Author's note: Surprised to see an update, huh? I'm really sorry about how delayed this and my other stories have been. Life has gotten increasingly hectic, but I'm planning to finish this one (hopefully by the end of the year). This chapter's pretty long, so hopefully it'll be a little bit of compensation. Thanks to TheBostonNewsies, Rae Kelly, Inquisitive, Mags Bloom, Morning Dew, and Ashes for their reviews, and especially to Bittah, for her betaing, reviewing, and all around support. I hope you enjoy this part!
Neither Roxy nor Wager noticed the small, dark figure lurking in the corner of the stairway and listening to their tense conversation. Imp was used to hiding in shadows so that she could eavesdrop on private exchanges and later pipe up with stolen information. At the sound of anxious voices on the first floor, she crept downstairs slowly, barely daring to blink. Hearing the frenzy in Roxy's voice, Imp was unable to take a breath. Guilt and fear gnawed at her lungs and stomach.
Ya didn't have ta tell dose two Deblah goons about Spot leavin', ya know, she reminded herself, her thoughts pricking like needles. Ya coulda jus' kept ya're damn mouth shut and gotten clobbahed anyway. Ya coulda not betrayed anybody.
Thoughts of the broken, bloodstained bodies of her fellow newsies flashed through Imp's mind. Tears stung her eyes and she bit her lower lip to punish herself for displaying weakness. Imps nevah cry, she reminded herself, absently wondering if Spot held a similar credo.
Suddenly her legs siezed control of her body. Roxy and Wager, who had been arguing about the best way to deal with the Debler Street newsies, turned in surprise when they saw a dark flash dart outside. Sighing heavily, Wager moved lethargically towards the door, but Roxy stuck out her arm. Glowering at him, she shook her head. "I'll go."
"Ya can't go out deah alone…" he was chastising, but the only response he received was gust of wind and the sound of a door slamming.
Once outside, Roxy immediately felt foolish for her gesture. Do I have some kind of death wish? She wrapped her arms tightly around her trembling torso and quickly glanced back at the lodging house. The thought of Wager—who could not do anything for the Brooklyn newsies now, who waited for another response from the Debler Street newsies, who was not Spot—made her cheeks burn in frustration. Turning on her heel, she marched away from the building. Imp's gotta be found, anyway.
"Imp," she whispered, half-coaxingly and half-angrily, at every shadow she passed. Soon Roxy realized that she was several blocks away from the lodging house with no companion, no weapon, and no runaway newsgirl to show for her efforts.
Why did I have to be so stupid? she demanded of herself as she kicked a pebble into the gutter. Then, in a slightly gentler voice, she wondered, And why did I have to get so angry at Wager? What would I have done in his place, anyway? The memory of Rabbit singing to an unconscious Grin stirred, causing her shoulders to slump. We have to do something. I know he's afraid of what could happen, but that would be even worse. But what kind of choices do we have?
"Well, they're choices that we have to make," she said aloud, so as to reassure herself.
I wonder what would have happened if everything had been normal with Spot, she thought as she moved cautiously down the street. He's the best leader we've ever had, but he's still just one person. Maybe this would have happened anyway… She shook her head and scowled quietly. Why think about that now? He's not interested in coming back.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her. Her heart leapt into her throat, and the names Spot and Imp were halted behind a wall of clenched teeth. Turning slowly on her heel, one small bit of hope manifested itself in the form of a silent prayer. Please let it be good, she pleaed to the God that she had been raised to believe in.
No higher power was willing to respond to her wishes. Her face paled to match the corpse-like shade of Jackal's countenance.
He was accompanied by all of the Debler Street newsies, who laughed mockingly and swayed on drunken feet. Their hands clutched brass knuckles, rusty knives, and wooden clubs. Roxy took a timid step backwards, like a rabbit surrounded by a pack of wolves, but kept her eyes locked with Jackal's. She was questioning whether or not to run when the hunchbacked leader began to speak in a low but frenzied drawl.
"Who'd have thought a small defenseless Brooklyn newsgoil'd be out on a night like this?" He chuckled coldly. "Ain't dat a surprise?"
