Chapter 3.
The Docks of Casablanca
The next afternoon found Lord Wrinklebottom resplendent in top hat and tails, wandering the docks of Casablanca. Balderthump was of course beside him, dressed as always in his immaculate black suit, bowler hat and white gloves. The docks were a hive of activity. Large crates, barrels and bales of various merchandise and produce were stacked on the dockside, each waiting to be lifted onto the moored boats by teams of stevedores, or loaded onto donkey carts to be taken away, crate-by-crate, barrel-by-barrel or bale-by-bale. Coils of heavy rope lay scattered about between the stacks of cargo.
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“Not much to be seen here,” observed Lord Wrinklebottom.
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“It certainly seems all above board, m'lord,” agreed Balderthump. “Perhaps we should look a little further back from the dockside. Maybe down this lane, for instance,” he suggested, pointing discreetly to a dirty alley-way leading back from the docks.
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“It hardly seems any worthwhile criminal would set foot in such a place,” protested Lord Wrinklebottom with some disdain.
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“On the contrary, m'lord, we must remember, these men are not criminals in this country, and it is quite likely that most business is conducted in similar thoroughfares. After all, almost every alleyway we have walked down so far has been somewhat similar.”
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“Hmmph. Nonsense Balderthump. There will be nothing of interest there, I am certain. However, if you wish to waste our time looking in such unlikely places, we shall do so, simply for the sake of thoroughness.”
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“I appreciate your willingness to waste our time, m’lord,” replied Balderthump politely.
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They turned and made their way discreetly into the narrow alleyway. It was lined on both sides with high mud-brick walls broken at times by shuttered windows and the occasional door. The packed dirt surface of the alley way was dusty at the edges, yet a vile stream of grey water trickled down the middle, creating a small bog where it pooled in places. Scraps of rotting food and other rubbish were piled up against the walls wherever they had been thrown.
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“Dreadful place, Balderthump.”
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“Indeed, m'lord. Not exactly the village green at Wrinkle Bottom.” They reached the end of the alley without seeing anything of interest.
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“Nothing!” grumbled Lord Wrinklebottom. “See, Balderthump, nothing.”
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But Balderthump turned right and continued down another alley very similar to the first. This one had a number of barrels and broken boxes strewn against the walls. A woman, clad from head to toe in black and with face veiled, shuffled past them, only her eyes showing through a slit in the veil. They strolled on in silence, discreetly scanning the lane for clues to what went on behind the walls and doors.
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“Don't look now, m'lord,” Balderthump whispered as they came to yet another door set in the wall, “but you may like to pay attention to the sign on our left as we pass.” He continued walking slowly without further comment or apparent interest in anything around him.
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“The sign of the blue camel,” murmured Lord Wrinklebottom when they were well past the sign.
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“Indeed, m'lord.” A little further up the alleyway they came to an intersection. “Perhaps m'lord would care for a drink?” suggested Balderthump, gesturing in the direction of a rough-looking tea house on the other side of the alleyway and on a corner of the intersection.
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“A drink?! In that place Balderthump? Whatever has come over you?”
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“Could I suggest, m'lord, we may find what the drinking establishment lacks in refinement, may be more than made up for by the view?”
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“The view? Goodness man, you really have taken leave of your wits.”
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But Balderthump had already approached the bar and with a little broken Berber and some well-practiced miming, ordered tea. He seated himself on a rough wooden bench at the entrance to the bar and gestured to Lord Wrinklebottom to join him.
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Lord Wrinklebottom again looked rather dubiously at the establishment but came and sat on the bench anyway, waving away the pungent smoke rising from a polished brass water-pipe further along.
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“We shall be intoxicated by hashish if we stay here,” he muttered to Balderthump, continuing to wave away the smoke and nodding at the smoker slouched on the bench a little further along.
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“Perhaps m'lord would care to take in more of the view rather than concern himself with the smoke.” Balderthump nodded in the direction of the alleyway they had just come down.
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Lord Wrinklebottom made himself as comfortable as he could on the rough wooden bench and peered up the alleyway. “Ah, I begin to appreciate the positive aspects of the view, Balderthump,” he said after a few moments.
“Indeed, m’lord.”
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They watched as two tall, bearded men in dirty brown robes entered the alleyway and making their way to the sign, disappeared inside the low door underneath it.
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An ornate polished brass teapot was delivered to the upturned packing crate serving as a table for their bench. Two much less ornate porcelain cups appeared. Their host poured the tea into the cups from a great height, causing the tea to froth pleasantly at the top of their cups.
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“An excellent pour, Balderthump,” remarked Lord Wrinklebottom.
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“Indeed, m’lord. Our surrounds may lack some distinction, but there appears to be no lack of genuine local etiquette.”
