Pain… throbbing waves of pain coursed through him. Gingerly, he put a hand to his head and felt the lump, then passed out. When he next came to, it wasn't as bad as it had been, but he wasn't sure about trying to get up yet. He looked at his surroundings. He was lying in an alleyway, he observed, by the two buildings, one on each side, the laundry hanging between the two partially obscuring the sky. There was also the unmistakable yet always slightly different smell of alleyway. He didn't want to think about what he was lying in. Far, far overhead, the sky was a grimy shade of blue, broken by puffs of gray cloud. He groaned. Just what he needed, rain.

It was then that he heard someone run into the alley and saw the person as they crossed into his sight line. Just a kid, a worried looking little kid, out of breath and hiding behind some boxes. Then the kid seemed to notice him and held a finger to his lips. He didn't dare acknowledge that and set off his head again, but he did blink. He wasn't about to help the kid's pursuers. To begin with it would make his head hurt. Also, he felt a familiar empathy. He'd run before and he'd stood his ground before. There was a time for each. Clearly, this kid had judged it to be the time to run.

The kid waited for about twenty minutes- or was it ten? His sense of time was foggy at best, then the kid scampered over like a monkey. The money! Before he had thought it out, he had his hand over an empty leather pouch inside his shirt. Then his arm registered the pain of moving.

"I'm not gonna rob y'," the kid said reassuringly, keeping his hands where they could be seen. "Looks like someone beat me to it!" but his smile seemed to say that he wouldn't have anyway. "Look, you can hear me, can'tcha?"

He tried to get his mouth to cooperate and say 'yes', but he knew he garbled it pretty badly.

The boy looked skywards. "Won't be a fit night for man or beast," he said. "You got any people y' want me t' run for?"

Did he? He should know, he knew he should know, but names failed him. Faces, there were, faces he knew but could not name. People who would care, who would stand with him with the world falling apart. The world falling apart. There was something…something he'd forgotten there.

"Angel?" a new voice called. "Coast's clear!"

The kid turned. "Ladders! C'mere!"

They were talking, but their voices were slowly fading and then there was darkness again.

When he woke again, he was lying on something reasonably soft, but lumpy. Felt something like a bed. He opened his eyes. He was lying in a makeshift bed in a cramped little room, that looked like it had originally been a bedroom and was now a catchall for the occupants. Messy occupants and mostly useless looking junk. On a wobbly chair by the bed sat a tall, dark haired boy about his own age, playing with a knife. He stiffened. "Relax," the boy said. "Iffin I wanted y' dead, I wouldn'tve let Angel talk me int' this. An' I can't kill y' now. So y'd better tell me y' can get up and out."

In answer, he sat up. Waves of pain almost sent him back again, but with an effort of will, he swung his feet off the makeshift bed and stood unsteadily.

"Ladders?" someone called and opened the door. It was the smaller boy again.

"Angel, why don't you ever listen to me?" Ladders sighed in exasperation.

"You're awake!" Angel said, smiling at him.

"Yeah, what's it t' you kid," their visitor replied.

"Hey," Ladders said. "Show some gratitude."

"You're not going to throw him out without breakfast, are you?" Angel asked.

"What is this, a hotel?" Ladders grumbled. "Awright kid, I'll see he gets food. You go on ahead 'n get yer papes."

But the smaller boy ignored him. "What happen t' y', last night? You've got an awful big lump on yer head. Say, you from here? What's yer name?"

The first two questions he could ignore. The third was impossible. "My name?" he whispered, suddenly feeling shaky. "I…I don't know."

"What is this?" Ladders growled. "Look iffin you think-"

"He's telling the truth!" Angel interrupted, his voice oddly insistent. "We can't just throw him out!"

Ladders scowled. "Angel, wait for me on the landing," he ordered, eyes never leaving their visitor. The boy nodded and left. "Now look," Ladders said. "I b'leave y'. I might not want t', but Angel's taken yer side so I do and I ain't gonna see any harm come t' y'. 'Least not until I know if it's deserved. I wouldn't turn y' loose on the city, might upset the kid an' however much y' might have armde- aimnessh- anmesia," he concluded. "I can't leave y' here. So, y'll come with us an' help us sell our papes. We'll split, seventy/thirty, no arguin'."

He nodded. It grated him slightly to be taking orders, but there really didn't seem to be an alternative, for now anyway. Thirty/seventy. Something told him that was grossly unfair, but there was no choice.

When they reunited with Angel on the landing, the boy was smiling. This seemed to be a usual characteristic of his; the irresistible smile and a personality that somehow had Ladders completely enthralled. "You need a name," Angel informed him quite seriously.

"What about Loser?" Ladders offered. Angel frowned at him. "Well, he lost the fight," Ladders defended his answer.

"No, no," Angel insisted. "That was just one fight. I've got the feeling he's won more than he's lost." He thought for a moment. "Keys," he said finally.

"Keys?" Ladders looked at Angel. "Why 'Keys'?"

"Because, he had them," Angel answered, looking into the newcomer's eyes. "He held keys."

Instinct, memory, he was not sure which, but something moved him to feel under his shirt. Something should be there, on a string...but it wasn't! What was it, what had he lost? A key? With a sigh, he let his hand drop. "'Keys' it is, Angel," he said.

Ladders glanced at him sharply for a moment, then spoke. "We're here."

'Here' was a distribution office of the World, crowded with boys. Young kids, five and six, boys old enough to be counted men, fighting, waiting in line, shouting, reading the headlines to friends, mouthing the words, spinning stories, trading marbles. Everything was very alive. And very noisy. Ladders and Keys took their place at the back of the line, while Angel ran off to talk to some of the newsies that were his age. Keys watched Angel for a while, then watched Ladders. The older newsie's eyes were hawk-like in their concentration, but there was an element in them that was not predatorial, but something else. Worried? It was really none of his business. The line moved slowly as it seemed every other newsie decided to stop and count his stack, but finally, they made it to the head of the line.

"Fifty papes for us," Ladders said, tossing down the correct amount.

"Who's the newcomer?" the manager asked.

"Keys." It felt odd to say that. His name, yet not his name and he knew it. But he did not know his own name, and until he did, it would have to do. He took his half of the stack and Ladders took the other. Then they collected Angel from his game of marbles and set off to sell.

"EXTRA, EXTRA! FIRE IN TRAIN YARDS!"

"EXTRA, EXTRA, ATTEMPT ON GOVENOR'S LIFE!"

Strident young voices competed loudly for the morning customers, each trying to outdo his neighbor.

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