2. Money Trouble

When he woke the next day, all he could think of was food. The book was clutched in his arms, and the rucksack lay nearby. He hid the book among the rags of his bedding and opened the rucksack for the first time. It held money. He knew that there would be a lot of money inside because he had seen Bill put it in there night after night, but he had never imagined it would be so much. He did not wonder why Bill had lived in such a run down rathole of a room with all of this money stashed away. In the Bracks, if you show that you have anything, someone will take it from you. And someone had.

Bill had been a right bastard. He had beaten and murdered and stolen from the people who had the least. The boy wondered at how Bill had collected so much from people who had so little, but not for long. His stomach ached with hunger, and he had to piss, so he collected a few bills from the bag and hid them away in his clothes before moving the plug of old rags from his little doorway, sliding the stones aside and climbing out of the crypt.

Crouching behind the barrier of moldy rubble, he waited and listened until he was sure there was no one around. There was never anyone around, but he survived on caution, and his hiding place was all he had, the only place he felt safe.

Leaving the Churchyard, he headed down Tatts Reynold street to Market Way. He could see the smoke of outdoor grills rising over the decaying rooftops of the city's buildings, and almost smell the sausages and meat pies cooking. The street was crowded with people and loud with the shouting and bustle of the market. Motorbikes puttered by carrying people and often towing carts laden with various goods, and occasionally a run down motorcar would pass through, moving slowly and splitting the crowds of pedestrians. There were policemen on every block, but this was the only place one would ever see police in this part of the city.

The quarter was officially called Brackish Marsh by the crown, but the residents had shortened it long ago to ‘The Bracks’. This was the part of the city where the poor, the outcasts and the criminals resided. The Crown did little to ease the suffering here, and the police did nothing to curb the crime and violence that took place each day and night. Except for Market Way. The Nobility seemed intent on protecting this eleven blocks of territory from the blight of thievery, yet had no interest in seeing to the safety and well being of the denizens of the Bracks anywhere outside of Market Way.

The boy knew little of government, nothing of the aristocracy and even less of law and order, but he did know of sausages and meat pies, and that was all that concerned him at that moment, so he approached a familiar stall and hailed the woman behind the grill. “Hey, Lian.” He said in his small voice. Lian looked over the grill at him, turning a sausage with a pair of wooden tongs.

“Haven’t seen you in weeks, Nathaniel. Jun heard you was dead.” Lian said with a disapproving scowl.

“Ain't yet.” Nathaniel replied. “But I’m hungry like a broke leg dog.” Slipping a single tattered bill from his pocket, Nathaniel continued “And I got money. Been collecting rags to sell to the rag lady on Gersch Place.” He lied.

Lian sliced a sausage into a wooden bowl, took a potato from the grill and sliced it in as well and ladled gravy over the lot. “That Muscovy boy, Mikkel been asking after you.” She said as she passed the bowl to him and took a big glass from the shelf behind her.

“Must be worried for me, ain’t he?” He said, before stuffing a piece of sausage and a slice of potato into his mouth. The sausage was fatty and spicy enough to make his tongue tingle, and the salty gravy and potato were just enough to mellow the heat of the spice. Nathaniel sighed in satisfaction and spooned up another bite. Lian set a glass of warm tea next to his bowl and he emptied half of it in a few gulps and went back to work on the sausage and potatoes.

“Watch out for him, Nathaniel. That boy has grown into a right thug.” Lian warned.

Nathaniel squinted and pursed his lips, trying to remember why Mikkel hated him so much. Ahh, Mikkel. Broke his fat nose with a barrel stave, didn't I? He recalled. He found that he could not remember what had started that fight. Food most likely. So much of his life had consisted of pursuing food. He hoped that part of his life was over.

He wolfed down the remaining food, emptied his glass of tea and waved to Lian as he hurried away.

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“You had enough money for two helpings!” she called to him.

“I’ll be back for supper!” Nathaniel called to her without turning. Now that his stomach was full, he had things to tend to before returning to his hideaway and the book. My book, he corrected himself.

Thinking of the book left alone, even in the safest unguarded place he knew of made him slightly anxious. He had to hurry.

Moving between the market stalls, Nathaniel bought two loaves of hard bread, a big wedge of yellow cheese, several cured sausages and a few apples. These are the things that mother had always bought when she had enough money, so he knew that they would keep for days in his damp hideaway. He stuffed it all in a flour sack the baker had sold to him, and headed back down Market Way.

