so I hid out in the sewers, see? They didn’t even follow, on account of being too fat and too drunk, in my opinion. Then I found out about toshing and, well, that’s it, sir, all of it, more or less.’
He watched Charlie’s face for an expression more than a noncommittal stare, and then Charlie appeared to wake up and said, ‘And what would you do if you had had a different name, Dodger? A name such as Master Geoffrey Smith, for example, or Master Jonathan Baxter?’
‘Dunno, sir. Probably been a normal person, sir.’
At this, Charlie smiled and said, ‘I rather believe that you are an unusual one, my friend.’
Was that a real smile on Charlie’s face? You couldn’t be sure with Charlie, and so that was unresolved as they left the coffee house and went their separate ways, Charlie to go wherever he went and Dodger to make his way back, delighting Onan by buying him a juicy bone from a butcher just before the man closed for the night. Onan carefully carried it home in his mouth, dribbling as he did so.
Not a bad day, Dodger thought as he walked up the stairs to the attic room. Finishing with more money too, not to mention a pocketful of sugar lumps.
1 A small man or boy who could wriggle into narrow, open windows or fanlights – especially fanlights, which were often ajar – to get into a building, then let in his associates to join him in stealing everything that could be stolen.
CHAPTER 5
The hero of the hour meets his damsel in distress again, but wins a kiss from a very enthusiastic lady
SOLOMON WAS STILL at work at his little lathe when Dodger came up the stairs. It was always strange to watch Sol working; it was as if he had disappeared. Oh yes, he was there, but mostly his brain was lodged in his fingertips, paying no attention to anything other than what he was very carefully doing until it seemed all part of some kind of natural process, as gentle as grass growing. Dodger envied him that peacefulness, but it wouldn’t suit him, he was sure.
Sol’s choice of clobber wouldn’t suit him either, oh no. When he went to the synagogue the old boy wore baggy pantaloons and a ragged gabardine coat, summer and winter; and when safely back in his lair in the attic, even longer pantaloons from who knew where, with a vest which – give him his due – was generally always as white as could be achieved. On his feet he chose to wear some very carefully embroidered slippers acquired in foreign parts where Solomon had some time or another apparently lived and, possibly, from which he had escaped with his life. Then, of course, there was his apron, with a very big pocket in the front so that any small fiddly and expensive items that rolled off the workbench would be caught in it.
There was an appetizing smell coming from the cauldron on the stove – Mrs Quickly’s mutton being put to good use – that automatically made Dodger lick his lips. Dodger never knew how Solomon managed it; the old man could make a delicious dinner out of half a brick and a lump of wood. When he’d asked him one day, Solomon had replied, ‘Mmm, I suppose it was all that wandering in the wilderness; it makes you do the best you can with what you’ve got.’
Dodger lay awake on his mattress for most of the night, and lying awake was very easy to do; often there were fights back down in the yards when the blokes came home, and then the screaming babies and terrible rows – the whole cacophony that was the lullaby of Seven Dials. Happy families, he thought. Are there any? And over and above the streets there were the bells, clanging out all over the city.
Dodger stared at the ceiling, thinking about the coach. Messy Bessie probably wasn’t going to be any more help, and so it seemed to Dodger that the only way to find out more was to continue to ask questions, in the hope of coming to the attention of the aforesaid people who didn’t like questions being asked, and especially didn’t like questions being answered. He bet they would know a thing or two.
Where to start, where to start? A squeaky wheel, and a nobby coach. Did it have a crest on it? Maybe one with eagles? Perhaps the girl would