Cade 3

Cade's face grew hot, and his hands went numb and tingly as he saw the small leather bag swinging from the boy's shoulder. It was his. Despite having seen a hundred similar purses in the two years since he'd lost his, he had never been so sure. He cut away from the crowd and tried to keep a clear head, but he'd begun to sweat and the idea of getting it back... he'd never considered it a realistic possibility, but here it was. The boy ahead of him was soft, moving carelessly and not paying attention to the people around him. Cade moved up behind him, and began to follow more closely as the boy turned into an alley leading away from the Central Marketplace. It was still midday, there were no shadows to hide his violence and he certainly couldn't buy the purse from the boy. He fished a short, sharp copper spike from his pocket as the boy turned yet again into another side alley.

Cade picked up his pace, moving into a jog as he covered the last fifteen feet and rounded the corner. What he found was nothing but an empty stretch of street that doglegged to the right a short distance ahead. A rusty ladder led up to a low roof next to an unmarked door on the left. Disappointed, he slid the shiv back into his pocket and made his way back to the market, where there were still sheep to be fleeced and coins to be had.

That evening, his work finished, Cade made his way back to the abandoned shack he " along with several other boys " called home. It was tucked down a trash-filled, disused alley in the Eastern slums, just inside the gate and north of the bridge beneath which he'd once taken shelter. He glanced around quickly to make sure no one was watching and nudged the door open. As he made his way inside, he noticed for the thousandth time how the heat pressed in on him and the dust hung so heavily in the air. Moving to the back corner of the room, he circled around an upturned table, pulled up the three loose boards and slid down the rope into the basement. Basements were rare in the city, it had been lucky indeed to find a hideout such as this. He always felt happy returning to the hideout. It was cooler, and he felt safe there. It felt like the only place in the city where he could relax.

“Heya Card,” said Whistle, as Cade's feet struck the floor with a thump. Then, shaking his head, “you land like an elephant.” It had taken him a long time to get used to the nickname, but no one went by their real name here, it simply wasn't done. Most of the boys who'd come and gone had kept their names a secret, but it hadn't taken Cade and Whistle long to become close, and he knew that Whistle's real name was Winston. Physically, Whistle and Cade were opposites. Where Cade was lean and growing quickly, Whistle was chubby, short and round-faced. While Cade kept his black hair cropped short, Whistle's curly blonde hair fell around his ears and sometimes to his collar before he'd let one of the other boys cut it. Once, when one of the other boys had taken to calling Whistle “Piggy,” Cade had cracked him over the head with a rock from behind. When the boy awoke, Cade and Whistle went on as usual, pretending as if nothing had happened. The boy got the message, and Whistle had felt he owed Cade a debt of gratitude ever since.

Cade stood at a rickety wooden desk and upended a pouch of thin copper coins, counting them mindlessly. “I saw my purse today,” he said offhandedly. His voice was calm, but even now the memory of it made his face warm.

“The purse? The one you lost?” Whistle could tell that it meant more to Cade than he was letting on.

“I didn't lose it, it was taken from me. And I almost got it back,” Cade exaggerated. “I tailed him into an alley, but I lost him.” He still wasn't sure how the boy had slipped him, or how he'd gotten the purse in the first place.

“How many pennies today, Card? Oh, we'll be rich soon, I can taste it. Then you can buy a hundred purses,” Whistle joked, now standing next to him. Whistle was quick to jest, but they both took the rule very seriously. They stole nothing but copper. They knew that some boys would take silver; they also knew that those boys were mostly careless idiots. Suppose they tried to spend it. Even one such coin might raise suspicion, in the hands of a dirty young boy. If found with several and no way to explain them, an honest person might report them to the guard. A dishonest person would certainly “confiscate” the coins. Copper was safe, no one cast a second glance at a boy with a few copper coins.

“Copper.” Whistle grunted as he pulled out his shiv. He waved it back and forth, and even in the dull light filtering through the cracks in the floor above it glittered. It was already well polished and razor sharp, Cade knew it always was, but Whistle began to sharpen it idly nonetheless. Copper was everything to the beggars, toughs and streetkids of the city; it represented their entire way of life. To say one had no copper might mean they were penniless, or it might mean they were the kind of person to run from a fight. It might mean they were weak, or that they couldn't be relied upon. It was not a healthy reputation to have.

Cade glanced up as the boards lifted once again and Pole, de facto leader of the young boys, slid down the rope and landed with a soft 'whuff,' no louder than a whisper. Cade thought again how much he'd like to have a pair of the soft, soleless shoes Pole wore. They were more like thick socks than shoes, and no good for riding, but Cade had never been ahorse anyway.

“How'd we do then, boys?” he said merrily. Cade had been sorting his pennies into two neat piles. Now, wordlessly, he slid one in Pole's direction as he approached. Pole took the coins slowly, sliding them off the edge of the table and catching them as they fell, clinking, into his hand. “I do love the sound of copper,” he said. Pole was the oldest. He'd started the gang, and it was he who'd taken Cade in the night he'd first snuck into the city in the back of a covered wagon. It was he who enforced the rule about copper, and most of the boys thought he was the only one who could read. Cade didn't think it would do him any good to correct them, so he'd kept it to himself. Regardless, it was Pole who took half of everyone's coins, Pole who kept the cabinet full of beans, cabbage and saltpork, Pole who kept them in mended clothes and Pole who would go to the Guard if you got caught and he thought you were worth bailing out.

Whistle was gently fingering a battered leather pouch. He held it up and spoke to it gently. “Yes Dear, you know it hurts me so when we part.” He paused, then continued theatrically, “Oh, but we must. Go quickly, before I lose my courage!” With that, he tossed it neatly to Pole, who caught it with a grin.