Chapter Forty – Stern Alarums, Merry Meetings
It occurred to Fagin shortly afterwards that if Bill was in a furious temper (and headed his way) he should probably make himself scarce. Thinking in this vein he drew the curtain across the window and headed to the kitchen, where the trapdoor to the back way was situated. Time to test its effectiveness.
He heard Bill fling open the front door just as he'd finished heaving the last plank of wood off the hole to the ladder. Without pausing to think he scrambled down it, not caring for its creaky protests.
"Fagin! Where are ya you miserable, sneakin', treacherous old g-"
The old man heard no more as he alighted from the ladder and scuttled across the rickety planks to the safety of the opposite bank. He glanced over his shoulder just to check he wasn't followed, the frost glinting on the dead leaves and Jeremy's final resting place. It would have been an almost tranquil scene, were it not for Bill's continued shouts from above and Fagin's memory of his attitude towards Nancy.
Why had the housebreaker been so furious with her? Because she hadn't continued working at the Cripples? Surely he hadn't expected her to, after moving in with him? What sort of man was he to think that?
He must have sent her back because he needed money…that was the only logical explanation… He always complained Fagin never gave him enough…
Fagin cursed. If his suspicions were correct, his friends at the tavern had a lot of explaining to do.
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"Fagin? Where are ya you miserable, sneakin', treacherous old git?"
Bill slammed the door behind him, breathing hard, his hands curling in and out of fists, his eyes flashing dangerously. Clearly he was not in a temper to be crossed.
Dodger, who'd been half asleep during the fight between Bill and Nancy at the bridge to the den, was now having a rather rude wide awakening due to the yelling reverberating inside his skull.
"''E's aroun'," Dodger said groggily, heaving himself into a sitting position. "Wot's the row?"
"Wot d'ya mean 'wot's the row'?" growled Bill, grabbing Dodger by his waistcoat and hoisting him from the bed. "Where's Fagin?"
Dodger was soon wide awake, if not by the yelling but now by the unexpected assault. He tried to wriggle free of Bill's grip, but the housebreaker was having none of it.
"Answer me you blasted little varmint! Where is 'e?"
"I said 'e's aroun'!" cried Dodger, still struggling to free himself. "Ain't 'e?"
Bill abruptly let go of Dodger and scanned the flat. Terrified eyes stared unblinkingly back at him from every nook and cranny, but none of them belonged to the man he sought. Unless of course he was hiding in his part of the den…
Bill stalked over to where Fagin made his home and ripped the tattered curtain aside. The small room, littered with bits of paper, broken quills and several empty gin bottles, was devoid of an occupant.
Dodger had been lying; Fagin wasn't around. Had he known Bill was coming? How could he have known?
Bill turned back to Dodger; the boy had got to his feet again and pulled on his hat in an attempt to seem taller and more intimidating (a feat which was completely lost on the burglar).
"You lied to me," Bill said softly. It wasn't a growl or a snarl, but something altogether more menacing. "You told me 'e wos 'ere an' 'e ain't!? Did 'e ask you to tell me tha', eh? Does 'e think 'e can escape me tha' easily?"
Dodger said nothing, too terrified at the danger in Bill's voice to do more than stare.
Bill, too furious and pent up with anger to say much more, strode towards the door again, intending to go and find the old fence and give him a (very painful) piece of his mind. Just as he was about to fling the door open again, however, he was verbally waylaid by Dodger.
"W-Where ya goin'?"
"Where's it look like?"
"Listen…I know you probably won't like this…but yer probably should know…"
Bill turned back round at this unexpected turn of phrase, raising an eyebrow at Dodger.
"Wot?"
"'S just…you know Fagin's pal tipped the traps off an' said we wos livin' somewhere else?"
Bill nodded, fearing the worst and even more incensed with Fagin than before.
"The plan didn't work so well…Ricky got seen today by the traps an' they followed 'im…they almost found this place but 'e got away from 'em at the last minute…they're still onto us, Mister Sykes!" Dodger sounded petrified, and as well he might! Bill had half a mind to beat him senseless, until he released it was Fagin he should be inflicting grievous bodily harm on rather than the pint sized pickpocket.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets to resist the temptation of lashing out at Dodger, Bill turned on his heel and stalked from the den, leaving the frightened boys to try and return to dreamland. At least, Bill thought bitterly, they only had the traps to worry about. They'd still have sweet dreams.
But he knew he wouldn't, if he even got to sleep that night. There was too much going on in his mind; thoughts of Nancy, Fagin, money, the fight, the traps, the drop…
First Fagin had the gall not to pay him what he deserved and now, thanks to his stupid friend, the peelers were back on their tail?! If Bill had been angry with Fagin before his spat with Nancy, he felt a thousand times more furious now. When he got his hands on him…
He returned to the Cripples, not really aware of where else Fagin might choose to go. It was much more crowded and noisy now since his previous visit that night, the smoky air occasionally wracked with shrieks and screams of laughter and the usual random bursts of half drunken song.
