Jim Morgan and the King of Thieves

by James Matlack Raney

  “What’s on the menu?” Jim asked warily.

  “Buttered eggs!” Peter shouted.

  “Greasy bacon!” Paul added.

  “Warm toast!” George said.

  “Apples!”

  “Tea!”

  “Hot coffee!”

  “Pastries!”

  Jim’s entire mood immediately lifted and he almost did a cartwheel at the thought of such a magnificent feast. Perhaps being poor and homeless wasn’t so bad after all, he thought. He and the three brothers bolted toward the hole when Lacey’s sharp voice caught them from behind.

  “Now boys,” she said, standing on her pile of sacks, arms crossed and foot tapping. “Aren’t we forgetting something?

  Over the past few days, Jim had been feeling all manner of new sensations and emotions, and now he experienced a bit more of the unpleasantness of guilt. He and the Ratts hadn’t even thought about waking Lacey before dashing off. “We were going to bring some back for you, I’m sure,” Jim offered with a weak smile.

  “That’s not what I mean!” Lacey said angrily. “They know why they didn’t wake me first.”

  “Why’s that?” Jim asked, noting the three brothers’ faces were indeed more guilt-ridden than even his own.

  “Oh c’moff it, Lacey!” George said, Peter and Paul immediately taking up his side.

  “Do we have to?”

  “We’re starvin’! We can do it after breakfast!”

  “We absolutely cannot do it after breakfast, Peter!” Lacey said, stomping her foot. “That defeats the entire point.”

  “Point of what?” Jim asked.

  “A bath!” the three brothers said as one, throwing their hands up in the air.

  “This i-i-i-s i-i-intolera-a-ble!” Jim tried to say a few moments later through chattering teeth as he stood waste deep in the cold water of the River Thames. He had never taken a bath in open water before and, having been drawn hot baths his whole life, found the experience rather earth shaking and immediately wiped clean from his mind the idea of homelessness being anything less than barbaric.

  “O-o-ne of th-these d-days we’re gonna to f-f-freeze to d-death!” Paul said, angrily staring at a rock in the water, behind which Lacey bathed herself.

  “Stop whining, you whelps!” Jim heard her call without shivering from the other side. “I swear, boys are such wimps!”

  “W-w-e are n-n-not!” George said, the cold bringing tears that nearly ran down his cheeks. “I l-l-love b-b-baths! Th-they’re my f-f-favorite th-th-ing in th-th-the whole w-w-world!”

  “Y-y-y-yeah!” Peter tried nodding his head one time, but it kept jittering up and down to the point that Jim couldn’t tell when he had stopped nodding and was just standing still. Of course, all three boys still kept trying to smile, and Jim couldn’t help but think that those happy boys, with chattering teeth and little arms wrapped tightly around their skinny white bodies, really did look like three mice holding a squeaky conversation. Then Jim noticed something about himself. He was smiling. For the first time in some days, he was smiling. In fact, he was laughing.

  “H-h-h-h-h-a-a-a!” Jim’s laugh chattered out. That itself was as funny to the Ratt Brothers as they were to Jim, and soon all four boys were laughing their heads off and splashing in the water.

  “S-s-see!” George exclaimed. “W-w-we do love b-b-baths!”

  Fortunately the baths lasted only a few, freezing moments longer, and the boys and Lacey clambered out of the water and quickly dressed. The little clan then ran all the way to a nearby market square, the sun peeking out from behind the drab clouds to light the way, the warmer air and the running drying all five of them off by the time they reached the busy market.

  The square sat just beyond the shadowy streets where the King of Thieves held court, and the people there seemed every bit more brighter as the city around them. The inns and shops were open, crowds bustling from store to store or sitting down at tables on the cobblestone to enjoy some breakfast. The delicious smells of a hundred different foods filled the air, including all the ones the Ratts had mentioned and more. Jim’s mouth watered, and he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  “So, where shall we eat?” he asked.

  “Behind this building, under that tree,” George said, jerking his head toward the shop to his left.

