made his head jerk every few seconds or so, especially when he was talking, but he had a grip like a dog’s jaws, which was useful when he was shaking you down for your takings at the end of the day.
All money was shared. Basically, the rest of the gang paid Big to protect them – mostly from Big himself.
‘Listen up!’ Big said. He was standing on the edge of a cracked stone water trough with Little Big sitting at his feet. ‘We’ll pair up today and work Temple Square. Crouch and Hole-in-the-Head, you two together. Crouch needs a stick, someone.’
Crouch was bent double and it hurt him to lift his head. Hole-in-the-Head had lost an eye and he shaved his head in patches so it looked like he had a skin condition. They always did well because Crouch’s usual expression was heartbreakingly brave and hopeful.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ Flea said, but Big just carried on talking.
‘Halo and Crutches – you two hang out by the washing pools. Halo, you’ve got to cry. Crutches, you’ve got to comfort him, but it’s hard because you’re in such pain yourself. What’s your story?’
‘Can we be from out of town and we’re on our own because our parents haven’t got the money to pay the Temple tax?’ Halo said. He was the pretty one and smaller even than Flea. But, unlike Flea, the rest of the gang were always nice to him.
‘We’ll get nice and dusty and say we walked all the way,’ Crutches said in his odd, deep voice. He was a surprisingly good pickpocket even though he could hardly use his legs.
‘Good,’ Big said. ‘Who’s left? Gaga, Snot, Red, Clump, Smash and Grab.’
‘And me!’ Flea said. ‘But listen. If we head for the Black Valley Bridge and . . .’
Big did not even glance at him. ‘Tell you what. Snot, it should be you teamed up with Crutches and crying. Halo, you and Gaga go to the top of the steps and beg as people are going in. Gaga, make that funny noise, and Halo, just look sad.’
Gaga nodded his head and said, ‘Gagagaga .’ It was the only noise he ever made, hence his name, and he let people know what he thought by nodding, shaking his head or punching them. Snot sniffed marshily and spat out a huge gob of mucus. Gaga punched him.
Big said, ‘Quite right. No gobbing, especially near the Temple. You’ll get the Temple Police after you. Now then. Clump, Red, Smash and Grab: you know those shelters that’ve gone up the other side of the west wall? Can you handle them?’
‘People stare at my scars, so I’ll be the diversion,’ Red said. He was burned down the left side of his body and found it hard to close his left eye.
‘We could have a fight,’ Clump said. ‘I’ll attack you then Smash and Grab can sneak in round the back.’
‘Why can’t we fight?’ Smash and Grab asked, both saying the same thing at the same time.
‘Because I can’t run, can I?’ Clump said. His twisted right foot slowed him up. ‘You two can get in and out faster than us. As soon as we see you leave, we’ll kiss and make up.’
‘Yeah, kiss my scars,’ Red said, and got a laugh.
‘But I . . .’ Flea said.
‘Right, that’s it,’ Big said. ‘Get moving.’
‘It’s not going to work!’ Flea shouted at their backs. ‘All the other gangs will be at the Temple, especially today. But if we head for the Black Valley Bridge we might have a chance!’
No one turned. No one listened. Muttering angrily, he set off behind them.
Flea hadn’t been a member of the Temple Boys for that long. The autumn before, he had seen them at work and thought he would try to join them.
He was at a loose end. He’d been a runner for a smalltime gangster called Mosh the Dosh, but quit when he overheard Mosh was planning to sell him to a grain merchant from the coast. He’d tried to get in with an Upper City gang, but a dozen other street children with exactly the same idea had chased him off. He couldn’t return to grave robbing and had already run away from the stink of a glue factory, where his job had been to tend the fires under the massive cauldrons of bone, skin and slaughterhouse offcuts. But going solo was too dangerous. Only that morning he’d seen a beggar lying in the gutter with his throat cut, stripped of his all clothes. Passers-by stepped over him, round him, ignored him as if he didn’t exist.
So he’d been watching the world go by in the Upper City when he’d spotted two red-headed boys, twins, loitering by the entrance to a yard not far from him. It looked as if they were trying to hide at the same as watching the street, but they stood out like a pair of sore thumbs. It was obvious they were waiting for someone to rob.
A merchant came out of the inn with a swirl of flowing robes. He stroked his oiled beard and put a scented handkerchief to his bulbous nose, as if the smell of the street was just too, too much for him. The twins stiffened like dogs spotting a rat. Flea thought they made pretty rubbish thieves.
Then a boy on crutches, who had been leaning against the wall, swung himself across the road and tapped the merchant on his arm.
The merchant looked down impatiently, listened, then glanced across at the scowling twins. Understanding dawned on his face. He patted the boy on the head, reached into a pocket and handed him a coin. But as he made off down the street his hand strayed to his hip, where he patted a small bulge.
Flea smiled and waited. Two purses, he thought. One for loose change, one rather more promising – and the merchant had just given away where it was. The twins made a great show of scowling at the merchant as he set off down the street. What he did not spot was another boy walking towards him, who seemed to trip and cannon into him before running off.
The merchant shouted at the boy’s retreating back, walked on and then patted the place where his fat little purse had been. It was gone. He fumbled his robes, looked at the ground and stared accusingly towards the twins. They hadn’t moved. He looked down the street, but even if he had been able to spot the small boy, it wouldn’t have made any difference: Flea’s expert gaze had seen him pass the purse to a one-eyed boy, who in turn had handed it on to a boy with a twitch. It was the perfect set-up.
The merchant yelled, ‘Stop thief !’ But who to stop? The stream of people in the street flowed on, sweeping away the twins and all the other gang members.
‘Misdirection’ was the longest word Flea knew. It was the art of making someone look so hard at one thing that they missed what was going on under their nose. He had just seen it in action.
Flea had a few tricks of his own. He followed the twins all the way back to the den and had been hanging around with the Temple Boys ever since.
But that was then. Now Flea and the gang were close to the Temple, picking their way through the dark alley over the rubbish that had accumulated in the past few days.
At the end of the alley they could see Temple Square bathed in sunlight: a big, clean space, watched over by the Temple Police who in turn were watched over by Imperial Roman soldiers. That was the system – if the Temple Police ever lost
