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CHAPTER ONE: CARRYING THE BANNER
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For the first time in weeks, it was raining. It wasn't just the teasing drizzle that so often splattered the city in haphazard little droplets, but a full-fledged downpour; the kind that came from nowhere, catching people completely off guard. The girl who ran through the middle of the street was no exception, beyond all hope of staying even partially dry. Her clothes were plastered to her cold skin, and strands of dark hair that had escaped the confines of a braid now straggled, dripping, around her face.
She was lost, and that was in itself a mixed blessing- if she had no idea of where she was headed, chances were, neither did her pursuers. She snuck a glance over her shoulder as she stumbled along. In the dark- and the rain- she could barely see the buildings she knew to be a few feet away from her, let alone anyone that might be following. Good. It meant that they couldn't see her, either.
The girl stopped running. Her heart pounded, throbbing and echoing in her ears, until a sudden wave of dizziness sent her reeling into the rough mass of a brick wall. Her aching leg muscles finally gave out, and she folded into a shivering heap at the base of the wall, letting out a choked sob. Tears coursed down her dirt-streaked face, mingling with rain and blood. The latter ran in diluted red rivulets that laced across one bare forearm, the sleeve of her shoddy, second-hand shirt rolled up to the elbow in some sort of attempt to keep it from being stained. A long but shallow gouge ran unevenly along the outside of her right arm from wrist to elbow- a stupid mistake that only continued to hurt as rainwater pelted relentlessly at the broken skin, as if to spite her for her carelessness. Of course, it could always be worse- she could be dead. The thought did nothing to console her.
A sudden scuffling noise sent her into a wide-eyed panic, instantly sobered out of any self-pity she might have been feeling. She flattened against the wall, eyes darting wildly in the dark as she searched in vain for the responsible party, until something skittered over her feet, muttering and growling to itself. A wet cat.
The girl stood shakily, scrubbing at her eyes, unaware (or else uncaring) of the blood she smeared across her cheekbones and forehead in the process. She had to find somewhere to go, before someone did find her there, someone whose intentions were considerably worse than those of the stray cat. Locating the nearest street sign, she was only inches away from it before she could just barely make it out- Duane Street.
Well, it seemed as likely a place as any to find somewhere to sleep, while a few hours still remained before dawn. She set off around the corner, squinting through the heavy sheets of rain, and it wasn't long before she spotted a fire escape tucked safely away beneath a slightly slanting roof. Whether it was made that way, or if it had merely sagged with age, was impossible to tell, but she quite honestly didn't care. Cautiously, she edged alongside the building until she was standing a foot away from the wrought-iron ladder that suspended from the platform. She eyed it, calculating the height of it, the distance, the slickness of stray raindrops- and then she leapt, catching hold of the bars, bearing most of her slight weight with her good left arm. Soundlessly, she eased herself up on the fire escape- and froze.
Her own reflection stared back at her in alarm. She blinked dazedly at the distorted image. /First the cat, and now this?/ She asked herself. /I'm losin' my touch/. She leaned towards the windowpane, trying to get a better look inside.
Through the glass, she caught a glimpse of a large yet modest room. Bunks, which made up almost all of the furniture as far as she could see, lined the walls, each one occupied by a sleeping tenant- boys, she guessed, judging by the unkempt appearance of the place. Abruptly, in a bunk too close to the window for the girl's comfort, one of them stirred in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath. She jumped. The boy rolled over, turning his back to her, and eased back into a peaceful sleep. Reminded of how tired she really was, the girl turned away and settled down for the remainder of the night.
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Dawn came at long last to the Duane Street Lodging House, and with it, the early morning wake-up call. The old man who ran the establishment- Kloppman by name- made his usual morning rounds, badgering his lodgers one by one until they fell out of bed, bleary-eyed.
Specs groaned and rolled over, pulling his thin blanket over his head in an unsuccessful attempt to shut out the noise. Almost as soon as he had, he heard a telltale muted thump as his bunkmate, nicknamed Dutchy, dropped to the floor barefooted.
" 'Ey, Specs, guess what time it is?"
"Time t' go back t' sleep?" Specs asked hopefully. He heard Dutchy laugh.
"Now dat's where you'se wrong," came the bright response. Specs grumbled under his breath- how was it possible that his friend could be so wide- awake at this time of day? Reluctantly, he pulled the blanket back down, frowning at Dutchy's back as he ducked into the wash room. A moment later the newsie reappeared, towel in hand. Predictably, he was grinning at his bunkmate.
"What're you so happy for?" Specs muttered, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk. Dutchy's grin widened.
