Page 2 of The Trick of It

The best part of these shows was that they always distracted the people watching them. People, as it happened, who often had heavy coin purses and flashy jewels and little things that they wouldn’t miss very much, should they find their way into Rhys’s pockets.

Even the children here were rich, he found.

He saw a woman, a rich lady with auburn hair and a thin, little nose, who always seemed to have several of them in tow. The rich woman had five children, he had counted: a fat boy, a slight girl, a lad with shoulders that were slightly too broad, and two brown children, a boy and a girl.

Siblings, he thought.

Lucky.

It was the boy with the brown skin who drew his eye that day, however. He was an upright, swaggering lad, likely two years or so older than Rhys himself, and every time Rhys saw this odd family, the boy was playing with a silver watch fob, flicking it open and closed absently as he trailed to the back of their little duckling line.

He knew after a while that they appeared predictably. Church on Sundays. Market on Wednesdays. Pavilions on Fridays.

He knew that the only adult they ever had with them was the tall woman with the thin nose.

And he knew exactly when he’d be able to swipe that timepiece from the boy who carried it.

He did, for the record, swipe it. He got it clean.

But the boy noticed before Rhys could flee the churchyard, and now he had no watch. He had no map. He only had one shoe after his flight and scuffle with the thief-taker.

All he had now was bread too stale to bite into, a thin blanket, and a tiny stone room that was colder than it ought to be when it was so warm outside.

He hadn’t been hungry, really hungry, since the day he’d found Brighton. There was always good forage here, on the downs and in the meadows. There was always food to steal in the markets and under the pavilions.

He’d thought he’d finally conquered it. Hunger.

But that night, in that cell, he felt it creep back into his stomach and ache through the thin, reedy lines of his skinny arms and legs. He heard it grumble at him for being so foolish, and he curled into a knot to try to keep it quiet.

It was so much work shushing his stomach that he fell asleep. He fell dead asleep.

And only woke again to the smell of something marvelous and savory creeping in through the bars that held him in place.

He opened his eyes, wondering if smells could fill the belly, even if only a little. He wondered if the watchman would describe this thing he was smelling to Rhys, just to let him have a part in it that way.

He didn’t move.

Not until the covered dish that was emitting the smell appeared right at his bars. It was being carried by a woman. A tall woman. With a very thin nose.

“Good evening to you, young man,” she said, nodding to the watchman, who grudgingly proffered his key and opened the cell for her to step inside. “I have brought you some dinner.”

He scrambled up, his narrow back flat and bumpy against the cold stone wall. “They’re going to hang me?”

She paused, blinking twice, and then gave a short, sharp, little laugh. “God, no. But I can see how it might appear that way, now that I’ve thought about it.”

He frowned. “I stole from you.”

“You did,” she agreed, floating forward and sitting on the bench next to him. She flipped the cloth back so he could see the platter of food she’d brought. “This is my favorite fish, a salmon. Have you had one before?”

He squinted at it. “Of course,” he said. “From the Severn.”

“Oh, indeed!” she said, sounding delighted. “Did you fish in the Severn?”

Rhys pressed his lips together, narrowing his eyes at her. “I won’t confess to poaching, miss.”

The woman gave another one of her short, surprised little laughs. “No, of course not. Eat up, lad. I have a proposition for you and I think you’ll be better able to consider it on a full stomach.”

“What’s that?” he asked, already reaching toward the food. “‘Proposition’? A dessert?”