It was John who marched forwards. “I’s hungry right now,” he shouted over the noise. “And all them lovely things on them plates is making me faint.” ‘Tis agony. Reckon I’ll die right here and now.”
One of the scullery boys ran past, grinning, but another pushed Nathan out of the way as he rushed out carrying a huge platter of sliced beef, oozing gravy and surrounded by baby onions. Three older men seemed to be the cooks, and the head cook wore a very bright red apron, whereas the other two wore white. It was the head cook who looked over and waved his big wooden spoon at the boys. “I’ve no time for this,” he said. “Oliver, get those urchins out of here.”
A short burly man in a dirty white apron hurried over and grabbed Nathan’s arm, but Nathan shook him off. He had suddenly realised that it was quite true, he really was hungry. The food smelled wonderful and he hadn’t eaten anything since a few spoonful’s of pottage early that morning. Then the cook grabbed John, and with an exaggerated sigh, John collapsed on the tiled floor. With a dramatic moan, his knees buckled, he staggered from side to side, flung out both arms, and tumbled hard to the ground, nearly tripping up another of the scullery boys who was trying to clean up some spilt custard.
Sam, with a squeak, bent down beside John. “You done made my friend sick,” he complained. “He’s gonna die.”
With a faint howl of agony, John added, “Gonna die. Gonna die. Almost dead.”
Another under-cook peered over. “If that brat is sick, get him out of here. We don’t want any nasty diseases to spoil the supper.”
Nathan was tempted to run to the nearest table and grab some food. There were savoury and sweet things all mixed up together with plates of jellies, fruit, custards and cakes beside other plates of meat, vegetables and pies. But instead, he bit his tongue and went to kneel beside John. “He’s not sick,” Nathan yelled. “Just starving. Give the poor lad some dinner.”
John was twitching on the ground, pretending to be in pain with his eyes firmly shut. He managed a few groans, which Nathan thought were probably genuine since now the three boys were all dreaming of good food. Sam darted around the feet of the cooks and approached one of the spit boys. “Give us a slice,” he asked.
The spit boy grinned, shaking his head. “Watch out, loony. You’ll get burned.” The fires belched more flame and smoke, spitting vivid scarlet sparks. One of the cooks pushed Sam out of the way and Sam immediately cried out and fell over.
Exasperated, the head cook called out,” throw hot water at those idiots. Get them to go away or this supper will be ruined and the baron will be furious.”
“You can’t do that,” Nathan yelled back. “These boys are already about to die from starvation. You’ll kill them if you’re not careful and then I’ll accuse you of murder and run and tell the judge.” He didn’t really know what he was saying but was desperate to make time for Alice and Peter to go and rescue Alfie.
John, his dirty shirt up around his thighs, was writhing and squirming with exaggerated suffering. Those filthy ten toes were curled in pain.
“I shall tell the master,” said one assistant cook. “If this supper is spoiled, I don’t intend getting the blame for it.”
The commotion had certainly echoed into the main hall, and it seemed the baron had heard the shrieks and shouts. Quite suddenly the inner doors were thrown open and the baron appeared in the entrance, looking absolutely furious. His face was as red as his bright red hair and his scarlet satin doublet. He stamped both feet and roared, “What’s going on in here? Where’s the rest of my supper?”
All the cooks stared, and bowed while the scullery boys and the spit boys immediately stopped whatever they were doing and began to apologise. The head cook pointed at the heap on the ground where both John and Sam were lying, and where Nathan was bending over them pretending to be worried in case they were dying of starvation.
And then as the baron marched forwards towards Nathan, yelling, “You nasty little beggar brats, I’m going to whip you red raw and haul you off to the Constable,” his voice suddenly trailed off. His soft indoor shoes, unused to the slippery steam-damp tiles on the ground, began to slide. He waved his arms in the air but could not regain his balance, and with another roar of fury, he whooshed from doorway to fireplace, his feet as if on ice, and everyone dashing to get out of his headlong panic. He slid almost into the flames, until the chief cook had the common sense to stand right in front of him, calling both spit boys to hurry beside him. The baron hurtled into the human barrier and everyone collapsed in a frantic heap, the baron cursing loudly and pummelling with both fists.
