Author's Note

So how do folks like this version of Johanna? She definitely takes after her father... I've always thought Johanna was a much stronger personality than she showed.

They're making the final preparations before the big breakout... but we all know that no plan ever survives contact with the enemy.

Please review – reviews are my only reward.

Sweeney Todd's Apprentices

Their final plan was not up to Sweeney's meticulous standards, but it was the best they could do for the moment. Early that evening Dew and Anthony sneaked out of the barber-shop while Sweeney went down to the pie shop to distract Mrs. Lovett. He asked the woman for a glass of gin and she poured another for herself to celebrate. To celebrate what, Sweeney didn't dare ask—but Mrs. Lovett had always been able to fill up his silences with her own flood of words.

Once he was sure that his compatriots were long gone, Sweeney retreated back up to his shop and hastily packed a bag with his razors, his barbering gear, and the gun that he'd purchased in the pawnshop. His precious daguerreotype he carefully closed and put away in his bureau drawer. Then he waited until Mrs. Lovett opened the heavy bakehouse doors and crept down the stairs to the street. He'd endured many unpleasant things in his life, but he didn't want to endure Mrs. Lovett after she found out that he'd failed her.

Heading down Fleet Street toward Temple Bar, Sweeney found himself a small gin house. It was new enough that the floors were almost clean and there were some little tables in the back where he could sit by himself. The few pennies he had left would last for awhile here, and he could sit at the table and plan—or at least sit.

Sweeney nursed his gin through the hours and tried to figure out his next move. Things were going to get tricky. He could sneak back into his barber-shop, but how long could he avoid Mrs. Lovett? For that matter, how could Dew and Anthony avoid her? He had to teach them to be wigmakers and they needed to get together to do that.

Eventually he noticed that the young slattern who was serving the drinks was scowling at him. He was wasting space at a table and wasn't spending enough money.

For a wild moment Sweeney thought of returning to the pawnshop where he'd purchased his gun—maybe Georges and Albin would let him sleep on their floor. Then it occurred to him that he knew the address of Dew's shop. If he was going to sleep on anybody's floor, it ought to be Dew's. He'd just stood up to leave when his eye was caught by a small figure in the doorway.

What the hell was Toby doing here? Sweeney sat back down and ducked his head, but Toby spotted him anyway and came straight to him. After downing what remained of his gin, he picked up his satchel in one hand and grabbed Toby's collar with the other. As he dragged the lad out of the gin shop Sweeney overheard the comments that one would expect about the "poor lad trying to get his drunken father to come home."

"What are you doing here?" Sweeney growled. He pushed Toby against a brick wall and glared into the lad's face. Toby tried to pull away, but Sweeney was in no mood to let him go. "Have you delivered Dew's message?"

"'Course I did—hours ago!" Toby's eyes were wide and filled with tears. "Mrs. Lov—Mum sent me to look for you. She's awful upset—I've never seen her like this before! I won't tell her where you are—I won't say anything. Please sir, let me go!"

"What did she say? Speak!" Sweeney hissed.

Toby shook his head pleadingly. "She said that you owed her and that you ought to do your part. Sir, please, it hurts!"

Sweeney loosened his grip—but only slightly. What should he do with Toby? Of course he could always cut his throat. Killing him would make sure that he wouldn't talk, but...

"You're coming with me now." Sweeney's hand was still clamped on his shoulder, so Toby had no choice. He opened his silver razor and showed it to Toby, then shoved it back into its holster. "Don't try to run away, boy. I'm in no mood for tricks tonight."

After some back-and-forth wandering in a patch of twisty new side streets, Sweeney finally found the right one, and after a few more moments he was able to identify Dew's shop. When Toby realized where they were going, he protested, "Why din't you tell me you were lookin' for the old gent's shop? I been there—I could've taken you right to it!"

Sweeney was in no mood to be criticized either so he squeezed Toby's shoulder sharply to silence him.

Dew's so-called shop didn't look like much—it was the narrowest building on the street. There was no sign on the storefront—just a long thin shuttered window next to the door. The window looked like it had just been cleaned but there was nothing in it. Before he rapped at the door, Sweeney checked quickly to the left and the right to make sure nobody was watching.

He heard footsteps inside and the sound of something heavy being moved. A peephole in the door was quickly uncovered and shut. Then the door was opened and somebody pulled Sweeney inside—along with Toby.

As soon as the door was closed, a shadowy figure uncovered a lamp to reveal a tired Tony Dew, who was now wearing a blue jacket and a red waistcoat. "What's going on? Why did you bring the boy here?"

Sweeney scowled. "Toby knew where your shop is. Don't worry, we weren't followed. I can't stay at my shop any more—we can't afford questions."

