Prompt from Aliene Skyfire: Visions of sugarplums

The Adventure at Dunn's

"Will, you seen Little Lou?" Wiggins asked his long-time friend. They'd known each other for three years, meeting back when Mr. Holmes first moved into his Baker Street flat.

Black Will shook his head, shaggy black hair for which he bore his moniker drooping listlessly over his eyes. He pushed it back with dirty fingers and frowned in thought.

"Not seen him in two days. Not yesterday nor today," he said after a moment.

"Not like him to up and disappear," Wiggins grmbled.

Little Lou, properly called Louis Duchene, was among the youngest members of the Irregulars, but very reliable. He always showed up for meals, usually bringing something worth eating to add to the pot.

"Reckon coppers got him?" Robby Brubaker asked. Like Lou, Robby was young but not as smart as Lou. He lacked imagination. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing most of the time. He was very good at distracting marks simply by being obvious.

"Lou is pretty good at getting away," Wiggins said, rubbing his chin.

"And he would ask for Mr. Holmes," added Black Will.

"If he were doing something really bad, Mr. Holmes wouldn't help, though," Jack Murphy pointed out, dipping a stale crust of bread into his tin cup of milk to soften it before stuffing the crust into his mouth.

"Lou ain't like that," Black Will said. "He don't pick pockets or nothing."

"Yeah," agreed Wiggins. "Sure, he takes fish or sausages, but he knows his limits."

"What you think happened to him, then?" Jack wondered around another mouthful of milk sodden bread.

"I saw him down on Harlow looking at Mr. Dunn's shop," Robby said. "Couple days ago. That's the last time I seen him."

"Dunn's?" Wiggins asked. "You mean the sweetshop?"

"That's it." Robby shrugged. "I asked what he was thinking and he said he was just remembering his mum."

"His mum?" Black Will said and pushed his hair out of his eyes again.

"His mum," Wiggins said, thinking. "It's getting dark. Let's go."

"Where?" Jack asked, tipping his cup back to finish the last of the milk.

"Dunn's." Wiggins rose and made for the hole in the wall through which the Irregulars came and went from the broken down old warehouse they called home. The others followed.

Dunn's Sweetshop was a typical three-story house with the shop itself on the ground floor and living space above. The top floor with its closed shutters looked as if it were not lived in. Probably used as storage. The boys stood in an alley across the street, observing customers entering and leaving.

"I don't see anything," Robby said, rubbing his hands and shivering.

"Me neither," said Jack.

"Wish Finn was here," Black Will said, blowing into his cupped hands. "He could slip in without being noticed."

"Yeah," agreed Wiggins, narrowing his eyes on the upper floor. "That window look closed to you?"

Black Will peered up to the third floor, examining the window in question.

"Shutter is pulled to," he said, "but it's not latched."

"Look at the sill," said Robby.

"Snow's been knocked off," said Wiggins.

"Pretty close to the drain pipe, too," said Black Will.

"Lou wouldn't go up there, though," Jack said, shaking his head. "He'd be seen."

"Near dark," Wiggins said, ignoring him.

"So?" Jack said, peering at their leader.

"So when it gets dark, the street lamps shine down," Black Will said, pushing his hair up under his ragged cap.

"So?" Jack persisted.

"So the drain pipe will be in shadow," Wiggins said.

"So?"

"Jack, quit being dense!" snapped the leader. "Will, you Robby and Jack are going to start a snowball fight."

"Why?" Jack asked.

Will smacked him in the back of the head.

"Distraction," said Robby.

"All right," Jack said, rubbing his head and scowling sidelong at Will.

Minutes creeped by and the sky over London darkened. Lamplighters made their way down the lanes. Cold seeped into the boys, rising through their worn shoes into their legs. They stuffed their hands into their pockets and shuffled their feet. Wiggins squatted and rose half a dozen times, loosening his muscles. He flexed his numbed fingers, blowing on them to bring warmth back.

When the lamplighter lit the lamp in front of Dunn's Sweetshop, Wiggins nodded to Will and the three boys dashed into the street, hurling snowballs at each other, dodging between cabs and carriages, laughing and attracting the attention of all passersby. Unobtrusively, Wiggins joined in until he was at the corner of the sweetshop. Cringing in anticipation, he grasped the downspout of the drainpipe, pulled to be sure it would take his weight and then began to climb rapidly, hoping he would be unobserved.

An old hand at this sort of thing, Wiggins reached the third-story windowsill in less than a minute. His three cohorts were still making a nuisance of themselves, one or two snowballs going astray to strike pedestrians, evoking loud complaints and scoldings. With a grunt, Wiggins pulled himself up onto the sill and pulled the shutter open. The window behind was open a fraction of an inch, just enough for him to get his frozen fingers under it and lift. Up it slid up and in he went, drawing the shutter closed and sliding the window most of the way down. The room in which he found himself was as near to absolute dark as he had ever encountered, but he was prepared. From his pocket, he took a stub of candle and an old tinderbox. Working by feel, Wiggins struck sparks into the charred linen, igniting a weak flame. He plied it to the candle's wick and immediately the room was cast in a honey-hued glow.

"Wiggins?" whispered a soft voice from the shadows.

"Lou?" hiss Wiggins, turning to face the shadow from which the whisper had come.

"Yes," said the younger boy, easing into the candlelight. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you!" Both relieved and angry, Wiggins scuttled silently across the old floorboards to squat in front of his missing friend. "What were you thinking? This isn't a place for us."

"I know," Lou said, not meeting his leader's eyes. "I just thought it would be nice to have something special for Christmas."

"So you broke in here and stayed?"

"I didn't mean to," Lou said. "I was just waiting for dark to get out."

"You couldn't do that last night?" demanded Wiggins.

"It was warm," the smaller boy said. "Besides, I wanted to collect some for the others."

"What?"

Little Lou reached behind himself and pulled an old sugar sack into the light. Its contents bulged irregularly and when he dipped his hand inside, he came out with a cluster of small round candies.

"Sugarplums," Lou said, smiling warmly. "I got a few other things, too. I just wanted some of these because my mum used to make them. They're good."

Relenting, Wiggins reached out and took one, popping it into his mouth. Oh how savory it was. Too rarely the boys got sweets. Usually only when Mrs. Hudson made biscuits did they get to enjoy the decadence of sugar. He rolled the lump of hard candy around in his mouth and smiled.

"That is good," he sighed, then shook his head. "We need to move. Will and the others won't be able to keep up the distraction much longer."

"All right," Lou said, closing the sack.

Looking to see if the others were still doing their job, the pair slipped out of the window and descended the drainpipe more quickly than was perhaps wise. Wiggins gave a sharp whistle even as a bobby rounded the corner.

"Come on!" he cried, dashing across the street and back into the alley. The others followed hard on his heels.

Back at the warehouse, they found the rest of the gang gathered round a fire, huddled under old canvas tarpaulins and blankets they'd gotten from St. Mary's charity. A small kettle steamed, the welcome scent of stew rising from it. Someone had stolen a loaf of bread and someone else had gotten half a bottle of rum from somewhere. Only after they had all eaten did Wiggins allow Little Lou to pass out the treasure trove of sweets.

"Merry Christmas my friends," said Lou, grinning as each boy took a handful of the hard candies.