“Idiots,” screamed the baron. There was gravy on his gleaming expensive doublet, pink jelly on his nice white shirt cuffs, and squashed peas on the knees of his hose. He punched the spit boy on the nose, and the spit boy began to cry, since it seemed most unfair after he had helped save the baron from being severely burned. Undeterred, the baron kicked out, then stomped over to Nathan, Sam and John Ten-Toes.
John was trying to stay on the ground with his eyes shut, and not to laugh, but the sound of his snigger turned into a gurgle and a half-choke. Sam was sitting up and giggling loudly and couldn’t stop, and Nathan had his hand over his mouth to stifle the laughter. The various cooks and scullery boys were either gasping in shock and fear, or cackling so much they had tears in their eyes. The one spit boy who was actually still crying, sat down in the ashes of the fire, and then got up with a yelp and his tunic scorched.
“Quiet, all of you,” screamed the baron. “You brats, get over here this instant.”
John was still pretending to be unconscious although he was still convulsed with silent laughter, but both Sam and Nathan marched over to the baron, and stood staring up at him. Sam poked John in the side with his own bare toes, and John wheezed, staying still.
“It’s not our fault you went flying and made yourself look really silly,” said Nathan with a smirk. “And we’re still hungry.” He knew the baron would be so angry that they would soon all have to run, or would be caught and beaten. He just hoped that there had been time already for Alice and Peter to rescue poor Alfie. So he stood tall, hoping to take just a few more minutes before leaving at speed.
There was a hushed silence except for the crackle of the fires and a quick swirl of smoke which made John Ten-Toes cough loudly.
Then the baron, brushing the peas, jelly and gravy from his heavy calves, legs, and bony knees, strode to the second spit boy, pushed him out of his path, grabbed a towel from the table nearby to wrap around his hand, and proceeded to grasp the handle of the long metal spit, wrench it from its hooks, and point the sharp end towards Nathan. Then he leapt forwards holding the spit like a lance in a tournament and sprang.
There was still a large joint of beef pierced by the spit, hanging there in the middle, and as the baron waved the metal pole, so the roast beef rolled and danced and flying drops of boiling hot fat and meat juices were thrown from floor to ceiling, scorching everything they touched.
Looming through the swirls of hot steam and the clouds of smoke from the fires, the point of the spit came straight at Nathan’s face. Above, the baron’s face was dripping sweat, and his mouth was open in a snarl.
Nathan yelled, turned, and danced behind the big central table. The baron raced around after him but Nathan was quicker, and the baron was still slipping a little on the damp tiles. Meanwhile John Ten-Toes had scrambled up, and he and Sam were edging towards the door. “Come on,” John called. “Reckon we’ve done all was needed. Let’s go.”
Now burned by spots of hot fat, one of the under-cooks was shouting, “That’s it, my lord, skewer the dirty little brat,” which Nathan thought was most unfair since the cook himself was wearing a filthy apron with spilt grease on his tunic. Nathan ran around the table again, avoiding the baron, and wishing he had his phone with him and could take a photo of this big bulky man, flushed and glaring, slipping and sliding while waving the metal pole but unable to catch his prey.
As
the spit, the roast beef and the baron’s furious snarl came rushing at them, more juice and fat dripped to the tiled floor and the baron slipped once again. At the same time one of the scullery boys was burned by the flying grease which was so hot he began to howl. Then seeing that both John and Sam were half out of the door, Nathan followed them, pulling the door hard shut behind him. He heard the wallop as the baron hurtled against the door, probably bruising his nose, but there was no time to wait and all three boys ran fast back into the main street.
“This way.”
Bishopsgate was the wide road beyond the baron’s gardens, and was a principal thoroughfare leading to one of the main entrances into London. But it was not towards the gate that the boys ran. They raced back down towards Cheapside in the direction of the Thames. Now very late into the dark evening, there was no one around and the street was empty but there was flickering candlelight in many of the house windows. Nathan looked up again as he ran, hoping to see again the balloon and Brewster Hazlett hovering and ready to take him home. But all he saw was the bright crescent moon and some stars, blinking like the candles, and peeping from the clouds.
