Dodger (25 page)

This was a most disturbing development for a thief, but this was no moment for dwelling on it and I was through to another narrow lane and then down an even tighter path before the peelers could blink. My heart was hammering even faster than my legs raced and, as I came to a low wooden fence and sprang over it, I found myself thinking of Kat Dawkins again. This was all very similar to the scene of her arrest that Inspector Bracken had described and I was scared that, if caught, I too would face the same grim fate. But the son was quicker than the mother and I crossed the yard I had landed in and was over the far brick wall before my pursuers had even reached the fence. Now obscured from their sight, I could make off in any direction I cared to, but as I headed off towards a maze of nearby streets I heard another woman's voice, rougher and shriller than Miss Trotwood's, informing the officers as to my movements. I looked up and saw an old woman leaning out of an overlooking window, her grey hair tumbling down and her arm pointed straight at me, screaming, ‘That way, officers! After the wretch!'

It was starting to appear as though all the good people of London had turned police spy against me and that I could not feel safe until I was clear of them all. I should have lost these peelers by now but what with this, and the dawning realisation that this new breed of policeman was more persistent than any what had gone before, I saw that things was far more desperate than I first feared. If I was to dodge these villains for good then perhaps running fast was not enough. What I needed to do was to vanish. I needed an unlocked door or somewhere else to hide. It was then that I turned
a corner and saw the open trap door outside of a public house, where the brewery drops the casks. This street looked to be deserted and so I dashed towards it in the hope of pulling the door shut after me and hiding in that cellar until the peelers had passed. The pub was old and dirty, the sort where you can tell just from looking at the outside that the landlord has yellow teeth and a cough. But as I approached it, I could not see anyone about and it was not until I got close enough to peer in that a massive head, what no doubt was attached to a massive body, popped out and shouted at me to clear off.

Back in my childhood I knew these streets well. I even felt as though I knew the people what dwelt in them. But now, a young man returned, I saw that all about me had altered and I grew afraid that I could not move about as free as once I had. The sounds of the peelers' boots was not far behind and I ran past the pub and into a lane what I remembered as being a clear route through to the nearest rookery, where I hoped folks would be more sympathetic. It was a narrow path of low houses with walls of sooted black and in it there was several poor persons ambling about. But, as I dashed down it, I saw that it had been fenced off at the end. I cursed aloud, knowing that at least one of my pursuers was close enough to see that I had taken this lane and I could hear him shouting those hateful words ‘Stop thief!' as I did so. The fence was high and I knew that my only means of escape was to take a run at it, grab the top and haul myself over. I thought that if I could do this it was unlikely that the peelers would follow, no matter how dedicated to their profession they thought they was. I might even be able to haul myself up to the rooftops and escape that way. My feet sped up but, as I charged towards the fence, two men covered in soot tried to block my path and wrestle me.

‘We got him, constable!' yelled the first as he made to grab at me. ‘Come on, son,' he said to the younger chimney sweep behind, ‘let's have him.' I shoved this older fellow in the chest and he fell back but I could not dodge the other, whose black hands was on my matching coat before I could pass. He was cursing at me for pushing the other with such force and told me that I was going nowhere until the peelers took me for theirs. I struggled to free myself but he was a bigger man than I and it seemed as though I was done for.

Then, and I am unsure as to where it flew in from, he was struck in the face by a thrown object and he released me in surprise. I bolted fast but I got a good glimpse at what had hit him before it clattered to the ground. It was a short wooden stick with a bend in it.

I was now free, but this encounter had slowed me so that I did not have enough of a run on to thrust myself over the fence. I tried anyway and jumped up as high as I could, but although my hands got purchase of the top I struggled to pull the rest of me over.

