The Ribbajack

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.”

Eric was thumping his boot on the floor, and calling for her. “Girl! Where in the name o’ blazes has that idle scut got to?”

When Miggy appeared, Eric pressed four pennies into her hand. “Go to the Maid of Erin. Ask Aggie the barmaid for four penn ’orth of dark Jamaica rum. Shift y’self, girl, an’ don’t dare spill any, d’ye hear?”

Miggy bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, Uncle Eric.”

Atty, carrying a pail of rubbish out, escorted Miggy to the door, calling out scornfully, “Hah, four penny of Jamaicy rum, only fool drink that for sick belly. That rum burn holes in man’s gut. Here, I give you two more pennies, get six pennies of Jamaicy rum, finish Eric off proper, for good!”

The girl trotted off up the cobbled avenue with Eric’s voice echoing in her ears as he bellowed at the cook, “You mind your own business, ye heathen poisoner! If I want Jamaica rum, I’ll have it. I know what’s best fer me!”

Down in the cellar, Sailor had tired of his play-things. Scampering up into his perch among the ceiling beams, he amused himself by gnawing at the wooden planking overhead. Sniffing the kitchen odours of frying food and molasses from above, Sailor began ripping earnestly into the wood, thinking there might be eggs up there—his favourite food. The little creature’s teeth and claws went furiously to work. He was determined to assess the egg situation of the Mersey Star’s kitchen. Within half an hour, Sailor could see daylight showing through the pine boarding. He redoubled his efforts cheerfully.

A thick fog fell over the waterfront that evening, enveloping the Liverpool coast in a pall of impenetrable mist. The dining room was empty save for Eric, still ensconced in his corner chair. With a jug of hot water and a bottle containing the dregs of his rum, the boardinghouse keeper sprawled ungracefully, his chin resting on his chest, snoring aloud. Atty and Miggy had crept off, down to the cellar, to feed Sailor. There was not much for him—a few crusts, spread with lard, dipped in sugar. The mongoose stayed up in the rafters, busy at his work. Atty had tried climbing up to coax Sailor down.

But the mongoose would have none of it. Miggy stared up into the dark shadows, brushing away at the splinters which drifted down on her. “Sailor, come down here this instant! Be a good boy and come down, there’s nice supper for you. Come on, Sailor!”

The mongoose ignored her for once. It was Atty who came scrambling down, brushing wood splinters from his hair. “No can get near Sailor, him little naughty beast, nearly bite Atty’s finger again. Not listen to you, Miggs.”

Stretching on tiptoe, the girl peered up into the rafters. “But what’s he doing up there? Sailor, Sailor, come dow—”

Her voice was drowned out by an almighty bang—the snapping of wood—and Eric McGrail bellowing like a wounded buffalo.

Sailor had completed his task. He had burrowed through the ceiling, up into the dining room. The problem was that he had been digging directly alongside the leg of Eric’s chair. With the weight of the big fat man, the damaged floor broke. One of the chair legs broke through the weakened timber.

Sailor shot through the gap just in time as Eric fell awkwardly sideways, the furniture collapsing beneath him. Kicking and howling, he lay on the floor, trying to extricate himself from the wreckage of the chair. Sailor nimbly dodged the thrashing legs. He skipped up Eric’s body, over the swollen stomach, across the chest, hopping across the horrified man’s face. Miggy and Atty came rushing upstairs. Eric’s voice rose to a panicked screech.

“Eeeeeeyaaaah! The big rat! Ooooowaaaahhh, ’elp!”

Disturbed by the noise, Sailor went shooting round the room like a furred rocket. The girl and the cook had Eric half on his feet when he knocked them roughly aside and thudded off after the mongoose.

He chased Sailor round the dining room, aiming kicks and curses at him. Miggy screamed, “Leave Sailor alone! Don’t hurt him, Uncle Eric, please!”