by H C Storrer
“The master ain’t got all day! Out wif it!” George’s swift hand caught the boy in the back of his head as Talmage was halfway through a commanding roll of his eyes.
“I ain’t going to meet the ol’ Baily!” Talker blurted out. “I means—”
“Spanish almonds.” Talmage stood and grabbed a fist full of nuts from a pewter bowl. As he waddled around the room, he took his small nutcracker in his other hand and started to work at the shells. “Take a seat.”
George didn’t wait for the skinny boy to respond, instead he ‘seated’ him roughly.
“Now, do I look like a jolly elf?” Talmage asked as he spit almond bits with each syllable.
“No, Sir,” Talker answered.
“Don’t lie to me, lad, do I look like a jolly elf?” Talmage asked again.
“Well…” Talker squinted in reply. After all, the fat man did seem to hold a resemblance to jolly men he had seen on the street.
Smiling, his gray teeth mashed with nut meat, Talmage started to guffaw. “In a way, you would say yes?”
“In a way,” Talker ambled a laugh.
As the two chuckled together, Talker became uneasy. Talmage did seem to have an air of levity, however George’s face grew worried. Like an adder, Talmage shot out his fist, catching Talker’s hand immobile in his fat, sausage fingers. Peeling the boy’s pinky away from its companions, he clamped it into the nutcracker like a vise. “You don’t want your neck stretched, is that it?”
“I likes me neck the lenf it is.” Talker winced, his hand immobile as the pressure built upon his digit.
Talmage nodded to the boy’s red coat and beige breeches. “Those clothes, they don’t fit you quite right. Did you steal them as well?”
“No, Govn’a, I bought these, wif the money me an me mates stole,” Talker squealed as the pressure on his finger increased.
Instantly releasing the boy, Talmage rubbed under his tattered grey wig with his nutcracker once more. “This one is not the ring leader.”
“Why you fink that?” George asked.
“The ring leader’s smart, ’ee wouldn’t admit to being a thief. This one’s already tightened the noose about his neck.” Talmage cleared his nose by sucking a helping of bogies and swallowed.
“I ain’t gonna ’ang for Jack.” Talker was ready to bend his knee, his scheme quickly turning south. “Please, I knows what ‘ee as planned. Let me go, an I’ll take you to ’im.”
Talmage smiled wide. “We have a regular Judas on our ’ands.”
***
Jack peered over his boys. He wanted to feel bad for breaking his promise to Sam, but he’d known he was going to the minute the words left his tongue. A shallow warning, even from a friend, wasn’t about to make him up and stop. After all, this was his game, and no street thugs were going to best him. They had entered the square early and staked out the best spots for begging, the little ones donning their plain clothes with holes, bits of dirt smeared over their faces. The talented ones would go so far as to walk with a limp and crook their necks to evoke at least a bit of curious observation.
It was eight when the first coins started to arrive. One boy would run to Jack’s hip, dropping a shilling into his hand. Then another, “ ’Ere ya go, Jack.”
Like clockwork, he would fill his pockets and then disappear, handing it all over in a bag to a skinny boy to run it to a hiding hole near the storage room. Jack felt like the admiral of the streets as he watched his boys move as fluidly as the crew of a ship through the throng.
Around eleven a familiar face approached, “Good seein’ ya ’ere, Jack. I ’as the tuppence you wanted.” The boy held out two shillings.
“You’ve decided to come back to us?” Jack pulled back. It had been almost a week since Talker had argued he could do better on his own, rather than give everything to Cap’n Jack to distribute.
“Aye, Jack. You was right. I learned me lesson, tis better if we works toge’ver.” Talker held out his hand again.
Taking it, Jack gave it a good shake. “Now we work together, and we all get to eat.” Immediately, a high-pitched whistle broke the air. All around him, a crowd of men rushed in a circle. “The Bow Streeter’s?” Looking into Talker’s eyes, he knew immediately, “You led them to us!”
“Sorry, Jack, it was ’ow I saved me own neck. I told you I was in it for me self.” Talker gripped Jack’s hand tightly, trying to keep him from running.