My legs was climbing upwards and my muscles strained to make it happen but the sweeps and a peeler was too close behind and, as I was about to pull my body over to the other side, the young sweep what had taken the hit came from behind and grabbed my left leg. I kicked out like an angry horse and he backed away but now the peeler was closing in and between them they would for certain take me no matter how savage my kicks was. I had managed to throw my other leg over the fence by now and had almost cleared it when the first peeler took hold and tugged at me hard. The fence what I clung to began this violent shaking as I fought to escape and I could see that on the other side was an empty courtyard. There was four pathways leading away from this one
and if I could just get over there would be no witnesses to which route I would take. I could hear footsteps running down one of them though towards me and I knew that if this was the second peeler I would be trapped both ways. The peeler behind me pulled hard now and the sweeps tried to help him and I turned to spit at the cowards for aiding the police. But on the other side of the fence I could hear the footsteps run up to me and two strong hands grabbed right leg and I prepared myself to be taken.

Then a voice, familiar and deep, told me to give him my hand and let him pull me. I turned from the sweeps to the other side of the fence, where Warrigal hissed at me to keep fighting them. My arms reached out to him and Warrigal, with one foot on the fence, pulled me so hard that it almost seemed as though the rickety wood would come crashing down with me. I landed on top of him, he cursed and called me an elephant, but we was both already on our feet and off down one of the four pathways to freedom.

*

Whether that peeler was ever inclined to get one of his sooty admirers to hoist him over the fence and chase after us this history cannot record. For we ran so hard away from him, weaving through crooked alleys and hidden passages, that we had crossed three districts before stopping to catch our breaths. I made no attempt to run away from Warrigal now. I was so grateful for his assistance that it didn't even occur to me that he may still want to do me in and that I might have been better off with the police after all. Instead we moved quick through the streets, shoulder to shoulder and talking about what was the shortest and best cuts, as though we was old pals reunited. His sudden appearance had been such a pleasant surprise to me in so desperate an hour that I did not think to question where he had sprung from or how he
could have known where I was. We was nearing a pie shop known as Mrs Cunningham's, by St Giles, the spot where I had agreed to meet Ruby should we come to be separated, and by now we had both slowed to a brisk and inconspicuous walk. Only then did I think to ask the man how in heaven he had managed to find me in time to swoop in and be my salvation.

‘Never left you,' Warrigal replied darkly.

‘I know you didn't,' I said back. ‘I left you.'

Warrigal shook his head in weariness at my softness. ‘You can't leave me,' he said as if imparting a secret. ‘I'm your shadow.'

We came to a shop what bore the sign ‘CUNNINGHAM'S' in faded green lettering and below that read ‘HOT EELS, PIE, MASH AND MORE BESIDES'. I recalled having been here many years ago with my mother, who worked upstairs when I was a young kinchin. Kat never would have served pie and mash though – the upstairs floor of Cunningham's was where they sold the more besides. Kat used to leave me down in the steaming pantry with the big pots of eels swimming in circles while she took customers up the stairs for a half-hour at a time. It was not a place I had much fondness for and I wondered what made Ruby choose it.

Once inside I cast my eyes about and saw that Ruby was not there. In spite of this I led Warrigal over to a small table at the back, where we could order up some vittles and where I could keep an eye on the door for when she walked in. Mrs Cunningham, whose head had always looked to me as though it had been boiled in one of her own cooking pots, scuttled over to us as hot-faced as ever. She asked us what we cared for, winking as she did so, and down the side of her left cheek I noticed that she still had that scar. I wondered whether or not she recognised me from all those days when I had been left in the kitchen while my mother was upstairs but somehow doubted it. I would have been around ten years of
age when I last saw her and, if the truth be told, the parting of ways between her and my mother was not amicable. I can recall seeing the two of them squaring off outside a pub at the corner of Seven Dials and Monmouth, Mrs Cunningham screaming accusations at my mother about some liberty she had taken with Mr Cunningham. Both of them was aflame with gin, and a large crowd poured out from the pub to watch as Mrs C called my mother a thieving odd-eyed whore and my mother replied by calling her a sweating pig-faced stink-hole who couldn't even keep her dog on the porch let alone a husband. Mrs C then tried to land a blow on my mother, encouraged by the spectators who was all taking her side. But Kat dodged and weaved before swinging her own arm, with a small blade out, and cutting straight into the side of the Cunningham cheek. Blood spilled and the crowd roared at the slyness of such an attack but I, still young and innocent, found myself feeling most proud of my mother as she took my hand and we fled before any violent recriminations could follow.