“Be careful,” whispered John as they finally slowed their pace and began, out of breath, to trail along the cobbles. “We needs ta avoid the Watch.”
“Watch who?” demanded Nathan, confused. “What’s wrong with watches. And I don’t wear one anyway.”
John stared at him, completely puzzled. “You don’t talk no sense sometimes,” he muttered. “ ’Tis the Watch I’m warning ya of. They walks up and down all the main streets at night, holding big flaming torches and looking out fer thieves and murderers and folk getting drunk when they ortta be in bed.”
“Big flaming torches? Well, we’ll certainly see them coming then,” said Nathan in astonishment.
“They calls out too,” explained Sam, who was rubbing his chin where the fat had scorched him, “saying all’s right or who’s there.”
Nathan thought he’d seen something of the sort in films, and just nodded. He was tired, but he was also very worried and hoped they had given Peter and Alice enough time to rescue Alfie. But it was not until they finally arrived back at the warehouse, bedraggled and exhausted, that they found out.
Alfie, Alice and Peter were sitting next to a bright welcoming fire, with the little logs and twigs flaming merrily. Peter was curled up with his thumb in his mouth, half asleep but Alice was sitting behind Alfie with a big bowl of water. Alfie, crouched in front of the fire and half bending over, had his head in his hands.
“Thank goodness,” Nathan said, hurrying over. Then he stopped as he saw why Alfie was so quiet. His shirt, which was all he had been wearing, was ripped several times down the back, and beneath it his skin was bleeding.
Alice looked up, and seemed to be trying not to cry. “Thank you,” she mumbled, biting her lip, “for giving us the time to get away. But poor Alfie is badly hurt. My step-father whipped him and punched him too. See, Alfie has big bruises on his face and his flesh is torn in big stripes down his back.”
“We should go to the police,” said Nathan at once, before realising that this was impossible and no one would understand what he was talking about anyway. Alfie said nothing, but he sniffed a couple of times and Nathan was sure he was in great pain. His back was raw and the marks of the lashes cut deep. “We need ointment and bandages,” he sighed, “but I don’t suppose you have anything like that.”
“No, we don’t,” said Alice. “But I’m washing the blood away, and in the morning, I’ll go to the apothecary and ask for a herbal cream.”
“They say butter’s a good ointment,” suggested John. “Not as we got any.”
“Alfie’s not a sandwich,” said Nathan, although everyone stared at him once again, not understanding his words. “Where’s the nearest doctor live? Alfie needs proper help.”
“We ain’t got the money ta pay a doctor,” objected John.
Alfie looked up, inching back his shoulders and trying not to wince. “I’ll be all right,” he said, a catch in his voice.
Nathan shook his head. “No you aren’t and you need a doctor.” Then he looked at the others with a sudden smile. “And I’ve got enough money for a doctor, I think, and for some good food too when the shops open in the morning.”
John stared. “Balloons and schools and now real money? Reckon you ain’t no normal person neither. P’rhaps tis you is the wizard.”
Astonished, Alice said, “You never said you had money before.”
“Because I didn’t have it before,” said Nathan, rummaging in the pocket of his pyjamas. And he pulled out a fat purse, round and bulging, made of soft leather with a little metal clasp at the top.
“You nicked it?” demanded John, clearly impressed.
Nathan was still grinning and didn’t feel guilty at all. “First thing I ever nicked in my life,” he answered. “And I would never have done it, under different circumstances. But when the baron came marching into the kitchen, he was wearing this strapped to his belt. Then, when he fell and slipped across the floor, this came off and landed right beside me. I didn’t know what it was but when I picked it up, it jangled and clinked so I hoped it was money. Nobody saw me because everyone was staring at the baron so I just kept it hidden in my hand. Normally I would have handed it back, but the baron was trying to kill me with the spit, so I thought – well, I’ll keep his money. You say it’s all rightfully yours anyway.” He cheerfully passed the purse over to Alice, who, wide-eyed, opened it and emptied it into her lap.
