Page 43 of Of Fate and Phantoms
"Pups," Tick said with a grin.
"You used to be real skinny," Mink went on. "And quiet. I thought you were quiet so no one noticed you."
That was exactly why. It had worked until I raised the spirit in the police cell and been taken to Lichfield. After that, there was no point in remaining insignificant. "If no one notices you, no harm can come to you," I said. I watched him, the boy who had been quiet too, but was now the leader, even if of a depleted gang.
"I used to wonder how you got here," he said. "You could read and write so I knew you weren't from round here."
"I wasn't the only one." How much did he want the others to know? How much did they already know, or had guessed? "What happened to Stringer?"
He blinked quickly at the change of topic. "He died."
"How?"
"Mutiny," Tick said. "He tried to sell Weasel here to a brothel keeper." He patted the blankets and the body—Weasel—wheezed.
"Weasel's a girl?"
"Not that kind of brothel," Mink said. "The kind that takes boys."
"Weasel's got a pretty face," Tick said with a shrug. "When it ain't all sickly like now. Pretty like a girl's, but he ain't. I seen his pizzle stick."
"So the rest of the gang rose up against Stringer?" Thank God I hadn't been around to witness the events, yet I wished I'd been there to help. Ousting a bigger, stronger lad like Stringer must have taken some courage.
"Aye," Tick said. "But Mink worked it all out. He led us coz he's smart."
"What did you do with the body?"
"Sold it to the resurrection man."
"Shut it," Mink hissed. "She'll tell the pigs."
"Your secret is safe with me," I assured him.
"Resurrection man were right glad he didn't have to dig one out of the graveyard," Tick went on.
"That was very brave of you, Mink. Brave and noble. You have a good heart." If one disregarded the murder of Stringer. "You're exactly the sort of person we need." When he didn't answer, I added, "My friend is a good man, too, also brave and noble." Perhaps noble wasn't the right word, but Mink didn't have to know that. "We're not asking you to do bad things."
Mink's lips flattened. He glanced at the two figures on the mattress. "I can't risk it. I can't risk their lives."
"You are, just by refusing my offer. Without our help, not all of you will survive the winter." My gaze settled on the body buried beneath the blankets as another coughing fit racked him. I remember being that sick once, but no one had bothered to take care of me. I'd coughed until I vomited up bile and snot, but no one had cleaned me up. I'd lain in my own filth for a week until I somehow got well enough to get up. I'd left that gang as soon as my legs were strong enough to take me away.
"Come on, Mink," Tick said. "Stringer would of done it, for the money and stuff."
"I'm not Stringer!" Mink snapped.
"Maybe that's why we're hungrier than we ever were," Tick retorted. "Maybe that's why Fleece talks about taking over this place and setting up his gang in here."
"Fleece?" I prompted. I remembered him. A nasty, violent boy of about sixteen who controlled the streets to the east. His gang had chased me many times when I ventured too close to their territory, but they never caught me. It was how I'd earned the name Fleet-foot Charlie.
"He tried to take this place from us," Tick told me, "but we fought him off. Stabbed him in the leg, good and proper like the pig he his, but he says he'll come back soon and kill us all if we don't leave."
"Then leave," I said rashly.
"And go where?"
"I know a place." Even as I said it, I knew it wouldn't be possible. Gus's great-aunt took in girls in need of shelter, but her house was already full and these boys were, well, boys.
"If you could help, why didn't you come back before now?" Mink asked, his top lip curled up. "Why wait?"