On his way, he stared at the various stalls selling clothing. Warm knit stockings, woolen pants with no holes or rips, clean shirts and thick lined coats. And the shoes. His shoes were already too small, and so worn he marveled that the soles had not yet worn through. He could buy any of it with the money he had taken from Bill’s room. He could go to the Brothel on Marnaj Street and pay for a bath.

For a brief moment Nathaniel imagined himself, scrubbed clean, dressed in new clothes, with a sturdy pair of boots on his feet. Then he remembered Bill Fess and his filthy little room where he hid his riches, and knew that he could not do it. If he stepped foot in public, bathed and done up in new clothes, someone would kill him just for the clothes off his back, if not out of pure envy. He looked down at his disintegrating rags and sighed.

He made it past Lian’s food stall, and nearly all the way down Market to Tatts Reynold Street before he noticed that he was being followed. This stretch of Market Way was always deserted, as there were no stalls, and no shops open, so the footsteps behind him were easy to pick out, and they were nearly in lockstep with his own. He did not look back. Pretending to stumble, he came to a sudden stop and listened for the footsteps he had heard behind him. They had stopped too. Making a fuss of rearranging the sack, he carried on, moving more slowly this time, as if trying to be more careful.

Just as he had imagined. This was the problem with spending money in the Bracks. People noticed. He had been careless in his rush to return to the book, and this is the price that was paid by the careless. The food in his sack could feed him for a fortnight, and that was a fortune to most people who lived in the slum. It did not take a new suit of clothes and a bath to attract enough attention to get killed.

He could throw the sack down and flee. He had eaten his fill already, and it had been more food than he ate most days anyway, but that meant giving up. It also meant that someone would know how much food he had. They would know how much money it had cost, and they would wonder if he had more. They would look for him. Eventually they would find him.

As soon as he rounded the corner onto Tatts Reynold, he burst into an all out sprint. If he could make it to the alleyway between the two tenements before his pursuer, he had a chance to lose them, or, as a last resort, fight.

He heard the footsteps of his pursuer again just after he rounded the corner, but they grew more distant as he ran. Nathaniel passed the stoop of the first tenement, already heaving huge breaths of air, and took the corner sharp, cutting close to the wall. He felt his front foot go out from under him as it slipped on something, and he went down hard, but held on to the sack.

The pounding footsteps grew closer, and he knew that he had no chance of escaping his pursuer now. Looking around in a panic, he saw that the entire mouth of the alleyway had been spread with what looked like rotten cabbages. The black slime was interspersed with a few still green bits, and there was a smashed produce crate against one wall. Nearby, he saw a jagged chunk of cinderblock the size of his head. He found a dry spot to drop his sack of food, picked up the heavy block and backed against the near wall of the tenement. His pursuer rounded the corner almost as soon as he was in position, and he took it close, just as Nathaniel had done. The man slipped and went down, sliding forward until he got to the end of the mess. Nathaniel ran forward, his make-shift weapon raised high, and brought it down on the back of the man’s skull

The cinderblock hit the man’s head with a wet thud. His brow hit the pavement with a hollow thunk. His toes drummed on the pavement rhythmically. Nathaniel heard a peculiar noise and realized that he was giggling deliriously. The giggling ended in a gut wrenching sob that turned into gagging, but he choked down his gorge.

He spat and put down the block, trying to catch his breath and compose himself. He had to leave this place now. Their chase could not have gone unnoticed, and others might come to investigate, hoping to take from the man whatever he had assumedly taken from Nathaniel. Bloody hell, the boy cursed to himself. Being rich ain’t easy. This thought prompted another bout of giggling and sobbing, but he managed to quell the fit with a few deep breaths. He reminded himself that he was not safe yet.

He picked up his sack of food and made his way down the alley at a sprint, only slowing when he reached the outlet to Marsh Parkway. Crossing the street quickly, he slipped between two of the dilapidated buildings and climbed to the rooftops. It was risky, even for someone as light and agile as Nathaniel to move around up there, but he could not be pursued by anyone larger than himself because the rotting roofs would not bear their weight.

Slowly, cautiously, he made his way down the line of rickety, shops and houses until he was within sight of Saint Gregory’s. He did not let his guard down until he finally climbed through the entrance to his sepulcher.