The gold and silver coins came spilling out in huge handfuls. “You are wonderful,” she exclaimed. “Well done. Just what we desperately need. First of all a doctor, then food, and finally new clothes for Alfie because his shirt is all ripped and he hasn’t got anything else to wear.”
“Maybe some for me too,” muttered Nathan under his breath, “so people will stop staring at my pyjamas.”
Alfie heaved a sigh of relief and managed a very small smile. “I thanks you all,” he said. “you saved me and I never thought that were going to happen. I thought I was a gonner. Now I even gets bandages and pay fer some bread and cheese.”
“We can pay for a lot more than that,” said Alice, scooping the coins back into the purse and waving it in the air, which disturbed Mouse. She had been peacefully sleeping but with the clank and chink just above her head, she jumped up in alarm, and then stalked off to curl up on the other side of the fire. Alice kept a tight hold on the purse as she spoke to Nathan, John and Sam. “You all did a brilliant job,” she said. “And so did Peter. He got that padlock on the cellar door open as easily as blink. Clever boy. Rescuing Alfie will make the baron even more angry, but I don’t care about that.” Then she opened the purse again and began to count the coins, smiling up at Nathan as she counted. “Five, six, seven – Nat you are a miracle, truly. This is more money than we’ve ever had before. You are so clever.”
Nathan looked sharply at Alfie. “Did you tell him anything? Being whipped must have been dreadful, so did he make you say where Alice was and about this warehouse.”
“No.” Alfie shook his head and then grunted, because it hurt. “Reckon I would have told in the end if he’d done it again, but you got me out in time. So he don’t know nothing, but he’ll tell the Constable and the sheriff and they’ll come looking. I reckon we need to move.”
Nathan was gazing at the gold coins in Alice’s lap as she picked them up one by one and dropped them back into the purse. Many of the coins were small and silver while others were big and bright and heavy and Nathan had never seen any money like it before. He knew it had been luck when it fell from the baron’s belt and landed at his feet, but clearly the others were very proud of him and thought it a wonderful act of skill and courage.
“I seen a doctor what lives nearby,” said John. “Tis late, but I can go there and see if e’s awake.” He thought a moment. “And if e’ ain’t, I’ll wake him.”
“Here,” Alice handed him a
big gold coin. “Show this to the doctor so he’ll know we can pay. And tell him it’s urgent.”
Alfie was scowling. “Too much fuss,” he muttered. “I ain’t dying.”
Alice ignored him, and nodded to John. “Tell the doctor to hurry,” she said, “and we’ll pay extra.”
Chapter Five
The doctor had arrived almost immediately, and had spread ointment all over Alfie’s back, and had then bandaged him all around so that John said poor Alfie looked like a sausage ready for the pot.
They slept by the fire, their blankets pulled around them, but woke early, ready for action. It was time to move.
Very quickly they were able to buy a hot pie each, and their desperate hunger immediately faded. But buying what they needed was not as simple as Nathan had expected. They ran from the old warehouse and the muddy banks of the Thames, up through London’s narrow streets, some cobbled, some just dried earth, with their central gutters shining as folk emptied their night’s chamber pots out of their bedchamber windows.
Alice led the group to the shops and stalls of Cheapside, where the noise and bustle of a hundred shoppers became quite a squash. Nathan was interested to see that shops selling the same sort of things often huddled together in the same street, which made prices more competitive and the goods for sale were easy to compare. The street names echoed what was for sale and Bread Street was full of shops selling bread, their little ovens hot and the smell of baking delicious. Friday Street was full of fishmongers for no one was supposed to eat meat on a Friday, but The Shambles was full of butchers’ shops. Yet Nathan was even more amazed at the prices, for a single penny was the price of many good things and even the big readymade pies only cost three or four pence.
Alfie, his bandages showing under his torn shirt, went straight to a large apothecary’s shop, which Nathan guessed was like a chemist’s. But the owner frowned at Alfie.
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