Temple Boys (2 page)

Flea cupped a hand to his ear. “Hear what?” he shouted, and set off for the shelter, his mind racing. He knew all about street conjurors: there was one on every corner at the time of the feast, but all they really cared about was making your money disappear. Real magicians were something different, though. He'd heard that they could send a child up a rope and make him disappear, call up red-eyed demons in clouds of black smoke, and persuade people to do things they didn't want to. That really was some magic he should try to learn. Maybe then he'd have the power to persuade the gang to go to the Black Valley Bridge with him.

 

3

When Flea got back
to the shelter, Big was assigning jobs for the day.

Big was the tallest and strongest member of the Temple Boys and their only real fighter. He'd been abandoned as a baby because he wasn't born perfect—a few toes had been missing. Unlike most abandoned babies, he had lived because an elderly couple took pity on him, but when they died he took to the streets. Spots pitted his face and his nose was flat. Flea thought he looked as if he'd run into a wall.

Little Big was his deputy and banker. He had a slight twitch that made his head jerk every few seconds or so, especially when he was talking, but he had a grip like a dog's jaws, which was useful when he was shaking you down for your takings at the end of the day.

All money was shared. Basically, the rest of the gang paid Big to protect them—mostly from Big himself.

“Listen up!” Big said. He was standing on the edge of a cracked stone water trough with Little Big sitting at his feet. “We'll pair up today and work Temple Square. Crouch and Hole-in-the-Head, you two together. Crouch needs a stick, someone.”

Crouch lived his life bent double at the waist and it hurt him to lift his head. Hole-in-the-Head had lost an eye, and he shaved his head in patches so it looked like he had a skin condition. They always did well because Crouch's usual expression was heartbreakingly brave and hopeful.

“I've got an idea,” Flea said, but Big just carried on talking.

“Halo and Crutches—you two hang out by the washing pools. Halo, you've got to cry. Crutches, you've got to comfort him, but it's hard because you're in such pain yourself. What's your story?”

“Can we be from out of town and we're on our own because our parents haven't got the money to pay the Temple tax?” Halo asked. He was the pretty one and smaller even than Flea. But, unlike with Flea, the rest of the gang were always nice to him.

“We'll get nice and dusty and say we walked all the way,” Crutches said in his odd, deep voice. He was a surprisingly good pickpocket even though he could hardly use his legs.

“Good,” Big said. “Who's left? Gaga, Snot, Red, Clump, Smash, and Grab.”

“And me!” Flea said. “But listen. If we head for the Black Valley Bridge and…”

Big did not even glance at him. “Tell you what. Snot, it should be you teamed up with Crutches and crying. Halo, you and Gaga go to the top of the steps and beg as people are going in. Gaga, make that funny noise, and Halo, just look sad.”

Gaga nodded his head and said, “Gagagaga.” It was the only noise he ever made, hence his name, and he let people know what he thought by nodding, shaking his head, or punching them. Snot sniffed wetly and spat out a huge gob of mucus. Gaga punched him.

Big said, “Yeah. No spitting, especially near the Temple. You'll get the Temple Police after you. Now then. Clump, Red, Smash, and Grab: you know those shelters that've gone up on the other side of the west wall? Can you handle them?”

“People stare at my scars, so I'll be the diversion,” Red said. He was burned down the left side of his body and found it hard to close his left eye.

“We could have a fight,” Clump said. “I'll attack you, then Smash and Grab can sneak in at the back.”

“Why can't we fight?” Smash and Grab asked, both saying the same thing at the same time.

“Because I can't run, can I?” Clump said. His twisted right foot slowed him up. “You two can get in and out faster than us. As soon as we see you leave, we'll kiss and make up.”

“Yeah, kiss my scars,” Red said, and got a laugh.

“But I…” Flea said.

“Okay, that's it,” Big said. “Get moving.”

“It's not going to work!” Flea shouted at their backs. “All the other gangs will be at the Temple, especially today. But if we head for the Black Valley Bridge, we might have a chance!”