Jack’s shoulder and fist welled with anger; in a single blow, he punched Talker to the ground. Before anyone could react, Jack darted past the grasp of one Runner into a side alley. Behind him, the crow went up. Jack launched off the ground, gripped a downspout a few feet up the wall, and started to the roof of a brick building just off the square. Halfway up, he stopped, his blood running cold as two cheery, stubbled faces beamed down at him.
“That’s right, li’l rabbit.”
“You finkin we would just let you get away like last time?” the other one chuckled.
Jack looked back to the ground; two more Runners were there waiting, each one laughing at his predicament. “You ’as an apoi’ment wif ol’ Baily,” George taunted from below.
Spying a small ledge jutting from a third story window that seemed too far to leap, Jack weighed his options. There were only two paths, neither one good. Swinging his body, he changed direction and momentum, hurling himself into the expanse towards the ledge. A tinge of fear broke the still of his heart, but then the tips of his outstretched fingers snatched the edge of brick. Scratching up the masonry, Jack clawed furiously until his buckled shoes escaped his feet. He wasn’t about to stop now, and like a feral cat he scrambled up and through the weak window latch into the room beyond.
“Go on, then!” George barked to the man next to him.
“Go on what?” his companion challenged back. “I ain’t no bloom’n bluejay, ’ows I supposed to get up there, eh?”
George yelled up to the Runners on top of the roof, “You two, go in an find ’im!” Gripping the man nearest him by the collar, George shook him with frustration before shoving him away. “Round the others up before Talmage ’angs you in their place!”
Inside, Jack was winding down the staircase at a frenzied pace, ignoring the few onlookers that hollered in surprised as he darted by. Once to the rear entry, he slipped from the door and shot behind two Runners at the end of the road, making an empty alley beyond. In a dead sprint, he put as much distance between him and Lombard Street as he could manage. He knew he had to make it back to the storage room to salvage any coin he could. It took him most of the day to make a wide circular path through every sort of market and garden of the great city, the sky growing an amber blue when he finally came to the rough street he called home. It was calm—the cold stones under foot chilled up past his knees while the usual stray dogs chipped at some rubbish on the ground hoping for a meal. Holding himself for warmth, Jack took a breath, searching his surroundings to make sure he had not been followed.
Just as he approached the building from the back, he heard George’s gravelly voice pierce the stillness. “They all ran like rabbits; it will be impossible to find ’em now.”
“You ’as to fink positively, George. Why, if them kids runs on out we’ll spot ’em, especially the one they calls Jack, now we knows what ’ee looks like.”
“Yah, but we don’t get a farthing if we don’t bring ’im in.” George sighed.
“Pssst.” Jack whipped his head around. It was Bill, across the street.
Scurrying over the frigid cobbles, he approached his friend, whispering, “Where are the others?”
Bill stood motionless, his eyes shifting in an odd pattern, almost as if he were trying to look behind him without turning his head. Confused, Jack’s feet continued one behind the other as he tried to focus his eyes into the darkness. “What about the others?” It was as he asked the question again, only feet from his friend, that all too slowly he understood Bill’s silent admonition. Turning to run, a heavy hand g
ripped him from behind.
“Gotcha!” Instantly, Jack was immobile as the man’s strong arms pinned him into the wall of the building.
“Sorry, Jack.” Bill was nearly in tears. “They made me do it. The others, they ran off, but they was wait’n ’ere for us.”
“Shut it you!” One of the men cuffed Bill behind his ears.
“Lay off me!” Jack squirmed and kicked as he was forced to the ground. “Don’t worry, Bill—”
“I would worry, Bill.” Another man laughed as he gripped Bill by the neck, “You two is big enough for the gallows!”
“Jack!” Gags screamed from across the road. “Jack, you ’as to run!”
Looking up from the dirt, it was all Jack could do to yell at the small boy, “Go, Gags. Go and tell the others to run! We’ll be fine!”
The small boy turned in circles. Slipping free of one of the Runners, Gags yelled again, “What do we do, Jack?”
“Hide!” The word had barely left his lips as a dirty sack was wrenched over his head.
