"This way. 'Twasn't far."
They darted through the streets in the fading sunlight, older boy following the younger between carts and around people. They had wanted to do this hours ago, but the thunderstorm that had swept through earlier had kept them under shelter until well into the day, and Jimmy had needed to take care of the others before he could leave. The quickly setting sun announced they may be too late.
"Which door?"
"Here."
George nearly skidded to a halt in front of a half-hidden door, and the smell of hot metal tickled Jimmy's nose. For all that the place was so hard to find, the door obviously led to a metalworking shop, an environment Jimmy knew well enough. The Irregulars frequented the small shops that regularly had scrap and broken bits the smiths did not mind giving away, and Jimmy had learned quickly which shops often had the best pieces. Most of the smiths in the area knew the Irregulars well.
They also closed to visitors before sundown, however, as dusk was the best time to work the forge. The door was locked, and the pounding inside drowned out their calls. They were too late for today.
"Sorry, George."
The shorter boy shrugged away the apology. "It's alright. I told him we would come today or tomorrow. He just wants to meet you before he'll accept me."
"Does he know we're not related?"
George nodded. "That didn't seem to matter, though. I think 'e just wants to be sure someone else knows that I'm helping him."
"We'll come in the morning," Jimmy promised as they slowly returned the way they had come, "before the littles wake. Doris can handle things for a few hours if it will line you up for an early apprenticeship."
A laugh carried through the growing dusk. "Doris can handle things any time. Your sister is crazy, you know. The other day, she had a few of the youngest ones playing the strangest game of hide and seek I've ever seen."
"The one where the finder had to hide as well?"
"Yup," he replied, popping the p. "Beth finally gave them away when she couldn't stop giggling, and they started over."
They dodged through an intersection, ducking into the next alley instead of taking the main streets.
"We will have to help her with that when she gets a bit older," Jimmy replied when their pace slowed again. "We can't have her laughing every time she has to run."
"She'll outgrow it," George asserted. "Doris did much the same thing when we were littles. She got us caught by your brother so many times."
Jimmy released a hearty laugh. "Of course she did. She led the two of us into trouble more than once."
"You were inseparable for a year or two," George remembered. "Never thought you'd have to run away to find your twin, did ya?"
He shook his head, still grinning. "No, I—" A strange noise drifted down the alley, and he stopped mid thought, looking around. "Did you hear that?" he asked quietly.
George nodded, pointing towards a rubbish bin thirty feet ahead. "Came from there."
Motioning George to stay back, Jimmy took three careful steps forward, listening. The sound came again, this time discernible as words.
"No. Go 'way."
That voice was young. George trailed behind him as Jimmy slowly moved closer.
"That hurts! When Mum coming?"
"Hello?" Jimmy tried.
"No," the voice continued, the word closer to a sob than a plea. "Don't hit me. I'm sorry! Said she would come."
A child that young should not be on the streets alone. How bad had it been at home for him to decide that a rubbish bin was a better place to sleep?
Jimmy quietly crept to the side of the bin, using a convenient crate to boost himself to the edge, and lifting the lid revealed a small boy curled in one shadowed corner, a pile of boxes and rotting food for a bed. Cuts and bruises covered every inch of visible skin, ranging from days to weeks old, and he was skinnier than anyone Jimmy had ever seen. Every rib showed plainly through the thin shirt better suited to the warm days than the cold nights.
He was a sight worse than any newcomer the Irregulars had received in months, and Jimmy doubted he could see all the boy's injuries.
"George?" he breathed. "Go get the doctor."
Footsteps pounded away, darting through the crowds as they had on the way here, and Jimmy propped the lid and pulled himself into the bin. The boy started twitching.
"No," he said again, flinching as if from a swinging fist. "No. Leave me alone."
"Hello?" Jimmy said again, trying not to scare the boy. He edged closer, making himself small and nonthreatening. "It's alright. You're dreaming. You're safe."
The boy made no response, still caught in his nightmare, and Jimmy reached a cautious hand to gently rest on the boy's shoulder.
"Hello?"
The boy came awake with a terrified yelp, lurching away from Jimmy.
"Easy! It's alright. I won't hurt you!"
Ignoring the words, the boy quickly threw off Jimmy's hand and lunged for the edge of the bin. A quick scramble had him grasping the lip, and Jimmy grabbed his ankle.
"Don't go! It's alright. You're safe."
The boy fought to escape, nearly kicking his way free, and Jimmy decided to try another tactic. He abruptly let go and retreated to the other end of the bin.
