The 7th of London (19 page)

Kettlebent and Sev were filthy and sweating from their work. They lunched with the young people at the dig site. The boys joked comfortably. They finished out the day helping with the dig. By the end of the day, they were gritty and exhausted. “Do you want to get cleaned up?” Kettlebent asked Sev.

“Sure,” Sev answered.

“Follow me.” Kettlebent once again dashed through the streets. Sev tried to keep up. They ran through the narrow paths until they arrived at something that looked like a giant stone tub. There were a few people soaking in the water. Kettlebent stripped to his shorts and slipped into the pool. Sev hesitated for a moment before doing the same. The water was warm, soothing. He rested on the edge of the pool, his eyes closed, relaxing. Kettlebent drifted over and handed Sev a bar of soap. The two young men washed, leaving the water soapy. “We can rinse off in the showers.” Kettlebent pointed to nozzles sprouting from a tank-like reservoir. He slipped out of the pool and Sev followed.

Sev pulled the chain to start his rinse. It was slightly cooler than the pool. Kettlebent pulled his own chain, rinsing off as well. “Seven,” Kettlebent gasped. Sev turned to see wide eyes. “My God,” Kettlebent said.

“What?” Sev asked. His hands were stretched above his head. He looked down at the shining pink skin of the scar on the right side of his torso. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry.” Kettlebent averted his eyes, blushing from embarrassment. He finished rinsing off and dressed quickly. Sev wasn’t sure what to say, so he remained silent, finishing his shower and dressing.

The two young men walked back to Kettlebent’s rooms in silence. A small girl approached them as they walked. “Mr. Silas,” she said. “Do you need any laundry done?”

“I do, Susie. How about you, Sev?”

“This is all I have,” Sev said.

“I can let you borrow something if you want those clothes cleaned.”

“All right,” Sev agreed. Susie followed them to Kettlebent’s home, collecting their dirty garments. Kettlebent gave Sev a dressing gown to wear temporarily. Kettlebent stoked the fire, and the two young men sat silently. Something in their relationship had been breached and neither was sure how to proceed.

“Tea? Coffee?” Kettlebent asked, breaking the silence.

“Tea,” Sev answered. Kettlebent jumped up, ran to the kitchen, and retrieved water and a kettle.

“That dig sure was something,” Kettlebent said as he put the kettle on the fire. Sev noticed a dent in the metal as his host grabbed mugs and tea.

“Is that where ye got yer name?” Sev asked. “Yer bent kettle?”

“What?”

“Yer tea kettle, it’s bent,” Sev clarified.

“Oh,” Kettlebent said, nodding. “I hadn’t noticed. That’s funny, isn’t it?” The two boys shared an awkward chuckle, but the conversation ended abruptly when the kettle whistled. Kettlebent prepared the tea and handed Sev one of the mismatched mugs. “Sugar? Cream?” Kettlebent offered. Sev took a deep sniff of the fragrant tea, inhaling the exotic scent. He shook his head, wondering at the blend. Kettlebent shrugged one shoulder and plopped two sugar cubes into his cup.

They sat across from each other, blowing on their tea, avoiding each other’s gaze and not speaking. Sev knew where the awkwardness originated—Kettlebent was wondering about his scar. It wasn’t surprising. Anyone who’d ever seen it wanted to know how it happened. Sev didn’t normally like to talk about that time in his life, but he felt like Kettlebent was someone he wouldn’t mind sharing with. The way Sev’s raven-haired host squirmed uncomfortably inspired a smirk on Sev’s lips.

“Go ahead and ask,” Sev stated, shattering the silence. Kettlebent had just taken a sip of his tea, and he aspirated the liquid in surprise. Sev chuckled softly.

“What… what do you mean?” Kettlebent stuttered.

“Ye’ve been a bit off since ye saw me scar,” Sev explained, his accent a little thicker than usual.

“No. That’s… um… what I mean to say is,” Kettlebent babbled. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. “Is that where you got your name?” he finally asked.

Sev nodded. “It’s not a time I like t’think about, normally.”

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“No. It’s fine. I’d like t’tell ye.”

“Is it why you cry out in the night?” Kettlebent asked.

“Sorry,” Sev whispered, his cheeks coloring as he nodded.

“You really don’t have to talk about it,” Kettlebent reassured Sev.

