They call me Skelly, counts of my ribs is countable. Manleb says I'm a space cadet. Says I'll be dead before my balls drop. Most river rats never do grow fuzz. We're a young breed. Free as pigeons. And sick as 'em.

I catch sight of my fizzgog in a cracked wing mirror. My skin so white it looks like the broken plates we find in the river mud. Blue round the skull holes where my bug eyes sit. Blue eyes blue lips. You know what they say. On we go.

Manleb is taking us on the scav. Always on the scav. He's our creng bwoy. Keeps fed.

Don't recall a life before Manleb. But I know I been in Riverside every day of my miserable.

Cut me I bleed Thames water. Don't we all?

"The Peigans bun up a witch not a half day since my brudders."

He's been working his sources. Knows everyone in the slum.

We're up round heavy works place. Dustrial stuff. Spot where dark ting pass. Where the Old Londoners used to move a lot of loot in and off ships and that. No gyongchal. No camz. No drones.

This is where a vex mob drag a witch if they find one. They hate the witches cause the yellow sickness. Turn you yellow, kill you slow. We hate 'em too but we don't have spare calories for such a business.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

We know a dead witch might have warez. Things most riversiders no touch. Scared.

We almost always about to be dead. So what's scared for us?

I keep watch. I try to be like the others. But I'm not hard on the inside. I see things in my sleep. I sneak off sometimes to cry. Waste of water says Manleb. But the boys, I think, secretly they like to have one of us who can feel a thing.

"Here she lay."

We can smell her, before we see her. Smouldering. A human shape made of black lumps and white ash. The chain that held her to the lampost still giving off a shimmer, hot air.

Someone already had her shoes.

I look up at the moon. Sometimes it calms me down.

I sing a little song in my head, try not to listen while the boys pull apart the bits and pieces.

"Bingo. Proper bona tech in here. Mecha Ticker. Robot heart."

My heart jumps because I'm proud of him. We'll eat tonight. He's done it again. Holding up the bitsy handful of lush chrome, ashes flaking off.

Then a sound, you hear it before your brain can get a hold on it. Click, pause, hiss. We're all scared now.

You can see as the moon rays hit the hissing cloud, for a second or two, all spores hanging in the air. The wind catches 'em, blows 'em right into my face.

I can taste the infected air. It's the wrongest taste.

"Ain't nothing Skelly. Shake it off."

He puts his arm around my bony shoulders. Not often he does that.

Then we run, into the maze of secret ways that only we know. Deep into our River Rat warren, under the Slums of London.

But there's something wrong with my eyes. Keep seeing these words.

I know they are words, but I can't read.

Try to ignore them as we eat salt rat. Try and block 'em out as I tell the boys stories. Tell 'em the one about the crying lady. They love that.

Must be tired. Seeing things. Rubbing my peepers till they hurt.

Hope the coughing stops long enough to sleep it off.

We all sleep together. Huddle up for warm. I'm so close to Manleb, I can see his skin turning yellow while he snores.