Read Online Pax Britannia: Human Nature by Jonathan Green - Free Book Online

watched his aide's progress at the bar, through the blue fug of tobacco smoke. The barkeep gave Nimrod what could only be called 'a look' but didn't refuse him his drinks. His money was good and money was all that mattered here. This was Victorian England after all and what rich gentlemen got up to with young waifs and strays wasn't anyone's business but their own. There was always the possibility that the man was a philanthropist who would rescue the boy from poverty and take him away to a better life somewhere else. At least that was what the barkeep tried to tell himself as he looked away from their table again.
    "So," Ulysses went on, when the refreshed tankard of gin had been placed in front of the boy, "you were telling me about the Whitechapel Irregulars."
    "Was I?" the boy asked, innocently, raising the pewter to his lips.
    Ulysses' reply was an arching eyebrow, pregnant with meaning. The monkey glared at him before starting to nuzzle the boy's ear, chattering and chirruping in its shrill simian voice.
    And then, seemingly under the influence of the eyebrow, Sidney relented at last. He might have little or no education to speak of, but he wasn't stupid; he knew when he was beaten.
    "Like I said, best gang in the East End." Ulysses said.
    "Then you 'eard wrong. Best gang in the whole of London more like."
    Ulysses smiled in the face of the boy's indefatigable bravado. "Been running with them long?"
    "Four years, give or take," Sidney announced proudly, "ever since I hopped spike."
    "And how exactly did you get away from there?"
    "Got meself taken out with the rest of the shit when the night soil collectors did their round, along with Nobby Clark, didn't I?"
    "Very resourceful," was all Ulysses could think to say. He had thought the boy smelt bad before, but now the aroma of unwashed bodies and the street suddenly seemed that much worse.
    "Yeah, bin one of thieving Magpie's boys ever since."
    Ulysses' ears pricked up at the mention of a name at last - at least at the mention of what was as close to a real name as he felt he was going to get.
    "Who's Magpie?"
    "That's Mr Magpie to you, if you don't mind," the boy said curtly, his former anxiety regarding the workhouse having apparently evaporated.
    "So, who is he?"
    "You've not heard of the Magpie?" the boy mocked, as if he was as well-known as Queen Victoria herself.
    "Humour me," Ulysses continued in the same calm manner but with an edge of steel to his voice now; the same tone in which he had addressed the informant known as Rat.
    "Well that's why he's the master, ain't it! He's so good he don't get caught." Sidney took another swig from the tankard in his hands. "I doubt Scotland Yard even knows 'e exists, but 'e's got fingers in all sorts of pies." He was beginning to noticeably slur his words. "But if they ever found out about the thieving Magpie, if they ever did catch 'im, they'd probably be able to solve an 'undred cases in one go. Not that they will ever catch 'im though!" The boy suddenly riled, real venom in his voice.
    Whatever hold this Magpie had over the boys in his - to put it loosely - employ, it produced a powerful sense of loyalty among the Whitechapel Irregulars. If the rest of the urchins were like Sidney, Ulysses wouldn't be surprised if they would in fact be loyal to their master - the one who had 'rescued' them from the streets, taken them in, given them a home - even unto death. That thought sent a shiver down his spine. The way Sidney spoke, Ulysses could well believe that the Magpie was like some Messianic figure to his boys.
    "'Is boys 'e calls us; 'is bonny darlin's. Princes of the street, that's what 'e calls us. 'Is lovely boys." Sidney's mouth was starting to run away with him.
    Sidney suddenly looked anxious, a look that suggested that he had only just realised what Ulysses and Nimrod already knew, that he had said too much.
    "But they won't catch 'im, will they? Not the Magpie."
    "Who won't?"
    "The Peelers, Scotland Yard, them