Chapter Twenty-Three – Old & New

A year had passed since the night of the card game, and much had changed. The gang had significantly grown in numbers, so much so that Bill had had the unusually tricky assignment of stealing blankets when he was on the job. There were now around twenty boys in total, if Bill and the other founding members of the gang could be called boys.

Bill was nineteen now, Morris only a few months behind him. Norman and Frankie were both sixteen, Ezra and Archie fourteen. Nancy was now eight, and sweet as ever and Fagin…well, the numbers didn't really matter. He was still as eccentric and cranky in the mornings as he always had been, although one of the gang's younger members (short on tact) was quick to point out that his hair was turning grey at the ends. This was a fact to which Fagin hadn't taken too kindly (suffice to say the punishment had involved a sharp reprimand dealt with a toasting fork).

If food had been a problem before, it had increased twentyfold as the year wore on. Often complaints of hunger and appeals for more food were heard and promptly ignored. The flow of gin, however, remained steady; clearly Fagin considered the supply of spirits a better investment than the supply of food for his charges.

The afternoon was cool and crisp as late spring in London generally expected. All the boys, and Nancy of course, had been out on the job for a few hours. Despite the fact that pick pocketing was harder than ever for the likes of Morris, Norman and Frankie, Fagin couldn't persuade them (not that they wanted to) to take up housebreaking as Bill had done. Although they still admired him they had come to realize that the job wasn't as glamorous as they'd first thought.

They and Bill would have to leave the den soon; they knew that, Fagin knew that. But the old man couldn't bring himself to make them leave, or work up the courage to do so. Bill, he knew, had more than enough cash from his various jobs over the years to rent or even buy himself a modest flat, but the others…what would become of them?

As it turned out, that fine spring afternoon would solve this problem, at least for one member of the gang.

Fagin's boys had taken to working together in pairs or packs; Norman and Frankie, Ezra, Archie and a new boy named Tom, Morris and his newfound comrade Jake, Bill and Nancy, to name but a few. Oftentimes they would spot one another in their travels; only pausing to acknowledge each other if they were unlikely to be noticed. This was how Bill and Nancy came to witness what passed.

Bill kept one eye trained on Nancy as the young girl wandered casually over to a nearby street vendor, pinched a loaf of bread and continued on her way. He kept a fair distance from her to avoid suspicion on his part, but he was always watching her, always careful.

He wouldn't like to see her get hurt.

A sudden shout from the opposite side of the street caused Bill's gaze to wander, his eyes widen, his mouth fall open in shock. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't…

"Thief! Thief! My wallet! Stop that boy! Stop him!"

Bill saw Morris clumsily stuff the wallet into his pocket as he took off at a run, tripping over his own feet, stumbling and cursing, dodging in between people and stalls, desperatley trying to deter the crowd. But they would have none of it.

The chase was over before it had even begun.

Jake, Morris' partner in crime, was nowhere to be seen.

As Bill watched Morris being hauled off, he turned to see Nancy at his elbow, her face ashen, her lip trembling.

"Why…why didn't you try and stop 'em?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Bill was shocked at the question; what could he have done? If he could have done anything, would he? This was Morris; the irritating, egotistical prat! Why should he care what became of him? One less irritation in his life. One less mouth for Fagin to worry about feeding. More gin for him. That all sounded good, as far as Bill was concerned.

"Wot d'you mean?" he knew he shouldn't ask the question, he didn't want Nancy to be upset, but at the same time he had to try and justify what he'd done, although it was nothing…

"Wot d'you mean 'Wot d'you mean'?" Nancy cried vehemently, not caring how ridiculous she sounded or how much unwanted attention she was helping the pair of them receive. "You could've stopped them, you could've 'elped! Now 'e's goin' to the clink an' it's all your fault! You as good as took 'im there!"

"Shut it Nance!"

Had he snarled so fiercely because she was causing an un-needed scene, or because she was blaming him for what had happened? Was it simply coincidence, the way she phrased her words, or had it been a deliberate jab at how he'd accused Fagin? Did he, Bill Sykes, feel guilty?

No, that was impossible.

He never felt guilty, he never felt regret, he never cried.

Never.

Nancy, stung, flounced off to continue the job without a last look back, leaving Bill to the curious and often scrutinizing looks of passersby who had witnessed Morris' capture, and the subsequent argument between Nancy and himself.

