"I didna. . . I didna. . . Mama, sorry. . ." were the only coherent words Squim got out before cowering behind Tricks. He began to swear frantically to himself. He was – and they all knew it, too – in big trouble.
Mama drew a deep breath to calm herself, cracked her knuckles rather grotesquely, and reached over Tricks' shoulder to grab at Squim. She quite viciously grappled onto his ear and dragged him out from behind his sister, who, despite all her hardness towards her brother, felt a sudden knot of concern materialise in her stomach. Yet she said nothing, lest Mama's ire fall upon her, too.
Mama tossed Squim upon the ground, his nose to his feeble attempt at thievery. Eyes hardening, she grabbed the back of his neck and pinned his frantically gyrating body down. Yet her voice never once changed, always maddeningly soft.
"You think this is sufficient? Do you, child? Speak up, or I'll cut that ever wagging tongue of yours out." She allowed him enough freedom of movement to see that she had one had poised to snatch up a knife from the belts that criss-crossed her waist. His trembling grew ever stronger, yet now was capable of workable sentences.
"Sorry, Mama. . . didna. . . I had 'nough but a big guy got me and I lost a lot getting way. . . please Mama, don't stab me, I don't likes it. . . please, please. . ." His mewling pleas filled the room, echoing out into the darkness of the sewers.
"A 'big guy'? It sounds like you didn't follow my rules, whelp. Had you, nobody would have caught you. You understand me? Nobody."
Galley, it seems, was the only one with a backbone in that moment. He stepped forward, ever so slightly, to offer testimony on Squim's behalf. "But, Mama, this guy wasn't normal, we all-"
Even Galley's quick reactions could not have prepared him for Mama's speed, however. She had far more experience than any of them. She'd taught them all to be thieves. With a fierce backhand she sent Galley careening backwards. He tripped over a partially mended birdcage (they'd intended to sell it when it was fixed again) and collapsed onto the bric-a brac assemblage of carpets. Blood flowed freely from a wound her nails had opened on his cheek.
"I wasn't speaking to you, Galley. Hush." Her quiet voice came out as a hiss. She turned back to Squim. "Now, child, I believe I must explain something to you. We are, in case you hadn't noticed, thieves. We must steal to survive. And, since there are five of us, we must steal a lot. You understand? We need a lot of money." She picked up one of the few coins he had returned with and pressed it into the back of his neck contemptuously. "Without money, without gold or jewels, we cannot survive. Do you see? I certainly hope you do, Squim, because the next time you return without having filled your quota, I will kick you out of our little clique."
Squim didn't understand that last word. "Cl. . . ick. . .?" he inquired sobbingly.
"'Clique', you fool. You'll be out of the Sewer Rats. For good. Understood?"
He nodded. Instantly, the pressure of her weight upon his back was gone. She understood Squim better than any of them, or so she thought, at least: he was, at heart, little more than a beast. Whatever disease had stigmatised his already tiny brain had brought out the strongest survival instincts in him. The threat of being deprived of food, warmth and security was too much for him. He would fill his quota from now on.
Her first order of business complete, Mama now stood over her fallen pro-star of thievery. His cap had fallen off, revealing a thick stock of spiky, pale blonde hair. He was rubbing his head abysmally. "And you, Galley, must watch your tongue. I was dealing with Squim, and Squim alone. Don't you dare interfere again."
It was then that Galley opened his wincing eyes to gaze up at her. Those sparkling, genius eyes. They contained what both delighted her and filled her with dread. She'd managed to get the rest of the children under her nominal control: this one, however, was remorseless. He would never have the spirit of a dirt- poor thief. His was elevated, far and beyond the rest of them. She could see that, despite the words that now poured out of his mouth ("I'm sorry, mama, I won't ever do it again") that he wasn't the least bit sorry. It was a front. He was an excellent liar, that boy. Indeed, he excelled in everything he did. And that was what scared her. He was, in essence, her meal ticket, for he was a better thief than any of the rest. Mama, herself, had grown too tall to be a proper pickpocket, and relied on these children to bring her trinkets of value. Without them, how would she sustain herself?
But it was more than that. There was more to him. He possessed some intangible quality that demanded respect. It demanded one to look up to him. He was, in many ways, a leader.
"Good, then." She tightened her bandana, adjusted her clothes, and sat upon her bed once more. "Food is ready – but not for you, Squim, or you, Galley. Consider it your punishment." Reaching back into a small alcove in the wall, she pulled out a steaming pot (it had been heating on a tiny fire) complete with ladle, and asked Tricks to fetch some bowls. The young girl did, her former enthusiasm gone.
Squim and Galley clambered out of the hole. They knew, from previous experience, that it was best to keep out of Mama's hair when she was angry with you. Squim dashed down into the depths of the sewers, seeking another form of sustenance, while Galley simply seated himself upon the edge of the current and watched the murky water flow by.
But was he upset? No. Quite the opposite: he was very, very happy. He'd seen fear floating behind Mama's steely eyes. She feared him, in some unexplainable, irrational way. Once again, he'd been in control of the situation. The lad hummed gaily to himself, dreaming of his eventual kingship to drive away the gnawing hunger in his belly.