  “Meet us back in ten minutes,” Peter added, and with that they were off.

  “Wait!” Jim cried after them. “I don’t have any money!” But it was to no avail: his four new comrades were already out of sight. Jim kicked a rock at his feet and listened to his belly growl again. “Well, that was nice,” he said to himself. But he did remember that the Ratts had put a roof over his head and had invited them to join their gang, so perhaps they would spot him a few coins upon their return. He went and sat down under the tree behind the shop and waited – but not for long.

  Peter came back first, a small sack in his hands. He sat down and opened the bag to reveal an entire greasy pile of buttered eggs and a whole grilled potato. Paul arrived next, juggling a splendidly long chain of linked sausages while trying not to spill a cup of steaming hot tea. George and Lacey came right behind Paul with a loaf of bread, some pastries, and a handful of crispy bacon.

  “Did you already eat all of yours, Jim?” Peter asked through a mouthful of potato.

  “That wasn’t very polite,” Paul said with a sausage in his mouth. “We usually share, except when George is being a pig and doesn’t leave me any bacon!”

  “I always share with you youngins!” George shot back, nearly spitting some half chewed bread out as he did.

  “One year, George! You’re only one year older than us!”

  “One year is a lifetime with you yahoos!”

  The brothers were about to tumble again when Lacey noticed Jim’s wide-eyed stare and the string of hungry drool hanging from his lips.

  “Jim, you didn’t get anything yet did you?” she said, her blue eyes shining brightly in the sunlight. “We should be ashamed of ourselves! Here, take some of this and this and this!” In the blink of an eye, Jim found a nice pile of bread, eggs, bacon, and sausage set before him.

  Jim wanted to say thank you, but his hands were, at that moment, strictly under his stomach’s control, and he immediately began shoveling food into his hungry mouth.

  “Didn’t you see a good opening over there, mate?” George asked.

  “Were the King’s Men around, you know, the constables?” Paul wondered.

  “Yeah, Butterstreet and his crew? Did you see ’em?” Peter asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Jim said with a mouthful of everything, which never tasted better to him in his whole life. “I just didn’t have any money.”

  The three brothers stared at Jim for a long moment, then exploded into laughter, rolling around in the grass and all over each other, food flying in all directions from their mouths, landing all over their faces and their clothes. “You got me with that one, Jim! That was a winner! That was a winner!”

  “He’s a master of comedy - a master!”

  “A regular court jester!”

  “I think he’s being serious,” Lacey said. “And stop talking with your mouths full of food, it’s disgusting!” The three brothers stopped laughing, finally stilling themselves and sitting up, staring at Jim incredulously.

  “None of us have any money, Jim,” George said matter-of-factly. “Don’t you remember what we do for a living? Remember, last night? King of Thieves: tall chap, rather creepy, big pile of treasure? We don’t buy things Jim, we steal ’em.”

  “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!” Jim said, indignant.

  Now the Ratts didn’t just stare, their little mousy jaws fell open, hanging agape with utter stupefaction. “You’ve never stolen … anything?” Paul finally asked.

  “No,” Jim said. “In fact, I’m not sure I would even know how if I wanted to.” And then, even though part of him was still stuck with the idea that he was a noble, Jim gr
ew suddenly afraid that the Ratt Brothers were going to kick him out of their clan, and that he would lose the only opportunity he had to get his box back, even if it did involve stealing. But, as usual, the three boys smiled as brightly as ever.

  “Well, fortunate for you, mate. You’ve joined the greatest clan of thieves in all of London! A few simple lessons from us, and you’ll be as right as Robin thievin’ Hood!”

  Not a few moments later, after all the food had been gobbled up and the dishes returned (Lacey said it was rude to leave them in the grass, and that even though they were forced to be thieves at the moment, they could still afford to be polite) the five children stood in the market across from a stand piled high with neat rows of scrumptious, green apples.

  “Right then,” said George, rubbing his hands together and nodding toward the cart. “Watch us first, just to get the general idea of it all. Then you’ll give it a go, right?”

