The Great Trouble by Deborah Hopkinson Read Free Book Online Page A

the mud. I managed to land on my hands and knees. I leaped up, ready to fight.
    “Don’t even try, you pigeon.” Nasty Ned stood a head taller than me. I cursed myself for being careless. Ned was bad enough. What if it had been Fisheye who’d snuck up behind me?
    I wrinkled my nose and stepped back. It was as if Ned took baths in a cesspool. Well, seeing as he was rarely out of the river, that was more or less the case. He narrowed his eyes. “Now, Eel, something’s puzzling me.”
    I brushed mud off my pants, scowling. “I imagine with your tiny brain there’s a lot that baffles you.”
    “I’m just wondering what you’re doin’ here,” he went on, ignoring my insult. “By my count, that’s twice this week. I don’t mind an occasional morning now and again, given that we’re old pals. But here you are back again.” He glowered at me, then tipped his river stick under my chin.
    I pushed it away. “You don’t own the river, Ned.”
    “Really? I wouldn’t be so sure.”
    He jerked his head to where a few younger boys were wading along the river’s edge. “See them lads? They work for me. They’re under my protection, so to speak. And I don’t like for ’em to come up empty-handed after a day’s trolling. I don’t like people pushin’ in.”
    “Oh, come on, Ned,” I said lightly. “You know I’m a better mudlark than that ragged lot. How about we go in together? It won’t be long before you’d be working for me, I wager.”
    Ned uttered a hoarse growl and swung his stick, this time aiming for my middle. I jumped aside just in time, and barely missed getting prodded in the stomach. Then I ran.
    I made for Blackfriars Bridge. Nasty Ned might not want me in his gang, but Thumbless Jake had to put up with me. For all his bluster, he simply didn’t move as fast.
    By midnight I’d scavenged enough coal to add a penny to my pocket. It was enough for some shrimps or a piece of bread with butter. My belly would have to stay empty, though. I owed this penny elsewhere. I found a place to curl up under the bridge. But I couldn’t let myself drop into a deep sleep, not with coins in my pocket. The chances of waking up to find them gone were too great.
    As it turned out, I couldn’t have slept even if I’d wantedto; my mind was as choppy as the river in a strong wind. I kept seeing Hugzie’s smug smile, Betsy and Bernie sitting so still and scared, Mr. Griggs writhing in pain.
    I tossed and turned on the hard stone. I’d have to get used to it. I’d been a mudlark before. I could do it again. I was good at it. That’s what made Thumbless Jake first notice me.
    “Hey, you, lad. Get over here,” he’d called out one evening when the fog had shrouded everything in strange, blurry shadows. It was dangerous when it got like that. A barge or other boat could come upon you so sudden there was barely time to move out of the way in the thick, sludgy water.
    “I been watchin’ you,” Thumbless Jake declared. “You make a good haul. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you could peer through the murk. You been a mudlark long?”
    I shrugged. “Not long.”
    “Hmph. Well, I don’t know how you’re doin’ so well, but keep your distance,” he warned, raising his stump of a thumb in my face. “I might be missing this, but I still got another hand that can wring a boy’s neck if ’e gets in my way.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
In Which I Visit Mrs. Miggle’s Lodging House
    Friday, September 1
    First thing I did the next morning was check my pocket. All safe.
    I sold the rope and the few copper nails I’d managed to find to a rag shop for a penny. Then I was on my way—me and everyone else. Our feet tapped out the rhythms of a new day: the slap of bare feet on cobblestones, the clomp of hard leather boots, the brisk click of ladies’ heels. It seemed a wonder that the cobblestones weren’t worn down flat.
    By the time I reached a little warren of streets near Field Lane, it was seven. The streets were