"Why not? 'S a nice mornin'," he responded as he began vigorously toweling his blond hair dry. "Sun's shinin' again. Wit' any luck, dah headlines'll be good again t'day." His voice was only slightly muffled by the towel.
"We kin only hope," Specs muttered, fumbling for his glasses as Dutchy walked over to the streaky-paned window to see how bad last night's storm had been.
"Whoa, what've we got heah?" he said to nobody in particular, barely audible over the noise of the other newsboys as they got ready for work.
Specs looked up. "What's dah mattah, Dutch?"
"No, wait! Don't go!" Came the startled response. Dutchy fumbled with the latch on the window as if he hadn't even heard his friend's query.
"Dutch?" Specs repeated. Dutchy, still ignoring him, threw open the window and clambered out onto the fire escape. "Dutchy!" Specs raised his voice, starting after him.
"Hey, what's goin' on?" The voice belonged to their friend Skittery, who had walked over, still slipping his striped suspenders over the shoulders of his pink undershirt.
"I dunno," Specs confessed. "He jist ran out dere, yellin' for someone- or somethin'- t' wait."
"Huh." Skittery frowned, looking at the open window thoughtfully. Specs following, he approached it, and they both looked out to where Dutchy stood on the metal platform, gazing forlornly down at the street below.
"There was someone out heah," he said by way of explanation. "A goil. An' she was a mess. She was jist sleepin' out here..."
"Which way'd she go?" Skittery wanted to know.
Dutchy glanced down again, before looking back at his friends. "Well... dat's dah strange part. She rushed down dat ladder like I was dah bulls or sometin', an' den she jist... she jist disappeahed!"
Skittery looked to Specs, a hint of amusement written in the smirk that threatened to spread into an all-out smile, before he looked back to their friend. "Dutchy... why don't'cha come back inside? It's early, an' you was prob'ly jist seein' t'ings or somet'in'. Dose kinda t'ings happen, y'know."
"Yeah," Specs went on, "We was up pretty late las' night, wit' dah pokah game'n all..."
"No," Dutchy insisted firmly, "She was heah. I sweah!"
"Whatevah yah say, Dutch," Specs shrugged, "Whatevah yah say..."
Dutchy sighed wearily as he climbed back through the window.
-=-=-
For the first time in weeks, it was raining. It wasn't just the teasing drizzle that so often splattered the city in haphazard little droplets, but a full-fledged downpour; the kind that came from nowhere, catching people completely off guard. The girl who ran through the middle of the street was no exception, beyond all hope of staying even partially dry. Her clothes were plastered to her cold skin, and strands of dark hair that had escaped the confines of a braid now straggled, dripping, around her face.
She was lost, and that was in itself a mixed blessing- if she had no idea of where she was headed, chances were, neither did her pursuers. She snuck a glance over her shoulder as she stumbled along. In the dark- and the rain- she could barely see the buildings she knew to be a few feet away from her, let alone anyone that might be following. Good. It meant that they couldn't see her, either.
The girl stopped running. Her heart pounded, throbbing and echoing in her ears, until a sudden wave of dizziness sent her reeling into the rough mass of a brick wall. Her aching leg muscles finally gave out, and she folded into a shivering heap at the base of the wall, letting out a choked sob. Tears coursed down her dirt-streaked face, mingling with rain and blood. The latter ran in diluted red rivulets that laced across one bare forearm, the sleeve of her shoddy, second-hand shirt rolled up to the elbow in some sort of attempt to keep it from being stained. A long but shallow gouge ran unevenly along the outside of her right arm from wrist to elbow- a stupid mistake that only continued to hurt as rainwater pelted relentlessly at the broken skin, as if to spite her for her carelessness. Of course, it could always be worse- she could be dead. The thought did nothing to console her.
A sudden scuffling noise sent her into a wide-eyed panic, instantly sobered out of any self-pity she might have been feeling. She flattened against the wall, eyes darting wildly in the dark as she searched in vain for the responsible party, until something skittered over her feet, muttering and growling to itself. A wet cat.
The girl stood shakily, scrubbing at her eyes, unaware (or else uncaring) of the blood she smeared across her cheekbones and forehead in the process. She had to find somewhere to go, before someone did find her there, someone whose intentions were considerably worse than those of the stray cat. Locating the nearest street sign, she was only inches away from it before she could just barely make it out- Duane Street.
