The Good Thief (12 page)

“I told him,” said Tom. “Didn’t I tell him?”

Ren nodded, though he had no idea what Tom was saying. The wagon was right where they’d left it, between two trees. When the mare raised her head from grazing, Ren was certain he saw a look of disappointment in her eyes.

He was sorry for taking her away from the farmer, who had loved her so well and who had kissed her nose. And suddenly the boy thought, I will kiss her nose, and he tried to take hold of her bridle. Tom cursed him and told him to get in the cart. But Ren was determined to kiss the horse, just as she was determined not to be kissed by him. She swung her head from side to side and pointed her nose out of his reach. Ren got hold of the harness and pulled hard, leaning his weight, trying to bring the animal down to him. Tom was out of the wagon now, he was hitting the boy about the legs with the whip, but still Ren wouldn’t let go, and the horse bucked, her hooves beating against the wood, until a shape rose from inside the wagon.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” Benjamin whispered. He was crouched behind the driver’s seat, a fleece pulled over his head and shoulders. He looked so strange that Ren let go of the horse. Tom dragged the boy across the grass and threw him into the back of the cart.

“I have to kiss her,” Ren explained.

“Don’t worry,” said Benjamin. “You can kiss me instead.”

Tom pulled the wagon onto the road. He kept the horse going at a slow trot. The voices of the mothers began to fall away behind them. Occasionally there was a gunshot across the fields. When they were half a mile away, Tom made the horse pick up the pace. Ren watched the clouds pass over their heads, the shapes drifting in and out. As soon as he thought he’d recognized one, it changed.

“I think we’re clear,” Tom said.

Benjamin crawled out from under the blankets. “Thank God that’s over.”

“Thank God they didn’t catch us,” said Tom.

Benjamin took the fleece from his shoulders and threw it aside. He gave a worried glance at Ren, who was flat on his back, seeing all kinds of things in the sky.

Tom shook his head. “He’s high as a kite.”

Benjamin began to search the pockets of his coachman’s coat. He took the money and shook it under Tom’s nose. Then he pulled out three oranges. The fruit was slightly bruised, the peel thick and heavy, but the color was perfect—cheerful and bright as the sun. Benjamin passed one over to Tom. “You were right. But it was worth it.”

“I’m always right,” said Tom.

“Here.” Benjamin tossed an orange into the back of the wagon. It hit the boy in the head.

“Ouch,” said Ren. But he didn’t move.

“Come on,” said Benjamin. “Open your eyes.”

Ren thought they were open. He ran his fingers across his eyelids.

“Open your mouth.”

He did, and Benjamin fed him a slice of orange. The smell of citrus bloomed like a flower underneath Ren’s nose. His tongue swelled as he brought his teeth together and the juice slid down his throat. He felt something hard, and bit down. A seed, Ren thought. It must have been a seed. Benjamin continued feeding him, separating the pieces, until the sky turned the same glorious color as the fruit and Ren’s jaw ached with happiness.

B
y the time they crossed the bridge into North Umbrage it was dark. The houses rose up from behind a hill, the road narrowing between them. There was nothing of the chaos of the docks here. The streets were nearly deserted, and those people out were gathered on the corners, smoking and eyeing the wagon as they passed. Ren saw a pack of thin dogs fighting, and a man and a woman pushing against each other in an alley. The gutters smelled of rotting garbage. Tom took out a pistol and set it on the seat beside him.

It was the same gun that Benjamin had showed Ren on their way to Granston. Benjamin had seemed happy and relaxed in those days, but now he was pressed to the edge of his seat. He pulled the buttons on his collar and kept turning his head when they passed a window, as if he expected to find someone he knew behind the curtains.

The wagon jostled back and forth along the cobblestones. Up ahead, a large shadow covered the road. It went along the length of the street and shed a wall of blackness across the roofs and homes of North Umbrage. As the horse entered the air around them turned cold, and Ren lifted his head, expecting to see a giant towering over them. But instead he saw a factory, a building built like a fortress, straight up into the sky.

It was four stories, with a large, thick chimney spewing black smoke. The brick walls gave way on the second floor to enormous windows with bars across them. Carved over the main entrance, into the keystone of the arch, was a sign:
MCGINTY
MOUSETRAP
FACTORY
AND
DISTRIBUTION
CO .

“This is a cheery place,” said Tom.

“It used to be a mining town,” said Benjamin.

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Benjamin. “There was an accident, and it nearly closed the place. A container of charges went off near the entrance, and all the men were buried. They never found the bodies, and the company sealed the tunnels and left. When I passed through here a while back, there were still women on their knees in the middle of the marketplace, with their ears to the ground, listening for their husbands.”

The wagon bumped the edge of the sidewalk and Ren thought of the men trapped in the earth along with all the other things people had thrown away over the years—rusted pots and pans and old boots and horseshoes and bits of broken china. The cart passed an ancient chestnut tree, and Ren imagined its roots reaching underneath the ground, sifting through everything there, just like the fingers of the miners’ widows, going at the soil that held their men, with shovels and pickaxes, with others’ wives and children, and with the farmers from the hills. The scene began to form in Ren’s mind, the details coming one after another, until he could see the whole town digging, afraid of losing time—and then a whistle going out, and everyone stopping, listening. And after a few minutes one of the women crying: What are you waiting for? And another saying: No! Just there now—there—did you hear that? There—there!

Tom drove the cart down a street of boarded-up and abandoned houses. On the next the buildings were raucous, with lights blazing, and the sound of smashing glass, and music pouring from the open windows. The wagon turned another corner, where everything was silent and dark, and then another, and then another and another. None of these homes had lights on. Then one of them did. There was a small wooden sign affixed to the gate out front, painted by hand:
ROOMS
TO
LET
.

