Peter and the Shadow Thieves (20 page)

Peter whirled and emitted an involuntary yelp of surprise.

“No need for that, mate,” said the voice. “It’s only me.”

In the pale gaslight, Peter saw that the voice belonged to a boy. He was about Peter’s height, but considerably huskier. His wide face was streaked with dirt. The boy wore a threadbare coat; it was a man’s coat, too big for him, but it looked wonderful y warm to Peter, who was also jealous of the boy’s shoes. They were oversized, but far better than bare feet.

“So who was it?” said the boy.

“Who was what?” said Peter.

“Who was you talking to?” said the boy.

“Nobody,” said Peter.

The boy stared at him for a few moments. Peter stared back, trying to look confident despite his uncontrol able shivering.

“You’re cold?” said the boy.

Peter said nothing, but his chattering teeth were answer enough.

“Come with me, then,” said the boy, his tone friendly now. “I know a place where you can warm up. There’s food, too. Come on.” He started to walk away.

Peter hesitated. The boy stopped and looked back.

“Come on,” he repeated. “Do you want to stay out here and freeze to death? Or do you want to be warm?” Peter, who wanted to be warm more than he’d ever wanted anything, started walking toward the boy. He felt the flutter of a vibration from Tink, but he put his hand gently on his shirt to silence her.

“I’l be careful,” he whispered. “He’s just a boy, and he seems friendly enough.”

“There you go again!” cal ed the boy.

“It’s nothing,” said Peter. “Talking to myself, is al .”

The boy waited until Peter caught up with him, then resumed walking.

“What’s your name?” he said.

“Peter. What’s yours?”

“Trotter,” said the boy.

“Where are we going, Trotter?” asked Peter.

“Just ’round here,” said Trotter, turning onto a narrow lane lined with rickety wooden structures leaning this way and that.

“Is it your house?” said Peter.

“Sort of,” said Trotter.

He ducked into a narrow, very dark al ey between two buildings. Peter hesitated. Tink vibrated again, and again he quieted her.

“Come on,” said Trotter, barely visible in the deep gloom.

Peter moved cautiously forward until he reached Trotter, who continued down the al ey, then turned left into an even narrower and darker al ey. So complete was the blackness that Peter couldn’t see Trotter, or for that matter, his own hands. From somewhere in the buildings around him he heard a baby’s cry; from somewhere else, a scream. He bumped into Trotter, who had stopped.

“Sorry,” said Peter.

“Here we are,” said Trotter. Peter heard the creak of a door opening and felt Trotter push him through the doorway. He found himself in a room smel ing strongly of smoke and sweat and filth. But it was, as Trotter had promised, warm, the source of the heat being a glowing bed of coals in an iron grate on the far side of the room.

Smal shapes crouched on the dirt floor close to the fire; by its glow Peter saw that they were children, three boys and a girl, wearing clothes not much better than Peter’s rags.

The girl and one of the boys turned toward him. They examined him for a moment, their expressions vacant, then turned back to the fire.

Peter felt Tinker Bel stirring, but before he could move his hand to stop her, the door closed behind him, and he heard a deep voice rumble, “Who have we here?” Peter whirled and saw a tal , heavyset man with a thick black beard flecked with pieces of food, above which protruded a sharp, beaklike nose flanked by deep-set eyes.

“His name’s Peter,” said Trotter.

“Wel then, Peter,” rumbled the man. “Here you are.” His tone was pleasant enough, but it was not matched by the intense look in his eyes.

Peter took a step toward the door, but the man casual y sidestepped in front of it, blocking Peter’s path.

“Now then, Peter,” he said softly. “No need to leave when you just got here, is there? Why don’t you go over by the fire there and warm yourself?” He took a step forward. Peter took a step back.

“There’s a good lad,” said the man, giving Peter a shove that sent him staggering backward. “Sit down there, with them.” Peter hesitated, and instantly felt the man’s hand grip his shoulder with painful force, shoving him hard to the floor.

“When I tel you to sit down,” the man said, “you sit down.” He turned to Trotter and said, “Fetch the supper.” Trotter went to the corner of the room and came back with a filthy cloth sack, which he handed to the man. The man reached in and pul ed out a dark loaf of bread. He raised it to his mouth and tore off a large hunk with his crooked brown teeth, chewing it openmouthed, swal owing loudly.

He ate another piece, then another, taking his time, while the children on the floor watched the loaf dwindle. The man final y tore off a large piece and handed it to Trotter, who began eating it greedily.

Less than half of the loaf remained. The man held it out toward the children on the floor.

“Now then,” he said. “Who wants supper?”

The children—Peter included—stared at the bread hungrily. Several reached out toward the man.

Slowly, deliberately, the man tore off a piece and tossed it to Peter.

“Company first,” he said.

Peter caught the bread and took a bite. It was hard and stale, but he didn’t care: it was the first food he’d had for days. He chewed slowly, meaning to make it last.

“Now you,” said the man, tossing a piece to one of the boys. “And you, and you,” he said, tossing pieces to another boy, and the girl.

That left one boy without bread. The boy, who was sitting next to Peter, looked at the man expectantly. The man tore off a piece of bread and held it toward the boy. The boy reached for it. The man laughed and stuffed the bread into his own mouth.

“None for you,” he said, chewing. “You didn’t bring me no push today, so you don’t get nothing from me.”

“But,” said the boy, “I was…
OWW!
”

The man’s heavy boot caught the boy on his ear, sending him sprawling on the floor.

“No back talk,” said the man. “I get nothing, you get nothing.” He turned to Peter. “Them’s the rules here,” he said. “You brings me push, I give you something to eat. You understand?”

