Chapter Four – Broken Glass

The next morning dawned bright and early. Bill had finally found the chair and curled up to sleep, still fraught with curiosity about Fagin's box even as he drifted off. He was wide awake now though and pacing the room, filled with a sense of renewed hope for escape. He had easy access to the box, didn't he? Surely he could threaten Fagin with it somehow, so the man would let him go? On that note, why had he locked Bill in here if he knew this was where the box was?

Pleased with himself, Bill sauntered over to the gin cupboard. Clearly Fagin hadn't been thinking straight last night; leaving Bill not only with his precious box but with a cupboard full (well, half full) of gin to boot? The boy pulled a bottle from the cupboard and took a big gulp of the spirit, snatching up one of the shards of broken glass as an afterthought.

It felt much safer having a weapon in his hand.

This done he felt about in his pocket, finding, to his immense satisfaction, the currant bun he'd pinched from Fagin the day before. He quickly ate it, washing it down with another large mouthful of gin. Living in this cramped little room wouldn't be so bad…

Moments later this thought fled his mind; Fagin had unlocked the door and entered; a scarily cheerful expression on his face despite the events of the previous night. He didn't speak a word to Bill as he set about cooking his breakfast. Bill didn't say anything either, clutching the shard of glass in his pocket just in case. But Fagin didn't seem in a violent mood; far from it. He was singing to himself as he toasted bread, something about picking pockets.

Eventually the food was cooked and Fagin placed the plate on the table before scurrying to retrieve his gin. He chuckled as he picked up one of the bottles, bringing it over to the table and pouring himself a glass.

"I see you've been at the gin, my dear…"

Bill stared. How on Earth had Fagin known that? Did he memorize the contents of each bottle every evening or what? This place just got stranger and stranger…

"Well…yeah, I have…" Bill managed to reply, not liking Fagin's devious expression. Why was he so cheerful this morning? Last night he'd looked mad enough to kill! He probably was mad enough to kill.

Fagin must have noticed Bill's guilty expression, for the next question he posed wasn't in so light-hearted a tone.

"What are you looking so worried about, my dear?" he asked.

Bill clenched the glass in his pocket ever tighter. The man's attempt at kindliness and sympathy set his teeth on edge. What are you looking so worried about indeed! Maybe I'm worried because you're a violent drunken maniac?

"If this is about last night, my dear, I-"

Fagin broke off, looking over Bill's shoulder. Bill turned to look for himself and bit back a furious curse. He'd forgotten to replace one of the loose bricks from the box's hiding place. Would nothing ever go the way he wanted? Why had he been born under such an unlucky star?

Fagin, for his part, wasn't sure what to do. Should he stay calm for the good of the plan? Or, he thought, should he fly off the handle, as he had every right to? Bill had surely discovered his box; something he wanted to keep hidden, for his eyes only… The bricks were completely inconspicuous, weren't they? The room had been pitch black, hadn't it, save for some moonlight? How on Earth had Bill found it? What was happening?

"W-what…h-how…" he stammered; these being the only words that came to mind. He didn't seem to be able to decide between calm and fury, settling on perplexed horror as a reasonable alternative.

Bill, in those fleeting moments, seemed to have regained some of his former confidence.

"Yeah, that's right Fagin. I found yer box. Wot're you hidin'?"

"N-nothing that concerns you, my dear…" Fagin too was beginning to regain his usual authority and trying his best to salvage the situation.

"Nothin' that concerns me, eh?" snarled Bill, taking a step towards Fagin, the glass still clutched in his fist. "An' why's tha'?"

"Because!" snapped Fagin, unable to come up with a better answer, struggling to keep his voice from shaking in the face of the young boy's sudden fury. He didn't like being so intimidated by Bill but it was hard not to be. "Because it isn't!"

Bill rolled his eyes. Very eloquent.

"D-don't you roll your eyes at me, Bill Sykes!" snapped Fagin, still trying to regain control.

Bill laughed. Fagin attempting to be disciplinary was amusing; the boy seemed to have completely forgotten the previous night and how disciplinary Fagin had been then. Maybe it was because Fagin was afraid Bill would do something to his precious box that made him so afraid to do anything? This was the truth in fact, but Fagin was unaware Bill had realized it.

"Look Bill…let's just…calm down, shall us?"

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?" All traces of laughter were gone from Bill's face now; he pulled the glittering shard from his pocket, causing Fagin to shrink back and nearly fall from his chair in fright. "Oh yeah, you're the one who should be sayin' calm down; after wot you did last night! You didn't 'calm down' then, did ya?"

Fagin bit his lip, but then he scowled. Who was he to be frightened by a mere child? He got to his feet, scarcely a head taller than his opposition…not a comforting thought.

"I had every reason not to calm down, my dear. You took my key from right under my nose!"

"You should be more careful then, shouldn't yer?"

"What does being careful have to do with anything?"

"You'll get nabbed by the traps if you ain't careful! You'll end up in the clink if you ain't careful!"

Fagin ground his teeth; Bill had a point. As their argument progressed, Bill continued to advance on Fagin with the glass in his hand; Fagin continued to step backwards despite himself. As they neared the fireplace however, Fagin snatched up the toasting fork. This caught Bill by surprise and he dropped the glass; it shattered on the floor into millions of tiny crystals.

There was a moment's silence.

Then…

"Let me go, will ya? Why're you keepin' me prisoner 'ere; wot do you want wiv me?"

Fagin sighed resignedly. So much for the plan. But then…he'd let the boy go, certainly, but he'd soon get him back again. After the display with Tim Evans, Fagin guessed Bill wouldn't last long without him. Oh, what a clever dog he was!

He replaced the toasting fork and pulled the key to the flat from his pocket. Bill's face lit up at the sight of it and Fagin felt an uncomfortable knot in his stomach; regret? Pity? Was he really sorry to see the boy go? But then…this wasn't goodbye after all…

He steered Bill to the front door and unlocked it; it was the first time Bill had been outside since the night Fagin had brought him here. The smog tainted air smelt of freedom.

"There you are, my dear…" said Fagin, fighting back a grin. "Farewell."

Bill could hardly believe it; his luck was turning surely! Unable to contain a grin he hurried from the den; he wasn't about to waste his time figuring out an appropriate goodbye for the lunatic.

As Bill hurried away, Fagin waved him off, cackling to himself.

"Cheerio for now, my dear," he muttered. "I'm sure you'll be back soon."

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A/N: Couldn't help tossing a few song references in there. XD

How does Fagin plan to get Bill back? And what is this brilliant plan of his we keep hearing about?

You'll see in future chapters, won't you? =P

Please R&R, or I'll set Fagin on you with a toasting fork!