Chapter 14
W ith each breath, Jack’s lungs filled with moist air as it passed through wet condensation that had collected upon the dark burlap smothering his face. In complete darkness he had lost all sense of time and place. He had tried to speak to Bill on the slow wagon ride, but every time he did one of the Runners would silence him with a violent thump, yelling, “Shut it, you!” Sitting now in silence, Jack was able to work out that Bill was situated to his right. The big lad had a way of breathing when he was tired or nervous, like a hog under a load of bricks. Beyond the labored breath, there was one other sound, the constant scratching of a quill over parchment. Jack huffed in frustration.
“I suppose you boys have waited long enough.” With a sudden jerk, the bag was gone. The late evening rays just cresting the western rooftops cut through a dirty window, catching Jack square in the eyes; it took him a moment to gather his bearings. As his pupils adjusted, they focused briefly on a pudgy man with a dingy wig sitting behind a rickety desk. Jack let his eyes linger on the man for only a moment as he scrunched his nose in contempt while surveyed the sparse room. Other than the desk and two chairs occupied by Bill and himself, there were no other furnishings. Looking at his friend, Jack could see the fear and worry etched on his face. With an infinitesimal nod of his head he warned Bill to keep silent. The movement did not go unnoticed.
“Oh, ho! I believe we are in the presence of the infamous Jack, boys!” A raucous laughter broke out behind them. “You’ve been causing quite the stir. But I knew it was only a ma’er of time before you’d get greedy and foul up.” Talmage stood, grabbed a handful of almonds from the bowl on his desk and came to stand before his prisoners. Flicking his wrist with a snap of his fingers, he commanded someone behind his captives. Out of his peripheral, Jack saw George dart around the desk and drag the chair around for Talmage to sit in.
Defiant, Jack stared through the officer, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. “I always thought the Fieldings would be the one to catch me. Not an errand boy with a cloak room for an office.” The sharp thump to the back of his head was expected, and so Jack ignored it, trying to maintain his bravado. His mind, on the other hand, was a prison of fear; the butterfly of thought flittering between idea after idea, searching for a way out. The more he thought about it, the faster each plan was tossed as idiocy. “I believe you have me at a disadvantage, Sir,” Jack began stalling for time. He expected another thumping to his head for his cheek, but the man in charge raised his hand, staying the blow.
“Mr. Benjamin Talmage.” The walrus sneered, pulled out a black iron nutcracker and proceeded to break apart the almonds in his hand. “I would be surprised if you ’adn’t ’eard of me. I know all about you.”
“Well, Mr. Talmage, let us not get too carried away with pretenses. It seems that getting myself into this predicament has less to do with my greed and more with your dumb luck in finding Talker.” Jack braced himself again, the blow swift across his head.
“Tsk, tsk,” Talmage clucked, his voice sounding labored and short of breath “It’s not very smart to taunt your capt’r. If I am considered the mind of the law, George is what you could call the arm. It’s best not to upset ’im.”
“I’ve been hit harder.” Jack shrugged as he twisted to get a look behind him. He had expected to see George, and seeing Talker tied up with a gag shoved in his mouth did nothing to garner any shock or sympathy. The last person he had ever expected to see standing at attention, next to the door, was Sam. Jack felt the color drain from his face, labored and slow he turned his head back around. Sam’s warnings from the night before flooded back. He had been greedy, but the betrayal of his best friend in the world was almost too much for him to take.
“Ah, I see that the realization of your situation ’as finally settled upon you. Samuel, be a sport and go fetch our guests some bread and wa’er. I know it’s not much of a last meal,” he continued, cracking nuts as the door opened and closed, “but we ’ave much to discuss before your very public ’anging.”
“Why would I tell you anything?” Jack spat.
“We only need to have one ’anging. You tell me what I wants to know, and your mate ‘ere will live to tell the tale.”
“Don’t say anyfing, Jack!” was all Bill could get out before George kicked him over; the ropes binding him to his chair caused the wooden legs of furniture to roll about him in one great topple. Swinging his other foot around, George stuck his boot to the boy’s throat.
Mr. Talmage looked on with disinterest. “Well, Jack, what will it be?”
