Stone's Fall

'Oh, yes. I think so. They should be; they know they are the best in the world. And they are paid well. We cannot afford even one incompetent riveter or mechanic. They have to be paid well, and supervised very closely. When we launched Intrepid last year the whole city came to a halt so everyone could watch. They knew they'd done something remarkable. Come along.'

We walked back to the cab, and the horse walked wearily off once more, taking a different route this time. After a few minutes, Mr Williams asked the driver to stop. 'Please forgive me,' he said with a smile. 'I must just check with one of our people in here. Do come in, if you wish.'

I followed him into the entrance of a block of offices, which was attached to another giant building of such size that ordinarily it alone would have made one pause for thought. But I was almost getting used to them now. Another building the size of St Paul's. Oh, well. I wanted my lunch. Mr Williams led the way into the warren of offices, where dozens of clerks sat at rows of oak desks, each with his piles of paper. Then through more, where men with drawing boards were working. Mr Williams popped his head into one room, and called one of the men out.

'I have to see Mr Ashley for a few moments. Would you be so kind as to take Mr Braddock here to see our little arsenal?'

The young man, clearly pleased to have been chosen for such a task and to have attracted the attention of the most powerful man in the North-East, said he would be delighted. His name was Fredericks, he told me, as he led the way. He was a senior draughtsman, working on gun turrets. He had worked at Beswick for twelve years now, ever since he was fourteen. His father also worked here, in the yards. His brothers and uncles did as well.

'A family firm, then,' I said, more for something to say than anything else.

'I don't suppose there's a single family in Newcastle which doesn't have someone who works in the yard,' he replied. 'Here we are.'

He pulled open a heavy wooden door, and then followed me through. Again I was astonished, even though it took me some time to work out what I was looking at. Guns. But not ordinary guns, not like in museums, or put out for display at the Tower of London. These were more like tree trunks from some vast forest; twenty, thirty feet long, three feet thick, tapering meanly and menacingly towards the muzzle. And there were dozens and dozens of them, some long and almost elegant, others short and squat, lined up in rows on huge trestles.

'That's our biggest,' Fredericks said pointing to one of the longest, which lay in the middle of the building, shining dully from a protective layer of oil. 'The 12/45 mark 10. With the breech it weighs fifty-eight tons and it can throw an 850-pound shell nearly eleven miles and land within thirty feet of the target. If the people operating it know what they're about. Which I doubt they will.'

'And these are all for HMS Anson?'

'She'll take a dozen of them. Think of the effect of a single broadside. And these can fire once a minute. We think.'

'You think? I got the impression that everyone who worked here knew. I didn't think guessing was allowed.'

He looked a bit disconcerted by this. 'Well, you see, it's not the guns. We know they work. It's the gun control. The hydraulics. Anson will have an entirely new design. The trouble is . . .'

'You can't test it in advance too easily.'

He nodded. 'It's what I work on. I think it will be just fine. But if it isn't . . .'

'So, what are the other ones for? If twelve go on Anson, there must be another couple of dozen of those great big ones here.'

He shrugged. 'Who knows? It's not as if they tell us. But it's the same all over the yard. There's enough guns and plate and girders to build a battle fleet out of the spare parts, with more being made. But there are no more orders.'

'Who's they?'

'Scuttlebutt. Gossip. Talk in the pub. Who knows where these things come from? People are worrying about lay-offs, once Anson's finished.'

'What about foreign orders?'

He shook his head.

'Perhaps they're being kept secret.'

He laughed. 'You don't know shipyards, sir. There aren't any secrets from the workers. Do you think there is anything that affects our jobs we don't know about?'

I looked thoughtfully at the vast pieces of metal lined up in that gigantic, chilly room, and shivered. It was calm in there, peaceful almost; it was impossible to connect the atmosphere with what those things were for, or what they could do.

'Tell me,' I said, 'perhaps you can help. I am looking for a man called James Steptoe. He works here, I believe.'

Fredericks' expression changed instantly. 'No,' he said shortly. 'He doesn't. Not any more.'

'Are you sure? I am certain . . .'

'He used to work here. He was dismissed.'

'Oh? Why?'

'Theft.' He turned away, and I had to grab him by the arm.

'I wish to speak to him.'

'I don't. Nobody likes a thief.'