A/N: Hello readers. I'm so happy with the response this story has gotten in only two chapters. Yay! Cyber cookies for all. This is amazing. I didn't think this idea would get as much response as it did. Thank you. Chapter Three now. In this chapter, Kurt escapes to London. A quick note. Bold words will be defined at the end of this chapter as I used some of Dickens' dialect. I don't own Glee or Oliver Twist, and I think you know who does by now. Happy reading.

Chapter Three: Of London and Escape

I have to get out of here. Kurt lay on the basement floor, shivering from the autumn chill. The basement of the Undertaker's shop, despite the shutters and curtains, still let in every bit of damp air that the English evening offered. She was a cruel mistress. "I have to get out of here." Kurt repeated the mantra. "I have to get to London." The boy had heard tales of London from Mr. Sowerberry, and older boys in the workhouse.

"Such glory and grandeur m'boy. I shall see if I can pull some strings with the missus and take ya on my next trip there."

"Thank you Sir."

And so, the need for Kurt to get to London was now even greater, but he knew Mr. Sowerberry wouldn't take him anymore. He'd have to do it on his own.

Kurt looked up at the shutter. He had been taking shutters off windows for three days, one more wouldn't kill him. "I have to wait until tonight."

And so he waited. He didn't raise suspicions, because Sowerberry was working overtime, as it was fever season, and the missus didn't give a damn. Santana no longer provided him with meals, or at least didn't address him. He had to guess when his gruel would be in the corner. Only a few more hours. Just a few more hours.
Kurt had decided that he would make his escape when the moon was at its highest point, the most light for him to see by. Though he was young, Kurt knew that he was risking a lot with this endeavor. The reward, in this case however, took precedence over said risks. Don't I know it?

Kurt shook his head, watching the window. The moon was at the 11'oclock position when Kurt jiggled the shutter, loosening it. The boy slid it off with ease, breathing a sigh of relief. Cripes, good thing I didn't drop it! He swung his leg over the sill, ever so glad that he was made to stay in the basement. Less commotion was raised that way.

He dropped and began to run.

Many people in the town, upon seeing Kurtis, felt the usual curiosity. The lad was a sight. The hair under his cap stuck to his head in a sticky mess, his clothes were in tatters and his shoes were doing little to protect his feet, being completely ragged. As Kurt got closer to London, the looks lessened until they were non-existent. Now it is time for some more exposition. Bear with me. London was full of urchins, street gangs and the like, so one more child in such a condition was common. Many folks in the town looked on it as a disgrace that London was so full of street rats, but no one cared enough to do anything. Times were hard enough for them without having to worry about an odd child on the street.

"London." Kurt knew immediately when he arrived, for things were busier, much busier. Peddlers had carts for their wares, and were trying hard to sell them. Kurt grimaced as he saw an older gentleman, tackle a young man begging him to purchase something. Well then… odd that is. He glanced around, looking for somewhere, anywhere to sleep. He noticed a building with wide steps, a church by the looks of it. He perched himself on the third step, observing. London sure was wild. He felt his eyelids drooping, and before he knew it he was out.

At that same moment as the sun rose, a boy walked over to the food seller.

"'Ello lad, what can I do for you?" The seller asked.

The boy averted his gaze, going into disrespectful teenager mode; anything to get this chap to shut his mug, and ignore him. It was essential.

"Eh, mate, I asked you a question." The boy still didn't answer, crossing his arms, and pulling his cap over his eyes. "Eh, kids." The food seller turned his back and went back to trying to get folks to buy something. The boy cocked his cap, reaching his hand back, and carefully grabbing the meat. He placed it in the pocket of his trench with the same practiced ease, before walking slowly towards the church. Eh, well would ya lookit that? The lad noticed our young Kurtis curled up on the stoop, asleep. He took in his ratted appearance, thoughtful. "Eh, mate wake up!" He shook the younger boy.

Kurt opened his eyes sleepily. His eyes widened as he saw the older boy. "Hello." He stood. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get in the way. I just needed somewhere to sleep…"

The older boy chuckled, patting Kurt jovially on the back. "No apologies necessary mate. I don't know anything about this old place anyway. What's your name covey?"

