By Any Means: Men of Our Times, #1

By James Farner

"Was this really his future?"

In the Northern English town of Motbridge, men work until they die. John Williams is determined not to be one of those men. When Harry Heard gives him a fake sword to sell to aristocrat Sir Albert Blackwood, his life changes forever. He meets and deals with industrialists, daughters of dukes, and knights of the realm.

But all the while a mysterious serial killer, known only as the Breaker, is picking people off at will. When he makes Sir Albert Blackwood his target, John is forced to put the Breaker's brutal work to an end. Not only his future but his very life hinges on his success.

As class and murder collide, can John leave his humble beginnings behind him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Farner
• Release date: Apr 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386048565

Book preview

By Any Means

Men of Our Times Book 1

Copyright © James Farner 2018

Cover design by www.stunningbookcovers.com

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter One

The moon hung above the black waters of the North Sea. Steadily rubbing away against the great limestone cliffs of Motbridge in Northeast England until the clang of industry resumed.

High up on the bluff he watched the harsh glare of the industrial arc lamps along the shore hug his target. A man that he himself had stalked all the way down here.

Anthony Bullen kept on looking up at him from the shore path, silhouetted against the lights leading the way to the Imperial Longford shipyard. The watcher kept his wits about him. Even though his prey had put some distance between them, there was no other way up from the beach, and he wouldn’t make it into a locked shipyard this late at night.

He tightened his long coat around him and traced a finger down the pencil thin scar running down his left cheek. Sighing to himself, he began to take long strides down the wooden steps to the small path where Bullen waited, trapped.

Backed by enormous sand dunes leading onto the beach itself, the path before him felt like a trench dug deep into the earth. Ahead of him Bullen finally reached the end of his road. The long steel fence barred entry to the shipyard, where an enormous vessel destined for the British South Africa company sat on land, stripped to its bare bones.

What do you want? Bullen’s voice stuttered as he confronted his attacker.

You’ve become a problem, said the man. His icy voice made Bullen shake and fidget. A big problem. Traitors like you are an obstacle to the rise of the working class.

Bullen’s eyes widened. So this job is what this is all about. I was born here. My family has worked in this shipyard since my great grandfather. I’m one of you, like everyone else.

The man smiled and took one step towards Bullen. The arc lamp above him made him squint. The terrified expression on Bullen’s face told him he’d finally worked out who had come for him.

Well?

You’re him. Bullen sounded like he was choking on his words. The Breaker.

So you know who I am then. What gave it away? Have I become so obvious?

That scar. The papers were all talking about it.

The Breaker nodded. That’s all they know about me. Let them make up what stories they want. They’re never going to find out who I really am. I’m the person they’d least expect.

The Breaker had always loved the nickname the press had given him. Young journalists had turned him into a local sensation. He didn’t always kill his victims. Sometimes he only broke a limb, so not every attack became associated with him. In many ways it insulted him. Like a master craftsman not given due credit for his work. Still, life was always full of disappointments.

What did I do to deserve this? Bullen’s voice settled like he knew the end was near.

You’re a traitor to the working class. Nobody who grew up round here would ever have taken on the job you have. You know as well as I do that it’s more pay for watching your comrades. Making sure they’re doing what they’re told.

Bullen nodded. And why is wanting more a crime?

Wanting more at the expense of others.

The Breaker opened up his coat and took out the lump of wood that could have doubled as a policeman’s club. The tool of his trade.

Bullen thrust out his palm. Wait, wait. Let’s talk about this.

The Breaker gritted his teeth. The longer he waited here the more chance of discovery. Imperial Longford still had guards patrolling the fences at night to stop thieves. Bullen wouldn’t get away from him that easily.

Someone else is going to take the job. What use is killing me?

The Breaker advanced on Bullen. I know that. I’m not trying to stop anyone taking a job. I’m here to send a message that the Labour movement is rising and we’re going to be feeding on the lords soon enough. Those long summers in the south, with the pretty women in their picture hats and the men feasting off the backs of the average man are over.

Wait, I know who you are. I’ve heard you say that before. You’re –

The Breaker growled and leapt forward, slamming his club into Bullen’s mouth. The man went down with a groan. The shock of Bullen’s recognition had caught him off guard. Maybe it was time to cut the speechmaking at work?

Chapter Two

The cool summer of 1902 brought an end to the Second Boer War and the first summer in three years without a war. Not that John Williams of Motbridge noticed it. As an engineer, he worked long hours at the Imperial Longford shipyard.

