Bryce Courtenay - The Potato Factory

For once, at the mention of money, there was no hesitation from Ikey. Almost before Bob Marley had ceased speaking, and long before he'd removed his coat, Ikey held out the two extra gold coins. 'Not me coat,' he whimpered. 'Not never me coat!'

Marley's coat proved sufficiently voluminous to accommodate Ikey within his own, but when it was fitted to his tiny body it dragged nearly ten inches on the ground. Furthermore, the sleeves extended six inches beyond Ikey's mittened fingers. Though this was of little consequence, the hemline of the coat dragging on the floor made it almost impossible for Ikey to walk at anything but a snail's pace.

Bob Marley looked puzzled, then suddenly he grabbed the back of the collar of the outer coat and lifted the entire garment so that the collar dropped over the top of Ikey's head in the manner of a monk's cowl. With his whiskers mostly concealed behind the lapels of the borrowed coat, Ikey now looked like an old crone.

Marley then produced a large silk handkerchief and, twirling it from corner to corner, tied it about Ikey's neck so that the hoisted top of the coat would not slip from his charge's head. This gave Ikey an even greater likeness to the shape of an old woman who, if casually observed in the darkness of the street, might be thought to be wearing a shawl about her head. Furthermore, with the lifting of the coat over Ikey's head, the sleeves now almost fitted, the tips of Ikey's mittened fingers protruding from the ends. It was an altogether admirable arrangement and Bob Marley stood back and felt well pleased with himself.

'Perfect! Even if I says so meself. If we're stopped by a crusher, you is me dear old muvver what's come up from the country. 'Ere, wrap this around yer gob so they won't see no whiskers if the law wants to take a closer gander at ya.' Marley handed Ikey the woollen scarf which hung from his neck.

Ikey reached out for the scarf. But with two coats on his back he could barely move his arms, much less wrap the scarf about his already tightly cowled head. Bob Marley grabbed the scarf and wound it around the bottom half of Ikey's face so that all that showed were the bright points of Ikey's bloodshot eyes.

'Ullo, old darlin',' Marley said and blew a kiss in Ikey's direction. His expression became suddenly impatient. 'C'mon, then, let's scarper. I'm ready so chilled me arse'ole thinks it's suckin' on a lemon!'

'What about me 'at? You've left me 'at!' Ikey cried in a muffled voice, pointing at his hat discarded on the floor.

Marley walked over to the banister and retrieved the candle. 'Fuck yer 'at, Ikey!' he said, kicking the hat into a dark corner. 'Fer Gawd's sake let's be rid o' this place before the law adds two and two and comes up wif a very popular arrest!' He rolled the jar containing the smoking candle back into the hallway and closed the door behind them.

Outside the wind howled and a sudden flurry of snow beat down on them, so that neither man heard the door open and then close again, or noticed the small shape of Sparrer Fart as he too left the Academy of Light Fingers. Under his arm, its broad brim almost touching the ground, the urchin carried Ikey's hat. He watched carefully as the two men turned towards Rosemary Lane and then he began to follow them into the bitter London night.

Hannah was woken to the loud knocking at the door of her Whitechapel home. The knocking seemed to have been going on for some time for she remembered it in her sleeping as she struggled to emerge from her laudanum-induced stupor. She'd returned home from the last of her brothels in the dock area just hours before dawn and had expected to sleep until midday.

She was too bleary-eyed to think why the Irish maid-of-all-work who slept with the two younger children hadn't responded to the knock. Wrapping herself in a blanket and thinking only that the slut had probably been at the gin again, having first fed it to the children to quieten them for the night, Hannah made her way down the stairs. She opened the front door to see Sparrer Fart standing on the snow-covered bottom step clutching what appeared to be a large hat.

At first the small urchin holding the hat made no sense. The street about her was transformed from its usual greyness and was white and clean from a fresh snowfall. It was still too early for people to be making their way to the Whitechapel markets around the corner, so that the street had the quality of a dream, enhanced further by the residual effects of laudanum. Hannah's face screwed up in vexation at the sight of the small boy who had the temerity to hammer at her door. She was about to send him packing with an oath when he stammered, 'Itttt's 'bbbout Ikkkey Ssssolmon, mmmissus!' Then slowly, her confused mind focused on the shape of Ikey's hat clutched under the urchin's arm.

Hannah rubbed her eyes, now suddenly fully awake, though the vestiges of the drug caused her words to slur when she spoke. 'Ikey? Ya got news?'

'Iiiit's urrrrgent, mmmmissus!' the small boy managed to say through half-frozen lips, his breath smoking in the freezing air.

'Come in, boy!' Hannah opened the door wider to let Sparrer Fart pass into the hallway. 'Keep walkin' to the kitchen in the back, I'll not 'ave such as you in me parlour.' Her head was surprisingly clear as she directed the urchin to the rear of the house.

'We ggggot 'immmmm missus!' Sparrer said, turning to her as they reached the kitchen.

'Got 'im, who's got 'im? Who's we?'

But the boy now seemed in a state too frozen to communicate further. He silently held up the hat for Hannah to see. He was shivering violently, his teeth chattering so furiously that it was plainly impossible for him to talk. Ikey's hat jerked and shook as though it might jump of its own accord from his tiny fist.

Hannah took a key from around her neck and opened a cupboard from which she took a quart bottle of brandy. She unhooked two small pewter mugs from the dresser, poured a small splash into one and handed it to Sparrer Fart. '

'Ere, get that down yer gob, do ya the world.'

Sparrer dropped Ikey's hat and grabbed the mug with both hands, gulping greedily at the raw liquor. He began to choke and cough as the fiery liquid hit his stomach and chest, though he showed that he was well enough accustomed to such a reaction. Soon enough he took a second, more cautious, sip from the mug.

Hannah, clutching the blanket around her with one hand, poured a dash of brandy into the second mug and seated herself at the table.

'Well, what 'as ya to say for y'self, boy?' she demanded, pointing to Ikey's hat. 'No way Ikey would o' parted with 'is 'at.' She looked suspiciously at Sparrer, who was still shaking and clapping at himself. 'Ya ain't done Ikey no 'arm now, 'ave ya?' she demanded.

Sparrer shook his head and lifted the mug to his still chattering teeth for another sip.

Hannah sighed and reluctantly took the blanket from around her and handed it to the urchin who grabbed it gratefully, wrapping his diminutive body into its warmth. Hannah wore a thick red woollen nightdress which reached down to her ankles which, in turn, were encased in bedsocks and a pair of fleece-lined slippers. Warmed by a second sip of the brandy, she rose and went to the kindling box and laid a fire in the hearth, adding a few lumps of coal to the twigs before lighting it.

'Can I 'ave some more, missus?' Sparrer held out the pewter mug.

The tiny boy had consumed a good half inch of brandy which, apart from having restored his voice and stopped his shivering, appeared to have had no measurable effect on him. 'Got yer tongue back 'as ya, boy? Sorry, no more, not 'til after you've said what ya come for. What's yer name?'

'Sparrer, missus, Sparrer Fart, but they jus' calls me Sparrer.' He put the mug down on the table, licking the brandy taste from his lips. 'I'm 'ungry, missus, I ain't et since yesterday mornin'.'