parents are worried about you.”
The boy shrugged. “Ain’t got no parents.”
“No parents? But how were you born?”
The boy frowned. “I mean sir, they’re dead. I come from the charnel house.”
“The what what?”
“The johnny cab. The black fit-up on Pentonville Road.”
Velvene still had no idea what the boy meant. “What is your name? Why are you so far away from Islington?”
“Tyko Matchmaker, sir. I was running away. Then it went all hairy and I got stuck.”
Velvene found himself more confused now than annoyed. “Where do you sleep and take your meals, Tyko?”
“The johnny cab. But I don’t want to go back. They beat me.”
“Beat you? At games and the like, eh?”
“With sticks. If I don’t work hard enough.”
“You mean,” Velvene said, “they strike you?”
“Yes, sir. It hurts. I thought Mr Gladstone was going to help us kids?”
Despite himself, Velvene smiled. He knew nothing about children, but he did know that this one grasped enough about the world to bring Gladstone into the conversation. “I suspect he was too busy dealing with the Irish,” he replied. “Well, Tyko, there is nothing I can do for you, but I am heading south so I will protect you as far as I can along the way.”
“But I don’t want to go back, sir. There’s five hundred boys in my dorm, and we all hate the masters, every one of us.”
“Five hundred? How is that possible in one house?”
“They work us day and night. It’s the law.” Tyko shrugged. “They say it’s worse in Indoo. I heard they made a tiny room in Calcutty and stuffed–”
“Yes, that is quite enough talk of Indoo,” Velvene said. “I am afraid Tyko that I find your story impossible to believe, and so I am going to accompany you to this...”
“Johnny cab.”
“... of yours and take a look. And if conditions are half as bad as you claim I shall take action. Stiff action. Do we have a deal?”
“S’pose so,” Tyko muttered. “Got any food, sir? I ain’t eaten for two days.”
“Two...?”
“They feed us every other evening. What’s that statue you got, sir?”
Velvene glanced back at the clay figure. “Well, I don’t really...” He paused. Now that he looked again he noticed that the figure had changed, its legs less lumpy, its arms more slender, and longer. He took a step back and squinted, but the light was too poor to be certain.
They began forging a path down Brecknock Road. Tyko said, “Why don’t you sell it sir, then we could buy us some grub.”
“Grub?”
“Nosh.”
“Nosh?”
“You’re not from ’round here, are you sir?”
Velvene replied, “No, I live in Belgravia.”
“Is that on the Continent?”
Velvene sighed. He could hardly believe that children were quite so inquisitive, quite so forward, and quite so hungry. But though he disbelieved Tyko about the conditions of his house, there was something in the boy’s direct honesty that tugged at the back of his mind. Belgravia, it had to be said, was a district of distinction, and it could be argued that none of the Orchardtides had experienced all the regions of London. And one did hear stories of deprivation on occasion, when they were reported in the back pages of the Times ...
“Tyko, do you read at all?”
“Yes sir, I steal as many newspapers as I can. The Filth Gazette mostly. If I lived abroad like you, I’d steal the Times .”
“I do not live abroad,” Velvene said, with no little exasperation. “But you believe in God, eh?”
“No sir. Only fools believe in God.”
Appalled, Velvene stopped, grabbed the boy by the ear and said, “ What did you say?”
Tyko seemed unaffected by the rough treatment. “Only fools, sir. I’m an agnostician. I don’t think you can prove anything beyond doubt.”
“You are parroting!” Velvene cried. “You heard somebody say that, and you are repeating it to me!”
“That’s right, sir. But I understand what it means.”
Velvene flung Tyko to the ground. But
The boy shrugged. “Ain’t got no parents.”
“No parents? But how were you born?”
The boy frowned. “I mean sir, they’re dead. I come from the charnel house.”
“The what what?”
“The johnny cab. The black fit-up on Pentonville Road.”
Velvene still had no idea what the boy meant. “What is your name? Why are you so far away from Islington?”
“Tyko Matchmaker, sir. I was running away. Then it went all hairy and I got stuck.”
Velvene found himself more confused now than annoyed. “Where do you sleep and take your meals, Tyko?”
“The johnny cab. But I don’t want to go back. They beat me.”
“Beat you? At games and the like, eh?”
“With sticks. If I don’t work hard enough.”
“You mean,” Velvene said, “they strike you?”
“Yes, sir. It hurts. I thought Mr Gladstone was going to help us kids?”
Despite himself, Velvene smiled. He knew nothing about children, but he did know that this one grasped enough about the world to bring Gladstone into the conversation. “I suspect he was too busy dealing with the Irish,” he replied. “Well, Tyko, there is nothing I can do for you, but I am heading south so I will protect you as far as I can along the way.”
“But I don’t want to go back, sir. There’s five hundred boys in my dorm, and we all hate the masters, every one of us.”
“Five hundred? How is that possible in one house?”
“They work us day and night. It’s the law.” Tyko shrugged. “They say it’s worse in Indoo. I heard they made a tiny room in Calcutty and stuffed–”
“Yes, that is quite enough talk of Indoo,” Velvene said. “I am afraid Tyko that I find your story impossible to believe, and so I am going to accompany you to this...”
“Johnny cab.”
“... of yours and take a look. And if conditions are half as bad as you claim I shall take action. Stiff action. Do we have a deal?”
“S’pose so,” Tyko muttered. “Got any food, sir? I ain’t eaten for two days.”
“Two...?”
“They feed us every other evening. What’s that statue you got, sir?”
Velvene glanced back at the clay figure. “Well, I don’t really...” He paused. Now that he looked again he noticed that the figure had changed, its legs less lumpy, its arms more slender, and longer. He took a step back and squinted, but the light was too poor to be certain.
They began forging a path down Brecknock Road. Tyko said, “Why don’t you sell it sir, then we could buy us some grub.”
“Grub?”
“Nosh.”
“Nosh?”
“You’re not from ’round here, are you sir?”
Velvene replied, “No, I live in Belgravia.”
“Is that on the Continent?”
Velvene sighed. He could hardly believe that children were quite so inquisitive, quite so forward, and quite so hungry. But though he disbelieved Tyko about the conditions of his house, there was something in the boy’s direct honesty that tugged at the back of his mind. Belgravia, it had to be said, was a district of distinction, and it could be argued that none of the Orchardtides had experienced all the regions of London. And one did hear stories of deprivation on occasion, when they were reported in the back pages of the Times ...
“Tyko, do you read at all?”
“Yes sir, I steal as many newspapers as I can. The Filth Gazette mostly. If I lived abroad like you, I’d steal the Times .”
“I do not live abroad,” Velvene said, with no little exasperation. “But you believe in God, eh?”
“No sir. Only fools believe in God.”
Appalled, Velvene stopped, grabbed the boy by the ear and said, “ What did you say?”
Tyko seemed unaffected by the rough treatment. “Only fools, sir. I’m an agnostician. I don’t think you can prove anything beyond doubt.”
“You are parroting!” Velvene cried. “You heard somebody say that, and you are repeating it to me!”
“That’s right, sir. But I understand what it means.”
Velvene flung Tyko to the ground. But
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