Jack Lark: Rogue Read Online Free Page B

collection of rotting beasties.
    ‘Come along, Edmund, don’t dawdle.’ Sir Humphrey turned and took his son by the elbow, steering him on his way. He addressed the fly-paper seller, who was dancing a jig in front of the whey-faced boy: ‘My good man, we shall not be buying today.’
    Edmund hurried along. He stepped past an old woman selling violets, her once black dress now faded to a colour that matched the sky, her smile as shadowed and careworn as her clothes. A costermonger, his great barrow decked out with small, brightly coloured flags at each corner, stood grim-faced behind his goods whilst a young boy called to the crowd, his high-pitched, piping voice carrying far as he extolled the virtues of his master’s wares, in this case the last of a stock of small bags of apples.
    ‘Ah! Here we are.’
    Edmund nearly careered into his father’s back as Sir Humphrey stopped suddenly. He tried to see what had halted them, but as he stood on tiptoe to look over his father’s shoulder, a large, heavy-set fellow with a paper cap pulled down low over his eyes barged past, nearly knocking him from his feet.
    ‘Watch yourself, lad.’ The man growled the warning as he bustled on.
    Remembering his father’s warning, Edmund bit back the retort that had leapt to his tongue. He had a notion that this was no place for sharp words unless they happened to be backed up by even sharper steel.
    ‘Come along, my boy.’
    He turned as his father pulled him forward. He was being led towards a fabulous emporium, its great plate-glass window decorated with the image of a giant sun. Edmund had never seen anything like it. The establishment was garish, the facade embellished with a wild display of gilded rosettes and sconces, the half-dozen gas lights burning brightly even though night was still some hours off, the richly decorated gilt burners shining like great beacons to draw in the thirsty passers-by.
    Sir Humphrey pushed hard against the door that boasted access to ‘The Counting House’ on a plate of ground glass. Edmund followed, trying not to gawp. The air inside was thick with pipe smoke, the stench of overripe bodies catching in his throat. He coughed, his hand rising instinctively to cover his face, and bumped hard into his father’s back. The room they had entered was packed, and Sir Humphrey rose up on to his toes, his neck bending this way and that as he tried to find them a space amidst the press.
    Edmund eased even closer to his father as they pushed into the crowd. A well-dressed woman was trying to leave, a pint-sized earthenware bottle clutched to her bosom. As she slipped past, Edmund came face to face with a pair of red-faced washerwomen perched on a bench pushed hard against the wall. Both nursed half-quarts of a clear liquid, their mouths moving too fast to allow for even a casual sip. The pair of gossips stared and pointed at a younger woman leaning against the wall further into the room. As Edmund looked at her, his breath caught in his throat at how pretty she was. Like the girl who had blown him a kiss, the young woman was bare-headed. Her skirts were bright red, and Edmund blushed as he realised what her occupation might be. The young woman caught him looking at her and stared back, her eyes blank. Edmund felt the flush of heat on his cheeks and looked away, his hand rising to lie against his father’s spine.
    ‘Mind your backs!’
    Edmund was eased to one side as a man barged in through the door and walked confidently into the throng, shouting loudly.
    ‘Fish-o! Get your fried fish-o!’
    He lifted his basket high enough for it to be seen above the heads of the people who were waiting to be served. Edmund caught a whiff of the man’s wares and swallowed hard, the vibrant smell making him retch.
    His father found a gap in the press of bodies and Edmund staggered after him. They pushed forward, working the seam, heading towards the monstrous slab of mahogany that extended across the width of the