"So…so what?" Roxy stuttered and raised her chin, attempting to look as confident as Spot usually did, despite how her knees shook with the violence of an earthquake. "Just because you found me doesn't mean anything about the rest of the Brooklyn newsies. Just…just because I'm here doesn't mean that you're going to get anyone else."
A sly smile, reminiscent of a crocodile's, slide around his lips. "But no one's heah ta protect ya, Roxy. Don't dat say somet'ing about da rest of your newsies?"
His eyes flashed dangerously and wildly, making Roxy's stomach contract in fear. Struggling to maintain an appearance of control, she took a tentative step backwards. Immediately the Debler Street newsies surrounded her, laughing maliciously as she searched unsuccessfully for a way out. Even from the slight distance, Roxy could smell their foul, alcohol-drenched breaths. Gazing around at their viciously pleased eyes, she realized that she had never felt weaker; her muscles were sluggish, her brain was useless, and her tongue was paralyzed. I never thought I would die helpless, she remarked silently, feeling her body shrink against the circle. She didn't know whether to weep in fear, to scream at the injustice of being murdered by a drunken group of ambitious newsies, or to kneel and accept her death quietly.
A streak of darkness tore past the group, temporarily drawing the attentions of Roxy and a few Debler Street newsies. "Hey, Jackal, what was dat?" Swing inquired curiously.
"A cat or somet'ing," Jackal snapped, his voice as sharp as his blade, "I don't care." His eyes never left Roxy.
The newsgirl stared back, searching for a trace of humanity in his countenance. His lips were shriveled and twisted into a grimace, while his chin jutted out challengingly. His cheeks, which were commonly as pale as death, were stained pink with rage. Then, when she looked into his eyes, although she was startled by the depth of hatred, she was most surprised by the desperation that existed there. Gazing quickly at the other members of the Debler Street lodging house, she could tell by their easy stances and mildly amused expressions that they could not conceive Jackal's frustration and anxiety. Roxy's eyes widened as she realized whose eyes bore a similar desperation. He looks like Spot. For a moment she longed to reach out to him; but then she remembered that that hand, poised to attack, was most likely the hand that had burnt the distribution office to the ground.
Jackal noticed Roxy's absorbed, sympathetic expression. He wanted to spit in her face and beat her senseless for having everything he wanted and then pitying him. Taking a slow but aggressive step forward, Jackal snarled, "No one was heah ta protect any of ya. Your leadah ran away at da foist sign of any real trouble, and now look at ya—a buncha scared mice ready ta be stomped out." His eyes narrowed to dark, dangerous slits. "Ya don't deserve Brooklyn."
"What makes you think you do?" Roxy asked, her voice soft and tight, but steady.
"Do we desoive what we got?" he countered immediately, his voice rising with each word. "Do we deserve ta starve and freeze and sell ta no one, because dey're jus' as poor as we are? Ya don't even know how good ya got it."
The image of Spot's shabby tenement flashed through her mind. I guess none of us really knew how good we had it. Anger boiled in her stomach, erasing any pity she had for the Debler Street newsies. "You think you'll do better here? Just because of the crowds." Her voice dropped low, far more challengingly than she knew would be prudent. "None of you are even a tenth of Brooklyn."
Before Roxy knew what was happening, Jackal, moving with more speed than she realized the hunchbacked boy possessed, had reached back and punched her to the ground. Pebbles pierced her palms and blood trickled out of her nose. Jackal towered over her, his eyes flashing madly and his hands twitching. "Ya t'ink ya're beddah dan me?" He chuckled derisively. "Ya can't even defend yaself. Ya'd have nevah been able ta take Brooklyn in my place."
"You haven't taken it yet," she murmured, clutching her nose and preparing for further pain, but staring at him steadily.
Instead of lashing out, as Roxy had imagined he would, he chortled derisively. "And ya t'ink dat ya're gonna stop me? Da weakest goil in Brooklyn, all alone and on da ground already?"
As the Debler Street newsies joined in his laughter, Roxy's face burned with rage. Blood dripped from her nose to her lips. She knew her eyes would soon sparkle with tears of frustration and fury. Pain, too, if I stay here for any longer, she reminded herself with all the calmness of her practical friend Mist. Staring at the chuckling, distorted faces of the Debler Street newsies, she felt a surge of panicked courage. I can't die like this.
