Artful: A Novel by Peter David Read Free Book Online

standing on the corner for a prolonged time, yes, and that had been the basis for the man’s clear misunderstanding. And now she was in deep because the man had taken a fancy to her, and he didn’t seem inclined to consider “no” an acceptable response.
    Mr. Jack Dawkins knew the type of brute all too well, and there was something about the girl’s attitude that appealed to him. He was not able to articulate for himself what it was, although we are not so limited: Clearly, it was the fact that the girl affected great airs to act as if she were above her station, and because Dodger customarily did the same thing, he felt that connection to her. At least, that is our surmise, and it seems a reasonable one given the circumstances, although it is certainly not intended to supplant whatever conclusions the reader might draw on his or her own.
    Whatever the reason, the Artful was moved to cross the street as quickly as possible. He briefly considered challenging the man directly, perhaps battering him with his walking stick, calling him a bounder or cad, doing whatever was required to let the chap know just how little Dodger thought of him and his ilk. Still, as much pleasure as that might give him, it wouldn’t really serve to accomplish the most important and pressing matter, which was to make certain that his interests in the girl were distracted and diverted as expeditiously as possible. Besides, the man also had a walking stick, and it was entirely possible he was quite proficient in its use.
    So it was that Dodger settled on another stratagem: He drew within range and reached into the man’s pocket for his handkerchief .
    Under ordinary circumstances, the man would have felt and noticed nothing at all. The inestimable Fagin had trained his pupils quite thoroughly in the art of relieving gentlemen of their handkerchiefs, and in that particular schooling, the Artful Dodger had been a valedictorian.
    This time, though, Dodger made no effort to mask his presence. He kept his hand in and fumbled about for what seemed an age to the lightning-fingered lad, and then the man turned and his face purpled as he shouted, “Hey, there!”
    By that point, the man’s handkerchief was already in Dodger’s possession. It was, Dodger had to admit, quite a beautiful one, silken with lace around the edges. Dodger had already taken several steps back, and he bowed slightly. “Pleasure doin’ business with ya, saaaar,” he said, dragging out the honorific to such a degree that he sounded nearly piratical.
    The oaf lunged for the Artful who, living up to his nom de street, eluded his grasp quite easily. “Get back here, rapscallion! Guttersnipe! Return that at once, do you hear?”
    The oaf’s hand pulled at the top of his cane; there was a sharp sliding noise of metal on wood, and abruptly a blade, two feet long, produced from within hiding in the cane, glittered in the evening light.
    Dodger gasped, momentarily startled. The first thought that went through his mind was a twinge of jealousy, for he had never seen the like and now desperately wanted one. The second thought was that it behooved him to put himself beyond the blade’s reach as expeditiously as possible.
    Moving with far greater speed than the Artful would have credited him, the man swept the blade at Dodger. The extended reach provided him by the blade brought him far closer than the current geography of the situation would have allowed were he unarmed, and Dodger bent himself in half backward, watching the blade as it passed directly overhead and within mere inches of his face. The man swung again, and this time Dodger batted the blade aside with his own cane, but an extended engagement of simple wood versus cold steel did not seem to be in Dodger’s best interests.
    For a moment, he entertained the notion of throwing down the handkerchief and leaving the girl to her fate, but the notion was repulsive to him, not squaring with his view of how a gentleman should behave