“What do you want to know.” Jack slumped in defeat.
“Only one thing, my boy; where’d you ’ide all that loot. We tore apart your hideout but found nofing.”
Jack sat up straight. Talmage suffered from the same propensity as most men. “What would you be willing to trade for it?”
Talmage smiled knowingly. It seemed the boy was willing to play the game. Just then, the door popped open, interrupting the exchange.
“Samuel, that was fast.” Talmage nodded with approval. “Not all of you’s as slow as your speech. Well go ahead, and serve our guests. George, put the boy back up on ‘is chair.”
With his head down, Sam skulked by Bill and Jack. Reaching the desk, he deposited the metal tray, one of the stale pieces of bread rolling from its plate next to the pitcher of water with a hollow thud. Replacing the errant roll upon the earthen platter quickly, he turned with the food in hand and laid it on Bill’s lap, coolly avoiding even the glint of the large boy’s eyes. Returning to the tray, he fumbled with the second plate and then turned again, his eyes squinted in contempt at Jack. “Take the plate you d-devener… d-degran… thief!”
The anger within Jack was nearly boiling at the surface as he glared back at his former friend. He wanted to hurt Sam in the same place he felt the pain of betrayal, right in his chest. Chewing the side of his cheek, he begged for the loop of his knife to be wrapped around his finger. He would cut the rope that bound his legs to the chair and slice open everyone in the room. Struggling against the urge to leap onto Sam and strangle him with his bare hands, he glared as the plate was thrust into his chest.
“T-take it!” Sam barked again.
Reluctantly, Jack reached up and gripped the plate firmly as he emitted a glob of spittle onto Sam’s cheek. It was then that he felt the familiar ring in the handle of the karambit under the offered dish; confused, he nearly let the blade swing out into the open. Stepping back, Sam wiped the saliva away with his sleeve as he grabbed the pitcher of water, tossing the contents back into Jack’s shocked face as Mr.Talmage and George roared in laughter at the exchange.
Slamming the pitcher back on the desk, Sam turned away from his friends. “Mr. T-T-Talmage, Sir, some of the boys is w-want’n to form ‘unting parties to search for them other t-tots and they was want’n George to s-sort them out. I would do it, b-b-but—”
“But, but, but,” Talmage interrupted
with mocking tones as his jovial mood turned to impatience. “That will be all, s-sir mushmouth.” Rolling his eyes, he stopped them upon Jack. “He’s as strong as an ox, but as dumb as a load of bricks.”
“S-Sir?” Sam pressed.
“Yes, yes. George, go see that the men have a solid plan. I would hate to have them waste a day chasing shadows.”
“Are you sure, Govn’r? I don’ trust these brats.” George grabbed a fistful of both Jack and Bill’s hair.
“Yes, yes,” he once again waved impatiently. “They’re tied up; besides, Jack and I have an understanding, don’t we?”
Jack looked up from his plate of food, caught off guard “...Er right, understanding. I’ve got nowhere to go in any case.” He had been using the conversation as a distraction, the knife under the plate slicing ever so carefully at the ropes around his wrists.
“See? If it will make you feel better, leave Samuel. He’s no lord of conversation, but at least he can keep them in check if needs be,” Talmage added.
George waited a few more seconds, then stomped from the room.
Sam made his way to the door and slid the deadbolt into place. “I ’adn’t another m-minute to be rid of that dolt. You have no ideas what a ’uge pain in the arse that m-m-man is.”
“What are you going on about, Samuel,” Mr. Talmage blurted out, confused.
Bending down to untie Talker, Sam continued, ignoring Talmage., “Why d-didn’t you keep your word, Jack. I told you theys was c-comin’ after you!”
“Well you could have come out and said Talker was a filthy traitor. I probably would have taken the threat more seriously,” Jack replied as he finished slicing through his bindings.
“Oh s-s-sure. Come right out an s-s-say I was cons’tripted by the Runners. You an the lads would ‘ave done m-m-me in right then and there!”
Talmage blustered, taking to his feet.“Samuel, I order you to stop this instant, or, or—”
“Or y-y-you’ll what?” Sam was unimpressed.