threshold into the main pub when Ballast began to revive. It started as a muffled groan, growing louder as consciousness returned. Fantine and the boy heard it too because they sped up their pace, pushing through the crowd almost before Marcus could shut the door behind them.
"Out o' me way," cried the boy as he weaved quickly through the crowd. "Ballast's got a special treat fer 'is lordship, and th' swell is anxious t' see it."
Picking up his cue, Marcus shifted quickly into the pose of a drunk peer too stupid to realize his own danger.
"Hurry up, boy," he said, slurring his words slightly. "I want to shee this woman with four breasts." He grinned as he made a drunken grab for the barmaid while stumbling past a thick-shouldered obstacle. "One for each hand, an' my lips, then another for spare."
The boy rolled his eyes for the crowd's benefit, tugging Marcus away from Gilly. "Come along, guv."
Marcus nodded and lurched forward, making sure his motions speeded up their progress. From behind, he heard Ballast's roar as the man fully regained consciousness. Fortunately, they made it out into the street before the noise died.
"Go that way," said Sprat, pointing. "An' around th' back."
Fantine nodded, grabbing the boy's arm before he could escape. "Will 'e hurt ye fer this?"
"Naw," he said with a grin. "I'll jes tell 'im ye knocked me out while I was taking ye to the stable."
"The stable?" asked Marcus.
"Ballast's place t' initiate girls into whoring," Fantine answered grimly.
Marcus gritted his teeth, wondering how she could speak of such things as if they were of no consequence. But there was no time to think as the sounds from within the pub grew louder. "We must be going," he said urgently.
Fantine nodded. "Do it," she said, turning toward Marcus.
He blinked. "Do what?"
"Hit the boy. But do not hurt 'im."
"What? Now?" It was not that he misunderstood her meaning or even the purpose of the act. It was simply that his mind could not grasp that he must actually hit a boy with the intent of knocking him unconscious. "But—"
"Hurry," urged Fantine as she began stacking debris in front of the pub door.
"Very well," he said, forcing himself to knot his fist despite his reluctance. Then he pulled back and swung.
His blow landed neatly on the boy's cheek, knocking the child's head to one side. Then the boy turned his head back to him with a grimace.
"'At's it?" he asked as he slapped disdainfully at his cheek. "Me own grandma cain do better than that. There ain't gonna be no bruise!"
Marcus gaped at the boy. Did he actually mean he was to hit him harder?
"Aw, never mind, guv," Sprat said, disgust plain on his small face. Then he grabbed a nearby piece of wood and raised it aloft. "Remember," he said urgently. "Yer deal is wi' me."
"I remember," answered Fantine softly.
Then the boy hit himself with his makeshift club. He had not enough strength to do more than bruise himself, but Marcus winced nevertheless. Then tossing the club away, Sprat looked at Fantine. "Good eno'?"
"Aye. Good enough."
With an impish grin, he sprang backward as if thrown, smashing bodily against the wall only to sprawl on his side in the dirty gutter.
Marcus stared at him in shock, amazed at the sight. "Do you think he is really injured?"
"No," she said with a smile. "He is good. Almost as good as I was at his age." Then, before she could say more, the pub door burst open and three very large men armed with long knives appeared, easily pushing through Fantine's stack of debris.
"They's right 'ere!" one of them bellowed.
Marcus and Fantine ran.
* * *
Jump, scramble, duck, run. No thoughts. No noise. Run .
Fantine scampered like the rat she took her nickname from. She scurried, she struggled, but most of all, she ran, searching through the black night for an escape.
Chadwick was right behind her, huffing and wheezing like an old dog. In truth, he had done remarkably well, especially given that Nameless had already run him for
"Out o' me way," cried the boy as he weaved quickly through the crowd. "Ballast's got a special treat fer 'is lordship, and th' swell is anxious t' see it."
Picking up his cue, Marcus shifted quickly into the pose of a drunk peer too stupid to realize his own danger.
"Hurry up, boy," he said, slurring his words slightly. "I want to shee this woman with four breasts." He grinned as he made a drunken grab for the barmaid while stumbling past a thick-shouldered obstacle. "One for each hand, an' my lips, then another for spare."
The boy rolled his eyes for the crowd's benefit, tugging Marcus away from Gilly. "Come along, guv."
Marcus nodded and lurched forward, making sure his motions speeded up their progress. From behind, he heard Ballast's roar as the man fully regained consciousness. Fortunately, they made it out into the street before the noise died.
"Go that way," said Sprat, pointing. "An' around th' back."
Fantine nodded, grabbing the boy's arm before he could escape. "Will 'e hurt ye fer this?"
"Naw," he said with a grin. "I'll jes tell 'im ye knocked me out while I was taking ye to the stable."
"The stable?" asked Marcus.
"Ballast's place t' initiate girls into whoring," Fantine answered grimly.
Marcus gritted his teeth, wondering how she could speak of such things as if they were of no consequence. But there was no time to think as the sounds from within the pub grew louder. "We must be going," he said urgently.
Fantine nodded. "Do it," she said, turning toward Marcus.
He blinked. "Do what?"
"Hit the boy. But do not hurt 'im."
"What? Now?" It was not that he misunderstood her meaning or even the purpose of the act. It was simply that his mind could not grasp that he must actually hit a boy with the intent of knocking him unconscious. "But—"
"Hurry," urged Fantine as she began stacking debris in front of the pub door.
"Very well," he said, forcing himself to knot his fist despite his reluctance. Then he pulled back and swung.
His blow landed neatly on the boy's cheek, knocking the child's head to one side. Then the boy turned his head back to him with a grimace.
"'At's it?" he asked as he slapped disdainfully at his cheek. "Me own grandma cain do better than that. There ain't gonna be no bruise!"
Marcus gaped at the boy. Did he actually mean he was to hit him harder?
"Aw, never mind, guv," Sprat said, disgust plain on his small face. Then he grabbed a nearby piece of wood and raised it aloft. "Remember," he said urgently. "Yer deal is wi' me."
"I remember," answered Fantine softly.
Then the boy hit himself with his makeshift club. He had not enough strength to do more than bruise himself, but Marcus winced nevertheless. Then tossing the club away, Sprat looked at Fantine. "Good eno'?"
"Aye. Good enough."
With an impish grin, he sprang backward as if thrown, smashing bodily against the wall only to sprawl on his side in the dirty gutter.
Marcus stared at him in shock, amazed at the sight. "Do you think he is really injured?"
"No," she said with a smile. "He is good. Almost as good as I was at his age." Then, before she could say more, the pub door burst open and three very large men armed with long knives appeared, easily pushing through Fantine's stack of debris.
"They's right 'ere!" one of them bellowed.
Marcus and Fantine ran.
* * *
Jump, scramble, duck, run. No thoughts. No noise. Run .
Fantine scampered like the rat she took her nickname from. She scurried, she struggled, but most of all, she ran, searching through the black night for an escape.
Chadwick was right behind her, huffing and wheezing like an old dog. In truth, he had done remarkably well, especially given that Nameless had already run him for
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