there, a fat woman with red cheeks and watery eyes handed the twins scratchy, tattered uniforms and ordered them to put it on. Then she half-dragged, half-led Maisie to a set of big double doors and told her to find an empty cot and get some sleep. She grabbed Felix by the ear the policeman had left alone and brought him to another set of double doors, instructing him to do the same.
“You’ll need your sleep,” she said in an accent like some of the women in Grandfather Bell’s class had. “Sweepin’s hard work.”
“Sweeping?” Felix repeated.
But the woman just folded her arms and glared at him.
Reluctantly, Felix walked through those doors into a big room. As far as he could see, cots stood in rows. On each cot, there was a small lump of a boy.
Felix walked slowly up and down each row, looking for an empty one.
“
Pssst
,” he heard. “Over ’ere.”
Felix followed the voice several rows over.
“Take Jimbo’s,” the boy said. “’e won’t be needin’ it anymore.”
Felix crawled under the thin blanket.
“Where did…um…Jimbo go?” he asked the boy.
“Dead,” the boy said matter-of-factly.
Felix shivered under the dead boy’s blanket.
“What happened to him?” he managed to ask.
The boy snorted. “’e died!”
“I…I know. But how?”
“’ow would I know? ’e got sick and ’e died. Maybe quinsy. ’e complained about his throat.”
“But—” Felix began.
“They take the dead ones and put them in meat pies,”the boy whispered. “And that’s the truth.”
“I don’t think—”
“You’re in the parish now,” the boy said sleepily. “You’ll get used to it.”
The boy settled back onto his own cot.
All around him, Felix heard the soft breathing and light snores of sleeping children.
Orphans!
Grandfather Bell had said.
And now Felix was one of them.
Felix was awakened from a fitful sleep by someone hitting the bottoms of his feet with a stick.
“Get up, you little buggers,” a man growled.
Through his half-opened eyes, Felix watched the man move systematically up and down the rows of cots, slapping all the boys awake the same way.
No one hesitated. As soon as the stick left a boy’s feet, the boy jumped up, cowlicks pointing to the ceiling, eyes filled with sleep. Felix did the same, the bottoms of his feet still smarting and both of his ears hot and sore from the night before.
The boy in the cot next to him grinned down at Felix. He was tall and stout, with black soot in his sandy hair and around his ears and neck.
“You can be my climbing boy, Jimbo the Second,” he said.
The sound of the dead boy’s name sent a shudder down Felix’s spine.
“Felix,” he said quickly. “My name is Felix.”
“Stop the yammering!” the man yelled. “Get to breakfast so you can get to work!”
The boys formed a ragtag line and slowly made their way out.
“Breakfast,” the boy muttered. “Gruel is all we get. Call it what you like.”
They moved down the corridor to another vast room, this one with rows and rows of long tables and chairs. Already half the room was filled with girls, and Felix searched for any sign of Maisie among them.
“Looking for someone?” the boy asked him.
“My sister,” Felix said.
“So you just got put out then?” the boy asked.
Felix took a seat next to him but kept his eyes searching the rows of girls.
“You still remember your mum? And eating bangers and mash?” the boy continued.
Hot tears sprung to Felix’s eyes. He didn’t know what bangers and mash was, but surely it was betterthan gruel. And the thought of his mother made his chest ache with homesickness.
“I’ardly remember mine,” the boy said softly. “She smelled nice, I think. She sang to me at night.”
Felix looked at the boy, but the boy looked away.
“No use complainin’, is there?” he said.
A woman even fatter than the one last night moved through the rows with a big pot. She reached Felix’s table and ladled what looked
“You’ll need your sleep,” she said in an accent like some of the women in Grandfather Bell’s class had. “Sweepin’s hard work.”
“Sweeping?” Felix repeated.
But the woman just folded her arms and glared at him.
Reluctantly, Felix walked through those doors into a big room. As far as he could see, cots stood in rows. On each cot, there was a small lump of a boy.
Felix walked slowly up and down each row, looking for an empty one.
“
Pssst
,” he heard. “Over ’ere.”
Felix followed the voice several rows over.
“Take Jimbo’s,” the boy said. “’e won’t be needin’ it anymore.”
Felix crawled under the thin blanket.
“Where did…um…Jimbo go?” he asked the boy.
“Dead,” the boy said matter-of-factly.
Felix shivered under the dead boy’s blanket.
“What happened to him?” he managed to ask.
The boy snorted. “’e died!”
“I…I know. But how?”
“’ow would I know? ’e got sick and ’e died. Maybe quinsy. ’e complained about his throat.”
“But—” Felix began.
“They take the dead ones and put them in meat pies,”the boy whispered. “And that’s the truth.”
“I don’t think—”
“You’re in the parish now,” the boy said sleepily. “You’ll get used to it.”
The boy settled back onto his own cot.
All around him, Felix heard the soft breathing and light snores of sleeping children.
Orphans!
Grandfather Bell had said.
And now Felix was one of them.
Felix was awakened from a fitful sleep by someone hitting the bottoms of his feet with a stick.
“Get up, you little buggers,” a man growled.
Through his half-opened eyes, Felix watched the man move systematically up and down the rows of cots, slapping all the boys awake the same way.
No one hesitated. As soon as the stick left a boy’s feet, the boy jumped up, cowlicks pointing to the ceiling, eyes filled with sleep. Felix did the same, the bottoms of his feet still smarting and both of his ears hot and sore from the night before.
The boy in the cot next to him grinned down at Felix. He was tall and stout, with black soot in his sandy hair and around his ears and neck.
“You can be my climbing boy, Jimbo the Second,” he said.
The sound of the dead boy’s name sent a shudder down Felix’s spine.
“Felix,” he said quickly. “My name is Felix.”
“Stop the yammering!” the man yelled. “Get to breakfast so you can get to work!”
The boys formed a ragtag line and slowly made their way out.
“Breakfast,” the boy muttered. “Gruel is all we get. Call it what you like.”
They moved down the corridor to another vast room, this one with rows and rows of long tables and chairs. Already half the room was filled with girls, and Felix searched for any sign of Maisie among them.
“Looking for someone?” the boy asked him.
“My sister,” Felix said.
“So you just got put out then?” the boy asked.
Felix took a seat next to him but kept his eyes searching the rows of girls.
“You still remember your mum? And eating bangers and mash?” the boy continued.
Hot tears sprung to Felix’s eyes. He didn’t know what bangers and mash was, but surely it was betterthan gruel. And the thought of his mother made his chest ache with homesickness.
“I’ardly remember mine,” the boy said softly. “She smelled nice, I think. She sang to me at night.”
Felix looked at the boy, but the boy looked away.
“No use complainin’, is there?” he said.
A woman even fatter than the one last night moved through the rows with a big pot. She reached Felix’s table and ladled what looked
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