The boy scowled. His face was remarkably dirty. Nicky doubted his hair had been brushed in weeks. His feet were bare, his trousers were tattered but he showed not a shred of shame. “I asked you first! And what’re you doin’ with Trojan?”
His tone stung Nicky, prompting him into responding to a boy of a class he knew was beneath him. “I’m guarding him,” he answered in the crushing manner that Papa had taught him.
“From what?”
“From horse thieves.”
“Horse thieves?”declared the boy scornfully. “As if anyone around here would be daft enough to nick Mr. Gabe’s Trojan!”
“Nick?”Nicky didn’t understand.
“Nick—doncha know what that means? Pinch, swipe, nab, steal—”
“Oh.” Nicky thought for a moment. “So you don’t think there’s any horse thieves around here?”
The boy spat. “Nah. Never heard of any and I’ve lived here all me life. And even if there was one, he wouldn’t get far. Everyone in these parts knows Mr. Gabe and Trojan.”
Thoughtfully Nicky let go of the reins. It was as he had thought at first: Mr. Renfrew had just wanted him out of the way. He, like Papa, thought Nicky was useless.
“So, what were you lookin’ at?” the grubby boy demanded, still faintly hostile.
Nicky pointed. “That slipper, that blue thing down there.”
The boy squinted down, then nodded. “A slipper, is it? That’s all right then, you can have it. I was worried you was after me eggs and stuff.”
“Eggs and stuff?”
The boy jerked his chin at the cliffs. “I get eggs from the nests there. Good eatin’, those eggs.”
“Oh.” Eggs from wild seabirds? An English delicacy, no doubt, Nicky thought.
The boy looked down the cliff and wrinkled his nose. “What do you want with one slipper?”
“That is my business,” Nicky said. He did not think it proper to reveal his mother’s slipperless state to this strange and dirty boy.
“So you’re goin’ to fetch it, then?” The boy’s tone was mildly skeptical.
“I might.”
“Not in them boots ya won’t.”
Nicky looked down at his boots. “Why not?”
The boy spat again. “’Cause you’ll fall to your death, that’s why not. Them fancy leather soles will slip on the rocks and mud. You won’t be able to get a good grip at all.”
“Oh.”
“So take ’em off.”
“You mean go down there with no shoes?”
“That’s how I do it. You get a better grip with your toes. Never fallen yet. Ain’t you never climbed a cliff before?”
“Never,” Nicky admitted. He’d never walked outside in bare feet, either, but he wasn’t going to admit that.
“Well take it from me—I know all about it,” said the boy. “Some folks call me Monkey on account of how good I can climb, but me real name’s Jim.”
“How do you do, Jim. I am called Nicky.” He gave a slight bow.
