Arti’s first full day on the island was long and exhausting, making her realize just how much she had to learn from Gal. Returning to the safety of the records room, they shared a loaf of bread so stale Arti thought she might chip a tooth. Then, under the white glow of the gas lamp, she honored her agreement with Gal, reading the first chapter of The King’s Errand.
Gal was captivated by the story of Ward Weatherington and his world, utterly amazed that a city full of people could inhabit a few thin pages, that some simple marks on paper could describe a life so vivid and real. She could see, feel, and smell everything Ward did, even sharing in his thoughts. Gal studied Arti’s face as she read the tale, awed by the strange alchemy of its words, an eager apprentice to its magic.
“It ain’t fair,” said Gal, after Arti finished the opening chapter, closing the book on the mark. Gal’s lip quivered as she stared at the floor, unable to shake the image of Ward and his little brother weeping over their dead mother. “They’re just kids.”
“It’s only a story,” said Arti. “Don’t worry; things will get better for Ward and Petey.” She caught herself, “Well, after a while, anyway.”
It wasn’t enough to put Gal at ease. “Why would he write somethin’ like that?” she asked. “Why would he want to make people feel bad?”
“So you’d remember what it’s like to feel happy, I guess,” answered Arti. “Bad things have to happen for you to appreciate the good things.”
“But what if you ain’t had many good things?” asked Gal.
This time, Arti didn’t have an answer.
CHAPTER 5
Over the next several days, Arti and Gal’s routine was the same. The morning started with Gal’s lessons in front of the broken chalkboard, Arti her patient teacher. In the afternoon, their roles were reversed, Gal showing Arti how to survive on Isle’s mean streets. And every evening ended with another chapter of The King’s Errand.
The hardship experienced by Ward Weatherington and his little brother, Petey, was almost too much for Gal to bear. At the end of chapter three she declared she’d had enough, that the story was stupid, the author was full of crap, and she didn’t want to hear any more. The next evening, she begged Arti to continue.
After Ward found the sparkling blue Wizard’s Gem in chapter four, Gal talked for over an hour about all the things she’d do if she could be invisible. Most were illegal. When Ward left the king on his mission to steal the map from the evil wizard, Rancoram, Gal hugged her pillow so hard it would never regain its shape. She was utterly silent for three straight chapters, listening breathlessly as the hero made his way through the pitch-blackness of the Blood Monster’s labyrinth, knowing the horrible eyeless creature could be waiting around the next corner, ready to pounce in a flash of fangs and claws.
And though she’d never admit it, Gal developed a serious crush on the book’s young protagonist. A handsome and witty thief with a magic gem that made him invisible, what wasn’t to love?
As she listened to the tale unfold, it became apparent to Gal how great a gift Arti was giving her. She wanted more than ever to be able to read stories on her own, to accompany other characters on other adventures in other worlds. And to that end, she was making great progress.
Arti was impressed by Gal’s intelligence and the speed at which she learned. The twelve-year-old made her share of mistakes along the way, but in no time, she knew the alphabet and the sounds the letters made. What really pleased Arti was how much pride Gal took in her education. One afternoon while walking down Driftwood Avenue in the west end of the city, she looked up at an old, rusted shop sign and sounded out the letters, “S…m…i…ths—Smiths.” Arti had never seen a smile so full of joy. And though she could still get frustrated at times (needing to be reminded that cursing didn’t make things easier), it was clear just how much the gift of reading meant to Gal.
Arti was also proving to be a good student. Isle was no longer the disorienting maze it had once been. She could now remember the location of places—the shops, buildings, and landmarks—and could navigate her way around the island without getting lost. Gal had shown her every part of the city numerous times, and Arti realized how distinct each area was. North of Center Street, a wide road that ran east and west, dividing the island, was mostly residential. Or, at least it was a quarter century ago. Now most of the homes, town and row houses of wood and brick, were vacant shells missing doors and windows, stripped of anything that could fuel a fire, be traded, or sold. The few dwellings still inhabited by Isle residents were piecemeal creations, a mishmash of salvaged materials plundered from neighboring abodes, monstrosities sewn together with scraps and wire.
