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“Hey – I’ve only just got here, OK?” Ray was on the defensive again. “What’s all this “if you wanted to go back” stuff? What makes you think I can’t hack it like anyone else?”

“Well, I didn’t mean 
you
. I was just saying like if 
anyone
 wanted to...”

Dyson was coming towards them, and Baz was relieved not to have to get into an argument. He put down his half-finished tin of tomatoes.

“You better come and talk,” said Dyson. “There’s stuff to get through. Come on down the other end.”

“OK.”

Baz and Ray got up and followed Dyson to the seating area. The chairs were all occupied, but some of the boys were sprawled about on the floor, so Baz and Ray found space between them and sat down. The boys who had been lying on their beds wandered across to join them.

“OK, we better start with names,” said Dyson. “So what are yours?”

“I’m Ray,” said Ray. “And this is Baz.”

“Right. Well, I’m Dyson. This is Amit, you already met, and Robbie and Enoch, yeah? And then there’s Jubo and Gene, and this last little guy, Taps. Got it? I’ll go through it again in a minute. See, you have to remember in case you’re asked. Like, if Steiner or Hutchinson says, “Go and get Gene for me,” then you better know who Gene is. “Cos they don’t expect to have to ask you twice. Not for 
anything
. You screw up and we get blamed for it. So you better get it right.”

“How it works is like this.” Amit spoke – the Asian boy – and his tone was less aggressive. “You’re just trying to stay here as long as you can, ’cos it’s better than being back on the mainland. That’s all you’re trying to do. This place is crap, but it’s still better’n being back there. So you wanna stay – we all do. But they’ll send you back for any excuse, ’cos they just get paid again every time they take on a newbie.”

“Yeah, we worked that out,” said Ray. “So why don’t they just get new kids every week then? If they get paid every time...”

“Prob’ly would if they could,” said Amit, “but they gotta have kids here who know what they’re doing. If it was all newbies, nothing’d get done right. So it’s only every month or so someone gets knocked off. You just gotta try and make sure it’s not you. So here’s what you guys need to know.” He splayed his fingers as if to begin counting on them. “Work. You’ll either be on the jetty crew or in the sort room. Most days we swap about – ’cept for Gene. He only works on the bench. Gene’s the mechanic round here. Gene the Genius.” Amit glanced sideways. Maybe this had been a dig of some sort. “If you’re on the jetty crew,” he said, “you’re barrowing stone. It’s hard graft, but you don’t have to think. Just do what everyone else does and you’ll be OK.” He scratched his cropped head and looked doubtfully at Ray. “You’re not so big. Reckon you can push a barrow full of rubble?”

“I can if you can.”

“Well, you better. OK, working in the sort room. We bring the stuff off the boat, clean it up and label it. For the tins you have to learn a list of codes so you can label ’em. Then everything gets stacked on pallets and locked in the storeroom. We don’t go in there. That’s about it.”

Dyson took over. “But there’s rules,” he said. He was sitting cross-legged, a curtain of long blond hair hanging forward over his face. His chin was in his hands, so that his head jiggled up and down as he spoke. “Rule number one, you don’t mess with the Eck brothers. You don’t speak to them, you don’t go anywhere near them. You just stay out of their way. We’re scum to them. They don’t know our names even.”

“But you better know theirs, man,” Jubo muttered.

“That’s right. So, there’s the brothers – Isaac, Amos and Luke, yeah? Amos and Luke do all the diving. Isaac stays on the boat with Moko. Moko’s the Japanese guy. He works the winch. We’ll show you who’s who tomorrow, but learn the names tonight.”

“Yeah, I already—’ Baz started to say something, but Dyson kept right on going.

“Rule number two, you don’t cross Steiner or Hutchinson.” Dyson rolled his eyes as he looked at Ray. “I can’t believe you’re still here, mate. Not after what you did. And rule number three – no swearing.”

No swearing? It seemed to Baz that people had been cursing at him all day. “What?” he said.

“No swearing.” Dyson glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “Preacher John’s orders. He ever hears you use a proper cuss-word, you’re straight back on the boat.”

“So what about this Preacher John?” Baz asked the question he’d been wanting to ask all along. “What’s he like?”

Dyson threw back his hair and puffed out his cheeks. It was a moment or two before he replied.

“Well, I s’pose that’s really rule number one,” he said. “You don’t even 
look
 at Preacher John. He’s hardly ever around anyway – ’cept on Sundays. Just stays in his room. But if you ever see him coming, you better keep your head down.”

