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Baz was astonished at this list of duties – and astonished to find that Cookie was actually quite a likeable person. Or even a person at all. He’d gone along with the rest of the crowd, ignoring the boy completely, treating him as though he didn’t exist. He felt ashamed, and decided that now was the time to try and make up for it.

“OK,” he said. “So where do we start? What do you want me to do?”

“We start with the bogs. Give ’em a scrub down. But first I need to do something about this.” Cookie waved his wrapped-up hand. “Get a bandage on it.”

“What – you’ve got real bandages?”

“Yeah. There’s a first aid cabinet – need it for the divers. They’ll be gone by now, so I can get one from there.”

*  *  *

It was weird to see inside the divers’ living quarters. They each had their own room, with proper beds and duvets, along with clothing racks, shelves, magazines, bedside cabinets – total luxury. The spaces were quite small – studies, perhaps, when this had been a school. A couple of the rooms were incredibly messy, a couple were tidy. Baz felt nervous as he peeked through the doorways of these private sanctuaries, as though he had strayed into enemy territory. At any moment one of the divers might return, and then what would happen?

“Don’t worry,” said Cookie. “It’s part of my job. You’re gonna have to help me clear up in here later on, in any case. Along that other passageway we got Hutchinson’s room, and Steiner’s. Worst of the lot, those two are. Total pigs. But at least I don’t have to cook for them. They eat in their rooms – there’s tins everywhere.”

“What about Preacher John?” asked Baz. “Where’s his room?”

“Round the corner on the other side of the corridor.” Cookie’s voice sank almost to a whisper as he pointed. “I’ve never even been in there. Don’t think anybody has. He eats by himself – hardly ever comes out. I have to leave his meals on a little table outside. I just knock on his door, leave his food, collect the plates later. Every Sunday morning I pick up his washing and leave the clean stuff outside the door. That’s it. Come on. We’ve got work to do.”

Baz took another quick look around before following Cookie.

There was a fire exit just past the divers’ quarters, the doors partially wedged open by a mound of junk on the other side. Baz could see a stairway. This was completely blocked, stacked up with boxes and piles of chairs, and obviously not in use. It must lead to an upper part of the school, though... and perhaps to a hiding place? Somewhere they could go on Sundays? No, it would take ages to clear any sort of pathway through that lot, and the risk of being caught was far too high. Sneaking around the divers’ quarters would be a deadly game to play.

Cookie hadn’t been exaggerating the extent of his duties, and long before evening came Baz felt that he’d already put in a solid day’s work. The toilets had been cleaned, rooms tidied, clothes washed and hung up to dry. There was a small sluice room to one side of the kitchen. Here were a couple of sinks, and in these the divers’ clothes had to be washed and rinsed. The drainage worked, but of course the water had to be bucketed in. This meant a long journey right around the building, the back door to the kitchen having apparently being blocked by falling rubble.

Their last job, apart from cooking, was to fill the generator with diesel. The generator was housed in a galvanized metal hut just outside the kitchen window, but again it could only be reached by going the long way round. Baz was surprised to find that Cookie had the key to this hut.

“Why would they worry?” said Cookie. “What am I gonna steal? There’s nothing I need I don’t already have. And if something did go missing, they’d know exactly who to blame. Wouldn’t be worth the risk.”

It was dark inside the metal hut, and the smell of diesel was strong. Baz saw that there were three large jerry cans in one corner. The generator itself was an old-fashioned-looking thing, a big greasy machine with a flywheel on the side, and there was some other mechanical contraption standing next to it. This was basically a horizontal cylinder, maroon colored, with some sort of motor attached, and a gauge mounted on top of it, which looked a bit like a clock.

“What’s that thing?” Baz asked.

“Compressor,” said Cookie. “That’s what they use to fill up their air tanks from. It’s driven by the generator. OK – this is the filler cap for the diesel.”

“Do they keep petrol in here as well?” Baz watched as Cookie picked up one of the jerry cans.

Cookie shook his head. “It’s all locked in the armory.”

Baz tried to take note of everything he saw. Gene, he thought, would be interested in hearing about this.

“You can eat whatever you want, as long as it’s not the carrots.” Here was another surprise for Baz. Back in the kitchen he and Cookie were beginning to prepare the divers’ evening meal. Cookie had decided to make lamb stew with carrot rissoles. The carrots had been chopped and rice measured out according to Cookie’s instructions, and now the smell of it all boiling away on the little electric stove was making Baz hungry.