The western part of the city—from Mill to Cobden Street—was much more spread out. Homes sat on larger lots with retail parks plunked in between. Abandoned car dealerships and building supply stores were a testament to the city’s first years of consumerism and expansion in the days before Main was born. On the westernmost tip of the island, a high rocky cliff jutted out into the Avalon River like the bow of a great ship. Known as the Lookout, it had once been used as a vantage point by smugglers to signal ships approaching from upriver, telling them it was safe to come ashore at Smugglers Bay or warn them of a Shore Guard cutter lying in wait.
Learning about the city wasn’t enough; Arti had to know how to survive here. Her education took a giant leap the first time Gal had her act as the “bumper” for a pick-pocketing run on the end of Market Street, close to the Docks.
Gal selected the targets, and it was Arti’s job to distract the unwary victims. An “accidental” bump followed by an indignant protest worked best, but Gal warned Arti that marks had to be chosen carefully. Communication and teamwork were vital if they were to avoid getting caught.
“Never steal from a local,” she said. “They’ll remember you. Be careful pickin’ your marks, and always be ready to run if things go to crap.” Then Gal made Arti repeat “The Rule” if ever a bump and grab went wrong: “Get away, and get home.”
Their first partnership in theft went off without a hitch. The shift whistle had just sounded across from the Cauldron and a steady stream of workers flowed up from the Docks, some heading home, most making a beeline for one of the many watering holes on the way. Amidst the shuffling mass of overalls and work boots, Gal spotted a young wide-eyed, wispy haired sailor looking around as if he was lost. Facing Water Street, Gal was leaning against the wall next the front door of The Sea Dog, a dirty old saloon plopped on the corner of the block with a boarded-up side entrance on Market Street. From under her tilted cap, she watched as the sailor approached, satisfied he was a good mark.
Gal walked past the corner a few steps ahead of the sailor then stopped to tie her shoe. The moment her fingers touched the laces, Gal looked to her right and winked to a hooded Arti who waited a few paces down the saloon’s wall, hoping she would remember the instructions: “You don’t move ‘til I touch my shoe laces. Then three steps, and you’re into him. Make it look like you’re surprised, and give him crap to throw him off. One, two, three, bump. Got it?”
Arti timed the contact perfectly. Stepping between Gal and the corner of the building, the young sailor stiffened at seeing Arti appear from nowhere. His thin arms came up defensively, and he shuffled to the side, unable to avoid contact with her. Arti pretended to be offended by his clumsiness, throwing insults at the red-faced youth as he apologized profusely. In a kind of ballet, Gal swiftly rose to her feet, moving in close behind the young man, shadowing him as he spun to avoid Arti, small hands deftly working his pockets. Oblivious to Gal’s handiwork, the sailor never looked back, quickening his pace down Water Street, eager to escape the confrontation.
Gal kept her eyes on the mark as he scurried down the street. “Two Crenchy silvers,” she whispered, jingling them in her pocket. She winked at her accomplice, “Not bad.”
Arti’s first theft was both a triumph and a tragedy. Her technique had been sound, and she and Gal would eat well tonigh
t. But the thought of the young sailor discovering his misfortune plagued her. She didn’t like what she had done to him, and her shame lingered.
An hour after their success with the young sailor, they returned to work the same corner. Gal was against the wall, eyeing the action on Water Street, when she noticed a group of men approaching. Two of the men walked together, with another trailing behind, not part of the group. The front pair looked like dockers, probably finishing their shift late. They were locals, not to be messed with. The third man seemed out of place. Gal thought he might be a trader or a passenger on one of the freighters. He staggered a little, already in his cups and probably heading for more. That meant he’d have coin. He wasn’t very big, and the drink would make him less of a threat. Gal marked him.
She walked ahead of the first two men and, clearing the corner, dropped to one knee, waiting for them to pass before giving Arti the signal to advance on the third. You don’t move ‘til I touch my shoe laces.