  “Right,” Jim agreed, focusing intently on the apple cart. Crowds of people passed back and forth, browsing and buying, some pausing to inspect the apples for ripeness. “You can go ahead and start,” Jim said, “I’m watching closely and I won’t miss —” He turned his head back to George only to find the eldest Ratt and his two brothers munching on crunchy green apples. Paul had one in each hand, Peter was trying to hold five or six in his arms, dropping some while trying to take bites. Jim’s mouth hung open in disbelief, his eyes wide as saucers.

  “That was incredible!” Jim exclaimed. “You are great! That was the fastest thing I’ve ever seen!”

  “We told you!” the three exclaimed together.

  “So why don’t the other clans want you around?” Jim asked them. “You guys are amazing!”

  “Jealousy,” Peter said as he spat out an apple seed.

  “They’re green with envy,” Paul said, sticking out his tongue with chewed-up green apple all over it.

  “Disgusting, Paul!” Lacey said.

  “Well, they are fairly jealous of our tremendous skills,” George explained, polishing his filthy nails on his filthy shirt. “But part of it is also our set of rules.”

  “Rules?” Jim asked.

  “Well, guidelines, really,” Peter said.

  “Sort of our code, like for knights or somethin’,” Paul added.

  “Exactly, our code!” George nodded vigorously. “We don’t steal from children. We only take what we need, and we never take from someone who has less than us.”

  “Which fortunately leaves us with loads of options,” Paul said cheerfully.

  “See, the Dragons took from another kid; you namely,” Peter explained. “They do it all the time. They’re dirty scoundrels. Rotten to the core. They’ll take from anyone, even if it was the last farthin’ in some bloke’s pocket or the last crumb off his table!”

  “How unscrupulous,” Jim said.

  “Exactly what I said,” said George, as though he knew what scruples were and what it was to be without them. “So when we saw that they had nicked your box, we decided it was the right thing to lend you a hand and get back at those lugs!”

  “Well, I’m ready,” Jim said, trying to loosen up for the task at hand. Ever since his disastrous trek through the forest, when he realized he had missed out on several good opportunities to learn some rather useful skills, Jim had decided not to turn down such chances again. To learn the art of thieving from the Ratts was as good a time to start as any. “So what do I do?”

  “Right then,” George said, the Ratts gathering close around Jim like three trainers in a boxer’s corner. “Here’s what you do. Walk up to that cart…and take one of those apples!”

  “Brilliant!”

  “Spot on, George! Solid advice!”

  “Go get ’em, Jim!” The brothers clapped Jim on the back, excited beyond control for Jim’s first action.

  “That’s it?” Jim asked, puzzled. “Just walk up and take an apple, that’s all there is to it?”

  “Well, not exactly,” George said. “But it’s a great start. So go for it! We’re right behind you!”

  “Just walk up and take an apple?”

  “That’s it!” the three of them replied together.

  Jim took a deep breath and started toward the apple cart. Although it sounded easy, Jim had never been more nervous in his life, feeling hot and itchy all over, his face burning as though it were all but on fire, and his hands trembling uncontrollably. It seemed to Jim that everyone in the market was staring right at him at that exact moment.

  “Look casual, that’s the ticket,” Jim said to himself, trying to relax. He shoved his shaking hands in his pockets and started to whistle. Then he tried to look absolutely anywhere but at the apple cart. Unfortunately for poor Jim, although he had the right idea, his efforts had a slightly confusing effect. He couldn’t walk in a straight line because he wasn’t looking, and with his head rolling around on his neck from trying to look everywhere but the apple cart, his whistle sounded like a dying bird.

  “What’s he doin’?” George asked from where the Ratts stood watching.

  “I think he’s pretendin’ to be dimwitted or mad or something. Like a charity con, you know?” Peter said.

  “He’s not a bad actor really,” Paul said. “He looks completely fee-bleminded from here.”

  Jim found the apple cart when he ran into it face-first. The whole cart trembled violently, and Jim held his chin in pain where it had slammed into a wooden corner. That feeling of everyone watching him washed over Jim again, and then he did the worst thing one can do when trying to appear casual. He panicked.

