by Gill, J. G.
I tried to put my moral objections to one side and think about what Bede was saying from a purely practical point of view. As much as I hated to admit it, I could see his argument. If I could convince myself that it was just a loan that I could pay back later, then maybe it would be okay. But there was still one slight problem.
“I don’t actually know how to, you know, just take stuff without people noticing,” I said.
Bede smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry, I’ve done it loads of times before. Like I said, I’ll take care of it.”
I arched my eyebrows.
“Don’t ask.” He laughed sheepishly. “Look, it’s easy. If you go up to the shopkeeper and start a conversation about something like, I dunno, the weather, baking, the price of fish, whatever, I’ll do the rest. When I tell you to run though, you’ve got to run as fast as you can, okay?”
“I think so,” I said. It sounded straightforward enough, in theory. “Just try to give me some advance warning. It takes me a while to prepare for top speed.”
Bede tried, and failed, to stifle a snort of laughter. He knew how crap I was at sports.
“Gotcha,” he said, sniggering.
I ignored him and leaned over his legs to peer through the hole in the door. It was amazing how different the street looked in the daylight, compared to the night before; old still, but no longer creepy. Shambling apartments with small wrought-iron balconies and shuttered windows lined the footpaths, some with little flights of terracotta stairs and glossy black pots filled with orangey-red, and purple pansies. The only sign of life was a black cat, curled up fast asleep in the middle of the cobblestones.
“Coast is clear,” I said. “Do you want to go first? I’ll follow.”
Bede wriggled himself backwards out through the hole, before I copied his technique, propping myself up on my elbows and jiggling my legs from side to side. He helped me to my feet and I winced as the pain flooded instantly into my right ankle.
“Youch,” I said, before I could stop myself.
“Oh yeah, I completely forgot about that,” said Bede. “Are you going to be able to run?”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, determined to hold up my side of the plan. Bede didn’t look so sure.
“Your ankle looks pretty bad. Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to play the decoy after all.”
I took my boot off and looked down. My ankle was so red and swollen it looked as if it had been stung by half a million bees. There was no getting around it, I could barely walk, let alone run.
“Maybe we can just buy the food today and go back to the original plan tomorrow?” I said. Bede nodded, although I could tell he was disappointed.
We started walking towards the Old Town, the streets now much more familiar than they had been the night before when the darkness had turned them into a maze. The Old Town Square was only a few blocks away, in the centre of the south side of Wiltsdown, and was one of my favourite parts of the city. It had been there for hundreds of years, with its tall, narrow buildings, corseted in gables and crammed so closely together that the Square looked like a mouth overcrowded with teeth. But rather than looking out of place or ugly, the buildings made the Square beautiful. Each one had its own pastel face and curly gold plumes, and a roof that was just as individual and elaborate. Some of the shops even still had their old-fashioned signs hanging outside and as we entered the Square I automatically searched for my favourite – a gold lion with a sign saying Tape’s Mercantile Wares 1794 hanging from a chain beneath it. When I was a kid I used to believe that the lion brought me good luck and even though I didn’t really believe in that anymore, there was still a secret piece of me that, deep down, hoped the lion would help us find Dad.
As we stepped off the quiet streets and into the Square we were suddenly greeted by a frenzy of people running in all directions. I looked around at the stalls being set up at the edges of the Square, the white sheets being draped over the trestle tables. A fruit and vegetable stall was bursting with shiny reds and dark greens as the stall owner carefully made a pyramid out of apples. He glanced up at me, winked, and tossed me one.
“Thanks!” I said. A free apple had to be a good omen.
I could sense Bede over my shoulder, looking at me with a mix of hunger and envy. We took turns, taking large bites of crunchy, sweet apple until it was just a tiny, skeletal core. I think it was probably the best apple I’d ever eaten in my life.