Morris was gone.

Nancy was furious with him.

He'd yelled at her, he'd hurt her.

Bill cursed. Why had everything gone so wrong?

He heard someone tutting, very close at hand. Irritated, he looked for the source of the noise. A small boy was standing a few feet away, hands stuffed in his striped-trousered pockets, his upper half clad in a brightly coloured checked waistcoat and a blue velvet tailcoat much too big for him.

Bill frowned at the boy's attire, but before he could comment the boy himself spoke up.

"Poor chap. 'E'll be off to the slammer now, either that or Aus…Aus…thingy. Long name. Anyway, 's if tha' ain't bad enough, then I see you yellin' at tha' sweet little girl. Wot did ya go an' do tha' fer eh, me flash mate?"

Bill's left eye twitched. Who was this kid to accuse him of what he could and couldn't do? Who was he, full stop?

He was beginning to form an appropriately violent response but his lips had barely opened when the boy scarpered, running like a frightened rabbit, his coat tails flapping behind him. Bill saw just in time who he was running from; a pair of policemen, clearly 'on the beat', glancing suspiciously about.

Bill slunk away as surreptitiously as he could, forgetting the strange boy in an instant as he spotted Nancy a few feet away, her hand deep in the pocket of an unsuspecting toff. He chuckled, before remembering he and Nancy weren't on the best of terms.

Seeing her begin to wander off again, Bill followed her at a run. He had to apologize, and now was a better time than never.

--

It was dinner time before Fagin realized Morris was missing. Bill hadn't wanted to tell him, and nor had Nancy, not wanting to face his wrath when he found one of his oldest hands gone. He had doled out the usual amount of food and the boys had eagerly gathered around the table. It was only then that the older boy's absence was noticed; he was prone to pushing the others out of the way to get his share.

"Did any of you see Morris this afternoon, my dears?" Fagin asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

They all shook their heads. Even Nancy, who never lied even when it would save her own skin from one of Fagin's reprimands, managed a tiny shake.

Fagin frowned.

"Surely one of you must have seen him…he's always one of the first back!"

Silence.

"Where is he?"

Nancy could take it no longer, she didn't want to lie to Fagin, she hated seeing him get so angry; she knew what had happened to Morris, she'd seen him get caught, she couldn't just keep the truth a secret and hide behind a lie, Fagin needed to know…

"'E's g-gone, Fagin," she stammered, her whole frame quivering with fright as all eyes turned to watch her.

"What d'you mean gone?" Fagin sounded frantic, his tone higher than normal, and more desperate.

Bill stood up then, towering over Fagin as his elder was still seated.

"Don't you talk to Nancy like that you old fence!" he snapped.

"I'll talk to her how I flippin' well please, my dear! For the last time of asking, where is Morris?"

Nancy swallowed and tried hard to keep her voice from shaking.

"'E….'e got nabbed….by the traps…'e pinched a man's wallet an'…an' they saw 'im…"

Gasps and murmurs went up across the board; Fagin had turned a deathly white. First Jeremy, now Morris? What more harm could come to his beloved charges? Why was everything going so spectacularly wrong?

"Ah…I see, my dear, I see. Thank you."

A pause.

"Get to bed all of yer. Yes Bill, that means you too. Bed. Now."

Bill stopped, his hand halfway towards the gin bottle. He wondered momentarily why Fagin had singled him out, before realizing he didn't care. He wanted to think anyway, and he was tired. What better reason to retire?

His mind was whirling as he tried to drop off to sleep that night, the afternoon's events replaying inside his head, some of them grossly exaggerated somehow, making him feel even worse than before. He imagined he'd let the police stop Morris, he'd led them to him…he could have sworn he'd been the one to steal the wallet and blame it on the younger thief…had he really struck Nancy in their fight and simply forgotten about it?

No.

He hadn't done that; he hadn't hit Nancy.

And he never would neither.

--

A/N: A very strange chapter.

I hope Morris getting caught wasn't dreadfully clichéd. D:

Don't worry, someone will soon take his place! ^^ (Hint: You saw him in this chapter! Who is he?! XD I'm sure you all know).

And some foreshadowing at the end; aren't I nice?

Sorry it's taken me so long to get this up; please R&R!