No one turned. No one listened. Muttering angrily, Flea set off behind them.

 

4

Flea hadn't been
a member of the Temple Boys for that long. The autumn before, he had seen them at work and thought he would try to join them.

He was at a loose end. He'd been a runner for a small-time gangster called Mosh the Dosh, but quit when he overheard Mosh was planning to sell him to a grain merchant from the coast. He'd tried to get in with an Upper City gang, but a dozen other street children with exactly the same idea had chased him off. He couldn't return to grave robbing and had already run away from the stink of a glue factory, where his job had been to tend the fires under the massive cauldrons of bone, skin, and slaughterhouse scraps. But going solo was too dangerous. Only that morning he'd seen a beggar lying in the gutter with his throat cut, stripped of all his clothes. Passersby stepped over him, around him, ignoring him as if he didn't exist.

So he'd been watching the world go by in the Upper City when he'd spotted two redheaded boys, twins, loitering by the entrance to a yard not far from him. It looked as if they were trying to hide at the same time as watching the street, but they stood out like a pair of sore thumbs. It was obvious they were waiting for someone to rob.

A merchant came out of the inn with a swirl of flowing robes. He stroked his oiled beard and put a scented handkerchief to his bulbous nose, as if the smell of the street was just too, too much for him. The twins stiffened like dogs spotting a rat. Flea thought they made pretty pathetic thieves.

Then a boy on crutches, who had been leaning against the wall, swung himself across the road and tapped the merchant on his arm.

The merchant looked down impatiently, listened, then glanced across at the scowling twins. Understanding dawned on his face. He patted the boy on the head, reached into a pocket, and handed him a coin. But as he made off down the street, his hand strayed to his hip, where he patted a small bulge.

Flea smiled and waited.
Two purses,
he thought. One for loose change, one rather more promising—and the merchant had just given away where it was. The twins made a great show of scowling at the merchant as he set off down the street.

What the merchant did not spot was another small boy walking toward him, who seemed to trip and crash into him before running off.

The merchant shouted at the boy's retreating back, walked on, and then patted the place where his fat little purse had been. It was gone. He fumbled in his robes, looked at the ground, and stared accusingly toward the twins. They hadn't moved. He looked down the street, but even if he had been able to spot the small boy, it wouldn't have made any difference: Flea's expert gaze had seen the small boy pass the purse to a one-eyed boy, who in turn had handed it on to a boy with a twitch. It was the perfect setup.

The merchant yelled, “Stop thief!” But who to stop? The stream of people in the street flowed on, sweeping away the twins and all the other gang members.

Misdirection
was the longest word Flea knew. It was the art of making someone look so hard at one thing that they missed what was going on under their nose. He had just seen it in action.

Flea had a few tricks of his own. He followed the twins all the way back to their den and had been hanging around with the Temple Boys ever since.

But that was then. Now Flea and the gang were close to the Temple, picking their way through the dark alley over the rubbish that had accumulated in the past few days.

At the end of the alley they could see Temple Square bathed in sunlight: a big, clean space, watched over by the Temple Police, who were, in turn, watched over by Imperial Roman soldiers. That was the system—if the Temple Police ever lost their grip and a riot started, for example, then the Romans would step in and start killing. The soldiers didn't care. They were as hard as stone and as obedient as well-trained dogs.

But before the gang could split up and get to their tasks, the alleyway was blocked by a hulking figure with a broken nose and greasy hair plastered forward onto a bulging forehead.

“What's this?” he said. “A bunch of rejects heading for the Temple? Piss off before I call the guards.”

The thick leather straps around each wrist marked him as one of the Butcher Boys, a gang from the Lower City who hung out near the slaughterhouses. Normally they didn't come this close to the Temple, but the rich holiday pickings had lured them up the hill.

“We've got a right.” Big tried to square up to him. “We belong up here. We're the Temple Boys. We work the Temple.”

“You're pathetic losers,” the Butcher Boy spat back. “You've got no rights unless I say so. Now get lost.”

“Who's going to make us?”

