Dodger

Panoptes,’ Charlie said smoothly. ‘I happened to notice what the young man was picking up and it has been by the bed for some time – the girl had been clutching them in her hand. No doubt Mister Dodger was concerned that it should not be overlooked. So, Dodger, hand it over, if you please?’
    Wishing earnestly for a piss, Dodger handed over his find. It was a very cheap pack of cards, but there had been no time to look at it with Charlie’s eyes on him.
    Charlie got on Dodger’s nerves, but now the man said, ‘A children’s card game, Mrs Sharples; rather damp and rather juvenile, I would consider, for a young lady of her age. “Happy Families” – I have heard of it.’ He turned the pack over and over in his fingers and said at last, ‘This is a mystery, my dear Mrs Sharples, and I shall put it back into the hands of someone who will move heaven and earth to take that mystery by its tail and drag it into the light of day; to wit, Mister Dodger here.’ With that, he handed the cards back to the astonished Dodger, saying cheerfully, ‘Do not cross me, Dodger, for I know every inch of you, I will take my oath on it. Now, I really must go. Business awaits!’
    And Dodger was certain that Charlie winked at him as he went out of the door.
    The night passed fairly quickly because so much of it had already slid away into yesterday. Dodger sat on the floor, listening to the slow breathing of the girl and the snoring of Mrs Sharples, who managed to sleep with one eye open and fixed on Dodger like a compass needle that steadily points north. Why had he done this? Why was he freezing on this floor when he could have been snug and curled up by Solomon’s stove (a marvellous contraption, which could also be a furnace if there was a lot of gold to melt)?
    But the girl was beautiful under her injuries, and he watched her as he turned the damp pack of stupid grubby cards over and over in his hands, staring at the girl whose face was a mass of bruises. The swines had really done her up good and proper, using her like a punchbag. He had given them some handy smacks with his crowbar, but that was not enough – by God, it was not enough! He would find them, he surely would, and see the bastards in lavender . . .
    Dodger woke up on the floor in a semi-gloom illuminated by just one flickering candle, totally disorientated until he recognized his surroundings, which included Mrs Sharples in her chair, still snoring like a man trying to saw a pig in half. But more importantly there was the sound of a very small and trembling voice, saying, ‘May I have some water, if you please?’
    This caused in Dodger a near panic, but there was a jug of water on the basin and he filled a glass. The girl took it from him very carefully, and motioned for a refill. Dodger glanced at Mrs Sharples, refilled the glass, handed it to her and whispered, ‘Please tell me your name.’
    The girl croaked, rather than spoke, but it was a ladylike croak, such as might be made by a frog princess, and she said, ‘I must not tell anybody my name, but you are most kind, sir.’
    Dodger was aflame. ‘Why were those coves beating you up, miss? Can you tell me
their
names?’
    Once again there was the sorry voice. ‘I should not.’
    ‘Then may I hold your hand, miss, on this chilly night?’ It was, he thought, a Christian thing to do – or so he had heard. Slightly to his amazement, the girl did indeed reach out and take his hand. He clasped it and very carefully looked at the ring on her finger, and thought: a lot of gold here, and a crest; oh my word, a boy can get into trouble with a crest. A crest with eagles on it and foreign lingo. A ring that meant something, Charlie had said; a ring that somebody most certainly wouldn’t want to lose. And somehow those eagles looked rather vicious.
    She noticed his interest. ‘He said he loved me . . . my husband. Then he let them beat me. But my mother always said that if anyone got to England, they would be free. Do not let them take me back, sir – I do not want to go.’
    He leaned over and whispered, ‘Miss, I ain’t no sir, I’m Dodger.’
    Sleepily, the girl said in what Dodger figured was a German accent, ‘Dodger? One who dodges, which is to say, moves about a lot? Thank you, Dodger. You are kind, and I am tired.’
    Dodger just managed to catch the glass as she slumped back into the pillows.
    1 Contrary to what he had said to Charlie, Dodger could read, having had some tuition from