Temple Boys (10 page)

“Who caresh? Jus' wanna…”

Jude grabbed Flea by the shoulders, shook him, then shoved his head under the water.

Lifted him out and shoved him down again.

Lifted him up and dropped him on the flagstones. Watched him splutter and said, “Make sense of that?”

“What's the matter?” Flea spluttered, outraged. “What have I done?”

“I wanted you to concentrate. I told you not to drink.”

“I can concentrate! And I'm only a little bit…”

Jude picked him up and held him at arm's length while Flea tried to kick any part he could reach. When he stopped thrashing, Jude said, “Finished?”

Flea tried one last kick, thought about biting, thought better of it, and nodded.

“What did you hear?”

“Nothing. Everything. Nothing made sense.”

“Tell me what you remember.”

“Something about the Garden of Eden and the end of everything.”

Jude sighed. “Things are worse than my worst fears. If I'd known, I would never have involved you. I want you to get away from us as quickly as possible. I want you out of the city and far away.”

“Why? Where?”

“Because there's going to be trouble, big trouble, and anyone linked to us is up to their necks in it.”

“We're always in trouble,” protested Flea.

“Not like this. They're using you. The idiots! No wonder that smiling spy was after me. Tell you what, though, you horrible little infant: I'm grateful you found out about him. Thanks to you, I might just have time to salvage something out of this mess.”

“Is this the plan you were talking about?”

“The less you know the better. Go back inside, pretend everything's fine, and tell Shim that you saw me stagger off to be sick somewhere. They won't be surprised about that. Then tomorrow, get everyone you know or care about away from the city. The riot in the Temple yesterday was nothing compared to what's coming. They're looking for it. It's part of the plan. Now go. Go!”

“What are you going to do?”

“None of your business.”

“Whatever it is, why don't I do it? They suspect you.”

“Didn't you listen to a word I said?”

“You hired me for another day's work. I don't want you weaseling out of it.”

“After what I've just said, you're thinking about money?” Jude threw his hands into the air in frustration and howled silently at the night sky. “Do you really think—?”

“Do I really think what?” Flea interrupted furiously. “You tell me to listen but you don't listen to me! Every day is dangerous for me. If I'm not being kicked around by Big and the rest of the gang, I'm being chased by muggers who'd slit my throat for a copper mite and no one would give a damn. Get it? Nothing you say frightens me because nothing that can happen because of you can be worse than what happens to me
every single day
!”

A pause, and the moonlight got a bit brighter. Jude looked at Flea levelly.

“Well, you got that off your chest all right. Are you sure you won't be too hungover?”

“I'm fine. I'll be fine tomorrow.” Flea felt sullen and shaky. Jude's assault followed by his own yelling had almost sobered him up.

“All right. I'll let you help on one condition: that you promise to get out tomorrow evening. There are powerful forces at work here. It must be Yusuf who's been arranging things inside the city for Yesh. A feast like this takes weeks to arrange…”

“Oh,” Flea said. “The man carrying the pitcher of water from the bridge. I saw him hanging around in the kitchens.”

“Making sure everything was going according to plan, for sure,” Jude said. “So, as well as looking out for Romans and trying to keep on the right side of the Temple Police, one of the most powerful men in the city is involved. Most likely he'll have someone keeping an eye on me, but you'll be able to sneak around.”

“Thanks.”

Jude ignored the sarcasm. “This supper they have planned for tomorrow—I need to find out where it is. If I know Shim, he'll go there early to make sure everything's as it should be. So in the morning, when Yesh and the others come to pick you up, stick to Shim. If he leaves the group, follow him. Make a note of where he goes and then come back to me. Remember, all I need to know is where this meal is going to be. As soon as you know, find me. I'll be at your gang's shelter or nearby.”

“All right.”

“Now go back inside and act normally. And if anyone asks after me, tell them I've probably passed out.”

Flea made his way back into the hall. He didn't want to eat anything. He certainly didn't want to drink anything. He wanted things to be back the way they had been, but most of all he wanted to sleep.