Using all the strength she could muster, Roxy kicked Jackal in the stomach. While he was doubled over in pain and the rest of the newsies, whose minds were slowed from confidence and inebriation, looked on in surprise, Roxy leapt to her feet and dashed out of the dangerous circle. She did not dare to glance back to check on her enemies, but heard Jackal's furious cries.
"How could ya let her get away?" Jackal demanded of his cronies. "Stop her! It's jus' one stupid goil!"
Nearly out of breath from fear and exertion, Roxy did not know how much longer she could continue to run. Damnit, I wish I were Rabbit, she thought. She could not return to the lodging house in fear that the Debler Street newsies would attack the unprepared Brooklyn newsies. And after a few weeks of tracking us, they probably know as many hidden corners and back alleys as I do, she told herself. Pushing herself to run faster, Roxy continued to bolt down streets, through alleys, and around buildings with the Debler Street newsies trailing her like hungry wolves. She could practically hear their teeth gnashing and their throats growling from their desire to kill her and the rest of the Brooklyn newsies.
Gellar glimpsed the pacing Wager over the top of his day-old newspaper. When Wager stopped in his tracks and stared at the owner of the lodging house, Gellar's gaze returned to an article he had already read. Wager was not fooled by Gellar's seemingly placid expression. From years of experience, he knew that Gellar was about as placid as a waterfall.
"What?" he demanded, his eyes harsh and his tone frustrated.
"Did I say anythin'?" Gellar inquired calmly.
Wager scowled and kicked at the layer of dust that enveloped the floor. "No, but ya shoah t'ought it."
Gellar's eyebrows rose until they almost disappeared in his furrowed forehead. "And tell me, laddie, what exactly was I thinkin'? I'm curious te know."
"Ya t'ink I should go aftah Roxy." He stubbornly folded his hands over his stomach, as though to emphasis his desire to remain put. At the sight of Gellar's knowing stare, he shook his head. "Well I ain't gonna. She said she was gonna get Imp, and she's gonna do it. Somebody's gotta stay heah wid da oddahs."
Gellar grunted derisively and returned his gaze to his paper. When he did not reply, Wager continued, "Why should I be worried about her? Roxy's a Brooklyn newsie, same as da rest of us; she can take care of herself."
"Mmm-hmm," the older man replied thoughtfully, never lifting his eyes from the page. "Jus' like Grin took care of himself, eh, lad?"
He glanced over the edge of his newspaper to meet Wager's defeated gaze. The new leader of the Brooklyn newsies let his shoulders slump and his head hang in resignation. When Wager spoke, his voice was so hushed that Gellar had to guess at his words. "Spot wouldn't've let her go, huh?
Sighing heavily, Gellar placed his newspaper solemnly on the counter, clouds of dust flying as a result. Wager's eyes widened in surprise. He realized that Gellar, usually hidden by a wall of ink and gruffness, was about to be very vulnerable. The large man leaned forward, much like Cardinal did when she was about to share a delicious piece of gossip. "Let me tell ye somethin', lad." He paused before dropping his voice to a whisper. "Spot wasn't a perfect leader." Wager's mouth dropped open at this heresy. Before he could protest, Gellar shook his head and continued, "Now, I don't mean that he wasn't a great leader—he was, and a good lad, too. One of the best I've seen and I've been here a long, long time. But he had his own set of problems, jus' like the rest of ye. He was always jus' tryin' te get ahead, jus' like anyone else in this lodgin' house. And now all of ye are so disheartened by his leavin' that ye don't realize that he wasn't perfect. No one is. He had a lot to deal with himself." His expression softened as he stared deeply into Wager's dejected eyes. "And lad, he ain't here right now. Ye are. Ye got te stop comparin' yeself te him, because ye're the leader now. Ye got te stop thinkin' in jus' terms of what's already been or you'll never be a good leader."
Although he was unable to hold Gellar's gaze, Wager nodded soberly. He thought of the anxious mass of newsies upstairs, all of whom were depending on him. Then an image of Roxy flashed through his mind. "I'm gonna try ta find Roxy," he informed Gellar in a voice that bore more confidence that he felt at that moment. "If I'm not back in da next twenty minutes, tell—"
The sound of the door creaking open caused Wager's heart to fly against his chest in a combination of hope and apprehension. Please let it be Roxy and Imp, he prayed silent as he turned to face a very different figure than the ones he had hoped for.