“Just grab a tin of something,” Cookie said. “Heat it up if you like.”

“What – they don’t mind?”

“Nah. They figure that as long as they feed me I don’t need to steal anything. And it’d be hard for me to smuggle stuff out of here in any case, wearing this stupid outfit.”

Baz looked at Cookie’s tight-fitting white jacket.

“Got no pockets,” said Cookie. “That’s why they make me wear it.”

“Oh.” Baz picked up a tin of corned beef. “So – I could eat some of this if I wanted?”

“Sure, go ahead. Eat it all if you like.”

Baz began to understand how Cookie had got to be the size he was.

The boiled rice and carrots were mixed together with some seasoning and a little milk powder, then divided up into ten patties. An outsized frying pan had been put to one side, at the ready, and five tins of stew decanted into another big saucepan. Baz did all the work, while Cookie stood by and gave instructions. He kept his bandaged hand tucked under his arm. It was obviously causing him a lot of pain.

“So... how did it happen?” Baz asked.

“Luke got fed up waiting,” said Cookie. “I hadn’t put the lentils in to soak early enough, and so everything was late.” He looked down at his bandaged hand. “Luke came into the kitchen, and he was in a right friggin’ mood. They’d had a bad day, I s’pose. The soup was boiling on the stove. He just grabbed my arm and shoved it in the pot... held it there...”

“Christ...” Baz tried to imagine what that must have been like. It occurred to him that he might be in danger of the same thing happening to him. He looked doubtfully at the rissoles. What if the divers decided they didn’t like them?

The kitchen door opened, and Isaac looked in.

“Ten minutes,” was all he said, and the door closed again.

“Damn, they’re back early. We need to be quick.” Cookie began rattling off orders.

“Put the rissoles in the frying pan. I’ll start heating the stew. Get ’em evenly spaced. That’s it – don’t let ’em touch.” Cookie stirred the pot of stew for a minute. “OK. Now swap.”

Back and forth went the two pans, Baz turning the rissoles over, Cookie stirring with his wooden spoon. The ten minutes were surely up, and Baz began to panic. He expected Luke to come raging through the door and do to him what he’d done to Cookie.

“Isn’t it ready yet?” Baz felt the sweat trickling down his face.

“’Nother minute. We’re OK... we’re OK...”

At last Cookie judged the rissoles to be sufficiently browned and the stew hot enough. “I’ll ladle,” he said. “You dish out those onto the plates, two each.”

Another minute and the food was all plated up and on the metal serving trolley.

“OK, showtime. You push the trolley.”

Cookie held open the kitchen door and let Baz through.

Directly opposite the kitchen was a dining area, an open space that contained a formica-topped table and four chairs. Isaac was at the head of the table, Luke and Amos to his left and right, Moko at the other end.

Baz felt the eyes of all upon him as he wheeled the trolley towards the table.

“Put out the knives and forks first,” muttered Cookie, “then the plates. I gotta take Preacher John’s food down. Back in a minute.”

Baz’s hands were shaking as he leaned across the salvage crew to distribute the cutlery. He automatically began with Isaac, and then worked his way round the table. By the time he’d got to the fourth person, Luke, his brain seemed to seize up altogether. He laid the knife and fork the wrong way round, realized his mistake, and in fumbling to reverse them he dropped the fork. It landed in Luke’s lap. Baz hesitated, wondering whether he should try and retrieve the fork. He was spared this embarrassment when Luke picked it up and said, “Just give me the knife, idiot, and get on with it.”

But even this simple action was fraught with danger. As Baz offered the steak knife blade first, he knew that he had made another mistake. Luke looked at the sharp blade, then at Baz.

“What’s this, you soddin’ little apache? Are you trying to mug me or something?” There was a chuckle from Amos on the other side of the table, but Luke wasn’t laughing. His eyes were cold, ice blue, in a hard and unshaven face, his broken nose an ugly indicator of past violence.

“Gimme that.” Luke grabbed Baz by the wrist. His grip was unbelievably strong, and Baz’s fingers immediately sprang open. Luke snatched the knife from Baz’s palm, but continued to hold onto his wrist, squeezing so hard that it felt as though the bones were being crushed.