We continued wandering around the Square and I noticed a group of men fitting thick, black canvas sheets to the scaffolding of a stage. A theatre troupe were hanging around idly to one side, dressed in black and wearing strange masks with greatly exaggerated features. Most of the actors were horsing around and laughing, but there was one member of the troupe who was standing perfectly still, a little way from the others. He peered over the top of his mask and surveyed the Square intently. It was if looking for something, or someone, in particular. I figured he was probably the director.
I watched the actors for a bit longer before glancing around at the other things that were happening in the Square. There were kids playing a game of chase, as someone shouted at them, and groups of men were stringing brightly coloured lanterns and streamers between the lampposts, just as they always did at this time of year to celebrate the start of winter.
“That’s right, me love, ten pastries a fiver!” a voice suddenly barged into my thoughts. I turned to see a large woman with red cheeks standing behind me. She was wearing a crisp white apron and had a blue-check scarf tied ambitiously around a huge mop of hair. The trestle table in front of her was packed with fresh, crusty bread; pies that were so densely filled there were no gaps left for daylight to squeeze in; cakes slathered in either raspberry, chocolate or thick cream-cheese icing; and lattice-top tarts that had dark purple jam oozing out of them. I almost had to stop myself swooning with hunger, as the woman cheerfully parcelled up the food and swapped jokes with her customers.
“I could murder a pastry,” said Bede.
I was already fishing around in my pockets for the money.
“Two of those please,” I said, pointing to the pastries with gooey, dark blackcurrant centres.
“There you go, me lovely,” said the woman as I handed her the coins. “Have a good day, won’t you.”
I smiled, trying to remember the last time I’d been so excited about food, and moved away from the table. I began eating so quickly I was almost inhaling the food. Bede sidled up to me with a suspiciously sly grin. Warily, I met his gaze, before my eyes travelled slowly, reluctantly, to the loaf of bread that was now bulging from the inside of his coat. He looked ridiculously pleased with himself. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only person who’d noticed his fancy finger work.
“Hey kid, I didn’t see you pay for that!” someone shouted. The woman in the apron was still within earshot and suddenly realised what had happened.
“Why, that thieving little…” She turned to the man standing behind her. “Mick, get after him would you. We can’t have people thinking it’s okay to nick our stuff.”
Mick was a lean, hungry looking man with gaunt cheeks, a heavy set brow and large hands.
“Yeah, onto it Martha,” he said, glaring at Bede.
“Run!” Bede shouted, clutching the loaf to his chest and breaking into a sprint.
I was so shocked that it took a couple of seconds for the word to actually register in my brain, let alone find its way down to my legs. I glanced behind me to see that Mick was now only a short distance behind us and closing the gap frighteningly quickly. I didn’t need to think at that point – the animal instinct to run for my life had well and truly kicked in.
“Bede!” I shouted, but he was already ten metres ahead of me and disappearing fast. My shock was morphing into anger amazingly quickly. I just couldn’t believe what a complete arse he’d been, nicking the load after we’d expressly agreed that my ankle wasn’t up to it. Right then I could have easily traded my brother for the loa
f.
But there was no time to negotiate a deal with Mick. He was rapidly gaining ground on us and shouting “stop thief!” to anyone who would listen. I tried to block it out and pretend that he was talking about someone else, just like I did at school when I was being called a ‘ging-er’. It helped, being distracted by the need to follow Bede’s back as he weaved in and out of the crowd. Suddenly, I saw the loaf fall from his grasp and bounce along the street. It might have been funny, had it not been for the fact that I was really mad at him and felt like I was about to cough up a lung.
To make matters worse, my ankle was now killing me, but there was nothing I could do except keep running. If I stopped, Mick would have me in a second and Bede would have to come back. I’d never seen my brother in action when it came to fighting, but Mick definitely looked like he was no stranger to violence.
I tried to block out the pain the same way as I had the night before, by concentrating on the sound of my boots striking the pavement. It helped a bit, but tears of pain still bubbled up in my eyes uncontrollably. I could see Bede in the distance, glancing over his shoulder at me every so often. It looked like he was slowing down a bit, but the gap between us was still getting steadily bigger. I watched him turn down a side alley and he was gone.
