The Great Trouble (3 page)

Even deep in the cellar of the Lion Brewery, where the stone walls made things a bit cooler, I sometimes saw Little Queenie panting, her tiny pink tongue sticking out. She’d settled in well, though. Small as she was, she’d already
delivered a mouse, purring with pride as she laid it at my feet.

“Next time, go for the rats, Li’l Queenie,” I instructed. “Them’s the nasty ones that crawl over me at night, their long, snaky tails ticklin’ my skin. You’re a big girl now—take ’em on.”

Mr. Cooper was a regular brick—if he could spare us messenger boys from traipsing all over in the horrible, stinking heat, he did. And maybe that’s why it happened. Maybe it had something to do with us being so cooped up. I can’t say for sure. What I do know is that if I’d thought my troubles were over for the week, I was gravely mistaken.

I’d finished mopping and was dumping the bucket in the courtyard when Hugzie Huggins tapped me on the shoulder.
Pushed
would be a better way to say it. I stumbled, sloshing water over my legs.

“Watch it!” I felt like knocking him flat.

“You’re wanted, Eel.”

My stomach lurched. Herbert “Hugzie” Huggins was the nephew of the Lion’s owners, the Huggins brothers—John and Edward. Hugzie had a pumpkin-shaped head and grimy yellow hair. He smelled of onions and burps. I’d always wondered how he’d gotten that nickname. A less huggable lad I never saw.

“Who wants me?”

“My uncle does.”

“Mr. Edward?” I asked hopefully. Mr. Edward was my favorite. He was a fair man who cared about his workers. As for his older brother, I made it my business to stay out of his way.

“Uncle John needs to see you,” Hugzie said. He couldn’t keep the sneer off his face. “Mr. John Huggins to you.”

“What about?” I snapped, suddenly suspicious. Something didn’t feel right. “I been doin’ my job. Workin’ harder than you.”

Hugzie just shrugged, his plump lips twitching as though he was trying not to laugh. What was he up to? As I followed him up the passageway to the office, I tried to stay calm.
I’ll be able to handle whatever he doles out
, I told myself.
After all, I can hold my own with Thumbless Jake
.

Maybe I was just extra jittery, on account of what Thumbless Jake had let on about Fisheye. Or maybe Abel Cooper’s talk about the bad air carrying poison was getting to me. But I couldn’t keep from feeling like I was headed for something dark and unknown. It was a little like wading into the deepest part of the river at high tide, without even a lantern in my hand.

Mr. John Huggins was all business. He sat ramrod straight behind a large oak desk, surrounded by tall stacks of papers. I stared at the battered tin box in the center of his desk. I felt a hot flush of anger stain my cheeks.

“That’s mine! You weasel—you’ve been in my things.” I whirled on Hugzie and grabbed his shirt.

Hugzie squealed like a piglet. “Uncle, get him off!”

“Stop that,” commanded Mr. John, though I’d already pulled away.

Watch your temper
, I reminded myself.

Mum’s warnings came back to me: “Try to be more like your grandpa. He was the mildest man I ever knew. He always said the best way to win an argument is to pretend you’re pouring cool water on a hot fire.” But I didn’t take after my grandpa.

Mr. John had tiny, glittery eyes just like his nephew. But mostly it was his eyebrows you noticed. They grew up out of his forehead like a thicket of branches.

“Don’t turn on young Herbert here,” he purred, though it was not the same purr as Little Queenie’s sweet, contented sound. It was more like a lion’s menacing growl, or at least what I imagined a lion might sound like. “Herbert is quite correct to bring this to my attention.”

He gestured to the box on his desk. “Now, young man, can you tell me where these coins came from?”

“They’re … they’re mine …,” I spluttered stupidly.

“I think you know that stealing is grounds for instant dismissal,” Mr. John said coldly.

That is exactly what Hugzie wants
, I realized with a start.
He’s trying to get rid of me
.

My heart sank. My eyes burned with tears I wouldn’t let fall. This couldn’t be happening. I’d been safe here at the
Lion since May. I had food, clean water, and a place to sleep. Abel Cooper treated all of us messenger boys fairly.

