Read Online The Whatnot by Stefan Bachmann - Free Book Online Page B

He was leaving. Things would only get worse in London once the fighting started in the North. And anyway he didn’t want to stay here, in a hole in Spitalfields. Someday he wanted to be somewhere else, somewhere green perhaps, with plums and pies and the voices he had dreamed about, the loud, happy voices.
    Pikey fell asleep, and dreamed of them all over again.
    Â 
    The next morning, he made himself a badly sagging patch out of one of his socks and tied it over his bad eye. Then, pushing the gem deep into the one pocket that still had all its stitches, he wriggled out of his hole.
    The foot with only two socks instead of three noticed its diminished state almost at once. It went numb, then unfeeling. Pikey felt sure it did so out of spite. But better a frozen foot than holding a hand over his eye all day like a simpleton, and so he ignored it and hurried up the alley toward Bell Lane.
    The chemist’s door creaked as he passed it. The bolt scraped, then the hinges. Pikey knew who it was before she even stepped into the alley. Not Jeremiah, this time. Worse.
    â€œWhat you got there, laddy?” Missus Jackinpots could coo like a dove to her little one, but to everyone else she was worse than a crow.
    â€œNuthin’.” Pikey’s hand tightened around the gem in his pocket. He took a few more hurried steps, his frozen foot jarring against the ground.
    â€œJem says he’s seen not hide nor hair of you for almost three days. Where’s the news? What are the prices at? You know the deal, and you oughta keep it. Prices and news six times a week, else there’s no point keeping you. ”
    Pikey turned a little, his glance skipping over Missus Jackinpots for the briefest instant. She was a small, buxom woman with a stained, flowered handkerchief tied over hair like stringy black joint oil. There were smudges under her eyes. Pikey looked at the ground.
    Missus Jackinpots didn’t. She eyed him steadily, hands on hips. “Jem’s too soft, he is. I’d have ’ad you out from under our shop the moment we found you, and off to the workhouse, make no mistake.”
    You didn’t find me, Pikey thought. Anger rushed up suddenly, hot behind his ribs. I lived here before you did. The old chemist let me stay here. It’s my right. He gritted his teeth.
    â€œWhat’s the matter? Goblin ate your tongue? Look at me, boy!”
    â€œOld Marty said I could stay here,” Pikey said. His voice was dull and sullen. “And so did Jem.” He focused on a sickly thread of grass pressing up between two cobbles. He didn’t want to look at the hard, flat face staring at him, the smudges under her eyes.
    â€œYou call him Mister Jackinpots,” she hissed, taking a step toward him. “Or sir. It’s his place now. Old Marty’s dead. He’s dead, and don’t you forget it.”
    Blood, dripping between the stones.
    Pikey stumbled toward Bell Lane, but Missus Jackinpots lunged forward, blocking his escape.
    â€œCome on, ma’am, lemme go,” he said. “I ain’t got nothing.”
    Missus Jackinpots was looking at his pocket. “Oh, you’ve got something. What’re you hiding, boy? Bloody roses , if you’re keeping things from me, I swear I’ll—” Suddenly she froze, and such a rage came over her face that Pikey felt his own anger evaporate. He took a step back, startled.
    â€œThat eye patch,” she said slowly. “Let me see that. That ain’t yours. It’s my Jem’s sock, it is. On your filthy face ! I knitted that! My own hands knitted that and you’ve been pinching —”
    Pikey shoved past her and pelted into Bell Lane, ignoring her screams as they bounced up the houses behind him. He didn’t stop running until he was halfway to Ludgate. Then he stooped down under the window of a tailor’s shop and felt in his pocket for the gem. His hand closed around it and he let out a sigh.
    Away