It didn’t register with Arti that Gal’s hands had not yet fallen to her foot. Forcing thoughts of the young sailor from her mind, she took a deep breath and started to move, her heart thumping with each step.
One. Two. Three.
Gal tried to wave Arti off, but the warning went unnoticed. Arti arrived at the corner, just as the first two men came around it. The contact was more violent than she had planned. She ploughed into the man closest to the wall; he was big and solid and gave no ground. Instead of avoiding Arti, he grabbed and held her. Arti cast a panicked look at Gal, and the big man followed her eyes, immediately making the connection.
“Why you little rats! Thought you’d try my pockets, eh?”
The big docker clenched his hands tightly around Arti’s arms, forcing her back against the wall. He hollered to his friend to grab Gal, but she was already running—not away, but toward him. From behind, she kicked the big man between the legs, and he folded over, releasing Arti.
“Run!” yelled Gal. Arti didn’t need to be told twice. She rounded the corner and raced east down Water Street, her hood bouncing behind her.
“Get her!” screamed the man from his knees, and his friend was off. He then turned to Gal, eyes red with rage. “As for you, you little beggar…”
He surprised her by quickly gaining his feet and began to chase Gal with a speed faster than his size suggested was possible. Gal sprinted across Water Street, heading south toward the Docks, the big man close behind.
Thanks to Gal, Arti knew the island well, including the best places to lose someone. Even so, it took a while to evade her pursuer. It wasn’t until she crossed First Street, slipping through a narrow gap in a broken fence beside Warren’s Odds and Ends, that her pursuer decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. But the chase had really scared her, almost as much as the night she escaped the Incendi on the West Bridge. Gal had saved Arti that night, and now her friend’s words kept her feet moving: Get away, and get home.
Gal had been chased many times before, but never with as much determination. The big man followed her south across Water Street and even climbed under the pier after her. But it was a lost cause for him from that point on. Gal’s surefootedness on the wooden substructure made it impossible for the angry docker to keep up. It was like a bear chasing a squirrel through a tree. He finally gave in with a curse and a warning.
“If I ever see you on the street, you’re dead, kid!”
Arti waited for over an hour outside the records room, her thoughts darkening with the halls around her. I messed up, she thought. I messed up, and Gal got caught. With her face buried in her hands, Arti imagined all the terrible things that might have happened to her friend, each more horrible than the last. Then, like an apparition, Gal silently emerged from the shadows, stern-faced as she reached for the key around her neck.
When Arti saw her, she sighed with relief. “Thank god, you’re okay. I…I thought—”
“No you didn’t.” Gal scowled as she inserted the key in the lock. “And it almost cost us—big time!” She pushed hard on the door and stormed past Arti. A moment later, lamplight filled the room.
“I’m really sorry,” pleaded Arti, following Gal inside. Her hands were raised as if that would help her cause. “I should have waited. I wasn’t watching…I…” her words trailed off, then the admission came: “I don’t like stealing from people.”
Gal looked at Arti as if she had two heads. “Do you think I like stealin’? Do you? I do it cuz I hafta. I do it cuz I gotta eat.” She lifted the water jug from the table and took a swig. “Ward Weatherin’ton got it right: Steal or starve.”
For the rest of the night, Gal refused to speak to Arti, and The King’s Errand stayed closed. It was a hard lesson, but Arti knew Gal was right. Life on Isle was not about what was right or wrong; it was about survival. You did what you had to do to make it to the next day—plain and simple. It made Arti realize just how impossible her goal of saving her parents was. Taking coins from sailors’ pockets was difficult enough. How could she ever think she’d be able to rescue prisoners from the Incendi?
As hard as Arti and Gal worked the streets, they were barely able to keep their food and water stores stocked. They needed a bigger score and, lucky for them, an opportunity was coming to scrounge the richest and most dangerous hunting grounds of all. After a particularly light supper that left their stomach’s growling, Gal leaned over the table and shared the plan with Arti.
“We’re gonna try the Cauldron,” she said. “But there’s some things you need to know.”