“Don’t you ever point a blade at me, fella. Got it?” Luke held the steak knife an inch from Baz’s chin, kept it there for a long moment. “
Got it?”

“Yes! Argh... yes...” Baz gasped in fear and pain.

Luke let go of his wrist. “Now get those plates on the table.”

Baz wanted to collapse in a heap, but he managed to hold himself together long enough to dole out the food. Once everybody had a plate in front of them, Baz drew away from the table, feeling very shaky. Cookie had returned and Baz supposed the two of them would now be going back into the kitchen. But Cookie stopped at the kitchen door and stood there with his hands behind his back, feet apart.

“You have to wait here,” he muttered. “Case they want anything else.”

“Oh.” Baz stood beside him.

For a while the only sound was the clatter of knives and forks. The first remark came from Amos.

“Bank Bottom again tomorrow, Isaac?”

Isaac nodded. “Not much left there, I know. But the old fool reckons things’ll improve soon. I’m for going over to Skelmersley, try our luck there, but he wants us to wait for the water to clear first.”

“So things are really on the turn, then? The sea’s gonna get clearer?”

“Hah. According to him it is. And all thanks to the miraculous power of prayer.” Isaac gave a sardonic little grunt. “Load o’ crap. The power of a good southeasterly, more like.”

“Hey – whatever works...” Amos took another mouthful of stew.

Isaac looked at his brother. “Yeah, well, that’s you all over, Amos. Keep your head down and don’t ask questions.”

Amos stopped eating and returned Isaac’s stare. “Oh? That’s me, is it? I don’t see you putting up too many objections – not when he’s around to hear you, anyway. You do as you’re told, same as the rest of us.”

“While it suits me, maybe. But not forever.”

“Yeah, right. You’re all talk, Isaac. When the old man says “jump,” you jump. Always have, always will.”

Isaac leaned back in his chair and pushed his plate away. “We’ll see who’s all talk. I can bide my time.”

The Eck brothers were plainly in the power of their father, but Isaac seemed the most resentful of the three, his tone full of bitterness. Baz was surprised that the men would talk so freely in front of Cookie and himself. But then he and Cookie were just servants. They were nothing. They didn’t exist.

“And I’ll tell you this.” Isaac was on his feet now. “The old man’s losing his grip. Either that or his ruddy marbles. We’ve got a good business going here, or did have, and I don’t intend to see it go under because of that nutter. So maybe you two should be thinking about the future – like I am.”

He took his jacket from the back of his chair and went out of the room.

“He’s getting worse,” Luke muttered, once Isaac was out of earshot. “Why does he have to keep rocking the boat?”

“’Cos he wishes the boat was his,” said Amos. “Always has.”

*  *  *

As Baz and Cookie entered the slob room, Cookie said, “Thanks for helping me out today. Can’t remember the last time I got off this early.” He walked towards his bed.

“That’s OK. Hey, Cookie...” Baz was aware of the other boys looking at him. He waited until Cookie turned round. “How’s your hand?”

There was silence for a moment, and then Cookie said, “Dunno. It still really hurts. I’m gonna leave the bandage on for a couple of days before I take a look.”

Baz said, “Yeah. Good idea, mate. Maybe... er... maybe see you tomorrow then. Do the same again.”

“Maybe. Depends on what Hutchinson says.” Cookie didn’t seem inclined to push the conversation any further.

“Yeah, OK. Er... later, then...” Baz put his hands in the pockets of his shorts and walked over to the seating area, where most of the boys were lolling around.

“Hiya.” He tried to sound casual, but was aware of the attention focused upon him.

“Been having 
fun
, dear?” Amit grinned up at him and there were several sniggers.

“Wouldn’t call it fun exactly.” Baz sat down on the floor. “More like hard graft actually.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you making some new friends, love.” Amit had obviously cast himself in the role of concerned mother. “But make sure you don’t let the big boys fall on you, all right?”

Baz waited for the laughter to die away. “Listen – just cut it out, OK? We’re all in the same boat here...”

“Must be a friggin’ big boat then,” murmured Amit, and there were more giggles.

Baz felt his temper begin to rise. “Hey – how would you like it, Amit, if everyone was picking on you all the time? Huh? What if we all started calling you “Paki”? Or started calling Robbie “Gingah”?”