Chapter the Fourth
The door slammed shut behind Cutler Beckett. He listened to the retreating sound of Mr. Battiscrombe's housekeeper marching back into the house, and he breathed out a long relieved sigh, sagging against the closed door. After a long moment, he reopened his eyes, staring out at the empty street in front of him.
The sky was starting to darken, and in the time he'd spent working with Battiscrombe the heat of the day had passed and thin tendons of cold breeze were creeping along the silent street. Cutler shivered as the cold wrapped around him, and pulled his coat tighter across his chest. With heavy steps, he started trudging back to his house, his footsteps in the gravel unusually loud.
He was half way home when he realised he was being followed.
They weren't particularly quiet or secret, as their feet thumped along the path behind him and their harsh laughter echoed off the houses around him.
He cast a fearful glance over his shoulder and saw four or five boys, about his age, and he recognised their leering smiles. He quickened his pace; his instincts screamed at him to run, but he kept walking, watching the path disappear beneath his lengthened strides. As he reached the corner and ducked behind the relative safety of a wall, he let himself have the luxury of fear and ran on terrified feet, as fast as he could, towards home.
The sound of his gang of juvenile followers thundered after him. Cutler's heart thumped in his chest as it pumped fear around his limbs, and, powered by terror, he sprinted the full length of the street, shooting fearful looks over his shoulder at his pursuers.
He almost managed to reach the end of the street before they caught him.
Smashing into him, the biggest boy, who Cutler knew to be the leader of the little gang, knocked him to the ground, winding him. He cried out and struggled, but the older boy held him down. The others caught up, panting and laughing as they stared at Cutler wiggling helplessly in their friend's hold.
"Where's your rich father now, Beckett?" the eldest boy asked, real dislike in his voice and a sneer on his face.
Cutler gave the boy a look laden with malice and dripping with disgust. The other boy just laughed, and pulling back a lazy fist, he punched Cutler in the mouth.
Cutler cried out, shooting a hand to his face and feeling warm, sticky blood on his lip. He covered his head with his hands, cowering in a ball on the dirty floor as punches and kicks rained down on him from the other boys.
One snaked in a hand and stole his pocket watch, while another tore open his pockets and emptied his possessions on the ground. Cutler could only wince and grunt pitifully from the floor as the boys landed blow after blow on his unprotected body.
Then all at once it stopped.
He heard a surprised cry and a resounding smack, followed by the sound of a scuffle and shouts of anger from his attackers. He opened tentative eyes; one was bleary and tender but with the other he saw something miraculous. Another boy had joined the fight; he was a head taller than the other boys and faster with his punches, and unbelievably seemed to be on Cutler's side.
The leader of the gang squared up to the boy, a scowl on his face and his fists raised in readiness, but his new opponent bought up a knee into his stomach and, as the other boy doubled over, smashed his legs out from under him, sending him hurtling to the floor. The new boy turned to the rest of the gang, landing a swift punch on the cheek of one member and a backhand smack on the face of another. The boys very quickly lost heart. With a last desperate look at their leader, who had staggered to his feet and was creeping slowly away from the fight, they turned and ran.
Cutler watched it all from the ground, feeling too abused to even contemplate getting up. The other boy stood watching the gang retreat, then padded over to where Cutler lay, his feet silent on the hard ground. As he turned, Cutler realised with a jolt that his rescuer was the eldest son of the beggar woman, Mary Mercer. The boy knelt down beside Cutler and prodded him a few times, making Cutler wince. Satisfied, he held out a hand and helped Cutler to his feet.
"You'll live," the boy said, his voice quiet and gravely. "Probably."
Cutler was stunned and tried to stammer a thank you. His rescuer just shrugged. "I owed you for what you did for my mother," he told him. "Now we are even."
There was a finality in his tone that Cutler was bought up to respect, but as the boy began walking away, Cutler found himself following.
"What was your name again?" he asked, taking two steps to keep up with the bigger boy's one.
"Mercer," he replied shortly.
"First name?" Cutler asked, trotting along beside him.
"Just Mercer," was the succinct reply.
Cutler nodded, pausing to think. Mercer just marched on without him.
"Wait," Cutler called, running now to keep up. "Could you teach me to fight as you did?"
Mercer stopped walking, looking in disbelief at the smaller boy. "Why?" he asked. "Are you gonna go picking fights with those lads again?"
Cutler shook his head, small face set. "I don't think they're finished with me, and if they come back I want to be ready."
That hadn't occurred to Mercer, and a frown creased his forehead as he thought about it. He grunted in agreement.
Cutler smiled a slightly self-satisfied smile, but his grin disappeared as Mercer said, "I can't help you," and strode off.
"Ooh," Cutler cried and pulled at the older boys sleeve. "Why not?"
Mercer looked Cutler up and down without stopping in his strides. "You're too little," he decided.
Cutler scowled. "That won't stop those boys attacking me," he snapped, clenching his small fists. "Please, teach me!"
"Leave me alone!" Mercer ordered, pushing Cutler away.
Cutler stumbled backwards, falling over his own feet and grunting in distress as he landed on his tender back. He was back on his feet in an instant, swallowing the pain and grabbing at Mercer's retreating leg. The older boy cried out as Cutler snatched his feet from under him, and he plummeted to the ground. Cutler staggered towards Mercer but Mercer was quicker, as he rolled onto his back and kicked at him. The blow landed on Cutler's shin and he flinched, nursing his injury.
Mercer didn't give him time to recover and hurtled to his feet, slamming bodily into Cutler and sending them both sprawling. As the two boys wrestled on the ground, dust was thrown up around them and dirt was smudged on their faces and clothes.
Cutler struggled desperately, but he was smaller and younger and soon found himself overpowered. To his surprise, as Mercer hovered over his helpless form, fist pulled back in preparation of a punch, he suddenly laughed.
"Alright," Mercer relented. "I'll teach you."
Climbing carefully off Cutler, he reached down and pulled him back onto his feet. Cutler's eyes were wide and confused but Mercer just grinned at him, patting him on the shoulder.
"We'll meet again," he said, and Cutler nodded emphatically.
Weary and sore, the boys turned to go their separate ways. Cutler began trudging home, tired and bruised, but with a grin was plastered over his battered, bleeding face.
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A/N: I apologise for the length of the chapter and the length of time it took for me to update. More chapters will follow soon, I promise!
Yours in greatest sincerity,
Damsel.