“He’s not a real preacher.” Gene spoke for the first time. He was definitely a little older, this boy – loose dark curls, Italian looking. “Not like a legal one – a priest, or a vicar, or whatever. But he’s religious mad.”

“Or him just mad,” Jubo muttered. “All this’ – he waved a mud-streaked arm around – ‘all wh’ happen, man – the eart’quakes and the floods and all – him say it God’s will. Him act like him Noah or somet’ing. But scary, man. Him ever look at you... you gonna know it.”

“He even scares Isaac,” said Amit. “That’s how scary he is.”

“Wait till Sunday,” Dyson went on. “You’ll see him then. We get Sundays off, ’cos Preacher John says it’s wrong to work on the Sabbath. All it really means is we get Sunday afternoons off – ’cos on Sunday mornings we have to go to chapel.”

“
Chapel?
 What, you mean, like, church?” Baz was overloaded with information, struggling to take it all in.

“Yeah. Hymns, psalms, prayers – the lot. And Preacher John gives a sermon. Then you’ll see what we’re talking about.”

Baz let out a deep breath. “Jesus...”

“Yeah, and you better watch how you use that word as well,” said Amit.

“Taking the Lord’s name in vain, it’s called,” said Dyson. “So try not to. OK. Any questions?”

“What about food?” Ray seemed to have this at the top of his list.

“Tin a day,” said Dyson. “What you’ve just had – that’s it till tomorrow night.”

“Whaaat?”

“Get used to it. At least you’re not likely to grow much while you’re here, and that’s good, ’cos if you did grow, then you wouldn’t 
be
 here. Big kids get shipped back – they cost too much to feed and they’re more likely to cause trouble.” Dyson nodded at Jubo. “There’s a couple of us here now a bit bigger than we should be. Like me and Jubo. We gotta watch out. Keep our noses extra clean.”

Baz looked at Jubo’s nose, all smeared in mud, but said nothing.

Amit said, “It’s not usually tomatoes. Steiner just did that to get back at you. It’s nearly always beans – maybe a coupla tins of stew thrown in to give us something to work for. You saw what happened tonight – top dogs get first choice, after the Genius. And sometimes you get lucky – maybe manage to smuggle something out of the sort room. Sardines are easiest ’cos the tins are small. But then you have to watch your breath, ’cos it’ll stink of fish. And you have to get rid of the tin. And if you get caught you’re done for.”

Dyson stood up and stretched himself, eyes closed, fists clenched above his head. Despite his shoulder-length girlish hair he was a tough-looking kid, tall and wiry. Too tall to get a place on the boat, Baz would have judged, if he was to try now.

“One of you take ’em down and show them the jakes.” Dyson yawned. “Then we’ll go through the names again, and that’ll have to be it. Go on, Robbie. You do it. I’m knackered.”

Knackered. Was that not a cuss word, then? There was obviously a fine line between what was acceptable and what was not. Baz got to his feet, along with Ray, and they both followed the ginger-haired boy called Robbie.

CHAPTER
 
FOUR

What Dyson had called the ‘jakes’ turned out to be the washroom. This was behind the curtained-off doorway at the other end of the room. There were two lavatory cubicles, a sink and a shower – quite impressive at first sight, if not especially clean.

Robbie pointed up at the window. “We got running water,” he said. “Sort of.”

A length of hosepipe led in through an open quarterlight. It was looped over the shower rail and fitted with some kind of garden hose attachment. An oval tin bath stood in the shower tray. The bath was full of water.

“You just turn on the hose,” said Robbie, “if you want a wash. Or stand in the tub if you want a shower. But if you want to wash your bum, you fill that red bucket with water from the tub and use that. Tip it down the pan. We got soap over there on the windowsill, and toothpaste. We share that. Spit down the pan. You want to wash your clothes, you do it in the tub. Hang ’em on one of the lines to dry, back in the slob room. Got it?”

Baz looked round at the red bucket. “Yeah.”

“Try not to waste water. We got enough of it, but it all has to be carried. See that scaffolding outside the window? There’s a big water butt up there. We have to carry water down from the rain butts up at the sports center and cart it up a ladder to fill the shower butt. The divers have got one as well, and the capos too. It’s hard work. You’ll be on water duty soon enough. You’ll find out.”

“Who are the capos?”

“Steiner and Hutchinson.”

