that’s what she did – but he didn’t thieve and he didn’t beg. No use but no harm, so what was the danger?
‘You all right?’ Rag asked, when Markus didn’t speak.
He shrugged back. ‘Good as ever,’ he said.
Rag hadn’t asked, and Markus hadn’t told, but she reckoned on the boy’s father being a bit of a bastard, which was why he had taken to wandering the streets so far from home and hanging round with the urchins. It weren’t none of her affair so she didn’t pry. Everyone had their own private business, she reckoned.
‘Might be cold tonight,’ said Chirpy. ‘We should maybe think about getting the fire going again.’
‘Don’t talk wet,’ Tidge replied. ‘Ain’t been cold for ages. I reckons we should save the wood for another night.’
Rag smiled at his good sense. For his age he had a solid head on his shoulders. He might even be clever enough to leave this shit life when he was old enough.
‘We’ll wait and see,’ said Rag. ‘Could be a storm coming.’ She nodded through the missing slats in the shack towards the north. A dark cloudbank was gathering on the horizon, an ominous blackness that threatened to consume the clear blue.
‘What the fuck’s this, a mothers’ meeting?’
Rag started at the voice, but as soon as she saw the tall figure framed in the doorway she relaxed.
Fender climbed inside, his lithe muscular limbs moving with feline grace within the confines of the makeshift shelter.
‘What’s the matter? You’ve a face as long as a donkey’s cock.’ He sat down in the middle of the group, with Migs and Chirpy shuffling up to give him room. ‘Looks like you’ve had a shit day at work, Rag? Where’s your coat?’
‘I gave it to your mum,’ she replied. ‘She said she was cold sucking cock at night time.’
Fender smiled back. He’d never known his mother or father, so it weren’t any insult. ‘It’s a good job one of us has been busy, ain’t it?’ He reached in the pocket of his coat and pulled out a tiny bronze vase. The younger boys looked at it with awe, their little faces lighting up at such a flagrant display of wealth.
Fender tossed the item to Tidge. ‘Go deal this to Boris downstairs. And don’t let the fat bastard sell you short.’
Tidge didn’t need telling twice and ran out of the shack faster than Rag had ever seen him move. This was good – they might eat tonight. Boris, innkeeper of the Silent Bull, didn’t mind them making a home on the roof as long as they kept providing him with the odd trinket. He’d even give them food and a little grog if the items were valuable enough.
‘What the fuck’s he doing here?’ Fender said suddenly, looking daggers at Markus.
‘He ain’t doing nothing,’ Rag replied defensively, but she knew it wouldn’t placate Fender – he hated Markus. It was jealousy, pure and simple, and Fender could be a nasty bastard sometimes. Nevertheless, Markus had always taken every slap and insult Fender dished out, and kept coming back for more.
‘I’ve had enough of it.’ Fender stood, ducking beneath the low roof of the shack but still towering over the rest of them. ‘If he stays, he pays, like the rest.’
‘Sit down, Fen—’
‘Fuck off, Rag, I mean it. Get out, rich boy, and don’t fucking come back until you bring something worthwhile. We all gives a bit for the pot. Time you did the same.’
Markus had already moved to the door, clearly fearful of Fender and his cold challenge, but he raised his chin defiantly. Rag had to admit she was a bit proud of him for that.
‘All right, I will,’ he said in a small voice. Then he ran off across the roof.
‘You didn’t have to do that. He’s one of us,’ said Rag.
‘Like fuck he is. He’s got family. He don’t need us. Let’s wait for winter, shall we, wait for the biting cold and the hunger to set in? Then we’ll see how many times he comes to stay.’
Rag didn’t answer. She wanted to tell Fender where to go, wanted to tell him
‘You all right?’ Rag asked, when Markus didn’t speak.
He shrugged back. ‘Good as ever,’ he said.
Rag hadn’t asked, and Markus hadn’t told, but she reckoned on the boy’s father being a bit of a bastard, which was why he had taken to wandering the streets so far from home and hanging round with the urchins. It weren’t none of her affair so she didn’t pry. Everyone had their own private business, she reckoned.
‘Might be cold tonight,’ said Chirpy. ‘We should maybe think about getting the fire going again.’
‘Don’t talk wet,’ Tidge replied. ‘Ain’t been cold for ages. I reckons we should save the wood for another night.’
Rag smiled at his good sense. For his age he had a solid head on his shoulders. He might even be clever enough to leave this shit life when he was old enough.
‘We’ll wait and see,’ said Rag. ‘Could be a storm coming.’ She nodded through the missing slats in the shack towards the north. A dark cloudbank was gathering on the horizon, an ominous blackness that threatened to consume the clear blue.
‘What the fuck’s this, a mothers’ meeting?’
Rag started at the voice, but as soon as she saw the tall figure framed in the doorway she relaxed.
Fender climbed inside, his lithe muscular limbs moving with feline grace within the confines of the makeshift shelter.
‘What’s the matter? You’ve a face as long as a donkey’s cock.’ He sat down in the middle of the group, with Migs and Chirpy shuffling up to give him room. ‘Looks like you’ve had a shit day at work, Rag? Where’s your coat?’
‘I gave it to your mum,’ she replied. ‘She said she was cold sucking cock at night time.’
Fender smiled back. He’d never known his mother or father, so it weren’t any insult. ‘It’s a good job one of us has been busy, ain’t it?’ He reached in the pocket of his coat and pulled out a tiny bronze vase. The younger boys looked at it with awe, their little faces lighting up at such a flagrant display of wealth.
Fender tossed the item to Tidge. ‘Go deal this to Boris downstairs. And don’t let the fat bastard sell you short.’
Tidge didn’t need telling twice and ran out of the shack faster than Rag had ever seen him move. This was good – they might eat tonight. Boris, innkeeper of the Silent Bull, didn’t mind them making a home on the roof as long as they kept providing him with the odd trinket. He’d even give them food and a little grog if the items were valuable enough.
‘What the fuck’s he doing here?’ Fender said suddenly, looking daggers at Markus.
‘He ain’t doing nothing,’ Rag replied defensively, but she knew it wouldn’t placate Fender – he hated Markus. It was jealousy, pure and simple, and Fender could be a nasty bastard sometimes. Nevertheless, Markus had always taken every slap and insult Fender dished out, and kept coming back for more.
‘I’ve had enough of it.’ Fender stood, ducking beneath the low roof of the shack but still towering over the rest of them. ‘If he stays, he pays, like the rest.’
‘Sit down, Fen—’
‘Fuck off, Rag, I mean it. Get out, rich boy, and don’t fucking come back until you bring something worthwhile. We all gives a bit for the pot. Time you did the same.’
Markus had already moved to the door, clearly fearful of Fender and his cold challenge, but he raised his chin defiantly. Rag had to admit she was a bit proud of him for that.
‘All right, I will,’ he said in a small voice. Then he ran off across the roof.
‘You didn’t have to do that. He’s one of us,’ said Rag.
‘Like fuck he is. He’s got family. He don’t need us. Let’s wait for winter, shall we, wait for the biting cold and the hunger to set in? Then we’ll see how many times he comes to stay.’
Rag didn’t answer. She wanted to tell Fender where to go, wanted to tell him
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