Chapter Eight – Money Matters
The following few days passed in very much the same way; Bill would go out and steal as much as he pleased, returning to Fagin with the day's hoard, which the man would then reward him for (Bill was always certain to nick something 'of particular value' to get his shillings). They were both happy and content with the way things were working out.
Until one afternoon when things took a turn for the worse.
It was bound to happen eventually, it was an inevitable occurrence, and they both knew it. But neither of them had expected it to occur so soon.
Bill had been out on the job since eight that morning and had only managed to pick up a couple of handkerchiefs and one, lonely wallet. The frost and ice were thick upon the pavements as the city descended into winter, and not many of the rich folk were willing to brave the cold, preferring to stay indoors beside their blazing fires, steaming mugs in their hands, feet propped on plush footstools.
Fagin's young employee was fast growing frustrated with the lack of prime plants about the streets; it was two o' clock and he had hardly anything to show for it! Grumbling to himself, he meandered down the pavement, hands in his pockets, glancing fervently about for any signs of something special to nick for Fagin. He'd never failed to bring back such an item; he now had eight shillings in total to his name. He wasn't sure what he was saving them for, surely he could steal whatever he wanted, but it was nice to have those silver coins at his disposal. Fagin and his penny-pinching ways were already beginning to rub off on him.
Spotting a likely candidate for needing his pockets lightened at last, Bill made his way nonchalantly across the road, trying to hurrying but appear calm at the same time; no easy feat. The man hadn't noticed his approach; he was too engrossed in talking to the shop owner, a man whose nose was red raw from cold.
Quickly as he could, Bill reached his hand into the man's back pocket, extracting his wallet before setting off at a run. He didn't stop until he reached the coach station and hitched a lift back, an hour later, as it turned out, than usual.
He thought nothing of it until he knocked on the door and whispered the password; he was greeted by a rather harried looking Fagin, pocketwatch in hand, glowering in his direction.
"You're late back," he said, in a disgruntled manner.
"Sorry…" said Bill, though he wasn't really. Was it his fault the toffs kept to their houses? He couldn't blame them.
He was eager to get to the fireside with a mug of gin, but Fagin stopped him before he even took a few paces in that direction.
"Let's see what took you so long, my dear…"
He didn't sound as excited as usual, in fact his words sounded greatly like a threat. Reckoning he couldn't have felt more apprehensive if he'd tried, Bill gingerly extracted the day's loot from his pockets; three handkerchiefs (all marked) and the two wallets. He realized as he handed them over, a sinking feeling in his stomach, that they were very light to the touch; not well lined at all…
As Fagin opened the wallets to examine their contents Bill lowered his eyes to the tabletop, not wanting to meet Fagin's gaze. He heard the man's sharp intake of breath and, seconds later, a frustrated and furious sigh.
"Half empty wallets?" he muttered, his tone disbelieving. "Half empty wallets?!" Fagin's voice had gone from disappointed to furious in a matter of seconds. He threw the limp items in question onto the tabletop with great force, jumping to his feet and rounding on Bill.
"I expected better of you, my dear! Spending an hour longer than usual out, causing me great worry and anxiety, thinking you might've gotten caught and for what? Wallets without even two guineas to rub together!"
Bill sensed the blow was coming before it was actually struck, but that didn't stop it stinging like salt in an open wound. The force of it knocked him off his chair; he gritted his teeth to stop himself yelling out loud as he staggered back onto his feet. Fagin looked angry enough to strike again; Bill hurried forwards and dealt him as a hard a blow as he could before Fagin could do anything more. Unfortunately for Bill this action only served to incense Fagin more and soon the pair of them were fighting tooth and nail like wild dogs, only stopping when Fagin managed to throw Bill off before threatening to take away his wages (he knew all along where the boy hid them).
The fight over, with as much bruising of egos as limbs, Fagin stormed from the flat, locking Bill inside once again. He needed a stiff drink, and he wasn't likely to get that at the den now, not with Bill around. He found himself limping on the way to the Cripples…this newfound violence in his young charge was quite alarming, and Fagin couldn't say he liked it.
Back at the den, Bill, having vented what was left of his fury of Fagin's stuffed owl, robbed a full gin bottle of its contents before stumbling off to his bed, his head pounding in protest not only from the blows he'd received but from the gin he'd just consumed.
He'd regret it in the morning but just then, in all honesty, he found he didn't care. Serves Fagin right. See him trying to get some well lined wallets with the streets the way they were! See him doing anything at all around here! He expected Bill to do all his work for him did he?
When Fagin returned that night, slightly tipsy, he didn't notice the scattered owl feathers, or the empty bottle of gin. Even in his woozy state, he'd come up with a plan that rendered the state the loft was in irrelevant. He wouldn't have to deal with Bill's aggression any longer if this worked out…he'd simply pass on that that burden to someone else, someone his own size…
Cackling quietly to himself, Mister Fagin Esquire extinguished the fire and tottered off to bed.
In the dark and cold of the attic, Bill lay curled in his blanket; sound asleep, without the slightest idea in his head of what Fagin was planning.
It was better that way. He wouldn't know a thing until Fagin put his latest scheme into action. If he'd known what Fagin's plan was, his dreams that night wouldn't have been so peaceful. In fact, they would have been quite the opposite.
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A/N: Fagin's had another cunning plan; I think you can all guess what it is…Bill isn't going to be very happy!
Please R&R! ^^
