six
Asoft but insistent scraping noise awakened Lion Boy.
He propped himself up, blinking in the dark. Sometimes rats would slip inside the tent, and he always put aside some stale bread to give them. Rats were good company, contrary to what people said. But then again, for those who had friends and pets, rats weren’t company at all.
For a quick, foolish moment, he thought Vivienne had kept her promise and come to rescue him. Hope was a bitter poison.
Murdock allowed him to sleep out of the cage since he was chained, but there was little to no difference between the hard ground of the common hall in the main tent and the cage. At least he had more space to stretch out.
When the lower hem of the canvas wall in front of him lifted too much to accommodate a rat’s body, he tensed. The other night, he’d been lucky when, instead of thieves, it’d been Vivienne. But he couldn’t be lucky twice in a row.
Besides, the chain didn’t allow him to reach the caravans and warn one of the workers, and he couldn’t shout for help. The only good thing was that he was used to feeling pain and could throw a punch to defend himself if he needed it.
The last, silly glimmer of hope that the person approaching might be Vivienne was snuffed out when the large silhouette of a man came into view. Lion Boy breathed harder when the man slipped inside. Closing his fists, he prepared to gather the chain and use it as a weapon.
“No need to worry, lad,” the man said in a low voice, remaining hunched on the floor. “I’m here to take you out.”
What?
He searched the darkness. Only the light coming from an oil lamp lit the hall. The man unfolded the scarf to reveal an unfamiliar face.
“Drop that thing.” The man eyed the chain. “As I said, I’m here to help you. Do you remember me?”
He shook his head.
“I’m with Lady Vivienne. You should remember her.”
His heart jumped to his throat. She did it. She came for him.
“I’m Captain Jackson.” The man stole across the tent on silent feet, carrying the smell of tobacco and whisky. “Is that chain the only thing holding you?”
He nodded.
It was a dream. It had to be. But if it were a dream, his brain would conjure up Vivienne rather than a stranger.
“Don’t do anything stupid, lad, all right?” Captain Jackson crouched to examine the lock. “I bet Cade is a stingy old fart. Stay still. It won’t take long to open this cheap thing.”
His head became light. The tent tilted. He didn’t allow himself to feel any joy. That was a sentiment for when he was free.
Captain Jackson slid a pair of long, shiny tools into the lock and twisted them. A moment later came the wonderful, scary click of freedom. Then the captain gently opened the shackle and put it aside, freeing his ankle.
“Follow me and be careful where you put your feet.” He held the flap up for him, but Lion Boy couldn’t move.
He stared at his free ankle in disbelief. He was free. The meaning of those simple three words was incomprehensible to him.
“Quick,” the captain half-hissed, half-whispered.
The urgency in the captain’s voice shocked Lion Boy. He slipped under the flap, expecting Murdock to jump on him at any moment. His ankle throbbed without the cold grip of the shackle.
Perhaps it was a dream, and tomorrow he would wake up in his dirty cage.
The captain held up a hand, stopping him. One of the workers was walking past on the other side of the canvas wall, humming a tune. Only a layer of fabric separated them.
When the sound of the footfall and the humming died down, Lion Boy followed the captain through a series of turns until the wonderful scent of freedom hit his senses—the smell of coal lingering in the air, of wet soil, and of the Thames. He filled his lungs with every single smell, because every scent made him feel alive.
“Quickly.” Captain Jackson waved at him. “We must be quick now.”
He winced as his bare feet hit the uneven path that led to the edge of the field. No moon shone in the night, but the distant lights of the city were a beacon of hope.