Kurt was taken aback. He thought that he would get in trouble, but this kid seemed to actually care. "Um… Kurtis, Kurtis Twist." He gaped as the older boy helped him to his feet.

"Nice to meet ya Kurtis. The names Blaine Anderson, but me closest mates call me Dodger… the Artful Dodger."

"Why are you called that?" Kurt asked, following Blaine to the food stand.

Blaine pulled his coat open revealing a piece of meat and an apple in the pockets. "That's why." Blaine looked down at Kurt, who was eyeing the food. Blaine discreetly snatched another apple handing it to the boy with a wink.
"Thank you Sir." Kurt said.

"You ain't from 'round 'ere are ya?" Blaine asked.

Kurt shook his head, not meeting Blaine's eyes.

"You got lodgings, money?"

Another shake of the head.

"Well then Mate, you're in luck. I just happen to know an old coot who would take ya in. He's a bit crazy, but there's plenty o' grub, and it'll be 'ome. Whatta ya say?"

Kurt looked up, thinking. What do I have to lose? He'd be no worse off than he was now, and it'd be a roof over his head. "That would be nice. Thanks Blaine."

Blaine held out his hand. "Great. Stay close mate."

Blaine ducked from side to side in an alley, Kurt following. The smaller boy got knocked about so much that he almost lost sight of Blaine, but Blaine would always be waiting at the end of a throng, holding out his hand to pull Kurt through. The two boys stopped at a door. The Dodger knocked. A peephole was opened. Blaine produced a whistle, two low notes.

"What's the score?" The eyes at the door inquired.

"God dammit Sammy, Plummy and Slam. Just open the bloody door." Blaine laughed.

"Sorry there Dodge." The door opened revealing a boy with messy blond hair, and dirt decorating his face. He looked no more than eleven. "Goolsby be getting more par'noid. Who's the kid?"

"New pal. Kurtis Twist." Blaine said.

"I can introduce myself just fine." Kurt said. "Kurt. Nice to meet you."

"Sam." The boy held his hand out, which Kurt grasped.

"Now if ya be excusin' us Sammy, I gotta introduce our new pal to Goolsby."

Blaine dragged Kurt up a flight of creaky stairs. "Goolsby! Goolsby, show your face!" Blaine knocked on a door atop the stairs and barged in.

He could've waited. Kurt thought.

"Well, if it ain't the Dodger!" A voice exclaimed. Kurt followed the voice and saw a man sitting sidesaddle in a chair. He had dark brown hair and blue eyes that just pierced him straight through. "Who's this? A new member of the team?"

"This is Kurtis…" Kurt silenced him by putting up his hand.

"Just Kurt please."

"A'right. Kurt Twist." Blaine said.

"Well hello dear, will ya be joinin' us then?"

"I… guess so."

"Welcome to the family m'boy." Goolsby patted Kurt on the shoulder, before retreating down the stairs.

Blaine waited before dragging Kurt down those same stairs, and towards a group of ragtag kids, who immediately went wild.

"Who's this Dodge? He gonna be with us now or what?"

"The hell Dodge? Why didn't ya tell us?"

"Did ya get any grub or just this mite?"

"Eh! Step back, give 'im some air!" Blaine yelled. "Yes, yes and yes I did." He pulled back his trench pulling out the random food items.

The kids around him went wide eyed. "Glory Dodge, how'd ya manage that?"

Blaine smirked. "They don't call me the Artful One for nothing mates."

While this exchange was going on, Sam had crept up behind Kurt, and subtly went through his pockets, as was the nature of the art, upon Goolsby's request. He pulled out the locket and the ancient key, and pocketed them. Goolsby would be interested in this. And all this our young Kurtis never knew.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Now some definitions. Covey is just another word for pal, friend, mate etc... Plummy and Slam is the password Fagin's gang used for entrance in Dickens' book Oliver Twist. I couldn't think of anything else. Coming up next chapter: Kurt gets to know the gang, and how they really get all they need. What did you guys think of Blaine and Sam? Was my accent awful? Any suggestions for the next chapter? R&R