In the Nick of Time - a photo on Flickriver

(Shot taken and story written for the Jules' Photo Challenge Group.)

It weren’t easy to be no orphan in the black streets of London in 1840. Scrapping about for food and a warm place to sit your bottom. Them streets is cold and the people is mean. It’s hard for a boy, them days, but harder for a girl, if you gotta pretend to be a boy.

Most days, we goes out and steals a loaf or two, or picks a pocket here or there, some fat goose wobbling about in the streets. They ain’t never gonna miss the odd bits. You just gotta be careful how often you goes in the same streets. The bobbies are always laying for us lately. I won’t say I’m the faster but I’m not the slowest.

Joey- he’s the slowest. He got nicked again and just about ruined it for all of us. He squealed about how we was living down under one of the bridges along the river- a good place it was, too, til he told. They let him go, but most of the kids won’t have nuffin’ to do wiff him. He’s outcast.

Rainy days ain’t no good day for pickpocketing. You need time and distractions, like a big crowd, so’s the mark ain’t aware. Market days, carnivals- them’s the best. It’s dreadful when it rains lots. We mostly goes hungry them days.

The week it was hot and sunny, it was a good day for us to scatter and do our work to survive. I don’t hate working alone like some kids do. I like it best. There’s about 18 of us now, so best not to show up looking like a gang. Sunny days- pickpocket days.

I been sittin’ on this street corner, see, watching what all them people are doing, going by on their business. Some of them, I’ve seen them all the time, ladies and gentlemen strolling early in the mornings, going off to wherever ladies and gents go. Some are business men, what get in a hurry, sometimes in groups to talk about the news or politics. Then there are the early early groups, coming home in the fog, to their posh places after nights out drinking and carousing . . . I like seeing them peoples, smiling to themselves and so pleased in their dirty finery.

This sunny day, it was good, with lots of people about, some laughing, some all business. I watched for a while, saw a man coming along, paying no attention to where he was going, really. Just walking fast and looking at something he had in his hand. He was dressed in a nice tweed jacket and had on a vest, too, with a nice watchchain that went into a pocket. His beard had gray in it, like someone important and wise.

When the crowd of people got to josting each other, I saw my chance- jumped up and got bobbin’ about just like the rest of them people. With a bump, I reached into his pocket and grabbed what I could find, then away. It was something wrapped in paper.

It’s best not to run, not right away; that calls attention to yourself, but you gotta get yourself out of there. I cut to the left, down the alley, but I knew the man had felt something. I saw him tense up at the last minute, then hesitate. It was all I needed. As soon as the alley opened up in front of me, I ran fast.

Can’t say that we’s all honest with our pickins; us fastest kids can keep what we can keep, you know? And I don’t owe none of them boys nothin’, nor the rest of the girls, neither. Usually we do share, though.

I waited until I had rounded the next corner to see what I had. Might be worth a trip to the shops to ditch it for the best they could pay me. Would be good if it afforded me a bit of a hot tuck-in and a sit down in the doorway of a kitchen or what have you. Some of them shopkeepers and pub owners are kindly towards a kid.

The alley was narrow and dirty, like most alleys around here- old bricks crumbling right off the building, and no people walking through, so I just leaned up against the wall and unwrapped whatever it was. I had this vision maybe it was some treasure of gold or maybe jewelry that was already stolen- my heart was thumping like a runaway carriage! Always looking for a lucky day, us kids.

The paper was old and creased, greasy and worn where it had probably been carried in a pocket for a long time. When I tore the packet open, it was just a key. I was hungry and wanted to cry. What good was a key to me? Some man’s spare key to his house? A wasted morning and a belly still rumbling- that’s what it was to me. I almost threw it away, but for some reason, I slipped it back into a pocket. I slid down the wall and put my head against my knees.

Three days later, it’s raining cats and dogs and the puddles are big enough you could float a baby in there. The local people ain’t coming out and the touristy kind of people are sparse. I tried for an apple at one of the stands and got my hand smacked. I tried begging outside a pub, crying and all, and one of the fellows in there threw a bottle out the door in my direction. Slow days are bad days.

I was just heading back to the rougher side of town when suddenly I got yanked up by my collar. Scared the bejesus out of me!

“Let me go! Let me go! I’ll yell for a copper!” I cried.

“You little scallywag- you will do NO such thing,” the man said. I had seen him before- the distinguished beard, the tweed coat . . .

“HELP!”

Yes, I had seen him; it was he I had nicked the key from! I kicked and scratched and yowled like a cat, and almost got away. I have to give it to him, he was quick to react.

“Give me back what you have taken! You have NO idea of the value!”

“Let go of me! I don’t have nuffin’! Honest, Mister!”

“You are coming with me,” he said, and put a hand over my mouth as he hauled me along like a sack of potatoes.

He opened a door that was almost invisible in the brick wall. The place was big, a warehouse, and as my eyes took in the machinery, I knew I must be in a lot of trouble. There were gadgets with cogs and levers and all manner of devices as someone like me would never know of. There was a slight smell of oil in the air, and a sandy kind of grit on the floor.

“Give me the key! I know you have it!” My hat tumbled off at that moment, my red curls falling out, tangled and dirty across my shoulders.

“You’re a girl?!” he said.

“And if it matters? WHO are you?!” I asked arrogantly, a bit too big for my britches.

“I am known as the Professor, but as SOON as you give me that key, you can call me Shaun! I won’t hurt you. That key is of the utmost importance! It is the only way to save England and set time back correctly! I need it RIGHT now!” he said.

That is how I met Shaun and embarked on a mission to save the country!

Sherlock Medley on Violin - Taryn Harbridge
www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6B-8V4LyaU

Taken on: October 4, 2019

Tags:

BKHagar

time

key

gears

cogs

story

Shaun

friend

London

urchin

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Camera: Nikon D800, f/11.0, 1/8 sec, 24mm, ISO 640 (more info) (hide info)

Camera:	Nikon D800
Lens:	24.0-85.0 mm f/3.5-4.5
Aperture:	f/11.0
Exposure Time:	0.125 sec (1/8)
Focal Length:	24mm
ISO:	640
Exposure Bias:	+1/3 EV
Flash:	On, Return detected
Exposure Program:	Manual
Exposure Mode:	Manual
Metering Mode:	Multi-segment
White Balance:	Auto
Gain Control:	Low gain up
Color Space:	sRGB
Software:	Adobe Photoshop Elements 15.0 (Windows)
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