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Another two bearded and robed men made their way to the sign of the blue camel and went inside. Part way through their second cup of tea, another man came out of the door and disappeared up the alleyway.
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“I shall need to order another cup of tea shortly, m’lord,” murmured Balderthump after their third leisurely cup of tea.
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“I'm not sure that is such a good idea, Balderthump,” murmured Lord Wrinklebottom in response. “The sun is sinking quickly and I don't fancy being in this part of town after dark.”
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“Quite sensible, m’lord,” replied Balderthump.
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“And besides, my suit is getting rather dusty sitting here,” continued Lord Wrinklebottom. “Perhaps it is time to go before it is completely ruined.”
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“Of course, m’lord,” agreed Balderthump draining the last tea from his cup and rising to pay the bill.
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“Perhaps we might stay just a little longer to see what these two are up to,” he whispered as he returned. Lord Wrinklebottom nodded and pretended to drink again from his empty teacup.
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Two tall men, bearded and robed as those before them, had entered the alleyway. Unlike those before them, these men were pushing and dragging a heavy-looking hand-cart. They stopped not far from the sign, but did not enter the doorway. Instead, they began pulling something from the cart and throwing it over the mud-brick walls. As they did so, a howling and screaming arose and echoed around the mud walls of the alleyway and nearby buildings.
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“Good gracious, Balderthump, whatever is that?” whispered Lord Wrinklebottom trying not to look up from his drink.
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“I'm not sure, m'lord,” replied Balderthump quietly. “Let us listen a little longer.”
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The men continued to throw whatever it was over the wall until the cart was empty, after which they pushed the empty cart back towards the tea house where Lord Wrinklebottom and Balderthump were sitting, turned the corner and walked away towards the docks. Balderthump pulled Lord Wrinklebottom into the deepening shadows as they passed.
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“Best not to attract too much attention,” he whispered.
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“A little hard not to in our attire,” muttered Lord Wrinklebottom somewhat sarcastically.
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“Indeed, m'lord,” agreed Balderthump.
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Lord Wrinklebottom placed his teacup down on the broken packing case and rose to leave.
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“Let us re-trace our steps back up the alleyway, m’lord,” suggested Balderthump. “Maybe we shall find some clue to that strange noise.”
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“It is dying away at last,” noted Lord Wrinklebottom in a low voice.
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“Yes. Whatever it was, is passing,” agreed Balderthump.
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Without glancing back at the eyes no doubt watching them from inside the tea house, they slowly made their way back up the alleyway and towards the sign of the blue camel. As they got closer, the strange noise became clearer.
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“That sounds almost human, Balderthump,” observed Lord Wrinklebottom quietly.
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“Indeed it does, m’lord,” agreed Balderthump, “and I believe it is coming from the other side of that wall.” He nodded discretely at the wall on which the blue camel was painted.
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“Wait just a moment, m’lord,” he continued in a louder voice and dropped to one knee to adjust his shoes, at the same time glancing surreptitiously back at the tea house and the other direction up the alley way.
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“It is almost dark, m’lord,” he said in a whisper as he rose. “I suggest we take our chance and try to find what that noise was and where it is coming from.” He pointed discretely at a partly broken barrel lying against the wall nearby.
With a final glance both ways along the alley he strode over to the broken barrel, lifted it onto its end and leapt up onto it. It was just high enough for him to see over the mud wall. He stared in astonishment at what he saw. But not for long.
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He jumped back down from the barrel, grabbed Lord Wrinklebottom's arm and pulled him urgently along the alleyway.
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“Come, m'lord, quickly, we must go.”
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“Go?! Whatever for, Balderthump? I haven't yet seen what's over the wall.”
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“I shall explain later, m’lord,” urged Balderthump, but it was no use. Lord Wrinklebottom had already torn himself free from Balderthump’s loose grip, walked to the barrel and begun trying to pull his somewhat shorter and more rotund body up onto it.
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“If you must, m’lord,” sighed Balderthump helping Lord Wrinklebottom up onto the barrel. “But please be quick. We should not be here.”
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Lord Wrinklebottom struggled to see over the wall. Balderthump offered his shoulder for Lord Wrinklebottom to step up onto. Lord Wrinklebottom strained on tiptoes until he was just able to catch a glimpse of the scene behind the wall.
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“My word, Balderthump! That is inhuman! Incorrigible! Intolerable! Outrageous!” He stepped from Balderthump's shoulder back onto the barrel. “I shall see to it that whomever is behind this atrocity is …”
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But whatever he intended, it had to wait. For while he had been looking over the wall, four tall, bearded men in dirty brown robes had slipped silently and unseen out of the door and surrounded them.
