Temple Boys by Jamie Buxton

tongue,” Jude said urgently. “Talk like that could get you into trouble. Haven’t you felt the mood in the city?”
    â€œNo different from usual.”
    â€œGood god. How are you still alive? Use your eyes,” Jude said. “Look!” He pointed to a corner where a group of men were huddled together talking. One of them put his head up, whispered something urgently, and the group dispersed. Then Flea saw three other men approaching, moving smoothly as if they knew no one could touch them: Temple spies. You could always tell them by the way they walked, as if they owned the city but never stopped looking around.
    â€œAnd there,” Jude said. More spies were closing in from the other direction.
    â€œAnd in the middle of all that, Yesh starts a riot in the Temple.”
    â€œYou thought that was stupid?”
    â€œStop asking questions, Flea.”
    â€œOr wrong? Why does it matter?”
    â€œIt matters. That’s all you have to know.”
    â€œOh, I get it,” Flea said. “You want to protect him from danger. Nothing bad about that.”
    Jude looked Flea straight in the eye. “Stop. Asking. Questions. And. Do. What. I. Say. This is where you start to earn your keep.”

 
    14
    Flea’s job was to stick behind Jude, look unimportant, and check to see if anyone was following him. He was good at not being noticed and was pleased that Jude didn’t spot him when he looked back.
    Jude turned off the street of the spice sellers and into a small yard where half a dozen donkeys and two camels with patchy fur were tethered to wall rings. He spoke to the groom, who shrugged and shook his head. Around the corner was another yard, and close to that a couple more. In each one, Jude asked questions but always got the same shrug or shake of the head. Flea noted how Jude’s shoulders slumped each time he was sent on his way.
    But what was he doing? There was no sign of haggling, so he wasn’t looking to hire a beast. Rather he seemed to ask a couple of questions, often repeating them before moving on. So he was trying to find something out.
    To the west of the sheep pens Jude followed a series of twisting alleyways so narrow the houses almost met above their heads, and the air was as still and thick as a stagnant pond. Flea did not know this part of the city, and he became even more cautious. He watched as Jude squeezed down an alleyway beside a half-ruined warehouse. In front of the sagging doors, traders were selling stale vegetables laid out on the ground. From inside came the sound of hammering. Smoke was belching from a chimney, which probably meant it was some kind of factory.
    Cautiously he followed Jude down the alley and peered around the corner into a dank, sunless court that stank of animal dung. At the back of it was a shelter where a stringy brown donkey nosed at an empty manger, and a camel stared haughtily at a wall.
    Jude was talking to an old man.
    Suddenly the scene on the bridge from the day before flashed into Flea’s mind. That old man was the donkey driver and here, surely, were the two useless beasts that had caused the traffic jam. What were they both doing here, sharing the same stall? Jude was arguing and the old man was shrugging and looking blank, but there was something sly about him. Now Jude was reaching into his purse and pressing coins into the hand of the old man, who shrugged, then said something. Jude seemed to ask for confirmation, then nodded and walked away, a very different expression on his face. Thoughtful, worried, but more determined.
    As Flea followed Jude out of the alley, he noticed a man stooping in front of one of the vegetable sellers. The man was pretending to smell the herbs, but his eyes were darting left and right. When Jude turned in his direction, he looked away quickly. No reason to do that, Flea thought, and he hung back.
    Jude set off. The man standing at the vegetable stall put down a large green