Smitty nodded. “Haven’t had him long. Got him fer my apprentice.”
“What work would dat be?” he asked mildly as Ben picked up his brush and moved toward the hearth.
Ben reached up and felt the inner chamber and pulled back his hand, a blister already beginning on one finger. He decided to wear his shirt so as not to burn his backside. The trick was hopping up and planting his arms inside to hold his body up, so his feet wouldn’t touch the glowing coals. It would be tricky with his injury.
When he returned to the chimney, he stuck his head in to judge the distance, preparing to hop into the opening.
“He’s a climber,” said Smitty.
“Hold up dere, boyo,” said O’Brien.
When Benjamin turned to face the men, O’Brien waved him over. “How old are ye lad?”
“What do ye care how old he is?” growled Smitty. “Ain’t yer boy. I’m the one who feeds and clothes the urchin.”
“I wasn’t askin’ ye, my friend. I was askin’ the boyo.” The big man locked eyes with Ben. “Ye cannot be more than five.”
Authority rippled off this man. The age he was supposed to say—eight years old—was forgotten as he answered the Irishman. “Maybe four, could be five.” He swallowed. “Sir.”
Smitty jumped to his feet, cursing. O’Brien held a palm out, stopping the man. “Don’t even t’ink of hittin’ the lad. Ye know as well as I da age changed to eight. And no matter what comes from the boyo’s mouth, he’s not as old as dat.”
O’Brien stood then, towering over the other men, and approached Ben. “Let me see yer arm.”
Benjamin took a step forward, but Smitty blocked him. “He ain’t yer business. Benjamin, get yer coat on. We’ve go’ other places t’go.”
O’Brien planted his feet, looking down at Smitty. “I t’ink we got off on the wrong foot, so to speak,” he said, his voice deep but soft. “I’m no thieftaker. I work for a magistrate, and I do have a say when the law is broken.”
Smitty grabbed Ben’s bad arm, and he cried out, fighting the tears. In that soft, deceptive tone, O’Brien continued, “We have t’ree choices here. Ye can leave da boyo here and go find yerself an older one. Because I’ll be watchin’ ye for now on. Or ye can try to leave with him, and I’ll pummel ye till ye’re own mother won’t recognize ye. What’ll it be?”
Smitty grinned, showing blackened teeth. “That’s only two choices.”
“Ah, ye can count! Weel, then, it seems I’m dealing with an intelligent man.” O’Brien reached over and put his meaty fist around his bumper of ale and took a swallow, eyeing Smitty before setting it back down. “Yer last choice is just standin’ there, and I’ll give ye da same pummeling.”
Smitty’s mouth formed a thin line, and his hand reached under his coat. A blade glittered as he pulled it out and stepped between Benjamin and O’Brien, speaking low to Ben, “Run out the door while I take care o’ this man.”
Benjamin swallowed, knowing he would be punished for this encounter. He took one step, then jumped back as Smitty flew up in the air and landed on his back. The knife skittered across the filthy floor, hitting the leg of a chair and joining the echoing crack of Smitty’s jaw.
“I had an inklin’ ye’d take da second choice,” O’Brien said to the unconscious man. He turned to the barkeep. “I t’ank ye for da information. Ye’re a good man, Martin.” O’Brien pushed a few more coins toward the business owner.
“Heard he ‘ad a new boy way too young. I couldn’t let it go and look Maggie in the eye,” said the man, swiping the coins off the plank and into a deep pocket of his apron. “Give my best to the missus.”
“Aye, and mine to yers,” said O’Brien, throwing back the rest of the ale, then bending to look Benjamin in the eye, his huge hands on his equally huge thighs. “What’s yer name, boyo?”
“Benjamin Cooper, sir,” he said in the strongest volume he could manage. “Am I goin’ back to the workhouse?”
“What do ye t’ink about a nice hot meal with a woman who’ll fuss over ye and fix up dat arm of yers?”
Benjamin blinked rapidly, feeling the hot tears. He nodded, unsure if this would be a good change or not. He’d learned not to have faith in what adults said. Unless it was bad. But something about this man told Ben he was true to his word. He would be safe. A feeling that only came when he was asleep, dreaming of the mother he didn’t remember.
“Name’s Paddy,” said the giant. “Ye may not believe me, but in my house, we work to take care of children. Not da other way around. That don’t mean ye haven’t chores to do, but ye look like a lad not afraid of a bit o’ hard work.”
“No, sir,” squeaked Ben, hating the sound of his voice. His insides were shaking, and he thought he might empty his stomach. Looking at the monstrous paw held out to him, Ben placed his small hand in the large one. The feeling was immediate as Paddy’s fist closed around his. Protection, like a warm blanket that had been set near the hearth, wrapped around him. Benjamin knew, deep in his heart, he was where he was supposed to be.
Paddy led him out of the tavern, and they walked out into the cold as the sun was setting. “Consider this da first day of yer best life, boyo.”
And Benjamin believed him.
CHAPTER 1
