friend’s voice and worked at his jaw as he looked so far ahead, he might squint into the future. “I bet our haul today will cover at least one of us.”
“But we go together,” Cutter reiterated.
“Together,” Dorian nodded, and they knocked their forearms.
A few months past, Cutter had hatched a scheme on the day the royals had paraded through High Street to celebrate the betrothal of a princess.
Dazzled by the accompanying regimentals in their crimson coats and rifles, he’d decided that in the space of a year, he and Dorian would be tall enough to lie about their ages and join Her Majesty’s Army whereupon they’d be paid a penny a day. Enough to keep Caroline in rooms, and even send her to the regimental school. Enough to get medicine for Jane Blackwell’s deteriorating health.
Enough to buy a future that didn’t end in an early grave or worse, prison.
But that took papers…documents of birth they didn’t have, and forging papers took money. So, they all kept whatever savings they could scrimp together in a tin hidden in Dorian’s wall, waiting for the day they’d have enough.
“All’s we have to do is evade the coppers until then.” Dorian shoved his chin toward a pair on their beat, cudgels already out though there was no disturbance. “They’ll give you nickel in Newgate for just about anything these days.”
“You’ll still marry her, won’t you?” Cutter’s soft question was almost lost to the din. “Even after the watchmaker. Even after—”
A rough punch landed on his shoulder. “’Course I will, you toad. Caro’s me first kiss and everything, and…we all gotta do what needs doing to survive.”
Dorian less than some, Cutter didn’t say.
Because it wasn’t his fault he had a mum, a roof over his head, or at least one or two guaranteed meals a day. Besides, Dorian and Mrs. Blackwell were generous whenever they could be.
“Maybe, if I’m going to marry Caroline, Mum would let her sleep in my corner with me.”
Cutter’s head snapped up as he speared Dorian with a glare.
“Not like that.” Dorian lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. “I won’t touch her or nothing. Just… so she wouldn’t have to sleep somewhere else. With…anyone else.”
Cutter had to swallow around a thickening throat before he could reply.
“You would do that?”
“’Course. We’re family.” Dorian shrugged him off. “I’d ask for you both if Mum didn’t rent out every inch of space we own at a premium.”
“It’s all right. I can fend for meself.”
They skipped, dodged, and slithered through the masses toward the docks, answering the calls of the other street lads, most of whom either feared or venerated them. Dorian, because he was strong as a cart horse with a punishing temper to match, and Cutter because of his aforementioned dead eyed aim and his sharp fists.
Cutter threw them convivial retorts out of habit alone. For some reason, the worse he felt the more stalwart he was at maintaining a pretense of normality.
If anyone knew you were down, they’d kick you for it.
So he did his best to conceal the devil of dread riding him today.
They arrived at Hangman’s Dock the same time the coroner’s cart did, so they had to act quickly before the police scattered the crowd.
“Look,” Cutter pointed above. “There’s a landlord charging a fee to get a glimpse from his fire escape. I’ll wager there’s at least a handful of shillings in that box.”
“He’s our mark.” Dorian made a quick assessment of the buildings and boathouses above the river. “Think you can climb that drainpipe there, and get to the roof above him? I’ll create a diversion and lead them away while you swipe what you can from the box.”
“I’ll swipe the whole bloody box, see if I don’t.” Cutter nodded and spit in his hands before raking them through the dry bank silt and rubbing them together. They’d just have to get to the other side of the crowd and then, he’d grasp the drainpipe, shimmy hand over hand until he’d scaled the two stories, and scoot onto the roof poised to drop into the spot the blighter would abandon once he tore off after Dorian.
This was one of his favorite ruses.
Cutter didn’t care about the corpse. Hell, he’d seen his fill of death after the last typhus epidemic raged through the East End, what was one bloated river find?
Boring, was what.
He followed his friend as they shouldered and shoved and jostled as many people as they could, their enterprising hands dipping into every place and coming