Spot resisted the urge to squirm under the shocked stares of Wager and Gellar. Instead, he studied them with the solemnity of a judge. He realized that this was not the best time to adopt his Brooklyn cool, but he did not know how else to react in such a situation. Whadda ya say ta your newsies aftah ya abandon dem jus' when real trouble's about ta start? Taking a step forward, he wondered what he could possibly say that would pacify the Brooklyn newsies. Thankfully, he never had to conjure up such a speech; Wager had already begun to speak.
"Spot…" he muttered, stunned. After the initial shock wore off, his eyes narrowed with uncommon bitterness. "Nice time ta show up."
Spot almost retreated at the harshness in Wager's tone. He barely recognized the young man with whom he had grown up. Probably t'inks da same t'ing about me, the former leader of Brooklyn realized. "Look, I know ya all prob'ly hate me by now."
"Good guess."
"Wager…" Gellar murmured cautiously, eying the angered newsboy like one would study an injured animal prepared to strike out of fear.
"What?!" Wager exclaimed, feeling betrayed. "He leaves one mornin' wid only a note of explanation and now he shows up again jus' when t'ings are at deir woist." Clenching his teeth, he hissed, "As if ya could help any of us now." He took an aggressive step towards Spot, who tensed in preparation for a fight. "Now, if ya'll excuse me, I gotta go find Roxy."
"Roxy?" Spot spat, clutching Wager's arm when the boy attempted to rush past. "She's out deah alone?" His heart leapt into his throat at the suggestion of Roxy walking the streets unaccompanied at this hour. The thought of Roxy lying bloodied and broken like Grin made his throat tighten.
Wager turned his irritated gaze to meet Spot's eyes. "What do ya care about it anyway? She went ta find…"
The sound of the door bursting open and slamming against the wall caused all three occupants of the room to jump. They turned to see a breathless Imp rush into the lodging house, her cheeks flushed and her eyes wild with worry. Neither Spot nor Wager had ever seen the girl so frantic.
"Imp," Wager began, pulling away from Spot and kneeling before the girl, "wheah's Roxy?" When Imp only gasped for breath in response, he went on, as though she had not understood the question. "She went out ta find ya. Did ya see her? Did somet'ing happen?"
"Of…coise…somet'ing happened," she spat petulantly, irritated that Wager spoke to her as though she were some kind of dumb animal. "She…got attacked…by Jackal. Da…rest of dem…are deah too…all of 'em." Looking at the newsboy with more concern suffused across her face than had ever existed before, she pleaded: "Ya gotta go get her. Dey're gonna kill her."
"Are all of dem deah?" Spot inquired, staring at Imp with an intensity that surprised Wager and momentarily caused him to rethink his rebuke.
Imp nodded frantically. "All of dem, dey're gonna kill her and den come for da rest of us."
Wager took the young girl by the shoulders and stared deeply into her eyes, as though to better convey his directions. "Imp, go upstairs and tell ev'rybody who can fight dat we need dem. I'll go on ahead and help Roxy, but we'll need ev'ryone else. Get dem ta wheah ya t'ink Roxy and da Deblah Street newsies might be. Can ya do dat for me?" His stomach clenched, knowing that he was asking a huge favor of the newsgirl who ran off on her own, stole newspapers, and bit Cardinal on a regular basis.
Adopting an unusually solemn expression, Imp replied, "Of coise I can." Without waiting for further orders, she dashed up the staircase, her footsteps sounding like tiny gunshots in their urgency.
When Wager moved doggedly towards the door, he found Spot at his side. "I said I was goin', didn't I?" Wager growled, anger pouring from his tongue.
Spot, who had been proud of the way that Wager handled Imp, narrowed his eyes challengingly and adopted the confident, powerful expression that Wager knew all too well. The former leader of Brooklyn hid a smile at the sight of Wager's shoulders tense in aggressive response. "And I'm comin' wid ya. Ya can't take all da Deblah Street newsies on by yaself, can ya?" When the newsboy did not reply, Spot bolted out of lodging house with Wager at his heels.
To be continued…please review!