In the hall, Shim was sitting with Yusuf up on the dais, talking earnestly. On the floor of the hall Yesh was walking between couches, talking to people, making them laugh, Tauma following.

They all know what to do,
Flea thought.
This is what being an adult is all about. You plan. Things work. You move on
.

Slaves moved between the couches, pouring more wine and bringing wet towels for people to mop their faces. Food was still arriving, though no one was paying much attention to it. Flea had never seen so much food in his life. The glut and the waste made him feel sick.

He sat and he watched and he waited. All around him, adult faces grew redder and redder and voices grew louder and louder. A chant started in the back of the hall.

“Live forever, live forever, we'll live forever.”

People started banging tables, clapping hands, stamping feet. “Live forever. Live forever. Live forever.”

And in the middle of the room, Yesh; very much the center of attention, but somehow very alone.

 

ONE DAY TO GO

 

21

He was dreaming
of empty streets, but this time the rats were everywhere, chattering under his feet, rushing through the houses on either side of the road, leaping across the alleyway over his head—stopping him from reaching the little courtyard he knew was home.

And now they could talk and knew his name:
Flea,
they chattered and squeaked.
Fleafleafleafleaflea
.

His eyes were stuck shut.
Better in the dark,
they said.
Better, Fleafleafleaflea
.

The dark was the crack in the pavement and Flea could see down it. There was another alleyway underneath, and streets under the streets and houses under the houses: an entire underground city, a dark copy, peopled by rats—soldier rats, priest rats, beggar rats.

“Flea, Flea, Flea.”

It's not them calling,
he thought,
it's someone real
. But when he managed to force his eyes open there was silence, except for a tired echo in his mind of someone calling him home.

He was outside the gang's shelter, wrapped in a cloth he'd taken from Yusuf's house. The gang had been too drunk to get back here after they'd been invited to leave Yusuf's palace and had collapsed in the nearest alleyway. At dawn they'd woken and struggled back to the shelter, and Flea had followed. He'd filled the water skin and sucked up to the others by offering drinks. If he was going to hang out with them again, he might as well try to get them to be civil.

One by one they crawled out of the shelter to sit in the alleyway, oblivious to the scandalized mutterings from their neighbor and her daughter. The worse for wear, they still managed to swap stories about the night before.

“Did you see me jump on the table?”

“And fall off!”

“And when you threw that beaker of wine over that man…”

“It was an accident.”

“Not what he thought.”

“But he thought it was funny in the end.”

“Do you think we'll go back?”

“I'm up for it.”

“I know,” Flea said, in an unnatural voice. “Why don't we all…”

He stopped. Do what? What was it Jude had told him to do? Save the gang and follow Shim? He couldn't do both. Why couldn't Jude have been clearer?

Little Big noticed him. “Oh look, it's the wimp.”

“Yeah, where were you just when things started getting really good?”

Flea thought quickly. “Oh, I passed out. You know.”

“When?” Big asked.

“Don't know. Too drunk to remember. Hah.”

“Was that before or after you followed your boyfriend out of the hall?” Big sneered. “Oh, Jude, Jude, where are you, Jude?” His snigger was echoed around the gang.

“What do you mean?” Flea tried to sound outraged but there was not enough force in his voice.

“I don't like it here with all these big, rough men,” Big whined. “Listen, what are you even doing back here? We kicked you out of the gang, remember?”

“But Yesh … I just thought—”

“He just thought. Well, I just thought I might have to punish you. What did I say I'd do if you carried on hanging around?”

“I don't know.”

“I said I'd shove you down the rat hole!”

“You can't. You wouldn't…”

The twins grabbed Flea's arms and Little Big and Red each grabbed a leg and hung him over the rat hole at the end of the alleyway. They started chanting, “Sacrifice the Flea! Sacrifice the Flea! Sacrifice the Flea!”

Flipped upside down, Flea was helpless. He closed his eyes, clamped his mouth tight shut, and held his breath. This time, he wasn't going to scream.