The boy stilled almost immediately, watching instead of running though he firmly placed his back against the wall, and Jimmy tried not to sigh in relief. He sat on the closest box.
"I won't hurt you," he said quietly. "I swear. My name is Jimmy. What's yours?"
The boy stared at him for a long moment, still panting from his panicked awakening, but he finally whispered an answer when Jimmy stayed seated.
"Henry."
"Hello, Henry. Why are you sleeping in a rubbish bin?"
"Roof in a storm."
Jimmy paused, piecing together the half sentence.
"That was a loud storm, wasn't it? But why a rubbish bin? Don't you have a home?"
Henry shook his head. "Mum doesn't want me."
"What about your father?"
Henry tensed, wide eyes flicking between Jimmy and the edge of the bin, and Jimmy's heart sank. He knew that look.
"Mine, too." Frightened blue eyes refocused on Jimmy, and he added, "Is he the one that hurt you?"
Henry cringed, trying to hide his bruised arms behind his back. Jimmy faintly noticed one of the brighter red cuts had started bleeding from Henry's movements.
"You won't go back to him," he promised. "Where does he live?"
Henry made no answer, glancing again at the edge of the bin.
"You're safe, Henry. I only want to know so I can make sure he doesn't find you. Does he live in this city?"
Henry hesitated. "What city?"
"What city are we in?" Jimmy repeated, making sure he knew what the younger boy was asking. "We are in London. Does your father live in London?"
Henry shook his head.
"Good," Jimmy replied. "Then he can't find you. You can come live with us."
"Us?" Interest leaked into the faint question.
"Us," Jimmy repeated. "A bunch of us street kids have a courtyard east of here. We have a bit of food, and we can probably find you some warmer clothes."
"No money."
"That's alright, Henry. You can pay us back in other ways. Can you count?"
Henry nodded, and Jimmy forced a smile.
"There you go! We need someone to help the littles learn how to count. What do you say?"
Henry stared for a moment, thinking, but footsteps drew closer to the bin before he could respond.
"Jimmy?" Doctor Watson's voice asked, stopping several feet away.
Henry yelped again and pressed himself against the wall opposite the doctor's voice, and Jimmy nearly cursed the horrible timing.
"Come to my side of the bin, please, Doctor. Henry is a little nervous."
The familiar gait took a step back, then circled wide to come up next to Jimmy, and the doctor peered over the edge a moment later. Worry flashed on sighting Henry, but he forced a pleasant smile.
"Hello, Henry. My name is Doctor Watson."
Henry never moved, watching warily from his place against the cold metal.
"I'm a friend of Jimmy's," the doctor continued. "I live nearby, and Jimmy asked if you could borrow my sitting room for a meal. I can help with your injuries, too, so they will heal faster."
Henry shook his head on mention of a house, pressing his back harder against the wall.
"Doctor Watson is nothing like your father, Henry," Jimmy said, the words covering the quiet taps on the metal behind him.
Father abuse. Not in London.
"I will not hurt you," the doctor added. "I want to help. My medical bag is at the flat, and my landlady will probably have supper ready soon. A meal tonight, then tomorrow morning you can join the other children. How does that sound?"
Henry said nothing, still watching warily from his place against the wall.
"You won't be alone with him," Jimmy tried, wondering if that was the problem. "I'll be there at first, then another boy closer to your age can come when I have to leave."
"No hitting?"
Traces of grief appeared in the doctor's expression as Jimmy quickly shook his head.
"No hitting allowed," he promised. "You're safe, Henry. We won't hurt you."
Henry hesitated only a moment longer before slowly nodding, and Jimmy crawled over the edge of the bin. He thought for a moment that Henry would take the opportunity to leave from the other side, but the smaller boy soon joined them on the sidewalk.
The extra light did nothing for his many injuries. Covered in fading bruises, he had multiple cuts over his arms and face, and Jimmy noted one or two that were trying to get infected. Henry had been alone for at least a fortnight, probably a bit longer, if his skittishness was any indication. He cautiously walked a few feet away on the sidewalk, eyeing the doctor with every step, but he froze when George met them at the street. George took a step back, looking at Jimmy.
"Get Tim Major," he answered the silent question. "They are closer in age, and Henry might be more comfortable with him. I will stay with Henry as long as needed."
George nodded, disappearing into the crowds again.
"How long have you been alone, Henry?" Doctor Watson asked, almost continuously scanning the small boy. Henry never noticed, but Jimmy's worry increased. That was the searching gaze that announced its target was in bad enough shape to cause concern, and it was never a good thing when something troubled the seasoned doctor. Jimmy never liked seeing that gaze aimed at a child, especially one as young as Henry. The boy was no older than six, maybe five.