So it was unlikely that Cunningham's friendly wink was caused by some fond recognition of the adorable Dawkins child. Instead she wanted to insinuate that, if I was interested in more than refreshment, there was a number of ladies draping themselves about the tables and behind the counter what was available. These smiling sinners was an appealing sight, loose-haired, half-dressed, sitting themselves beside the many male patrons and making sweet talk. But I was devoted to Ruby and so I told Mrs Cunningham that we was only wanting victuals and ale.

‘And for your Arab?'

‘He ain't an Arab,' I told her. ‘And he'll have the same as me and plenty of it.' I reached into the Trotwood's purse and produced one of her shining sovereigns. ‘Keep the ale coming,' I said as I flipped it to her.

Warrigal's expression was as cross as ever, his arms folded, his coat buttoned up and I could see that the chill was still upon him. He was attracting a lot of attention as he sat there shivering as, although London was populated with many dark-skinned servants and beggars, few of these was as well-dressed and it was unusual to see a colonial sat with a gentleman such as I appeared to be. He would have looked more natural if he was to act like a servant around me but I did not have the nerve to tell him this, considering he had just saved me.

He sneezed then and I handed him a new handkerchief what I had found hiding in an old man's pocket when in Soho. ‘If your whatever-he-is has the influenzy,' said Mrs Cunningham, who had returned with two pewter pots of beer, ‘then it would be best for him to wait outside for you to finish up. I don't want my girls getting took ill.'

‘He's an aborigine.' I scowled at her as I took the drinks. ‘Not a dog. Just hurry up with them eels, can you?' Once she was gone, and I was sure we was out of earshot, I turned to Warrigal and held my beer pot aloft. ‘Cheers for getting me out of a tight spot, Warrigal,' I said. Warrigal eyed me hard. He knew that I wanted him to lift his pot and chink it against mine in a gesture of friendship but he did not want to play. ‘I know you only done it for your own ends,' I continued. ‘You need me out of prison if you're ever going to find that jewel, I suppose. But I want you to know that I was pleased to see you when I did. Very pleased.'

Warrigal gave a small nod to acknowledge this.

‘And I'm sorry you lost a decent boomerang over it,' I said with my beer still held out. ‘I thought them things was supposed to come back to you?'

‘Not when they hit,' he said.

‘Oh, I see.'

‘My father's boomerang,' he told me then. ‘My dead father's.'

‘Was it?' I shook my head at the shame of it. ‘Which means I owe you double.'

His mean eyes did not leave my face and I began to wonder if he understood what it was I was encouraging him to do.

‘In England,' I explained, ‘when one cove wants to show friendship to another, say for instance if the first cove owes his freedom to the actions of the second cove, or if the first cove is sorry that he ran away from the second cove even if, as is sometimes the case, the second cove did try to kill the first cove when he weren't looking …' Warrigal gave a short quiet huff, ‘then what they do to make up is to raise a glass like this –' I indicated my still raised beer pot – ‘and chink them together to show that they is still great pals. That is a little custom we have here.'

Warrigal nodded again but still did nothing.

‘Why don't we give it a go?' I continued. ‘Come on, it'll do us good.' He did not move so I lowered my glass in defeat. ‘Look, Warrigal,' I sighed, ‘I know you don't care for me much. For some reason you've got it into your head that I can't be trusted.' He blew his nose on the stolen hankie I had given him. ‘But if there is one thing I pride myself on, it's that I always takes care of my pals. If you was to behave like my pal, instead of like some paid murderer what might throttle me at any moment and who can never say a kind word, then I'd stick my neck out for you, believe me. Your problems would be my problems. In truth, your problems
are
mine. We both need this stone so let's stop acting like we hate one another and be tight for a change. You done me a good turn today and I appreciate it in spite of what you might think. And if the time comes when you need me to do you a good turn, then I won't hesitate.' Mrs Cunningham was heading back over to the table with her hands full of bowls and plates. ‘But I'll only
do it if we're pals,' I said, lowering my voice as she reached us. ‘If we ain't, then you're on your own.'