“Oh. And the water – you can drink it?”

“Yeah, it’s just rainwater. It’s OK. A lot better than back on the mainland. Get yourself a plastic bottle and fill it from the shower hose. It’s fine.”

“What about the sink?” said Ray.

“Don’t use it.”

Baz studied the plumbing arrangements for a little longer. “It’s really good,” he said.

“Yeah, it was all Gene’s idea. He rigged it up. Course, then he had to do the same thing for the divers and the capos, so it ended up being a load more work for us. Worth it, though.”

Robbie seemed a friendly guy – helpful, happy to talk. His skin was unusually dark for a red-head, his nose flat and broad, as if whoever had put him together had got the bits muddled up. He wore khaki shorts, as all the boys did, and battered trainers. No shirt, no socks. But then in this heat that was all you really needed.

“You wanna try it out?” he said. “You’re both pretty bloody.”

Baz had forgotten that he’d got covered in blood on the boat, though he would have thought the rain would have washed most of it off. “Yeah, OK.”

“Yeah.” Ray stood on tiptoe and turned on the shower hose. The water poured steadily out.

“So, Amit and Dyson...” said Baz. “Are they like in charge or something?”

“Nah. They’re often top dogs, though. Top dogs get picked at the end of the shift – whoever the capos reckon have worked the hardest. They get first go at the tins, after Gene.” Robbie stepped into one of the cubicles for a pee, and his voice echoed around the washroom.

“Top dogs get to choose their crew for the next day. We usually keep to the same teams, though.”

“So what about that guy Gene?” Baz remembered the boy who had been allowed first pick of the food. “Is he like a top dog all the time?”

“Kind of. Gene’s clever. They wouldn’t get rid of him in a hurry.”

Baz decided that he might as well pee while he was waiting for Ray to finish washing his face. He went into the cubicle that Robbie was now coming out of. There was no seat on the toilet bowl, and it didn’t look too clean down there, but it was better than things had been in the house where he and his dad lived.

When he came out, Ray was shaking the water off his hands, and Robbie was standing watching him.

“You need to go?” Robbie said to Ray, nodding towards the cubicles.

“Nah. I’m all right.”

“OK. You get washed up then, Baz.”

Baz scooped water from the trickling shower hose and remained with his hands pressed against his face for a few moments. It felt good.

“OK. Let’s go.”

But as they ducked through the curtain, Ray said, “Maybe I need to pee after all.”

“Sheesh,” said Robbie. “Make up your mind.”

It was a lot to remember, but Baz was pretty sure he’d got it straight. He sat leaning against the wall, finishing off the last of his tomatoes and putting names to faces. All the boys were getting ready for bed now, and Baz let his gaze travel up one side of the room and down the other.

The boy they called Taps was in the bed closest to his. A nervous-looking kid, small and pale. The most striking thing about him was his dark wavy hair, quite short at the back and sides, but piled up in such a great mass on top that it made his head seem too big for his body. Taps sat staring into space with his knees drawn up. His hands patted gently against his ankles, first one then the other, and his mouth was moving silently, as though he were counting.

Enoch was in the next bed along. What sort of a name was Enoch? It sounded old fashioned, like something from the Bible. And Enoch looked kind of ancient somehow, with his wizened little face and hooked nose. After that came Robbie, and then Amit at the very end of the row.

Starting from the top on the other side was Gene. The genius. Then Dyson and Jubo. And that was it.

Baz still couldn’t understand why there weren’t more, but he was pleased that he could remember those that were here. Steiner and Hutchinson he wasn’t likely to forget – nor Isaac. When it came to the other two brothers, Amos and Luke, he wasn’t quite sure which was which. But he’d be able to figure it out.

“Wanna test me?” he said to Ray.

“Huh?” Ray was flicking something up into the air with his thumb and catching it again. A pasta quill.

Baz hadn’t thought to ask about that. Was dried pasta still currency here on the island, then? He’d brought forty-four pieces, wrapped in a polythene bag. Forty pasta would buy you a tin of curry in the mainland markets...

“Test me on the names,” he said.

“What?” Ray continued to flick his pasta piece into the air.

But then Dyson suddenly appeared, ducking his head beneath the nearest line of washing.

“Lock-up’s supposed to be at ten,” he said. “That’s whenever Hutchinson can be bothered to turn up, so let’s have a run-through on names. Ray – go ahead. See how many you can remember.”