“This is it,” said Benjamin. “Stop here.”

“You sure?” Tom asked.

“Stay with the horse.” Benjamin climbed out of the back and Ren followed.

They knocked for some time before a woman came to answer. She was taller than Benjamin by at least a head and had broad shoulders, thick arms, and a very long, thin neck. Her face was middle-aged, with bright, quick eyes and a nose with one nostril larger than the other. Her hair was tucked away into a cap and she wore a coarse apron covering a brown dress. A ring of keys was tied to a thick leather belt around her waist.

“
WHAT
ARE
YOU
KNOCKING
FOR?” she shouted.

“We’re looking for a room,” said Benjamin.

“I DON’T
OPEN
THE
PLACE
TO
STRANGERS
.”

“My name is Benjamin Nab.” He held out his hand, using his smile. “There, you see, I’m no longer a stranger.”

“
MISTER
NAB
, I’M A
HARDWORKING
WOMAN
WITH
A
HARD
LIFE
,
AND
I DON’T
NEED
THINGS
ANY
HARDER
.” She showed the shotgun at her side. “
NOW
MOVE
ALONG
.”

Ren knew this was his cue to look pitiful, and he did, to the best of his ability, crouching a bit so he’d look smaller and rapidly blinking his eyes.

“I would,” said Benjamin, “if it wasn’t for my poor crippled nephew, who’s just lost both his parents and traveled for miles to get here.”

Ren lifted his arm and waved the scar before the landlady’s face, as if he were saying hello.

“His mother was tending a sick neighbor,” said Benjamin. “Then she fell ill herself. Her husband watched over her night and day. He left his fields to rot. He sold everything they had for doctors. People said my sister’s skin turned yellow—and her teeth went green. Then the boy’s father became sick with it too, ranting and raving and licking the walls. I got word and hired my friend Tom here to drive me to their village, but they were already put in the earth when I arrived, leaving this poor orphan boy behind.” Benjamin removed his hat as he said this and held it over his heart.

Out of nowhere the landlady’s teeth appeared. A long, thin set, with significant gaps, as crooked as any farmer’s. “AH,” she said, and sucked her lower lip, considering what she’d heard. Then she set aside the gun, scooped Ren into her arms, and shook him from side to side, as if she were attempting to finish him off. She was a tough creature, with a few proportionate soft spots, into which she now pushed Ren’s face. She smelled like the yeast of rising bread—earthy and sour—and Ren was so confused that his body went limp. He gave himself over until he began to feel suffocated, and the landlady placed him on his feet again.

Benjamin signaled to Tom, who stepped down from the wagon and led the horse to a small stable behind the house. “We’re so grateful to you. I don’t know how much farther we could have gone along this road. And I’m just a young man on his own, and don’t know much about taking care of children.”

“
SURE
YOU
DON’T!” said the landlady. And she let them into the house. “IT’S
THREE
DOLLARS
A
NIGHT
FOR
THE
ROOM
. A
DOLLAR
EACH
FOR
FOOD
.”

“Very reasonable,” Benjamin said. But he made no move to pay.

The landlady took his coat and hung it in the closet. Benjamin thanked her and asked her name, which she gave as Mrs. Sands.

“And your husband, does he run this establishment?”

“MY HUSBAND’S
DEAD
AND
BURIED
IN
THE
MINE
.”

“My dear, dear Mrs. Sands.” Benjamin dropped to one knee, took the landlady’s hand, and held it between both of his. Mrs. Sands stood perfectly still as he did this. Then Tom came through the door, his beard in tangles. As he shut the latch he dropped the revolver, then quickly snatched it up and shoved it down the front of his pants. The woman gave a snort and pulled away.

“
SOME
FRIENDS
YOU’VE
GOT
,
MISTER
NAB
.”

It was not long before they realized that Mrs. Sands always shouted. There’d been an accident with a gun when she was a girl, and afterward she could read what people were saying from their lips, but she couldn’t hear herself talking back. She sent Benjamin and Tom to the washbasin upstairs. “THERE’S A
ROOM
THERE
YOU
CAN
USE
FOR
THE
NIGHT
. GO
INTO
THE
CLOSET
. THERE’LL BE
SOME
CLOTHES
THAT
SHOULD
FIT
THE
BOY
WELL
. I’VE
GOT
A
FRIEND
WHO
USED
TO
HAVE
A
SON
THIS
AGE
.
SHE
THOUGHT
I
MIGHT
HAVE
A
CHILD
SOMEDAY
, SO
SHE
SENT
ME
ALL
HIS
THINGS
AFTER
HE
DROWNED
IN
THE
RIVER
. A
DROWNED
BOY!
AND
THIS
ONE
SEEMS
DROWNED
TOO
, DON’T YOU?” She held on to the tail of Ren’s coat and pulled it up and down, then moved into the next room, dragging him behind.

As he walked into the kitchen Ren could smell something delicious—a large roast, smothered in gravy. It must have been cooked recently, although there was no sign of it on the table or counter, which were scrubbed clean, the pots shining, the plates all put away in the glass cupboard in the corner.

The room was mostly a fireplace—the largest Ren had ever seen. It went one length of the wall, and then, as if for good measure, rounded the corner and continued halfway down the next, an overlaying of bricks and shelves. Over the hearth hung a framed needlepoint of the Lord’s Prayer, and underneath was a complex network of fire irons running back and forth with such a number of arms and kettles and pans that it seemed capable of stretching its claws, stepping out of the masonry, and taking a walk. At the center was a roaring fire made of half a dozen well-split logs.