Curse of the Midions Read Online Free PDF Page B

between two indistinct brick buildings. He could hear the slow clopping of horses, the trundle of wheels. A hand bell rang.
    The driver of the coach snapped a whip, and the carriage rumbled off into the fog. The bell clanged again, and from the darkness came a rough voice: “Twelve o’clock of a foul night, and ye be warned!”
    Jarvey heard another sound, a sharp hiss, almost a whistle, from the dark alley behind him. “Is anybody there?”
    In response, a quick, stealthy, skittering sound came from the alley. Rats, maybe. Jarvey gripped the book, wondering if it was heavy enough to clobber a rat.
    â€œWoss that?” The sharp voice came from down the street, from the direction of the wagon rumble. “You hear that, Georgie?”
    â€œNar, ya got fog in yer lug-holes,” an older man’s voice snapped. “On wiv it, Bert, and less of yer lip.”
    And now a dark bulk loomed out of the fog, a heavy wagon, pulled by a single plodding horse. Jarvey opened his mouth to yell—
    â€œMmpff!” A hand clamped over his open mouth, and other hands seized his arms. He felt himself being dragged away from the street, away from the streetlamp. Breath whistled in someone’s nostrils, two or three people, by the sound of it. An urgent whisper said, “In here, quick!”
    The hand over his mouth didn’t move, but the figures hauling at him broke away. They pushed at him from behind, and Jarvey stumbled deeper into the narrow alley. The trundling sound of the wheels and the clopping of the horse’s hooves stopped and he desperately tried to wrench free and yell for help.
    â€œSst!” The voice was right in his ear, and the warm breath smelled of onions. “Quiet, boy! You want the Mill Press to get you?”
    The grumbling older man’s voice came from the fog: “Nuffin’ there, I tells ya. You ain’t gonna please Nibs by prowlin’ around lookin’ for runagates what ain’t there.”
    The younger man’s voice, higher pitched and quarrelsome, came back: “I heard somethin’, I tells ya.”
    â€œRats, or a mangy stray dog. Get on with yer, Bert. Some of us has homes ter go to, an’ th’ mills is hungry fer yon bearns. If you makes us late, on yer head be it!”
    Bert growled a curse, but Jarvey heard the crack of a whip, and a moment later the wagon rolled away. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard another sound, softer than the horse or the men, and unsettling. Children were crying somewhere, maybe in the back of the wagon.
    The hands didn’t release Jarvey until the wagon had passed out of earshot. Then the person whose hand had clapped his mouth shut finally let go and said, “Well, cully, you’re a green ’un and no mistake. Run away, have we? Come to join the Dodgers, have we? Rich boy out for adventure, I’ll wager.”
    â€œYou’re a girl,” Jarvey said, surprised.
    Someone giggled, and the girl snapped, “None of that, Carks. Let’s get this baby to the snug, and then we’ll see what’s what. Maybe he’s got some brass in his pockets to pay us for his rescue.”
    â€œRescue? What do you mean? Look, I’m an American, and I have to get to a police station—”
    â€œWalk-er!” one of the shadows said, then burst into a giggling fit. “Go to a tippers’ station? You’ve got rocks in your nog, is what! Same as trotting to the mills, it is, and shoutin’ ‘Oi! Here, take me!’ Tippers’ station! Find yourself chained to a loom in about half a shake, you do that.”
    â€œI was kidnapped,” Jarvey said desperately. “A man who said he was my uncle took me to, well, he said it was Bywater House, and he and—”
    A hand slapped his face, so hard that Jarvey saw an explosion of yellow. “Nibs took you, did he?” the girl growled. “Well, you’ll not be telling him of the