His appearance usually did something to quieten the crowd, if only a little, but not tonight. Tonight was one of those particularly rowdy nights, where it was each to their own and as much alcohol as possible. Chaos.
Peering over the milling heads from his vantage point at the doorway, he managed to spot Nancy, a painfully fake smile stretched across her face as she leant down to talk to someone. Even standing there in the doorway it was her eyes that affected him; her smile didn't meet them at all. She had the look of a caged animal, trapped and fearful.
Bill wrenched his gaze from her and made his way into the tavern, unable to help but feel a bit proud of himself as the revelers made a path for him and quickly scurried out of his way. He was intending to go and visit the fences in the corner again (maybe Fagin would be with them?) but he was distracted halfway there as he saw just who Nancy was conversing with.
Tim Evans.
Both Fagin and Bill looked to face the speaker; a tall, broad-shouldered brute with a sweaty red complexion and a balding head, an expression on his face that could frighten even the strongest and bravest of men. No wonder Fagin quailed a little at the sight of him.
"Oh…h-hello Tim, my dear…sorry to have kept you waiting…"
Tim… Tim Evans? Could it be? Bill squinted up at him; he certainly looked strong enough (and drunk enough) to have been his assailant on the night Fagin found him.
The same Tim Evans that had attacked him on the doorstep, the same Tim Evans he had later fought to protect Fagin before his first job…
Bill's fists clenched instinctively. Of all the people Nancy chose to talk to it had to be old Tim Evans…
Without pausing to think Bill strode over to the pair of them; Evans now had his arm around Nancy's waist and was laughing heartily at something she'd said…
"Get away from 'er, Evans."
Evans and Nancy both looked around; Nancy went white but Evans simply leered.
"Well, well, well, look who it is! You've really made a name for yourself ain't you?" Evans drawled, pulling Nancy closer to him.
"You deaf or somethin'?" Bill snarled, taking a step towards the pair. "Let 'er go."
Evans rolled his eyes. "Wot you think, jus' because you're the great Bill Sykes you can tell me wot I can an' can't do, eh? Who are you to say I can't 'ave this loverly lady all to meself hmmm?"
"Tha's exactly wot I think, Evans," Bill growled. "No-one takes my name in vain unless they want their brains strewn across the floor…especially not you."
Evans visibly paled a little but didn't loosen his grip on Nancy. She, for her part, was trying to extricate herself from his clammy grip; she just wanted to stop him and Bill fighting, to go back to Bethnal Green, just her and Bill, the ways things used to be…
Without warning, Evans suddenly relinquished his grip on Nancy and lunged at Bill. The housebreaker hadn't expected this and was knocked to the ground, banging his head against a nearby table as he fell. A few of the onlookers cheered at this exciting new development.
Bill threw a punch at Evans but the older man avoided the blow and threw a punch of his own It made its mark and Bill tasted blood, its metallic taste choking him… All the fury and anger he'd been feeling towards Fagin he soon let out in the fight; his rage only served to make him stronger and soon Evans too was bleeding…someone was screaming…
"Oi, gents!" came a voice over the sounds of the onlookers. "Break it up, will ya? This ain't a place fer fisticuffs…wot's there to fight about? There's gin enough for all of us!"
A few people laughed but Bill ignored the man, preparing to punch Evans again. No sooner had he raised his fist for the blow when he felt someone pulling him forcefully away from his adversary. Bill wrenched himself from the man's grip and turned to face him, a determined scowl still set on his face from the fight.
The man who had stopped him attacking Evans further was tall and lanky, with an air of sophistication about him not normally seen in the Spitalfields area. His hair was neatly curled and a similar colour to Fagin's, although much brighter; his small moustache and beard were the same. His face reminded Bill of a rat, but his clothes didn't suit the same description in the slightest. They were fancy clothes, finely cut and expertly tailored a blend of fine fabrics in a variety of rich colours and textures. A silken handkerchief hung from the man's coat pocket along with a pocketwatch chain.
Bill frowned. Who was foolish enough to wear items they'd stolen?
"Who the blazes are you?" he snarled, still glowering at the stranger.
The strange man bowed low before straightening up and offering Bill a silk-gloved hand to shake.
"Crackit, Tobias Crackit, at your service m'boy!"
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A/N: Yay Toby! XD I love writing him, so I had to add him even though the story's based mainly off of the musical. Anyone spot the 'My Name' reference? Gosh, I had fun with this chapter. =P
Please R&R!
