Chapter 11 - The Prince's Pawn

What Callum Knows

Callum

Glasgow, October 2005

Blood was funny when it dried. Went all brown and flaky, like rust on an old bike chain.

I flexed my fingers as I walked, watching the last remnants of fresh blood rip off my knuckles. Two hundred quid in my pocket, where it belonged. Where it should've stayed in the first place if those bastard Travelers hadn't robbed my mum.

The Tinkers had always been seen round Glasgow, just like everywhere else in the UK. Filthy beggars and thieves. But if you needed work done cheap and fast, they would do it. Supposedly.

Yeah, they might nick something cheap off you when you weren’t looking, but most knew that was the payoff from hiring the Tinkers.

This lot took the money and didn’t do the work at all, something Mum just couldn’t afford.

My tie was a mess, hanging loose and spotted with blood – mine or theirs, I couldn't say. I’d worn the yellow one today so there’d be no hiding it when I walked in the door. Mum would go mental when she saw the state of my uniform. The bla…