It was dark. Too dark, which Charley discerned as he collided heavily with the side of an old building.

"Huh. How'd that get there?"

After the pretty colors vanished and the lights finished swirling around his head, he picked himself up and brushed himself off, shaking his head as if trying to shake the stupid out of himself. He started off running again in the same direction.

BAM!

"This damn wall!"

Slightly the wiser, but still cursing at the wall, convinced that it was its fault and not his, he continued down the filthy street. He didn't know where to go or what would become of him once he decided upon and reached a destination. All he knew was that he must keep running as fast as his tiny, malodorous feet would allow.

However, he stopped short, ignoring his conscience's advice (which he had quite a knack for).

Why am I running in the first place? He asked himself, realizing just how hard that smack in the face was.

Head smarting, he pondered on this question for quite a while, but the only conclusion he could arrive at was that he was entirely too sober and needed his daily (or hourly, to be more precise) dose of gin.

Then suddenly, with a snap of his fingers, it came to him. Oh!

He was half running from the nosy policemen, and half running to keep up with the Dodger.

Where is Dodge, anyway? Hmm, he must've just kept running when that wall got in the way of my face. Stupid wall!

When he finally dragged his thoughts away from the wall (which, according to Mr. Bates, will rot in hell for all eternity and then some), he allowed them to reflect on the situation at hand, which he blamed entirely on Oliver Twist.

Stupid giggling kid. I knew he was trouble from the start. If he hadn't gotten himself caught, he never would've met that Brownlow fellow, never would've led the beak back here, and I NEVER WOULD HAVE RUN INTO THAT STUPID WALL!

But Charley gave some thought to the latter and realized that he was more likely than not mistaken, for it wasn't the first time that a wall had "gotten in the way of his face". It was, however, the first time that this happened when he did not have a rather large amount of gin in his hand, and an even larger amount in his bloodstream. Ahh, those were the days, when after a strenuous day of picking pockets, he and the Artful one would relax with a game of whist and an endless supply of gin. It was during such times that Charley had a rather unfortunate knack for laughing himself off of his chair. He chuckled to himself as the reminisced of those days.

Then Charley's stomach gave a rather unpleasant turn. It was just then that he realized that things probably wouldn't be the same from now on, unless he could find Dodger and Fagin. He knew he wouldn't be able to get by on his own.

Wish I knew where Dodger was…

Charley wasn't necessarily concerned for his friend's safety; he knew that the Artful Dodger could most certainly take care of himself. No, he was concerned for his own safety and well being.

Who would he pick pockets with? Who would compete with him to see who could obtain the most pocket-handkerchiefs and snuffboxes at the end of the day? It wasn't exactly a contest; The Artful won every time. However, Charley was catching up these days.

"Well, I'm not getting any younger," mumbled Charley, and decided that he would keep walking until he found a suitable place to stay the night.

As he walked, he thought. As he thought, he completely lost his sense of direction, for Mr. Bates wasn't exactly the king of multi-tasking. When he stopped to rest on the corner of the street, he had a difficult time recognizing anything on said street. In fact, he was completely lost, and, as far as his observations could tell him, not in a completely sanitary part of town.

"Now I really need a drink."

Coincidentally, no sooner had the words left his lips than he noticed a pub on the opposite side of the street. Without hesitation, he walked, almost ran into the establishment.

He entered unnoticed. He looked around the smoke-filled room to observe men at card games, men at drunken fights over card games, men smoking their pipes, and vicious-looking women shouting at their husbands.

Perfect.

He went unnoticed, once again, to a particularly noisy section of the room where two men were at a game of poker. Charley's eyes went immediately to the mugs in each man's hand.

"Alright Jerry, let's see if you can beat a full house!"

The man who addressed Jerry laid his cards down on the table, making sure that they were clearly visible to his opponent. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms and, with a smirk, enjoyed the effect that the cards had on Jerry.

Jerry looked down at his own hand, then to the smirk on the other man's face, then again to his hand with a bemused expression.

"I- you- Henry you cheater!"

This accusation wiped the smirk off of Henry's face. Charley took advantage of this pending argument and sneaked under the table- plotting an attempt at the mugs of beer.

"You're calling me a cheater? I saw you look at my hand at least a dozen times! A lot of good it did you, though. You need to just accept, my dear friend, that you are not the most cunning when it comes to card games."

"You're drunk."

" I might as well be!" Henry reached for his mug of beer and found it gone. "What did you do with my beer?"

"I didn't touch it!"

"I'm sure you didn't, you drunk fool!"

"Are you calling me a liar!"

Now it was Jerry's turn to reach for his beer, and discover it missing. Meanwhile, Charley sat under the table enjoying his two mugs of beer and trying to suppress his laughter.

"Wot the-"

"Oh, this argument could go on for a while. Another mug of beer?"

"I'll get it-" Jerry turned to a rather gruff looking young lady across the room.

"Alice! We need two beers over here! Hurry up woman!"

Alice complied without hesitation. Jerry took the mugs out of her hands and handed one to Henry. Both men took several gulps and slammed their mugs down on the table simultaneously.

"Now, where were we?" asked Jerry.

"I believe we were at name-calling and false accusations."

"Oh, right! Cheater!"

And thus the argument commenced once more. During which time, Charley, employing his skills, reached up and grabbed both of the mugs in a single attempt. Being rather pleased with himself, Charley Bates was convinced that if the Dodger had seen this, he would be quite proud.

Meanwhile, the two men (who, I believe, were back on "Drunk fool" and "liar") stopped for a break from their argument once more and were again disappointed at their lack of alcohol. However, before one could blame the other for the beer's disappearance, Charley's good fortune ran out.

"Haha-hic-hahaha!"

"Wot was that?"

"It came from under the table."

And there Charley was discovered.

"Hey, kid, wot's so funny?" Jerry inquired.

"Who cares wot's funny! This little prig stole our beer!"

"Now, Jerry, don't go blamin' this little chap who happened to be under the table with four empty mugs!"

Henry groaned and shook his head at his friend's idiocy. Charley continued to laugh and was now rolling on the floor, not completely aware of the situation.

"Boy, are you okay?"

"Of course he isn't! he's drunk! On our beer!"

With one glance at Henry's infuriated face, Charley sobered up a bit.

"Now Henry, I told you, we don't have any proof that the boy is guilty."

And then came the inexhaustible argument. Charley became restless.

"Well, you gents-hic-make up your minds, and I s'pose I'll-hic-be off, now. So long!"

And with that, Charley walked out of the door, unnoticed by his preoccupied friends, and much more relaxed than when he had entered.

The rest of the night was somewhat of a blur to Charley. He awoke quite early the next morning.

"Hey, that tree is moving!"

He rubbed his eyes and looked about him, trying hard to remember the events of the previous night. He was relieved to discover that it was he and not the tree that was moving. He was lying on the back of a carriage, among several bails of hay. He hadn't the foggiest idea how he had gotten there or where the carriage was headed, but did not let this fact dampen his spirit. Instead, he looked with anticipation at the sun rising over the fields that quickly passed by him.

"Can't wait to see where this takes me!"