“Come on, rats!” Big shouted. “We've got breakfast for you!”

They bumped Flea up and down, jerking the breath from his lungs so he had to suck in the thick, musty, rat-stinking air. He could hear rustling, opened his eyes, and thought he could see the dark writhing of bodies and the glimmer of little yellow teeth. Forgetting his promise not to scream, he had just begun to bellow when someone shouted, “Put that child down!”

Flea turned his head and saw an upside-down Yesh floating in the street outside the alleyway. Flea was dropped. Big started to stammer an explanation, but Yesh cut him short.

“If you charming little thugs want to make yourselves useful, come with us now. If not, try to treat that poor creature how you'd like to be treated yourselves.”

Shocked because they had never heard Yesh speak angrily before, the gang trailed out of the alleyway and joined the slow river of men, women, and children jostling sluggishly as they tried to avoid makeshift stalls that blocked the street. Everyone seemed to be going in the direction of the Temple today, the last chance before the feast for people to pay their taxes and make a sacrifice.

Jude dropped back until he fell into step beside Flea.

“Well?” he said. “Are you all right?” Flea shook his head.

“Look, I know—”

“No, you don't. You don't know anything. They're having a go at me for…”

“What?”

“You're always hanging around me and they're … saying things,” Flea said. “If you left me alone so I could just try to make things better…”

“Even though you're earning good money?”

“Shh! They'll steal it,” Flea whispered urgently.

“Nice friends.”

“You can talk,” Flea snapped back.

“I walked into that one,” Jude said. “Here. I bought you some dried fruit. Should help keep you going. You've got a busy day today, remember?”

It came to Flea at last. “I've got to stick to Shim, and if he goes to a room, remember where it is and tell you.”

“Good. And as I thought, one of Yusuf's people is trailing us. Think you can slip away without him noticing?”

Flea glanced behind and saw the water carrier he'd seen at the bridge and again in the kitchens.

“Easy,” he said. “What are you going to do?” Suddenly nervous about going it alone, feeling the weight of responsibility.

“Judas!” Yesh's voice cut across the line of followers, sharp and commanding.

“Later,” Jude murmured. “The boss is in a real mood this morning. Hungover most likely, so keep your head down.” He called out, “Master?”

“Master. Master. Yohan calls me Lord,” Yeshua barked back. “Did you know that? Shim calls me Lord. Even Tauma calls me Lord. Only you call me Master. Any reason for that?”

Yesh stopped and beckoned Jude to join him. The followers parted to make two ranks that Jude had to walk between. Flea hurried to join him.

“You know me, Yesh,” Jude said quietly. He stood in front of Yesh, half a head taller but looking meek. “We go back a long way. I find it hard to change.”

“Yes. We noticed. But if you have stayed the same, do you really think I have?”

Jude flushed. “That's not for me to say, Master.”

They were standing in the middle of the road, forming a solid plug. Above them, washing hung on lines across the alley. People had put benches outside their houses so they could sit and catch the morning sun. Two small fig trees, neatly clipped, stood in pots on either side of a front door. Yesh pointed to one of them. “So tell me, Judas: is a plant that doesn't grow any use to man or beast?”

“I don't know, Master.”

Two small red spots appeared on Yesh's face. “Let me tell you this, then. A follower who doesn't follow and a man who doesn't change are like a fig tree that doesn't grow.”

He grabbed one of the trees and lifted it, pot and all. Then he dropped it so the pot shattered and stamped on it until the trunk splintered. The followers huddled around to make a barrier between Yesh and the crowd. They looked wary.

“Do you understand now, Judas?” Yesh said. He was breathing heavily. “You're about as much use to me as that tree, unless you change. You want to go back to the old days. We can't. As soon as I was chosen, that was it. I moved on. Everyone moved on. That's why we're called a movement. But you, Judas, my oldest friend and my first follower, refuse to budge. Can't you see how that might upset me? Can't you see how at this moment, the last thing I want to do is waste my time splitting hairs with you? Can't you?
Can't you?”