Flea half admired Big for trying. On the other hand, he knew things would only end badly if they carried on like this. Big would fight, then the others would join in, then the rest of the Butcher Boys would get involved and the Temple Boys would be badly beaten. He felt an all-too-familiar hot swirl of fear in his guts. Someone had to do something.

“Wait!” he shouted as loudly as he could. He wished his voice did not sound quite so thin, but it had done the trick. The thug looked down at him.

“You talking to me?”

“Yeah, you. Wait,” Flea repeated. “We don't even want to hang out at the steps. We're going somewhere better.”

“Piss off.”

“But that's just what we want to do,” Flea said. “We don't want trouble. We just want to get going.”

The Butcher Boy looked at Flea, then away, then at Flea again. Then he smiled.

“All right,” he said. “Where?”

“The Black Valley Bridge,” Flea told him. “There's a magician coming to town. He can make pigs fly and dead men dance. He'll snap his fingers and the Temple'll turn to mud, then he'll snap them again and it'll turn back to stone.”

“Believe that, do you?” The Butcher Boy looked over his shoulder and called out in a baby voice to a minion who was watching his back, “De lickle Temple Boys believe in magic!” He turned to Big. “Suckers. Get on out of here. But if I see you anywhere near the Temple, you're dead.”

Flushed and furious, Big pushed Flea out of the way and led the Temple Boys across the square.

 

5

As soon as
they were out of sight of the other gang, Big grabbed Flea and pinned him against the wall.

“What was that about?” he demanded. His breath coated Flea's face like a sour mask.

“I got you out of trouble, didn't I?”

“You made me look like an idiot. I'm not scared of the Butcher Boys.”

“Maybe not you, but the rest of us wouldn't stand a chance. And anyway, if the Butcher Boys are in the Square, the rest of the gangs will be there as well: the Water Gang, the Mad Dogs, the Holy Rollers … They'll squeeze us out wherever we go. There won't be a decent space left.”

Flea knew he was talking sense but also knew that might not save him. He should have kept his mouth shut.

Silence. Then, “I had it covered,” Big said. “Don't you forget it.”

“I'm sorry,” Flea said. “Really sorry.” He felt Big's grip on his tunic loosen.

“And what was that crap you were spewing? About a magician?” Big looked suspicious.

Flea opened his eyes and tried to look honest and sincere. “It's true. I swear it. The best magician in the world is coming to town by the Black Valley Bridge.”

“How come we haven't heard?”

“He's coming from up north, from Gilgal or somewhere. A merchant told the Grinderman and the Grinderman told me. I just thought, what with the crowds and them all being tourists, there'll be rich pickings.”

Big dropped Flea. “Rich pickings, you reckon? Robbing tourists?”

Flea nodded. “That's what I thought. They'll all be gawking at the magician.”

Big almost cracked a smile. “And that's why you're an insect and will always be an insect. We're not going to waste our time stealing pennies off out-of-towners. This magician's from Gilgal, right, the other side of the back end of beyond. He'll be clueless. What does he do after he performs all his tricks? Well?”

Crouch was the quickest to catch on.

“He'll take a collection.”

“Exactly. He'll empty everyone's pockets, and then what do we do? I'll tell you. We'll empty his. We're the Temple Boys. We know how to handle a conjuror. We'll give him a welcome to the city he'll never forget.”

Big went through the plan. Crouch and Halo were to get the magician's attention by asking a lot of stupid questions; he and Little Big would work out who was carrying the purse. Clump, Snot, Hole-in-the-Head, Gaga, Crutches, and Red would surround them, and then Grab would cut the purse free and Smash would take it and run. They'd all rendezvous back at the shelter at noon.

“What about me?” Flea asked.

“What about you?” Big answered. “You can just … hop off.”

He looked around the rest of the gang until he got a couple of sniggers. Then they set off for the Black Valley Bridge.

 

6

The Black Valley
ran below the eastern city walls. To reach the bridge from Temple Square the gang hurried alongside the western Temple walls, turned right into the blaring chaos of the sheep market with its pens and purification baths, and headed for the eastern gate.