside to warn them. “Eric have much sick belly, he come home early from pub. Ho, yes, big bad mood, you stay out of Eric’s way until he go up to room an’ sleep!”

The cook was about to tell more when Eric McGrail appeared at the door. His face was ashen. He crouched, clutching his stomach as he roared, “Where’ve ye both been all day, eh? Leavin’ a poor sick man to fend for hisself. Fine family you two are!”

Paddy pushed Miggy behind him as he enquired about his brother. “Eric, are you alright, mate, what ails ye?”

The boardinghouse keeper allowed himself to be escorted inside by Paddy and Atty. He lowered himself, groaning, into a chair, where he sat wiping slobber from his chin. “I could’ve been dead an’ laid out, for all youse lot care. I was took bad in the Maid of Erin, an’ had t’find me own way home. It musta been somethin’ that foreign heathen put in me brekkist this mornin’.”

He bent forward, wincing, as he pointed at Miggy. “Either that, or I’ve been infected by that rat you been keepin’. Where is it now, ye filthy liddle scut?”

Paddy answered, defending his daughter. “Easy now, Eric, you’re sick. Miggy wouldn’t keep no rat as a pet, she’s scared of rats. There might be some outside, on the wharves an’ under the piers. Talk sense, mate, whoever heard of anyone havin’ a dock rat indoors as a pet, eh?”

Sweat beaded on Eric’s pasty brow as he heaved himself up. “Oh, ye think I’m out o’ me mind, talk sense, is it? I’ll talk sense right enough. I saw the thing with me own eyes, a rat, near big as a cat the damned thing was. It was skulkin’ round in my cellar when I went down to look for the girl. Come an’ see for yer selves!”

Lifting the trapdoor behind the kitchen counter, he beckoned the trio to go down ahead of him. “Go on down there, I’ll show ye. Nobody calls Eric McGrail a liar!”

Paddy called back as they negotiated the single-board steps, “No one’s callin’ ye a liar, mate, I was only sayin’ that my Miggy ain’t keepin’ a rat down here.”

The curtain had been ripped down from Miggy’s alcove. Her navy blanket and few pitiful belongings were strewn about the cellar floor. However, there was no sign of Sailor. Eric shuffled about, squinching his face and holding on to his griping stomach. He kicked the tin of drinking water over and ground his boot down on on the bacon rind, eggshell and bread crusts.

“Tell the truth, girl, you’ve been keepin’ a rat down here!”

Miggy shook her head. “No, I haven’t, I don’t like rats.”

Eric glared at her from under beetling brows. “Don’t take me for a fool, ye liddle liar!”

Atty interrupted his tirade. “Miggy good girl, not tell lies, she never keep rat!”

Eric turned on him furiously. “Then it’s you, poi sonin’ me grub, ye son o’ Satan!”

The Siamese cook folded his arms, gazing implacably at Eric. “If I want to poison you, long time ago you’d be dead. You make plenty foolish talk.”

Completely lost for words, Eric pushed the cook aside and lurched over to the stairs. Then he turned, fixing the three of them with a malicious sneer. “So be it then. I’ll cook me own grub from now on. But I warn ye, I’ll get to the bottom o’ the rat business. When I’m fit again, I’ll send for Tommy Dyer, the rat catcher. Hah, no rat ever escapes Tommy, he’ll catch the vermin alive an’ sell it to the sportin’ gang at the Slaughterhouse pub. They’ll sling it in the pit with two rattin’ terriers, then bet on which one’ll tear your rat to bits first!”

When the trapdoor slammed shut, Miggy searched the cellar, calling out in a loud whisper, “Sailor, where are you, Sailor?” She gave a squeak of surprise when the mongoose dropped lightly onto her shoulders from out of the ceiling crossbeams. He licked Miggy’s ear and curled about her neck. Paddy looked worried.

“I should’ve known it was wrong, bringin’ a mongoose to Eric’s place. I think I’d best take him back aboard ship.”

Large tears popped from Miggy’s eyes as she pleaded with her dad. “Oh, please don’t take Sailor away from me, I love him so much! I’ll hide him better this time, Uncle Eric will never know he’s here. Let me keep him, please, Dad!”

Paddy McGrail had never seen his daughter cry since she was a babe in arms—it upset him. She was usually a tough little soul. He looked to the cook for help. “What d’you think, Atty, would it work out if I left him here?”

Atty Lok had quite firm views on the subject. “Paddy can no give daughter gift, then take away, not honourable! Leave Sailor here with Miggy, she take care of him. I look out for Eric, things be fine again.”

Paddy relented. “Alright, Sailor stays. But Miggy, me darlin’, don’t let Eric see him, whatever ye do!”

At floodtide on the following morn, Paddy McGrail boarded the Bengal Pearl and sailed for Greenock. Miggy stood on the quay, waving, as the ship glided by under sail, like a huge white swan.

“Have a safe trip, Dad, see you next week. Don’t worry, you-know-who will never catch sight of you-know-what!” She ran to the river wall, waving until the big clipper became a white smudge far up the River Mersey.

Miggy Mags continued her daily drudge at the Mersey Star Boardinghouse and Chandlery. Scrubbing floors, washing pots and dishes, serving food, plus a hundred and one other chores between dawn and dusk.

She was forced to take extra care, as her uncle’s illness had not improved. Eric McGrail had not set foot outside in days, sitting in the corner of the dining room, full of self-pity. His expressions alternated between abject misery and rank foul temper. Miggy and Atty were run ragged keeping up with his orders and demands.

Whenever the girl got a chance, she would creep downstairs to look after Sailor. The cook had provided some things to keep the mongoose amused: an oval white pebble, which resembled an egg, and a small coil of cotton rope, which Sailor treated like a snake. Miggy liked watching her pet wrestle with the stone one moment, then pounce on the rope suddenly. She petted the little creature, feeding him Demerara sugar and some of Atty’s rice cake. Sailor nuzzled her hand, then rummaged in her apron pocket, searching for more. Miggy whispered, “All gone, mate, all gone. Be a good boy an’ I’ll bring you somethin’ nice for dinner tonight. Go an’ play now, I’ve got work to do upstairs.”