Eyeing the man’s boot, Peter said, “No, sir. What is…push?”

“Push,” said the man, “is chink.”

Peter looked at him blankly.

“It’s money,” said the man. “You brings me money.”

“But,” said Peter, “how do I get money?”

“Same way this useless lot does,” said the man, gesturing at the other children. “You go griddling.” Peter’s look remained puzzled.

“They’re mumpers,” said the man. “Lurkers. Gegors. Shivering Jemmys.”

Peter shook his head.

“They’re beggars,” said the man, growing impatient. “They ask for a copper or two, looking pitiful as can be, poor things. And they brings the coppers back to me, and I gives

’em this nice warm house and a nice supper. That’s the arrangement, you see? You takes care of me, and I takes care of you.”

“But,” said Peter, “I can’t. You see I have to get to—” he left the sentence unfinished, seeing the look in the man’s eye, the twitch of the man’s heavy boot.

“Oh, you can, al right,” said the man, very softly now. “You can, and you wil . You’l go out with them in the morning, and you’l stay out there al day, and you’l come back at night with some coppers for me, or you’l feel me belt on your back. Show him, Trotter.”

Trotter went to the boy sitting next to Peter—the one who’d received no bread—and yanked up the boy’s shirt. Peter saw that the boy’s back was covered with dark red welts, some oozing blood. Peter looked down.

“And if you’re thinking of running away,” said the man—correctly guessing what Peter was thinking—“you’d best think again. Trotter and me wil be out there keeping an eye on you.”

Peter looked up at Trotter, once so friendly, now staring down at him with a look of easy contempt. Peter remembered Old Trumpy’s words:
You can’t trust nobody out there.

“If you tries to run,” continued the man, “Trotter and me wil find you. There’s nowhere you can go on these streets where we won’t find you, understand? Nowhere. And when we finds you, you’l wish you hadn’t run. Ask these others, if you don’t believe it.”

Peter glanced at the other children; their expressions—a blend of terror and hopelessness—confirmed the man’s words.

Peter considered his situation. He could escape from Trotter on the streets tomorrow, but he’d have to fly, and he very much wanted to avoid that. He also couldn’t afford to waste any more time, not with the men from the ship looking for Mol y.

No, the best thing would be to escape from this place now, tonight, after the man and Trotter were asleep. The door was only across the room. He’d open it quietly, and…

“Bedtime, then,” said the man, breaking into Peter’s thoughts. “You wants to get your rest, because you’l be working hard for me tomorrow. And the next day, and the next.” He smiled unpleasantly. “And to make sure you don’t get restless in the night…”

The man went to the corner, where Peter saw a filthy straw mat. The man grabbed it and dragged it in front of the door. He lay down on it and, looking directly at Peter, said:

“There. Now we can al sleep nice and sound.”

Then he lay down, his body completely blocking the door, and almost immediately fel asleep. Trotter went to another mattress and did the same. Without saying a word, the other children lay down where they were, curled up on the dirt floor.

In a few minutes, Peter was the only person awake. He stared at the glowing coals, listening to the man’s loud, irregular snores, berating himself for being such a fool, wondering if the men had reached Mol y’s house, and trying desperately to think of a way out of this room.

I
T WAS VERY LATE NOW— more morning than night—and Moly had given up on even the hope of sleep.

She’d tried reading by the light of an oil lamp, but she couldn’t concentrate. Most of the time she stood looking out her window, watching Mr. Jarvis standing guard in front, under the gas streetlight.

She was watching him when a tap at her door made her jump.

Mol y went to the door, expecting to be reprimanded by her mother for being awake at this late hour. When she opened the door she was quite surprised to see the new maid, stil in uniform.

“Yes, Jenna?” Mol y said. “What is it?”

“I was just wondering if the young lady needed anything,” said Jenna.

“No, thank you,” said Mol y. She started to close the door, but Jenna remained in the doorway, motionless, the intensity of her gaze disconcerting to Mol y.

“Is there anything else?” said Mol y.

“I was just thinking that, as it’s quite late, perhaps the young lady should go to bed.”

“Thank you, Jenna,” Mol y answered stiffly, “but I’m fine.”

Jenna stepped forward a half step—almost menacingly, Mol y thought.

“But the young lady
should
go to bed,” said Jenna, her tone insistent. “To get her rest. I don’t think Lady Aster would want to know the young lady was up at this hour.” Mol y was shocked by this impertinence, and the implied threat. She al owed her ire to overcome her breeding as she responded with an impertinent question of her own.

“How did you know I was awake?” she said. “And why are
you
up at this hour?”

If Jenna was intimidated—if she felt any emotion at al —she did not betray it in her cool and steady gaze.

“I heard the young lady moving about, and came up to see if the young lady needed anything,” she said, ignoring Mol y’s second question.

“As I told you,” Mol y said icily, “I do not.”

Jenna appeared to be about to say something more, but was apparently dissuaded by Mol y’s expression.

“Was there anything else?” Mol y said, her hand on the door.

“No, ma’am,” said Jenna.

“Good night, then,” said Mol y, closing the door. She stood there, listening, feeling the presence of Jenna twelve inches away on the other side of the door. Final y, after a very long minute, she heard the maid’s footsteps leaving.

What cheek,
thought Mol y. She sat on her bed, stewing for a bit, and as her anger subsided, troubling thoughts arose. How could Jenna have heard her moving about? She was sure she hadn’t made much noise, and her room, in one of the towers at the top of the house, was a ful three floors away from the maids’ quarters.

Why was Jenna awake? Why had she come up? Why was she so insistent that I go to bed
?

She sat there thinking for a few more minutes.

Then she rose and blew out the oil lamp.

Then she went back to the window and resumed watching the street.