“But ye’re curious,” Sev stated. Kettlebent hesitated, then nodded. “It’s understandable.” Sev didn’t continue right away, and Kettlebent refused to push. After a few moments, Sev sipped his tea and said, “My father was a shoemaker. Very successful. He and mum had come over during the famine with my two oldest sisters. Three more sisters, my brother, and I were born here. It wasn’t long after I was born that the spiral began.” Kettlebent nodded at Sev’s words. “That was the beginnin’ o’the end fer my family too.” Sev continued to relate the story of Fervis absorbing Sev’s father into his new automated shoe construction factory, the money loans that trapped Sev’s family under Fervis’s thumb.

A
S
EARLY
as Sev could remember, his father made shoes, fantastic shoes that were all the rage with the elite of London’s high society. Sev’s father was making a very decent living for his little family. They’d escaped the famine in their homeland and managed to find prosperity in England. More children were born, and his parents built onto their home.

Then the queen started acting strangely. The separation of London, the great spiral, and suddenly Fervis’s mass-produced footwear became the height of fashion, and Sev’s father’s business dropped off, making him an easy target for Fervis. The factory tycoon agreed to help Sev’s father in return for his allegiance and design prowess. With Sev’s father’s help, Fervis’s Fine Footwear boomed. Fervis demanded more and more from Sev’s father, and with the new children born to his family, Sev’s dad couldn’t refuse. He worked himself to exhaustion. No one was surprised when Sev’s father took ill. Between the babies, the improvements to the house, and her ill husband, Sev’s mother’s hands were too full. Sev’s father died.

Sev’s mother did the best she could without her husband’s income, but the bank was relentless. Seven children were too much for her, and when things looked most desperate and they were about to lose their home, Fervis swooped in and offered Sev’s mother not only a job, but a place to stay. Could anyone blame her for accepting, especially with the separation of London? She became Fervis’s maid, head of his household, and her children were put to work in his factory.

Sev’s siblings accepted their lot more readily than Sev. He constantly acted out, fighting against the man he viewed as their father’s murderer. His actions earned Sev extended visits to locked chambers beneath the factory.

In one of his more inspired moments, Sev sabotaged one of Fervis’s machines, delaying production for nearly a month. In retaliation, Fervis chose to beat Sev’s mother rather than punish the boy directly. Sev was furious and tried to tear Fervis apart with his bare hands. That stunt, along with the sabotage, earned him a six-week stint in confinement.

When he emerged, his mother had recovered from her physical injuries, but she’d been overcome with the fever. Her children did everything they could, but Fervis denied her a proper doctor and within a week Sev’s mother was gone. Fervis refused the children time to grieve, doubling their shifts in the factory. Sev’s oldest sister was almost of age, and Sev didn’t like the wolfish manner in which Fervis looked at her.

No one could have guessed how displeased Sev was until he attempted to escape the factory. Unfortunately, he was caught and brought before Fervis. The factory owner was furious. He felt betrayed after all he’d done for Sev’s family. “You’d all be dead if not for me!” he bellowed at them. “I’m sick of coddling you. You all need to be taught a lesson; that’s obvious.” Fervis called McGinty over, and the two men spoke in hushed tones. Sev didn’t like the crooked smile McGinty flashed at him and his siblings. Some of the Footmen herded the seven children into a room where they awaited their fate. Sev’s oldest sister tried to comfort her younger siblings. The remaining family took comfort in the heat radiating from the small stove in the room.

Hours later Fervis, McGinty, and a few Footmen burst into the room. McGinty brought a man for each child and a canvas sack that jangled with its metallic contents. “Who’s the oldest? The first?” McGinty asked in his thick cockney accent. Katie raised her hand, unable to speak. “Splendid.” The man motioned to his cronies, and they forced Katie forward. McGinty retrieved a tool from the canvas sack and thrust it into the stove.

“Mr. McGinty, Mr. Fervis,” Katie pleaded. “Y’don’t need t’do this. We’re all very sorry, I assure ye.”

“No.” Fervis shook his head. “You aren’t.” He pulled the iron tool from the coals. It glowed orange. “But you will be,” he finished, pressing the hot metal onto the flesh of Katie’s chest. Her screams swept over her siblings as smoke drifted from the wound. When Fervis removed the brand, they saw that she’d been marked with the number “1”. “Bring the next,” Fervis requested, smiling. Seven and all his siblings were branded in a similar manner.

“T
HAT
’
S
awful,” Kettlebent whispered.

“It was,” Sev agreed. “The worst part was that everyone started referrin’ to us by our numbers rather than our names. Katie’s the only one I can remember. All my other sisters and brother are only numbers.”

“That’s disgusting,” Kettlebent spat.

