Page 3 of A Dark and Stormy Knight
“And, what they lack in skill they make up for in eagerness,” added another.
Dark Sally’s eyes turned from kind to malevolent as she speared the boys with a hatred they weren’t yet old enough to understand or to have earned. “Don’t no man ‘round here bother with skill,” she sneered. “They’ll grow to be no different.”
A roar of laughter followed the lads out into the yard as they escaped the loud and bawdy women only to be swallowed by the crowded din of the streets.
A bitter autumn wind reached icy fingers through their threadbare clothes, and Cutter snapped the collar of his jacket higher, though it did little good. He rubbed at the back of his neck, and again at the empty ache in his chest.
Something was fucking wrong. Off. Missing.
“Fleas at you again?” Dorian ribbed.
“No, I just…” Cutter could think of nothing to describe what he was experiencing. “I’m cold is all.”
“Where’s the coat you got from the Ladies’ Aid Society this spring?” Dorian asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That jacket you’ve on wouldn’t warm a fleeced sheep.”
“The sleeves barely came past me elbows anymore,” he answered, giving his newly elongated limbs a wry stretch. “Besides, Caroline’s was swiped from a doss house while back, so I gave it her.”
Dorian nodded.
A tepid humiliation lodged next to the demon dogging Cutter, and he glanced over at Dorian to suss his friend’s thoughts. “Caro’s not like them whores in there,” he rushed to explain. “She’s just…well she won’t let me spend me rifleman money on a room while it’s still above freezing, so she does what she’s got to.”
“I know.” Dorian gave a sober nod, his shoulders hunching forward a little more. “She wants out as bad as we do.”
“Maybe worse.”
“We’ve almost enough, Cutter.” A thread of steel hardened his friend’s voice and worked at his jaw as he looked so far ahead, he might squint into the future. “I bet our haul today will cover at least one of us.”
“But we go together,” Cutter reiterated.
“Together,” Dorian nodded, and they knocked their forearms.
A few months past, Cutter had hatched a scheme on the day the royals had paraded through High Street to celebrate the betrothal of a princess.
Dazzled by the accompanying regimentals in their crimson coats and rifles, he’d decided that in the space of a year, he and Dorian would be tall enough to lie about their ages and join Her Majesty’s Army whereupon they’d be paid a penny a day. Enough to keep Caroline in rooms, and even send her to the regimental school. Enough to get medicine for Jane Blackwell’s deteriorating health.
Enough to buy a future that didn’t end in an early grave or worse, prison.
But that took papers…documents of birth they didn’t have, and forging papers took money. So, they all kept whatever savings they could scrimp together in a tin hidden in Dorian’s wall, waiting for the day they’d have enough.
“All’s we have to do is evade the coppers until then.” Dorian shoved his chin toward a pair on their beat, cudgels already out though there was no disturbance. “They’ll give you nickel in Newgate for just about anything these days.”
“You’ll still marry her, won’t you?” Cutter’s soft question was almost lost to the din. “Even after the watchmaker. Even after—”
A rough punch landed on his shoulder. “’Course I will, you toad. Caro’s me first kiss and everything, and…we all gotta do what needs doing to survive.”
Dorian less than some, Cutter didn’t say.
Because it wasn’t his fault he had a mum, a roof over his head, or at least one or two guaranteed meals a day. Besides, Dorian and Mrs. Blackwell were generous whenever they could be.
“Maybe, if I’m going to marry Caroline, Mum would let her sleep in my corner with me.”
Cutter’s head snapped up as he speared Dorian with a glare.
“Not like that.” Dorian lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. “I won’t touch her or nothing. Just… so she wouldn’t have to sleep somewhere else. With…anyone else.”
Cutter had to swallow around a thickening throat before he could reply.
“You would do that?”