Dew nodded. "All right, there's an extra cot in the back room. Come along—I've been making preparations." The front room was practically empty except for a battered desk that held some optical lenses in a wooden box and a single lighted candle. When Dew led them into the back room, it was clear that he'd been living in it. Two narrow cots were jammed against a stack of boxes and his swordcane was open on a small table next to a sharpening stone. An oil lantern dangled from a hook from the ceiling.

Fascinated, Toby gaped at the swordcane. "Can you really use that sword?"

Dew directed a questioning look at Sweeney, who shrugged. It was now up to Dew to decide what to do with the boy. "Yes, I can," Dew said quietly. "Sit down, Toby. I need to talk to you." Toby obediently sat down on one of the cots.

"Mr. Todd and I need to do something important," Dew began. "Can you keep a secret?"

Looking up trustingly at Dew, Toby nodded. "This is about Mr. Hope's Johanna, isn't it?"

Dew raised an eyebrow and Toby hastily explained. "All Mum and I've heard from him for weeks was about his Johanna, and how he wanted Mr. Todd to help him look for her. Wouldn't keep his mouth shut about it, he wouldn't. She's locked up somewheres, isn't she?" At Sweeney's incredulous snort, he retorted, "I may not be smart but I ain't dumb."

Dew nodded solemnly. "She's been locked up in a madhouse, even though she isn't mad. We have to get her out of that place somehow."

Toby's jaw dropped. "A madhouse! They're worse than the workhouses, they are. They're not fit for any human creature. I've seen one before—only for a visit, you understand—when my old master took me to help him cut the mad girls' hair. I'll help you, sir. I promise. And Mr. Todd don't need to do anything to me—I won't talk."

How did the man do it, Sweeney wondered. He'd been able to terrify the boy into obedience, but Dew had gained Toby's trust with only a few words. Come to think of it, he almost trusted Dew himself. Up to a point, anyway.

"Thank you, Toby," Dew was saying. "I'll want you to run some errands for us and after that, you can go wherever you want to go. Back to the pie shop or to anywhere else. Wherever you choose."

"Umm, speaking of pies, sir... Mum was so upset, I didn't even want to sneak down earlier for one of her pies."

Dew chuckled. "And you're a growing boy who needs to eat. I had ham and bread for supper and there's plenty left. As a matter of fact, there should be plenty for all of us—and I do owe Mr. Todd a meal."

After they finished their late-night supper, Dew brought out a wine bottle and two glasses. It was always the waiting that strung up your nerves, he told Sweeney. Once the action started there'd be no time to worry. Sweeney had to agree. He'd seriously considered pacing the night away instead of going to bed. The combination of decent food, French wine and a bellyful of gin, however, was enough to make him collapse into Dew's spare cot and fall into an exhausted sleep.

In the morning Toby was gone. Dew offered Sweeney a breakfast of bread and honey, then told him to stay in the back room. "I must pretend that my shop is open and I don't know how we'd explain what a barber is doing here." He opened the front room's window shutters and set out the case of optical lenses where they could be seen.

"You won't attract many customers like that," Sweeney said dryly. "Do you actually know anything about spectacle-making?"

"It's a hobby of mine—although I've worked more with telescopes than spectacles. Your friend Anthony should be here soon. I sent out Toby with a message—he should be back with my answer by noon."

A few minutes later Anthony knocked at the door. The bruise on his cheek was turning purple and he'd removed the bandage on his head. There was a small spyglass in his hands. As he said to Dew, "I thought it might explain my visit."

Sweeney had come to the doorway to watch them. Remembering the previous day's misadventures, he realized that Dew was still favoring his injured arm.

Dew noticed his concern and dismissed it. "My arm doesn't pain me very much. Believe me, I've survived worse." Anthony set down his spyglass on the desk and the three men went into the back room. It was time for Tony Dew and Anthony Hope to learn the trade of wigmaking.

Most of the morning was spent on the basics of selecting and cutting hair. Sweeney had no idea how far their wigmaking charade would have to go, so he wanted to teach the two men everything that he could. Dew had somehow acquired an old French periwig and Sweeney used it to show them how to cut long hair.

Even Anthony managed to pick up the barest essentials of the barber's trade by the time that Toby returned to the shop with a note.

Dew swiftly read the coded message, then breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God! Percy is expected to recover. The man has the strength of a lion but age comes to us all."

Turning over the note, he continued to read. "My friend Jean-Michel says that he's heard of Fogg's Asylum, but nothing good about it. He will send me everything that he can find out about the place later this afternoon. Thank you, Toby, this was very useful."

Toby beamed and offered Dew a sticky handful of yellow candy. "I thought you might like some of these—lemon drops are my favorite sweeties. Mr. Todd can have one too, if he likes. He could surely use something sweet!" he added cheekily.

Sweeney frowned briefly, but accepted a lemon drop anyway. They'd all been working hard and everyone deserved a treat. The pieces of their plan were beginning to fall into place. By evening at worst they would be ready to mount their attack.