The boy ignored the question, apparently more focused on the crowds around them and staying out of arm's reach. His eyes carried the fearful look of one who had been alone for far too long, and he occasionally flinched from one of his injuries, most notably when he bumped his still-bleeding arm against a wall trying to avoid a man running down the middle of the path.
"How did you end up in London?" Jimmy tried.
Henry still made no reply, and Jimmy knew the doctor had noticed the boy's apprehension when they changed routes, ducking into a convenient alley on a different path to the flat than the doctor usually took. Henry visibly relaxed when they left the more heavily traveled streets, but he still refused any attempt at conversation. No matter who asked, simple questions received only silence. They finally gave up when Henry drifted further away. They had no wish to scare the boy.
"Show Henry to the sitting room?" Doctor Watson asked as the door shut behind them. "I doubt Holmes is back yet. I will see if Mrs. Hudson has supper ready and meet you upstairs in a minute."
The doctor disappeared toward the kitchen as Jimmy nodded, and quiet words drifted from the younger boy.
"Who's Holmes?"
"Mr. Holmes is a detective," Jimmy answered, leading the way to the sitting room. "He and the doctor work together on Mr. Holmes' cases, and Doctor Watson runs a small practice out of the flat. Mr. Holmes is probably tracing that string of burglaries that started last week."
Silence answered him as Henry curled into the corner of the settee furthest from the door, and Jimmy took the other side just before the doctor joined them.
"Supper is not ready yet," he said, placing a tray on a nearby table, "but Mrs. Hudson found a snack."
The doctor turned away from the plate to retrieve his bag from next to his desk, and a small hand immediately reached out to claim a piece of cheese. Doctor Watson did not comment, dragging his armchair closer.
"Will you let me treat you?" he asked from his chair. "Those cuts look rather painful."
Henry eyed the various supplies visible in the large bag. "Will it hurt?"
"A little, maybe," the doctor answered honestly. "It will not hurt for long, though, and they will heal faster if I clean them."
Henry hesitated, claiming a piece of meat only when the doctor glanced away, but he finally nodded. His gaze never left where Doctor Watson worked, but he made no protest except an occasional flinch. Jimmy remained silently on the other end of the cushion, fighting to smother his anger as Doctor Watson revealed more and more injuries. The mere idea that a person could do this to a child—
He cut the thought short. His own age made no difference to the wish that he could lead some of the Irregulars after Henry's father. Such a man deserved to be thrashed by a group of children before they handed him over to the grown-ups for a proper sentencing.
A knock sounded below a few minutes later, and footsteps climbed the stairs. Henry tensed, immediately shying away from Doctor Watson to watch the door.
"It is alright, Henry. He will not hurt you." Henry glanced at Doctor Watson, then back towards the door, but he tentatively let the doctor resume.
"Jimmy?" Tim asked, stopping at the entrance when he noticed Henry's discomfort. Jimmy's fingers twitched against the arm of the settee.
"This is Tim, Henry. He lives with us, too."
Father abuse. Alone weeks.
Henry relaxed slightly when Tim stayed near the door, and only then did Tim move slowly closer.
"Hiya, Henry," Tim said with a smile, his voice gentle. Henry was not the first young one Tim had helped soothe. "Jimmy's sister was looking for him, so I came to be with you so he could go. Is that alright?"
Henry made no answer, and Jimmy moved to let Tim sit.
"Henry?" Jimmy said after a moment. "Are you alright with this?"
Henry's gaze flicked toward Jimmy, then back to Tim.
"No hitting."
"No hitting," Tim agreed immediately. "Brothers don't hit each other, Henry, and neither do friends."
Henry stared for a moment. "Friends?"
"Of course we can be friends."
Henry leaned back into the cushion when Doctor Watson finished cleaning a cut on his back, but his gaze remained on where Tim sat on the other end of the settee.
"Friends."
With a quick wave at the doctor, Jimmy slipped out the door. Tim could handle this, and he needed to finish a few things back at base so he and George could leave at sunup. That boy would do well as a blacksmith.
Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to drop a review. Each one is greatly appreciated :D
Thanks to MCH1987, Guest, Corynutz, and dr who for your reviews on Choices.
Dr who, thank you. And I have no idea what ninjago is. A web search suggests a cartoon.
Guest, so glad you liked it! and this isn't the only Henry story I have planned. Matthew will make a reappearance eventually, so keep watching :D