Rough hands grabbed at my left ankle, halting my forward momentum. I let him draw me several inches backward until I was close enough to kick backward with my right foot. It collided with something that felt like a face, and a scream split the alley. The anchor on my other foot dropped away, and I was on my feet and running.
I didn’t even think as my feet took me down familiar roads and alleys, ducking between buildings and clambering over fences as necessary. I had barely fit through the hole, he would never be able to do so. By the time he made it over the top or around to the other side of the wall, I had every intention of being long gone.
So many hours spent with a needle in hand had decreased my fitness for such activities, and I was soon short of breath. A short distance after that, I had to stop, bending over and gulping deep breaths of air. Between gasps I looked around, getting my bearings.
Good sense suggested I should have run for the governor’s mansion—Marcus wouldn’t dare touch me there. But instinct had led me to a very different part of the city. And I found I couldn’t regret my feet’s decision. Something was happening on the streets of Largo, and I needed to talk to the people who knew those streets better than anyone.
Orienting myself, I took off again, moving more slowly and cautiously now. I saw no sign of Marcus but kept careful watch just in case. The streets emptied, and I entered a small pocket on the outskirts of the city full of crumbling buildings, most long ago abandoned. My eyes searched for a familiar sight, something to tell me I hadn’t come on a fool’s errand.
There. I quickly crossed the street and slipped into a tiny alleyway. I strode halfway up it, marveling at how few steps it now took me to reach the boarded window at street height. I assessed it with my eyes. Would I fit through? I thought so—just.
Feeling along the gap behind one corner of the boards with my littlest finger, I unhooked a series of clasps and swung the boards wide, revealing an empty window behind them. Taking a deep breath, I swung myself into the darkness beyond, feet first.
My shoulders squeezed through with another ripping sound. I sighed. This dress was undoubtedly ruined by my day’s adventures.
I had barely regained my balance in the dim space below ground when a small shape hit my chest hard and sent me hurtling backward. I landed with a solid thump and struggled to draw breath given the heavy weight now settled on my chest.
“Someone get a light,” said a small voice off to one side and then a single spot of flame flared. It quickly spawned several more until a rosy glow filled the large room.
I managed to wheeze several breaths in and out, before choking out, “Gerroff me.”
“She sounds like one of us,” said the first voice, which turned out to belong to a grinning girl of indeterminate age. I doubted she was more than eight, however.
“Look at ’er, though,” said another, his voice dripping with scorn. “She’s a full-sizer, she can’t be one of us.”
“Check ’er for weapons so’s I can get up,” said the one sitting on my chest.
The girl with the grin came forward and ran light hands over me. “She’s clean.”
The youngster on my chest bounded off, springing off my ribcage. “Ooof,” I groaned, rolling over and pushing myself onto all fours. I took several full breaths before pushing myself up to standing.
Looking around at the short statures around me, I reversed course and sat down. They all regarded me with eyes ranging from curious to suspicious to hostile. I counted seven children in the large den, ranging in age from what looked like four to almost teenagers. I knew from experience that more than seven likely lived here—the others must be out on the streets. I wished I’d brought some food as a peace offering, but I’d hardly had the time or opportunity to stop for some.
The room, the large open basement of a long-abandoned shop, had all of its windows boarded. Grubby cushions formed a number of nests around the edges of the rooms, and several slightly broken shelves held a variety of treasures. Someone had attempted to hang brightly-colored pieces of material from the walls, presumably to brighten the place. It was a nice touch that hadn’t been here in my day.
“What are you doing here, and how did you find us?” asked the scornful one when I didn’t say anything.
I sighed and considered my answer. I hadn’t thought this far ahead.
“I needed somewhere to hide. And I wanted to talk to you.”
The boy who had knocked me to the ground raised an eyebrow. “Talk to us? Nobody wants to talk to us.”
“Well, more fools them, then. You rule the streets,” I said.
The girl laughed. “See, I told you she was one of ours.”
A fourth child, a slightly older girl, approached me for a closer look. “I ain’t never seen one of us dressed in clothes like that.”
“But you heard her, she said our line. We rule the streets. She may look all fancy and stuff, but how would a noble girl know to say that?”
“Maybe she got one of our old lot slaving away for her,” said the scornful boy with narrowed eyes.
Now I was the one to raise my eyebrows. “One of you slaving away for a noble? Pull another one.”
The cheerful girl chortled again. “If she’s not one o’ us, she knows us well enough. Ain’t we all here ’cause we didn’t want to slave for no one?”
The boy who looked to be the oldest stood and walked toward me. He had been silent so far, examining me with searching eyes. He approached to within a foot of me and then leaned his head forward, squinting his eyes.
“She weren’t ever one o’ us, exac’ly,” he said after a moment’s contemplation of my face. “But she most good as were.” He stepped back and looked around at the rest of them. “I never forget a face.”
Even the scornful one seemed to accept this utterance, wandering away as if he had lost interest, although I noticed him casting surreptitious glances back in my direction.
“Do you recognize me?” I asked the boy in some astonishment. “But I’ve been gone nine years, and you can’t be more than, what, twelve?”
He gave me a gap-toothed grin. “Right on the money, you are Evie-girl. But my memory is second to none. I were only three back then, but I never forget a face.” He looked inordinately proud of himself.
“Only three?” I tapped my lip thoughtfully and examined his face again. “Don’t tell me you’re little Howler!”
He threw his head back at that and laughed. “Oh, aye, that’s what they used to call me, ain’t it. But I learned to stop the howling soon enough.” He puffed out his chest. “Youngest ever to join the crew, I was. I learned the ropes quick enough.” He thrust out a hand which I grasped and shook. “They call me Lookout now. Ain’t no one who can hoodwink me.”
“Good,” I said. “Then you’re just the person I need to speak to.”
Chapter 26
Lookout’s stamp of approval seemed to give the other children confidence, and they swarmed all over me, examining my hair and clothes with eager, sticky fingers. I tried not to wince. It was hard now to believe I had ever felt at home in such grubby environs. But I had once felt far more welcome here than in the place that officially housed me.
The young boy who had tackled me and the second girl both had faces so pale they almost glowed in the candlelight—northerner parents, then. The boy introduced himself with a wink as Whitey, and the girl as Reya. They had clearly all chosen names for themselves, in the typical manner of street urchins.
The laughing girl was Dancer, and she informed me that the scornful boy was called Mastiff. The other two were apparently deemed too young to bother with.
“Where did you get this dress?” asked Reya, running the folds through her fingers.
“I made it.”
“All on your own?” She regarded me with wide eyes.
I nodded. “I taught myself how to sew. It’s how I made a life for myself.”
“I wish I could learn to make dresses.” She looked downcast, her fingers still trailing over the material as if of their own volition.