Which meant he was still thirty and completely without purpose.
He sat up straighter. But that did not mean this orphanage was his purpose. He’d rather face the French army again than spend the rest of his days tucking children in for naps and ensuring the pet rats were where they ought to be. And yet he couldn’t deny that in only two days, he’d stopped looking at the boys as a passel of bastards and saw them more as individuals. He no longer remembered his own shame growing up every time he looked at them, but neither did he want to adopt any of them.
Except possibly Charlie. He liked that boy. He’d never seen anyone able to do so many chores one handed, since his thumb was always in his mouth. Neil remembered sucking his thumb when he’d been young. But long before he was four, he’d had his knuckles bruised and cut every time his thumb snaked its way into his mouth. He remembered being woken in the middle of the night to have his knuckles rapped once because his thumb had sneaked into his mouth when he’d been asleep. It had all been done by his father’s order, and it certainly hadn’t made Neil love the man, who was a stranger at best and a tyrant at worst. He might have been raised in a home and given all the food, clothing, and education necessary for a boy, but Neil hadn’t grown up with any more of a family than these orphans.
His thoughts were interrupted by the squeak of one of the boards on the stairs. He’d been up and down those front stairs enough to know every sound the boards made. He’d repaired the rotting boards, but he hadn’t fixed any of the squeaks on the sound planks. One never knew when one might need advanced warning.
Rising silently, Neil moved out of the parlor and into the entryway. He kept to the shadows, his back against the wall as he watched the lone boy make his way down the steps. The boy was stealthy, no doubt about it. He’d made the error of stepping on one creaky stair, but he didn’t repeat his mistake. Neil watched as he carefully skipped or sidestepped other creaky stairs.
It was the shaggy mane of hair that finally identified Walter, even in the low light. Neil had known it wasn’t the tall boy—whatever his name was—but he thought it might be the helpful one. Except that one had straight hair that looked to have seen a barber at some point recently. Neil should have known it was Walter. The boy had been trouble from the first.
Walter jumped off the last stair, obviously elated that he’d made it, and made straight for the front door. Before he could reach for the new bolt, Neil cleared his throat.
Walter froze.
“Where do you think you are going?” Neil asked, moving into the entryway, which was periodically lit up from the bolts of lightning outside.
Walter spun around. “Nowhere.” He started back for the steps, obviously intending to pretend the whole incident hadn’t happened and he was going back to bed.
“Hold it.” Neil’s voice was all it took for the boy to freeze. “I asked you a question, and I want an answer.”
The boy stood in front of the stairs, head down and shoulders hunched.
Neil moved closer. “I’m interested in where a child of eight—”
“Nine,” Walter corrected.
“—nine then. Where a child of nine thinks to go in the middle of the night and during a rainstorm. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“The thunder woke me.” The answer was given quickly. Too quickly.
“And so you decided to take a stroll in the storm?”
“I was…I was walking in my sleep.”
Neil nodded, coming to stand in front of Walter. “Amazing how you can avoid the stairs that creak even when you’re walking in your sleep.”
Walter’s head jerked up. “Fine. So you caught me. It’s not a crime to go for a walk.”
“No, but it seems to me you are asking for trouble if you go out in the middle of the night in London, especially in this area of London.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“And how will you do that?”
“I can fight.”
Neil nodded. “Let me see.”
Walter frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Imagine I walk up to you and threaten you. What do you do? Run?”
“I don’t need to run.” He pulled a knife from his pocket.
Neil eyed it, unimpressed. “So that’s where all the knives in the kitchen have gone.”
“I didn’t take them all!”
“Who else has one?”
Walter looked away. “I’m no snitch.”
“No, you’re a fighter. You know how to use that knife?”
“I can hold my own.”
“Show me.”
Walter stared at him, uncomprehending. In the distance, thunder boomed again.
“Defend yourself with the knife,” Neil said.
“But—”
“I give you leave. Cut me, prick me, do your worst.”
Walter narrowed his eyes. Clever boy, Neil thought. He knew there was a condition coming. “But if I manage to come away unscathed—”
“Un…?”
“Unhurt. Untouched. If I come away intact and I am able to take the knife away from you, you tell me where you were off to.”
“Sure.” Lightning flashed, the light illuminating Walter’s cocksure expression.
“The truth, Walter. Give me your word.”
“You’ll never get this knife away from me.”
“Then you have no reason not to swear to me.”
Still Walter hesitated, which Neil took as a good sign. The boy considered his word to be binding. He was not yet beyond reform.
“And if I do cut you? If I keep the knife?” Walter asked.
“Then you’re free to go. No questions asked and no retribution.”
Walter frowned at him.
“That means I won’t try and hurt you. No revenge. Agreed?”
Walter nodded.
“Then go ahead. Come after me.”
Walter took a moment to study him—another good sign in Neil’s opinion. The boy didn’t lunge or act without thinking. There was hope for him yet. And then Walter seemed to back away, almost as though he would run. Instead, he pivoted and slashed out at Neil. It was a good move. A good bluff.
But not good enough.
Neil stepped to the side, easily avoiding Walter’s strike. When Walter’s arm jabbed at the air where Neil had been, Neil reached out, twisted Walter’s wrist, and the knife dropped neatly into Neil’s other hand. Neil twirled the knife and pocketed it.
Walter stared for a long moment. “You cheated.”
Neil crossed his arms. “That’s a serious accusation. I’d think before making it if I were you.”
Walter opened his mouth as though to protest again, then closed it. He muttered something that sounded like You didn’t cheat, then lifted his face to glower at Neil. “How did you do that?”
“Maybe I’ll teach you some day. But right now, you owe me an answer.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Walter crossed his arms over his chest.
“You gave me your word.”
Walter seemed to consider this. Neil waited. Neil felt a growing sense of anticipation. He didn’t know why he should care whether the boy honored his word or not, but he wanted Walter to do the noble thing.
Finally, Walter let out a huff of air. “You won. Fair and square. I’ll tell you that I was on my way to the Ox and Bull.”
Slag’s place. Neil tensed. Had Slag not only recruited Goring, but the children as well?
“Are you part of Slag’s gang?”
Walter shrugged.
“You want to be.”
Walter looked up at him. “People are afraid of Mr. Slag. If I work with him, he’ll keep me safe. I’ll be one of his boys.”
Neil nodded. He and Walter had more in common than Neil had expected. Both of them longed for family. Joining Slag’s gang of criminals wasn’t the way to find it.
“And what sort of work would you do for Slag? Pick pockets? Pilfer shops? I’m sure he has a dozen rackets for a boy of your age.”
“He can use me.”
“And that’s exactly what he’ll do. You steal for him, and if you’re caught, you suffer the consequences while he gets rich.”
“I’m young. The judges are lien…lenen… They go easy on you if you’re young.”
“They might not give you as much jail time, but you’ll find yourself in Newgate for a few months. Do you have any idea what happens to young boys like you in Newgate?”