we don’t call it a gang, we call it a movement . And I’m not the fixer, I’m a facilitator . And we don’t go around doing tricks and talking to people, either. We’re reaching out, we’re engaging, we’re communicating . And worst of all, we have a plan to follow and a mission to fulfil. We’re showing people the way.’
‘So leave,’ Flea said.
‘Quit? That would be like giving up. Anyway, who’d look after Yesh?’
‘You don’t trust the others?’
‘I don’t trust him,’ Jude said.
‘So why should I care?’ Flea tried to growl. ‘Anyway, what do you want?’
Jude blinked, then laughed. ‘You’re a horrid little so-and-so. I was going to hire you for a day’s work – good wages too – but if you’re –’
‘How much?’ Flea said quickly. The thought of money snapped him out of his bad mood.
‘That got you interested. How much do you make in a typical day?’
‘A shekel,’ Flea lied.
‘Nice try. I know how these things work. I bet you have to pool it anyway, or pay off Big.’
‘Half a shekel.’
‘I’ll pay you half that,’ Jude said. ‘And feed you. And I promise not to tell anyone that I caught you red-handed trying to rob me –’
Jude broke off and looked over Flea’s head to the far distant southern end of the Temple. It was where the money changers took the visitors’ coins and exchanged them for Temple gold. You often got arguments there – the exchange rate was crippling and the actual cost of buying a dove or a lamb for sacrifice was high – but this was different.
‘Sounds like trouble,’ Flea said.
‘That’s what I’m worried about. They said they were planning something.’
‘Who? What?’
‘Yeshua. The others. I said it would make enough trouble just coming to the City, but no, he said he had to make a big statement and really show people what he was about.’
‘And what is he about? At first I thought he was a magician, but then . . .’ Flea protested.
‘That’s just what people call him when they want to put him down. Don’t you understand? He hasn’t come here to turn water into wine or pull eggs out of children’s ears, he’s come to . . . What’s going on now?’
Because the sound was growing even louder. Howls. Screams. And now fighting.
The magician’s words had obviously hit home with the crowd. The money changers and traders had never been popular. Now the crowd was taking out years of frustration on them. As Flea watched, a man clutching a moneybag broke free from the crush, but he was chased down and disappeared under a billowing sea of robes. Flea saw a trader trying to sneak towards the western gate with a wicker basket of white doves. He was spotted and started to sprint, holding his tunic up with one hand and the basket with the other. A small mob gave chase and surrounded him. A dove fluttered upwards, bloodstained and panicked, and just as it looked as if it might fly free a hand reached out and dragged it back.
The trumpet blast was harsh and shocking. Jude grabbed Flea. ‘The Temple Police! Will your gang have the sense to get out?’
‘The ones that can run will. But the others will be in big trouble – Clump and Crutches especially. They’re breaking the Laws of Perfection.’
‘And things will be even worse if the Imps wade in,’ Jude said. ‘He’s gone and done it this time. Look, get out now! I’ll find your friends and if I don’t see you later, see you tomorrow. Outside your shelter!’
And he was gone.
Flea huddled in the entrance to the shelter along with Big, Little Big, Crouch, Halo and Crutches. The woman who lived in the hovel opposite was shaking out a rug and her stuck-up daughter was airing the mattresses and giving them a good beating – they crammed their house full of out-of-towners for the Feast and lived off the rent for the rest of the year.
Dust flew. The daughter stared at them. Flea made faces at her, but it was pretty clear why she was interested. Big had a split lip, Little Big had a black eye and seemed groggy. Crutches had been knocked over and kicked. Crouch was curled up on his side, his hair still wet from spit and his tunic torn. There was no sign of Snot, the twins, Gaga, Clump, Hole-in-the-Head or Red.
Halo was sobbing loudly and when Big cuffed him, Flea exploded. ‘What are you doing? You should never have gone into the Temple. You were meant to rob the magician, not join up with him and his washed-up followers.’
‘Flea,’ Big said. ‘Shut up before I hang you upside down.’
Flea ignored the threat. ‘I thought we were meant never to trust anyone bigger than ourselves. We could have cleaned up. At least I had a go.’
‘Flea!’ Big’s tone became more urgent.
‘This is what happens when you suck up to adults . . . tramps! . . . . northerners! . . . con artists! show-offs . . .’
‘FLEA!’
‘WHAT?’ Flea screamed back. Everyone was laughing him, then looking past him, then at him and laughing some more. ‘WHAT, YOU BLOODY BASTARDS?’
‘Behind you, prat.’
He turned.
The missing gang members, the magician and his followers were filling the alleyway. Yeshua had his hands on Clump and Gaga’s shoulders, eyebrows raised. The others, with the rest of the Temple Boys, stood behind him.
Everyone seemed amused. To cover his confusion, Flea decided to carry on where he left off. ‘So? So they’re not dead? Big deal. We meet a magician and he doesn’t kill us. Great trick. It was a riot! Halo and Crouch could have got stoned to death for taking part in that stupid conjuring trick. People were saying they were witches. The rest of us could have got killed or trampled to death. We didn’t know where you were!’
‘You should have stuck with us,’ Red said. ‘It was fine.’
‘And what happens tomorrow if there’s a curfew? Or a lockdown? How do we beg? How do we eat? Does the magician know how to fix that?’
A short silence was followed by sniggers. Flea realised that he’d missed something.
‘Keep up, moron,’ Big said. ‘They’ve invited us to eat with them tomorrow night. It’s a big deal, a feast with wine and everything. And there’s no curfew, either. The Temple wouldn’t dare.’
‘No one told me!’
‘Do us a favour,’ Big said. ‘Don’t say another word.’
‘And