Every day brought nothing but the sound of steel clanging against steel and the warning calls of the working man as red hot bolts were hurled into waiting buckets. Hammering, cutting, and curses flying between work stations was the music that made yet another ship glide from the yard’s dry dock.

A loud blast from the whistle above the overseer’s wooden hut a little way from the ship signalled an end to the shift.

John sighed and downed his tools. About time as well.

You coming down the pub? said his best friend Leslie Hughes.

Leslie removed his brown flat cap and swiped at the sweat dripping down his large brow. His balding blond head made him look akin to a fat baby, although nobody ever said so to his face.

For a quick one. I’m not in the mood to listen to everyone going on about last night.

They retrieved their drab brown coats lying in a pile atop a box of tools and other parts essential in the art of shipbuilding. Unlike most people who worked here, as engineers they were considered skilled workers. Not that they received much more than a few pennies above the basic rate. Still, it made all the difference.

Come on, John. It’s big news. The Breaker strikes again. It’s more interesting than the usual patter we get round here.

John stared at Leslie as he threw his coat on and adjusted his cap. But you don’t half like to gossip. I’ve got some business to think about. You might want to be doing more with yourself as well.

Leslie shook his head. Always on about business, aren’t you?

John chuckled because he knew it to be true. None of the other men cared much about anything beyond the jobs they already had. Sometimes he thought he should be grateful to have a job at all, but he wanted more than that. He didn’t want to be at the mercy of companies like Imperial Longford for the rest of his life.

John and Leslie joined the long marching column of men streaming their way back into town. They exchanged greetings with some men they hadn’t seen since that morning and discussed nothing in particular before they would part again at the entrances to their respective streets

John and Leslie made their way, along with a sizeable contingent of others, into the Seven Bells pub. Their local was just one of many, but the regulars would never consider trying one of the other pubs.

The Seven Bells had reached its peak hours and men jostled each other for a space at the bar and the attentions of the landlord. John could already hear mentions of the Breaker floating through the air.

Well I see everyone’s talking about it. John lingered at the door. I can already hear them.

Leslie patted him on the shoulder. Give it time. Something else will be getting them talking tomorrow. Just you go and sit down. I’ll get us some pints.

Leslie moved into the scrum of men at the bar to try his luck at ordering their drinks. John sighed and shuffled his way to the quieter side of the bar. He unfurled the newspaper he had picked up that morning and flopped it on an empty table.

A newspaper in a pub. You’re making us all look bad, John.

The smiling simper of flash Graham Poole greeted him. He leaned with his elbow on the bar, a hint of grey making inroads into his dark sideburns.

What can I get you, John?

John abandoned his newspaper and joined him at the bar with a smile. Not for me. Leslie’s already getting me a pint. Would be rude.

Graham levelled him with his shiny eyes. Would be rude to turn down my offer for a drink as well, wouldn’t it?

John paused and nodded. He could see the logic.

Graham made one motion to the landlord and called for a whisky. Every other man’s order was immaterial to Graham’s. John didn’t question it. The perks of being more than an ordinary worker made John want to be like Graham one day.

A whisky followed and Graham raised his glass. John raised his own and downed the whisky in one. The warm liquid boiled his insides. It tasted good. John couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a whisky.

So how are the Liberals treating you? Can’t be much work for you as an agent right now. No general election anytime soon.

Graham laughed. Always work to be done. This war in Africa we’ve just had has stuffed them. A couple of years at the next election and you’ll see a landslide across the country. Toryism has had its day.

Well if you say so.

Graham nudged him. You’re a smart lad. You’re one of the few people who can even read the newspaper here. Don’t tell me you’re not keeping up with what’s going on. It’s the first step out of a place like this.

Aye, I know that. I just haven’t found out how it’s helping me yet.

Well, in time we might work together, you and me.

John opened his mouth to ask what that meant, but Leslie nudged him by the elbow with two dark pints in his hands. He grimaced at Leslie’s timing.

Go on, John. There’s nothing that can’t wait. Have a good night. I’ve got to be off.

Graham drained the rest of his glass and in an instant he was making his way out the door. John sighed and turned to Leslie with his annoyance barely disguised.

No wonder barely anyone gets out of Motbridge with timing like this.

What did Graham want, then? said Leslie.

Never you mind.

John guided Leslie to the table he’d chosen. From here they could watch most of the rest of the bar. The worn wooden flooring and the shabby clothes of every man in it made him long for something better. To be someone like Graham, who had escaped poverty through becoming a campaign agent for the Liberal Party.

