Death and the Arrow Read Free

away, his two men falling into step behind him.
    “That was quick thinking, Tom,” said Will with a laugh. “I thought he was—”
    Tom punched Will on the jaw and sent him spinning toward the wall.
    “What’s this?” said Will, rubbing his jaw. “Do I look like I enjoy being smacked?”
    “You stole my watch, you thief,” said Tom, fists clenched.
    “Thief I am,” said Will, “but I never stole your watch, you muffin. And don’t think about giving me another tap or I shall have to black your eye.”
    “I suppose it just hopped into your pocket on its own, did it?” shouted Tom.
    “It didn’t have to,” said Will. “It had Hitchin to give it a leg up, didn’t it?”
    “What are you talking about? How could Hitchin—?”
    “Think about it,” said Will. “When Hitchin eased you out of the way, that’s when he made the dive. He’s not bad, neither. I felt him make the drop into my pocket, but then it’s bread and butter to me. I’ve had more practice.” He put a hand to his chest. “Look, I swear on my mother’s grave. I didn’t take your watch, Tom.”
    “But why?” said Tom, fists still clenched. “Why would Hitchin try to get you hanged?”
    “Because he’s a villain, Tom. They call him a thief-taker, but he’s a bigger crook than any he brings in. He has half the pickpockets in London on a leash. He gets them to rob such and such a gent and then charges the selfsame toff a finder’s fee for returning the goods. He’s been trying to get me to work for him for ages. He’s just letting me know he can get me dangled any time he likes. But I’m my own man.”
    Tom stared at him and then looked away toward the end of the alley. His hands relaxed.
    “I swear, Tom,” said Will. “I never took your watch. I ain’t no liar.” Will smiled a crooked smile. “Well, not at this particular moment anyways.”
    Tom laughed. Will held out his hand and Tom shook it.
    “Come on,” said Will. “Let’s get out of this stinking alley.”
    “I suppose your mother
is
dead?” said Tom, remembering Will’s oath.
    “As a hangman’s heart,” replied Will.
    “Mine too,” said Tom.
    Will stopped and slapped Tom in the chest with the back of his hand. “Then ain’t we like brothers in a way?”
    “Yes,” said Tom. “I suppose we are.”
    And so, in a way, they had been since that day.
    They were an odd couple, but well matched in many ways. Each had a ready wit and a quick temper and both, as young boys, had lost their mothers, which left them with a sadness and an unspoken yearning for something more than they had.
    Physically they were very different, though, with Tom black-haired and stocky, and Will blond and skinny as a whippet. Unlike Tom’s, Will’s clothes were shabby and often much too big for him, emphasizing his slight frame. And he was always in need of a wash that never seemed to come.
    Tom talked about his father and the print shop and Dr. Harker. Will loved to hear of the doctor’s travels, for just like Tom, he had yet to travel five miles from the house in which he was born. For his part, Will gave a watered-down account of his life as a member of London’s army of pickpockets and petty thieves.
    “As it happens,” said Will, suddenly remembering their conversation, “I don’t need your poxy watch, Tom, for I have a rather splendid one of my own. Now, let me see—what is the time?” With a theatrical flourish, he produced a beautiful gold watch and chain—the very same watch the Cheapside wig-maker had searched for in vain earlier that day.
    “Will! For God’s sake! Put it away!”
    “All right, calm down, Tom,” Will replied, hiding the watch inside his coat. “Don’t have a seizure! There’s no one to see us in this fog. Don’t get so flustered.”
    “Don’t get so flustered? You could swing for that— and me along with you for not speaking up!”
    “No one’s going to swing, Tom, though it’s good to hear you won’t be peaching on me. . .