I couldn’t be thrown back on the streets. Not now, with Fisheye Bill looking for me. I dreaded taking up the life of a mudlark again, scavenging in the filthy river day after day, no matter what the weather. Being a street sweeper wasn’t much better: pushing aside dog and horse dung from the paths of gents and ladies, then standing by and hoping for tuppence. It was little better than begging.

These last few months at the Lion had changed things for me. I’d started to believe I could make something of myself someday. I might be a foreman like Abel Cooper, or maybe I could start a small shop, learn a trade, or even become a clerk, just as Pa had been.

All this was far off. What mattered now was protecting my secret. And to keep it safe, I needed four shillings a week. Four shillings and a penny, to be exact, to be delivered each Friday. That was the precise amount I had in my box—all ready for tomorrow morning. And except for a few coins in my pocket, it was all I had in the world.

“I earned this money fairly, sir,” I declared. “I do odd jobs at night or when I’m not needed here.”

“What kind of odd jobs?”

“I feed animals and clean their cages for a doctor over on Sackville Street. And when I’m done here in the evening, I help Mr. Griggs, the tailor who has a shop across the road, at Number Forty,” I explained. “I sweep up the extra
threads and bits of cloth, and make it tidy for customers the next morning. You can ask Mr. Griggs yourself.”

“Now, young man, no need to get excited,” Mr. John said in that same cool, smooth tone. He picked up a small ivory-handled penknife and began running the blade under his fingernails.

He’s enjoying this
, I thought.
He likes making me squirm
.

“I find your story somewhat suspicious,” he said slowly, still concentrating on his nails as though he couldn’t even be bothered to look at me. “Do you really have time and energy at the end of the day to hire yourself out to someone else? Surely Mr. Cooper can find more work for you if that is the case.”

I clenched and unclenched my fists. “I always check with Mr. Cooper, sir, before I go. He’ll tell you I’m a good worker.”

I almost let slip that I was sure Mr. Edward would back me up too. But that might not help me with Mr. John. Suddenly I remembered something. Just yesterday I’d come around a corner and heard Mr. Edward’s voice. “Don’t let it happen again, Herbert.”

I hadn’t thought much about it then. Now I wondered: had Mr. Edward caught Hugzie skimming pennies off a payment?

When Hugzie and I were sent to collect on a bill, we were supposed to return with the correct amount of money. But it
was
possible to cheat—to say that the customer hadn’t
been happy with his lot of brew and had kept back a shilling, or that the customer had shorted us and we hadn’t noticed. Maybe Mr. Edward had discovered that Hugzie had come up short too many times.

“Let me ask you another question,” Mr. John was saying, switching the little knife from one hand to the other and starting to dig into the skin behind his thumbnail. I watched, unable to take my eyes off the shining tip of that tiny blade.

That’s what I am to him
, I thought.
Just a speck of troublesome dirt under a nail
.

“You claim you earned this money through your own labor. But what possible reason do you have? Are you not satisfied with your job here at the Lion? You get room and board and good water to drink. What use do you have for extra money?” Mr. John demanded.

I couldn’t tell him the truth, of course. I thought fast.

“To better meself, sir,” I said meekly, lowering my gaze to the tips of my old shoes. I could see my left toe beginning to poke out. It would take more than one sweep of Mr. John’s penknife to get
my
nails clean. “I’d like to, uh … make sure I have proper shoes, so as to look presentable when I deliver messages and suchlike.”

Mr. John waved a hand, as though to clear the air of my words. “Are you aware, young man, that there have been some irregularities in the accounts here?”

I whirled around to look at Hugzie and caught the tiniest
of smiles flittering on his puffy lips. My hunch was right: Hugzie had been skimming the odd coin from his uncles’ operation. When he’d found my box, he figured this was a chance to put the blame on me.