The sound of Mick’s boots pounding the ground behind me was now getting louder and louder.
“Just keeping breathing,” I told myself as my brain began to mist with panic. I was now a long way from the Old Town Square, and running down a myriad of small lanes and alleyways. They all looked like the streets from the night before, except that today there were people everywhere and I was forced to manoeuvre sharply to avoid crashing into them. Each sudden movement jarred my ankle even more, making me wince with pain. I knew that I was now just delaying the inevitable – Mick was going to catch me sooner or later.
I passed a group of old men smoking cigars and saw a woman who looked oddly out of place, standing alone in the middle of the street. She was tall and thin and wearing a long, blue dress that fitted her so perfectly it looked as if she’d just been swimming and forgotten to leave the water behind. A pile of thick, dark brown hair was perched messily on top of her head, pieces of it escaping down her neck to meet her shoulders. She was standing completely still, just calmly watching me hurtle towards her, with no obvious intention of moving out of the way. I started to alter my course to avoid her as a voice behind me continued to shout, “Stop that girl!” Glancing over my shoulder, my stomach lurched as I saw that Mick had almost caught me up.
I swore under my breath and was about to pass the woman in the blue dress when something startling happened. She reached out and grabbed my arm. It was so sudden, and I was running at such a speed, that I spun to an abrupt halt. It took me a couple of seconds to realise what had happened.
“What are you doing?” I said, trying to wrench myself free.
To my surprise, despite the woman’s thin frame, she was freakishly strong and no matter how hard I tried to prise myself free her fingers refused to budge. Mick was now only a couple of metres away.
“Thanks love,” he said to the woman. “That girl and her brother have just nicked some stuff off my missus.” He stopped running and started walking towards us, flexing his huge, fleshy hands. That was it, I was done for.
The woman didn’t reply but simply watched, expressionless, as Mick continued to approach. He was so close now that I could see the fine black stubble on his chin.
“I’ll take it from here,” he said, reaching out towards me.
I recoiled, edging away from him as much as possible, as the woman continued to grasp my arm, remaining perfectly still. Mick took a step closer, his scaly fingers now hovering less than a centimetre above my wrist. I braced myself to be wrenched away from the woman and frog-marched back to the Old Town Square.
Then, just as Mick was about to grab me, something really weird happened. I felt myself being hauled sideways and bundled through a small door just behind me. Before Mick could move, or had time to say “my missus” again, the woman had pulled the door shut behind us, leaving Mick gaping on the street.
“What the…?” he shouted. “Hang on, come back here! Didn’t you hear me, that girl stole from my missus!”
The door rattled violently, as Mick beat it with his hammy fists.
“I’ll be looking out for you, girlie, and next time you won’t be so lucky!” he shouted through the thick wooden panels.
I listened with my ear pressed to the door and my heart thumping in my chest as the heavy, dull thud of Mick’s boots clomped their way back up the street.
CHAPTER VI
Sprinting away from Mick, Bede could barely remember the last time he’d run so fast. The streets were much busier than they had been the night before, shoppers spilling randomly across the pavements and criss-crossing the narrow cobbled paths. Bede moved like a cat among them, slipping through the small ovals of daylight that ebbed and flowed between the moving bodies. He got a perverse sense of satisfaction navigating the human hurdles without hitting them. It was only after his fifth near miss that he realised his sister was no longer following him.
Bede drew to an abrupt halt, turned, and began scanning the crowd for a tall, red-headed girl. The panic rose inside him as he realised she was nowhere to be seen. He quickly began retracing his steps, his long legs snipping the pavement like a tall pair of scissors. He was painfully aware that Mick could be lurking anywhere, just waiting for him to reappear, and he gave each corner a wide berth.