Well, it seemed as likely a place as any to find somewhere to sleep, while a few hours still remained before dawn. She set off around the corner, squinting through the heavy sheets of rain, and it wasn't long before she spotted a fire escape tucked safely away beneath a slightly slanting roof. Whether it was made that way, or if it had merely sagged with age, was impossible to tell, but she quite honestly didn't care. Cautiously, she edged alongside the building until she was standing a foot away from the wrought-iron ladder that suspended from the platform. She eyed it, calculating the height of it, the distance, the slickness of stray raindrops- and then she leapt, catching hold of the bars, bearing most of her slight weight with her good left arm. Soundlessly, she eased herself up on the fire escape- and froze.
Her own reflection stared back at her in alarm. She blinked dazedly at the distorted image. /First the cat, and now this?/ She asked herself. /I'm losin' my touch/. She leaned towards the windowpane, trying to get a better look inside.
Through the glass, she caught a glimpse of a large yet modest room. Bunks, which made up almost all of the furniture as far as she could see, lined the walls, each one occupied by a sleeping tenant- boys, she guessed, judging by the unkempt appearance of the place. Abruptly, in a bunk too close to the window for the girl's comfort, one of them stirred in his sleep, mumbling something under his breath. She jumped. The boy rolled over, turning his back to her, and eased back into a peaceful sleep. Reminded of how tired she really was, the girl turned away and settled down for the remainder of the night.
-=-=-
Dawn came at long last to the Duane Street Lodging House, and with it, the early morning wake-up call. The old man who ran the establishment- Kloppman by name- made his usual morning rounds, badgering his lodgers one by one until they fell out of bed, bleary-eyed.
Specs groaned and rolled over, pulling his thin blanket over his head in an unsuccessful attempt to shut out the noise. Almost as soon as he had, he heard a telltale muted thump as his bunkmate, nicknamed Dutchy, dropped to the floor barefooted.
" 'Ey, Specs, guess what time it is?"
"Time t' go back t' sleep?" Specs asked hopefully. He heard Dutchy laugh.
"Now dat's where you'se wrong," came the bright response. Specs grumbled under his breath- how was it possible that his friend could be so wide- awake at this time of day? Reluctantly, he pulled the blanket back down, frowning at Dutchy's back as he ducked into the wash room. A moment later the newsie reappeared, towel in hand. Predictably, he was grinning at his bunkmate.
"What're you so happy for?" Specs muttered, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk. Dutchy's grin widened.
"Why not? 'S a nice mornin'," he responded as he began vigorously toweling his blond hair dry. "Sun's shinin' again. Wit' any luck, dah headlines'll be good again t'day." His voice was only slightly muffled by the towel.
"We kin only hope," Specs muttered, fumbling for his glasses as Dutchy walked over to the streaky-paned window to see how bad last night's storm had been.
"Whoa, what've we got heah?" he said to nobody in particular, barely audible over the noise of the other newsboys as they got ready for work.
Specs looked up. "What's dah mattah, Dutch?"
"No, wait! Don't go!" Came the startled response. Dutchy fumbled with the latch on the window as if he hadn't even heard his friend's query.
"Dutch?" Specs repeated. Dutchy, still ignoring him, threw open the window and clambered out onto the fire escape. "Dutchy!" Specs raised his voice, starting after him.
"Hey, what's goin' on?" The voice belonged to their friend Skittery, who had walked over, still slipping his striped suspenders over the shoulders of his pink undershirt.
"I dunno," Specs confessed. "He jist ran out dere, yellin' for someone- or somethin'- t' wait."
"Huh." Skittery frowned, looking at the open window thoughtfully. Specs following, he approached it, and they both looked out to where Dutchy stood on the metal platform, gazing forlornly down at the street below.
"There was someone out heah," he said by way of explanation. "A goil. An' she was a mess. She was jist sleepin' out here..."
"Which way'd she go?" Skittery wanted to know.
Dutchy glanced down again, before looking back at his friends. "Well... dat's dah strange part. She rushed down dat ladder like I was dah bulls or sometin', an' den she jist... she jist disappeahed!"
Skittery looked to Specs, a hint of amusement written in the smirk that threatened to spread into an all-out smile, before he looked back to their friend. "Dutchy... why don't'cha come back inside? It's early, an' you was prob'ly jist seein' t'ings or somet'in'. Dose kinda t'ings happen, y'know."
"Yeah," Specs went on, "We was up pretty late las' night, wit' dah pokah game'n all..."
"No," Dutchy insisted firmly, "She was heah. I sweah!"
"Whatevah yah say, Dutch," Specs shrugged, "Whatevah yah say..."
Dutchy sighed wearily as he climbed back through the window.
-=-=-