  Jim desperately grabbed the first apple he saw and turned to run, realizing only too late that he had seized a fruit impossibly wedged into the bottom of the pile. Instead of trying for a different apple, Jim - as people who are panicked often do - made the fatal error of yanking on the one in his hand as hard as he could.

  The apple finally popped out, along with every other apple on the entire cart, all spilling onto ground in a rising tide of fruit at Jim’s feet.

  “Oh, dear,” Lacey said from where she stood by the Ratts.

  From behind the quickly shrinking pile of apples, the furious red face of the cart owner appeared. His eyes fell directly on Jim, standing by the cart with an apple in his hand, a hundred at his feet, and look of dread horror on his face.

  “THIEF!” the cart owner screamed, leveling an accusing finger at Jim’s face.

  “Well,” George remarked in stunned dryness, “that didn’t go very well.”

  “Oh, run, Jim, run!” Lacey pleaded. But it was no use. Just as he had in the forest, facing the floating green eyes of the wolf, Jim froze in place amongst a sea of rolling apples as the cart owner continued to shriek.

  “THIEF!”

  Jim probably would have stood there forever, staring at the furious apple seller, had Peter, Paul, and George not leapt to his side to drag him away. But just as they reached their new friend’s side, the crowds staring at the strange goings on parted to the left and to the right, revealing a sight that paled even the faces of the three Ratts.

  There, standing in the parted waves of people, was the biggest man Jim had ever seen. He wore a faded blue tricorn hat, a droopy beard surrounded his fiercely frowning face, the badge of the King’s Men rested over his heart, and in his left hand he balanced a long, thick staff with expert fingers.

  “What in blazes?” Jim exclaimed. “It’s a giant!”

  “That’s no giant,” Paul cried. “Worse!”

  “Constable Butterstreet!” his brothers cried as the big man covered the distance between he and the young thieves in just two enormous strides. The boys looked to run, but the constable’s two deputies suddenly appeared behind them, tapping staffs of their own in their burly hands.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Ratt Brothers up to their old tricks,” the huge king’s man rumbled in the deepest voice imaginable.

  “Hullo, Butterstreet ol’ chum,” George offered with a tug on his cap like a
small salute. “Hope the missus is well and that you’ve recovered from that nasty bit o’ pneumonia you came down with last month.”

  “Oh, I’m doing just fine, George, thank ya’ kindly. How nice of you to check on my health after our little incident by the riverside.”

  “Water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned,” George said, but his brothers smacked their foreheads, and Butterstreet gripped his staff a little tighter.

  “Still workin’ for the King, I see,” Butterstreet growled.

  “Oh, you’ve got it all wrong,” Paul said, flashing a winning grin and winking at the constable. “We were just here to help this poor man pick up all his apples. Clumsy old goof, isn’t he?” Paul thumbed over to the cart owner, but when he looked at the miserable old seller - whose face was as red as a furious turnip - the con man’s smile dropped right off his mouth.

  “I’m sure you are, Paulie,” said the constable, almost laughing. “And who is your new friend, here?”

  “J-j-im Morgan…sir,” Jim said, the shadow of the constable looming over him. “And might I add that I too am glad you’re over your pneumonia. If it was only a month ago, though, might I suggest a bit more rest at home by the fire?”

  “How thoughtful of you, Jim. But I’ll tell you this. Nothing heals my body and soul like the sound of converted thieves singin’ in my parish choir and recitin’ their lessons day after day.” The constable stared down at them from beneath a huge set of bushy eyebrows that drooped just like his beard. “Sorry boys, but this is the end of the road. You had a good run, but —”

  Just then, an apple, as if dropped from the sky, bopped the old constable right on the noggin and fell into his hand. He looked at the apple curiously and then up into the air. Then another smacked him on the side of the head.

  “Birds!” declared one of the two deputies, neither of which were nearly as clever or devoted as faithful Butterstreet. “Birds are dropping apples out of the sky! Just like in the Bible!”