Those poor, poor children! She thought to herself. Gazing out the window of the carriage she was riding in, Miss Dora Fedora thought to herself, "I bet they don't have any skills… no one has taught them anything!"
She sat there, fretting to herself about the great injustice done to these poor deprived street children, when she realized something. Some of these boys might just prove to be… graceful. They certainly looked as if they had strength… Perhaps if they were formally trained… A thought struck her. There was something she could do for these poor, deprived street rats. She could teach them culture. She could teach them grace. She could teach them… the art of dance.
She smiled to herself as she pulled a small notebook and a pencil from her satchel. She had plans to make. There were a lot of supplies that she would need. However many supplies she needed, it did not matter, she had more than enough money. She was one of the richest women in New York.
The next day was when it all started. Packages of every shape and size started showing up at her door. She smiled as another deliveryman rang the doorbell with another parcel.
She could hear the clear deep voice of Henderson, her butler, drift up the stairs. "Many thanks. Mind the rhododendron on the way out."
Her stern eyes flipped back and forth across the crowd. She noticed an orphan of the street, but this one was not what she needed. He was not strong enough. The crutch he held securely under his arm would prevent him from accomplishing the tasks she had.
"Keep going." She ordered the driver in a fierce voice.
There was a good candidate. He was tall, and lean, and by the way he carried himself, he looked strong and sure of himself.
"I want that one!" she hissed to her driver, pointing to a tall young man in a black cowboy hat, and a red bandanna tied around his neck.
The man sitting next to her grinned, showing off grayed teeth. He pulled a tranquilizer gun out from under the seat, and put it to his shoulder. After cleaning the dust from the scope with his shirtsleeve, he looked through it, and aimed.
Suddenly, a man dressed in a brown uniform bearing the letters "NPA" stepped in between the man and his target.
"Halt!" he ordered.
When the woman opened her mouth to protest, the uniformed man said, "I'm from the NPA, that's newsie protection agency, ma'am. That's a direct violation of code 7-2, section C. No firearms of any sort are to be used against them. It's about the only right they have. This is your official warning." He handed the woman an envelope that was addressed to her, saluted, and walked away.
With a sigh of disappointment, she told the driver, "I guess we shall have to do this the hard way." Then she leaned back and mumbled something into the back of the wagon as they set off on a slow pace towards the young man.
Someone peeked out if the side of the wagon, and just as they were slowly passing him by, two pairs of hands burst out of the canvas cover, and yanked him off of his feet, and into the wagon.
Skittery grimaced as he read over the day's headlines. They were horrible. How was he expected to sell these papes? No one was even paying any attention to him. With a sigh, he lifted a crisp paper over his head, and was about to yell out the headline, when a hand clasped itself over his mouth, and pulled him into an alley. He dropped his papers in surprise, and flailed his arms, but it did no good. A minute or so later, a covered wagon slowly drove out of the shadows, and turned the corner, before disappearing out of sight.
A carriage burst around the corner, splattering muddy water all over Specs. Grumbling to himself, he brushed the excess water from his clothes. He set his papers down on a crate at the opening of an alley, and removed his glasses as he muttered to himself,
"Da only puddle in da city, and I'se gotta be walkin' right right by it while someone drives too close to da curb! Things can't possibly get any worse!" He stated as he carefully wiped his lenses with a dry patch of his shirt.
Someone grabbed him from behind, and it surprised him so much, that he dropped his glasses. He was dragged backwards, into the alley. The last thing he saw before he was blindfolded, was someone carefully wiping off his glasses, and a few seconds later, he could feel them being shoved into his pocket.
Snoddy and Snitch sat slumped against the wall, arguing over where they should sell next. The early morning rush of Second Street had already gone by.
Before they could agree on another selling spot, something caught their eyes.
"A dollar!" they both yelled, as they scampered to their feet to chase after it. I sudden gust of wind blew the paper money into an alley. Not looking at anything but their prize, they were both caught off guard when the burlap bags went over their heads.
With a snicker, the gray-toothed man rolled up his string, and shoved it into his pocket, not bothering to untie the dollar from the end of it.
"Finally!" Mush thought to himself, "A bit of luck." There was a group of businessmen that would all buy a paper, since he had encountered the same group just last week. When they were only about 20 feet from them, a covered wagon stopped in between him and the crowd. If the wagon had come any closer, they would have ran over his feet, since he was already leaning on the wall. Before he even realized that there was someone in the back, strong arms reached out and pulled him into the wagon. As he felt the wagon take off, he got a quick glimpse around the wagon before he was blindfolded. What he saw, terrified him. On one side of the wagon, sat a few other prisoners. What terrified him was the fact that he knew each one of them. Then he was tossed into the pile with his bound and gagged friends
Racetrack kicked the bench in front of him. He lost again. He sold off his last pape, shoved the penny into his pocket, and headed for the door.
"Hey, Kid!" he heard a voice call out. "I gots a good tip on tomorrow's race!" called the voice from the edge of an alley.
Curious, Race walked into the shadows of the alley, and asked, "'Scuse me?"
Before he could locate the source of the voice, a hand clamped over his mouth, and he was being tied up. He tried to struggle out of the strong grip, but it was impossible. He was blindfolded before he was dragged deeper into the alley, and he could feel himself being hoisted into some sort of wagon.
~That man is following me!~ Kid Blink thought to himself as he walked down the street, and it made him mad. He turned the corner into an alley, and ducked behind a crate. As soon as the man walked past his crate, Blink jumped out at him, pummeling him with his fists. His third punch knocked the guy out. Keeping his gaze on the fallen man, Blink Backed out of the alley. He gave a short yell as a burlap bag was pulled over his head, but someone covered his mouth through the bag, cutting off his shout.
"Local business the victim of arson!" Bumlets yelled out to a passing group of people.
After the group had passed, Dutchy asked, "What really happened, Bums?" as he leafed through his own paper.
"Says someone was burning trash in da alley next to it" Bumlets explained with a smile as he pointed to the article he was referring to.
A shadow fell across the paper they were looking at. They both looked up to see a nun standing over them.
It wasn't a nun they had ever seen before. This nun was very tall, and had a square face with a cleft chin that stuck way out underneath a narrow smile with graying teeth.
"Are you hungry?" the nun asked them.
Nodding furiously, Dutchy answered, "I'se always hungry!"
"Yeah!" Bumlets agreed.
"Follow me." The nun instructed, motioning for them to follow.
Grinning at each other, they both followed the broad shouldered, black clad figure down the street, and into an alley.
"There's nothin' here." Bumlets observed right before someone grabbed him from behind.
As the wagon pulled out of the alley, the driver tossed a nun's habit over the side of the wagon, and onto a crate. The woman, still sitting in the front seat, grinned, and clapped her hands in anticipation. The grin was still plastered on her face, a long while after that, when they pulled through some tall iron gates that blocked off a very long driveway that lead up to a large impressive, fortress-like house.