I lowered my head again, feeling trapped.
If only Mr. Edward were here
. But Mr. Edward was gone on business all week. Hugzie had chosen his moment carefully. He wasn’t quite as stupid as he looked: he must have seen that Mr. Edward watched out for me. I wondered if Hugzie had resented me from the beginning. For it was Mr. Edward himself who’d agreed to let Abel Cooper take me on at the Lion.

Of course, I had Thumbless Jake to thank too. It was the nicest thing Jake had ever done. It had happened one raw, cold night in early spring, when it seemed like winter wouldn’t ever let go. Jake had stood me a mutton pie in a pub on the Strand that night. “You look like a drowned rat,” he’d growled as the rain beat down on us.

As we’d sat steaming in front of a fire, the rest of the patrons keeping their distance (not surprising, given the way we smelled), Abel Cooper had walked in and recognized Thumbless Jake.

“Why, if it ain’t Jake!” he exclaimed cheerily, coming over to shake Jake’s hand. “Remember me from the Lion? You used to shoe all the horses for our delivery wagons. Let me buy you a pint. I was that sorry to hear you’d left the business. I still say you were the best smith in London. Is this your lad here?”

“I’ll take a gin, Abel, if it’s all the same to you,” Jake muttered, his eyes lowered. Even through the layer of dirt on his skin, I could see a pink flush of shame creep up his neck.

Poor Jake
, I remember thinking.
It’s not easy for him to see his old pal now that he’s so down on his luck
.

Maybe it was Jake feeling like he wanted to be in charge of
something
that made him put me forward. “This is Eel,” he told Abel Cooper. “Now, ’e ain’t my boy, but ’e’s a good lad nonetheless. Had some letterin’ too. I hate to see ’im waste away on the river. You got a use for a boy over at the Lion?”

Abel Cooper looked me up and down. “You seem a sharp lad, with those dark, bright eyes,” he said agreeably. “Are you willing to work hard, boy?”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“Well, then, if you can clean yerself up, lad, so you don’t carry the stink of the Thames with you, I’ll have you meet Mr. Edward Huggins,” said Mr. Cooper. “Business is due to pick up this spring, and we could use a new messenger boy and someone to mop the floors and clean the place.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’ll have to pass muster with Mr. Edward, of course, but he’s a kind gentleman, not a bit like his brother,” Abel Cooper said. “Come to Broad Street in two weeks, lad. And get yourself cleaned up.”

That’s how I landed my position at the Lion Brewery. It was also why I owed Jake.

I’d done all right at the Lion, making myself useful and working hard for my keep. I fetched meat pies from the street sellers for the higher-ups. Seeing as how I knew London streets like the back of my hand, I could always be depended on to deliver messages quick-like. Part of the day, I’d sit in the Boys’ Box, a small room with a counter and pigeonholes and bells. Whenever a bell rang, I’d leap into action. I’d deliver the message as fast as I could and run right back for the next one.

I hadn’t been there long before Abel Cooper remarked on my speed. “How’d you get back so fast?” he asked me once when I turned up not long after going way over to Doughty Street. “The other messenger boys are constantly getting lost. It’s like you’ve got a map of the city in your head.”

I thought about this for a minute. “Well, Mr. Cooper, in a way I do. I’ve walked a lot, and know my way around the city. I make a map in my head before I start. So I usually can get there and back right quick.”

I’d been this way since I was little. Seeing how things fit together seemed to come natural.

“You’re like your father,” Mum had said once. I did have memories, thin and dreamlike, of long walks with Pa, or of sitting on his lap as he pored over a giant map of London, spread out to cover the entire table.

Abel Cooper had been pleased with my response. “Well done, Eel. I’ll mention this to Mr. Edward.”

Now Hugzie was trying to take all this away from me. I had to find a way to change Mr. John’s mind.

“Sir, if you want proof of where the extra coins in this tin box are from, let me fetch Mr. Griggs the tailor,” I said.

“He’ll vouch for me.”

Mr. John hesitated, and I felt sure he’d say no. Then he relented.

“All right,” he said reluctantly. “Ask Mr. Griggs to step over here if he is free. Let’s see if you’re telling the truth.”

“But … but, Uncle, he’s guilty!” Hugzie protested.