“I’ve been Seven ever since. I can’t even remember what my parents called me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Sev waved the apology away. “I got away.”

“You don’t sound happy about that.”

“It didn’t seem like a victory.”

“What happened?” Kettlebent asked. “If I can ask.”

“Ye can,” Sev confirmed. “We were all branded, but Fervis had further indignities in store fer us.” Sev related the events that led up to the night of his escape. He told Kettlebent how Fervis had taken Katie for his fiancé, while he retained Two as a mistress. Sev tried to remember Two’s real name but couldn’t. He continued his story.

S
EV
caused too much trouble, defended too many of the other children during his time with Fervis. The industrialist reached the end of his rope with his young charge. Fervis ordered McGinty to end Sev. Luckily none of the children were willing to allow Sev to wait in a cell beneath the factory for McGinty to come and kill him. Three and Four, with a few other children, slipped down to warn their brother.

“I was afraid o’this,” Sev stated as he paced round his cell. “We’ve got t’fight back.”

“How?” Three asked as she gripped the bars on the door.

“Spread the word. We’re risin’ up tonight. I’ll take care o’McGinty.” Sev’s words came out as a growl, and the children nodded silently. “When’s McGinty comin’?”

“Midnight,” Four answered.

“That’s good. Have everyone ready on the main floor then,” Sev instructed.

“What will ye do?” Four asked her younger brother.

“I’ll figure somethin’ out.” He tipped his sisters a wink.

W
HEN
McGinty approached Sev’s cell, it appeared empty. The thug panicked as he fumbled to find the key to the door. Sev perched calmly above the door, braced next to the ceiling just out of sight. He waited patiently as the lock clicked open and McGinty entered the small room. When the large man was far enough in, Sev dropped from the rafters onto McGinty’s shoulders. Before the man could react, Sev had pummeled McGinty’s temples with his fists. He rode the brute’s unconscious body to the ground, grabbed his key ring before he dashed from the cell, and locked his attacker within. Sev tossed the keys as he ran to meet his siblings and the other revolutionaries.

A few children joined him as he ran. McGinty called for help before they’d even reached the main floor.
Damn
, Sev thought. He didn’t stay out too long.

“We’ve got t’move,” Sev told his companions. No sooner had he spoken than two of Fervis’s Footmen appeared around a corner. The children with Sev resisted, but Sev fought. Hard. He broke the first thug’s nose and delivered a kick to the second man’s crotch. The first Footman managed to connect a punch by swinging wildly at Sev, who fell backward. One of the other children managed to grab a chair and knock Sev’s attacker out.

Too late
, Sev thought. He could hear McGinty and more men running up from below. He and his companions dashed for the main floor, where they found Sev’s siblings with nearly twenty children. They were clustered near the bay door, trying to get it open. Sev cursed himself for tossing McGinty’s keys. When McGinty and the rest of the Footmen arrived moments later, he cursed himself doubly.
Damn
.

“Well, well, well, what ’ave we ’ere?” McGinty crooned dangerously. “A revolution? An uprisin’?”

Sev stepped to the head of the crowd of children. “Let it go, McGinty,” Sev growled, clenching his fists in anticipation. “It’s me y’want. Not these kids.”

“Gor. Sev the brave ’ero. The savior of the downtrodden, is it?” McGinty mocked as he moved to the fore of his men. He thumbed his bowler back and continued, “Ye’re all goin’ t’get the belt fer this, and no mistake.”

“No.” Sev stepped up to the man over twice his size. The Footmen shifted anxiously. “You an’ me, McGinty. Tell ’em t’back off.”

McGinty glanced over his shoulder and held his hand up, warning his men off. “Y’arrogant l’il prick,” McGinty spat. “I’m goin’ t’enjoy tearin’ you apart.” The big man barely finished speaking before he grabbed at Sev, who slipped dexterously out of the way. Sev spun, preparing for another assault. McGinty charged again, and Sev dropped, forming a ball to trip his opponent.

The children and Footmen had gathered around to witness this spectacle. McGinty sprawled on the floor, and Sev leapt on his back, delivering a terrific punch to the larger man’s kidney. McGinty bellowed and spun, tossing Sev off. The boy landed on his feet, ready for another attack. McGinty obliged, diving at him. Sev dropped and punched up into the other man’s jaw, sending him reeling. “Little shit,” McGinty grumbled, spitting out blood. “Ye’ve earned every bit o’hurt I’m about t’give ye.” McGinty grabbed up a coal shovel. A bloodthirsty sneer plastered across the man’s face.