A few minutes later, Bede had reached the end of the last road that he could clearly remember running down. He was now confronted by a five-way intersection, each road seemingly identical to the next. He scanned his surroundings, trying desperately to jog his memory, but it was no use. Apart from the ornate fountain immediately beside him, nothing looked familiar. He’d simply been running too fast, and everything had become a blur. As much as he hated to admit it, he felt like crying. He forced himself to take a deep breath, calm down, and refocus. If he just went a few paces up each of the five roads, one of them was bound to feel more familiar than the rest.
Bede turned and was just about to take a step towards the farthest road on the right when he almost tripped over a short, balding, man standing immediately in front of him. The man looked up at him with small, squinty eyes.
“That was close, son.” he smiled. “Lucky for me you’ve got good reflexes.” Bede managed a limp half laugh.
“Sorry about that,” he said. He began to step forward when the man stopped him again.
“Hey, aren’t you Philip de Milo’s son?”
“Do you know him?” said Bede, deliberately avoiding the question.
“Yeah,” the man said, nodding for emphasis. “Yeah, I do.” He paused, as if uncertain how to phrase his next question. “Look, kid, is your father all right?”
Bede shrugged dismissively. “I never said he was my dad.”
The man gave a smug smile.
“I already know he’s your dad. I was just being polite.” He narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “It’s Bede, isn’t it?”
“How do you know my name?”
“Don’t worry about that now.” The man paused, furtively scanning the street. “Look, when I say I know your dad, I mean I know your dad. I know about his ‘business interests’.”
“Oh, right.” Bede exhaled heavily. “Are you one of his ‘business’ colleagues?” The man gave a short laugh.
“Yeah, you could say that. Haven’t seen your old man around for the last few days. A bunch of us back at the office were wondering what was up with him. I hope he’s all right?”
Bede paused, tossing up whether or not to tell the truth about his dad’s sudden disappearance. On the one hand, the guy could be an undercover cop; on the other, he might be one of the few people who could actually help. Bede studied him carefully. Even though it was the beginning of winter and they were outside, the man seemed to be sweating profusely.
&nb
sp; Bede studied him carefully. He certainly doesn’t look fit enough to be a cop. Besides, wouldn’t he have arrested me by now if he was? The fact that he seems to know who Dad is, and that I’m his son, and that we can’t really speak properly on a crowded street might mean that he’s worth taking a chance on. Bede took a deep breath.
“The truth is Dad’s kind of gone missing. I’m actually looking for him myself.”
The man nodded as if he’d just been told something as ordinary as the weather. Bede wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.
“That’s no good, kid, no good at all.” The man scratched his chin, thoughtfully. “Your dad’s a good guy. More to the point, he’s one of us, if you know what I mean?” He winked knowingly. “If it was my kid standing here on the street, Philip’d do the right thing. I mean, that’s what are friends for, isn’t it? And your dad’s a friend of mine. Why don’t you come with me? Can’t promise I can find your dad but I know someone who might be able to.”
“Really?” Bede smiled, relieved that the risk had paid off. “That’d be great.” He was about to start following the man up the street when he suddenly remembered something.
“Before I come, I just need to find my sister. We got separated in the market somewhere.”
“Oh, yeah, fair enough,” said the man, “completely understand.” He began to walk away.
“Hey, wait up,” said Bede. “Can I come and find you again once I’ve found Clare?”
The man’s lips buckled uncertainly. “Actually, that might be a bit difficult. I need to be somewhere in an hour, so this is the only time I’ll be calling into the office. If it’s any reassurance, the office isn’t far – just five minutes up the road from here. You can always come back in a few minutes and look for you sister then. Who knows, she may have just got distracted in a shoe shop or something.” He laughed and began to walk away.
Bede was faced with a dilemma. If he let the man walk away now, he might lose the only opportunity he had to find his Dad. At the same time, his sister was out there somewhere, possibly hurt if Mick had got hold of her. The man with the squinty eyes was now a few metres away and about to cross the road. Bede made a split-second decision.