Leslie sipped the top from his beer, leaving him with a frothy moustache, which he swiped away with a finger.

They’re all talking about it. The Breaker. Even Old Ed wanted to have a chat about it.

He would. You know what Old Ed’s like. Running this pub all day he’s not got anything better to do.

John paused to take his first sip of beer. Despite Graham’s whisky, it still didn’t beat a pint of bitter from Motbridge. Maybe that’s why his father had drunk himself to death on the stuff when he was a kid.

So who do you think it is then?

John cringed and popped his glass back on the table. Come on, Les, do I need to be talking about the bloody Breaker as well? He’s just some lad that’s cracked and he’s angry at the world.

Leslie tapped on top of his paper. You must have read about him, though. Most of these lads can’t even read, so you’ve got to be up on this more than anyone else.

John sighed. He was never going to shake off Leslie when he really wanted to talk about something. Although he couldn’t deny that he’d read the story on the Breaker, he still didn’t see what it had to do with him.

He just attacks anyone that’s got something to do with the bosses. Bullen was working as a boss on the shop floor, so that’s why he attacked him.

But why?

John shrugged. Could be someone who lost his job. Might be a Marxist.

What’s a Marxist?

Bloody hell. You don’t know what a Marxist is?

Leslie shook his head. They were both young men in their early 20s. He supposed that the elaborate points made by Karl Marx had never featured in Leslie’s life. John had only read about them so he could avoid such people.

John cleared his throat and spent most of his beer giving Leslie a basic rundown of Karl Marx and his belief that the world would eventually enter a period of stateless communism, where the global monetary system would be obsolete and everyone would work for the greater good of the common man.

A solitary round of applause from the next table made both John and Leslie turn around.

Well said. I’m surprised you’re not a scholar yourself.

Sid Taylor, what are you doing here? said John with a forced smile.

Sid Taylor lounged in his chair with an enormous grey and black beard that Marx himself would have been proud of. Friendly enough, John couldn’t stand him for always banging on about the evils of money and the aristocracy. Not that he ever talked about how he lived off his lawyer father’s inheritance and did next to nothing.

I dropped back in from Newcastle. Thought I’d come in here and see if I could run into some old friends again.

Oh yeah?

And I did. How are doing, John, Les?

Good as can be, said Leslie. Want to join us for a drink?

John felt the lump in his throat form. If Sid decided he wanted to sit down they wouldn’t get rid of him for another hour. Leslie always leaned towards Sid’s beliefs, though, so he wouldn’t mind.

Sid drained the rest of his glass. I don’t have that sort of time. I’m here on union business. The fitters this time. We have to be drumming up support in time for when we ask for better pay.

Another pay rise? Didn’t they just give you a ha’penny? said John.

That they did, but we asked for two pence on the rates. We might as well have got nothing at all. Sid’s nostrils flared. We’ll see another strike soon. If we can get some coordination with the coal miners we could bring this whole town to a stop.

The colour drained out of John’s face. If they did that it would put John out of work as well. The shipyards relied on the miners and the steel workers to keep providing the materials. Without the materials, everything would shut down and everyone would go hungry.

You sure you’re not being a bit hasty, Sid? So soon after the last time you threatened to strike?

Sid clenched his fist on the table. We leave it too long and we’ll lose our momentum. We’ve got to keep up the fight. I thought a smart lad like you, who can tell Les all there is to know about Marx, would understand that.

John didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t need an argument with Sid now. All day he had wanted to check his paper again to see if he had been seeing things. Maybe he should have gone straight home instead?

Well, that’s why we’ve got you, said Leslie. We’re not good with strategy or anything like that. But we’re keen. Ready to fight for the ordinary man in the street.

Sid brushed his beard and stood from his table. I hope so because we’re all going to need to be ready to sacrifice before too long.

John locked eyes with Sid for a moment longer than needed, before the old Marxist trudged out of the pub. One day they would indeed have to make sacrifices, but John wouldn’t sacrifice himself for people like Sid.

Leslie watched Sid leave. That was a right good way of explaining it to me, you know? Because I don’t know about things like that. Sid knows it all as well, but he’s ...

Misguided. Likes to make everything into the end of the world.

Leslie moved his head like he couldn’t decide whether to admit that Sid was flawed or not. Eventually, he nodded in agreement.

Anyway, you owe me another pint after going through all that with you.

Leslie groaned but swept the glasses from the table and moved back into the crowd. John used his chance to finally unfurl his paper and to flip to the page he’d marked with a folded corner that morning.

He scanned the classified page and found what he was looking