Herald of the Storm by Richard Ford Read Free Book Online Page B

pinchers and cutters so they knew which marks to go for. It was organised, disciplined, and so they took the richest pickings. If Rag got in the way, distracted a picker or drew undue attention, she’d get more than a hiding; she’d be lucky if she’d be left with her eyes. Then it’d be a life on the corners of Dockside or worse, the Rafts, and she’d have no choice but to beg with the rest of the cripples,
if
she were lucky. If she weren’t lucky she’d be whored out for scraps, a freak, treated like an animal until someone ended her short life for her. Rag had seen it happen, and she was determined it weren’t a fate she’d share. Yes, the Guild controlled this market, and thieving here without their say so was dangerous indeed.
    Nevertheless, a gal had to eat, and Rag was mighty hungry.
    The smell of Gunta’s bread stall was wafting her way, almost as though the fat baker was just asking her to take one of his plump, brown loaves. She’d robbed him before, more than once, and it was likely he’d be looking out for her, but Rag had a knack for going unnoticed. For some children, normal children with parents who bought them food and clothes and kept a roof over them, lack of attention might have been a problem. Not so for Rag. Her talent for being ignored suited her just fine.
    Across the market the Guild lookout was busy marking a punter for his pincher, so there’d be no trouble there. The three lads in the Greencoats were laughing and joking with two well-dressed girls who looked well out of their league, so no trouble there neither.
    Fat Gunta was busy chatting to two equally fat women, who by the looks of them needed to skip a few meals. It was almost as if the baker was begging her to help rid him of his wares.
    Rag walked up all casual. She matched the pace of a passing merchant, allowing his bulk to shield her, and for a split second thought of cutting his purse, but she knew it wasn’t worth it. Loaves was of no interest to the Guild. Purses was quite different.
    As the merchant passed the end of Gunta’s stall, Rag stopped walking and let him move on, never looking up, never locking her eyes on the mark lest he glance round and see her, or those fat ladies spot her and give the game away. Most times if you didn’t look at someone they wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t even notice you were there. She was right next to the stall now, within arm’s reach of a nice crusty loaf. It weren’t nothing just to take one, and it was in her hand before anyone noticed; not so fast as to attract attention, not so slow as to take all day. In less time than it took to suck up a breath, her coat was open and the loaf aiming for the inside of it, when someone banged into her. Rag stumbled, the bread spilling from her grip and cracking on the cobbles right in front of the stall, crust breaking to bits like a shattered mirror, and making not much less noise.
    ‘Oi!’ screamed Gunta, ladies forgotten and his face all twisted in rage. ‘You little bastard! Come here!’
    Rag didn’t need further encouragement to head off through the crowd, but before she could take a step someone had grabbed her coat by the collar. She struggled in vain – he had her. She glanced back to see who it was, hoping it weren’t a Greencoat, terrified it might be someone from the Guild, but it was just an ordinary bloke, going about his business.
    She struggled and squirmed her best, even trying to stamp on the wanker’s foot, but he was immovable, and Gunta was coming from behind that bread counter, his face all puffy and red. She was going to get a right beating for this and no mistake.
    Rag let her body go slack, bending her knees and dropping out of her coat, just before Gunta was able to grab her. Then she was off and running, through the crowd and all the hubbub. She’d had that coat for years, and it pained her to leave it behind, but better a coat gone than maybe some fingers, she reckoned.
    Gunta was coming on behind,