“The Cauldron?” repeated Arti, “The big warehouse on Water Street where they have the fights?”
“That’s it,” said Gal. “Right across from the Docks. Big Billy’s holdin’ a match there tomorrow night. Heard a couple dockers talkin’ about it. They said Big Billy’s got somethin’ special planned. It’ll be real crowded, everyone pressed up against each other, most of them pissed to the eyeballs. We could play dice in their pockets, and they wouldn’t notice.”
“Sounds easy,” said Arti.
Gal frowned. “Not if we get caught. It’s a rough crowd—not to mention Big Billy’s goons. A couple months ago they caught a kid stealin’ and cut one of his fingers off. We’re gonna hafta be real…s-m-r-t.” Gal tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t. “Just kiddin’,” she said. “You taught me better than that.”
CHAPTER 6
Gal’s plan was to work the crowd outside the Cauldron’s main doors. She knew from experience that the fights always drew big numbers, and it would take a while for all the spectators to squeeze their way inside. Those waiting to enter would be in close quarters, so a fair bit of jostling was to be expected, a perfect opportunity to separate the patrons from their money. And being outside offered Gal and Arti a chance to flee, should anyone notice what they were up to.
“It’ll be a regular bump and grab,” said Gal. “But this ain’t Market Street. We gotta be extra careful pickin’ the marks. One mistake could cost us a finger—or worse.”
To their delight, the scrounging outside the Cauldron went better than Gal and Arti could have dreamed, though the close contact with so many people—most with breath that smelled like turpentine—made Arti cringe. The girls waited for the line at the main door to build before working the crowd from one end to the other. On a signal from Gal, Arti, hair and face hidden within her hood, distracted the marks with a push, while her smaller partner deftly liberated coins from their unprotected pockets.
One pass proved to be enough. Gal and Arti made more money in those twenty minutes than they had in two weeks. The throng of patrons had become so large and the ability to move among them so difficult that another pass would have been too risky; they wouldn’t be able to get away if they had to.
“Can’t wait to see how much we made,” said Gal, patting her bulging pockets. “What a haul!”
“Let’s go,” said Arti, “before someone wonders why we’re just standing here.” She noticed that one of the bouncers at the door
was taking an interest in them.
“We ain’t goin’ home yet,” said Gal. “Follow me.”
Gal led Arti around the back of the Cauldron to an old metal ladder attached to the warehouse wall. It ran up the side of the building to a small platform and what appeared to be a sliding door with a padlock on it. Without explanation, Gal started to climb the ladder, leaving Arti below.
“What are you doing?” Arti hissed, looking around to make sure no one was watching. She heard a low roar come from inside the building.
“I wanna see the fights,” came the answer. “Come on!”
“It’s locked,” Arti protested. But again, she had underestimated Gal. Her partner in crime removed the dummy padlock and waved it at Arti in that Don’t be an idiot way of hers, before pushing open the door. Arti rolled her eyes and started to climb.
Arriving at the platform, she stepped through the opening, and Gal slid the door closed behind her. The air was stifling, carrying a pungent mix of sweat and alcohol, and the buffeting noise of thousands of men eager for violence.
Gal turned and started walking along a wide steel girder about forty feet above the sea of spectators until she came to another platform suspended over a central raised ring around which the crowd was densely packed. Watching her scamper across the beam reminded Arti of the night she first met her at the West Bridge, how easy the girl had moved among its spider web of supports. She’s had lots of practice.
Gal waved Arti on, and balancing with her arms held out from her sides, she carefully crossed the span to the platform.
“Best seats in the house,” Gal declared, sprawling on her side and looking down at the ring below.
“I don’t know if I want to see this,” said Arti, taking a place beside Gal with some hesitation. “I’m not big on fighting.”
Gal looked at Arti like she had two heads. “What? The fights are one of the only good things about this town.” She paused, seeing the squeamish look on Arti’s face. “It won’t be that bad, just a bit of blood. Look away if you hafta.”
The Book Knights Page 4
