Dodger Read Online Free PDF Page A

hard times, don’t leave it shut.’
    Outside, the sun was hardly visible in the smoke, mist and fog, but that was the clear light of day for somebody like Dodger. A bit of sunshine was OK, he would agree, because it helped your clothes dry, but Dodger liked the shadows and, if possible, the sewers, and right now something in him wanted the solace of darkness.
    So he crowbarred the lid of the nearest drain cover and dropped onto what wasn’t all that bad a surface down below. The storm last night had been kind enough to make the sewers just that bit more bearable. There would be other toshers down there, of course, but Dodger had a nose for gold and silver.
    Solomon said his dog Onan had a nose for jewellery. Indeed, Dodger was happy to give him the honour, because you had to feel sorry for the poor creature, who was really quite embarrassing at times, but for some reason the dog’s pointy little face did actually light up whenever he smelled rubies. Sometimes Dodger would take him down into the gloom with him, and if Onan’s amazing nose found wealth down there in the darkness then when they got back home Solomon would give him extra chicken gizzards.
    Dodger wished he had the dog with him today – for Onan had ears so good that he could hear a sudden shower miles upstream, and would bark accordingly – but he had started in the wrong area without the time to go and fetch him, so he had to make do the best he could, which after all was pretty good at that. If you were smart on your feet, like Dodger, you’d have grabbed your loot and been up in the fresh air long before the first surge of storm water came down the sewers.
    But it was as if last night’s storm had emptied the sky. It was as calm as a millpond down in the tunnels today: small puddles here and there, with a little trickle down the centre of the sewer. After the storm, it mostly smelled like, well, wet dead things, rotten potatoes and bad air – and these days, unfortunately, shite. This always infuriated Dodger. From what Solomon told him, some coves called the Romans had built the sewers to keep the rain water flowing down to the Thames instead of pouring into people’s houses. But these days toffs here and there were getting pipes run from their cesspits into the sewers and Dodger thought this was really unfair. It was bad enough with all the rats down here, without having to make certain you didn’t step in a richard. 1
    A fair amount of light filtered down from the gutters through the drain covers, which themselves had holes in to keep the water running away, but really, being a tosher meant that you felt around – with fingers, and toes sometimes – for all those little
heavy
things that would get caught up on the crumbling brickwork as the water went past. But you had to search with your mind and your instinct as well, and that was the soul and centre of being a tosher – old Grandad had taught him that, telling him that it could get so much a part of you that you could smell the gold even among the richards.
    Dodger didn’t know much about the Romans, but the sewers they had built were old and in a general state of falling to bits. Oh, gangs came down here to patch things up occasionally, but it was always a case of a bit of work here and a bit of work there, seldom anything very substantial. The work gangs – who were handed an official job occasionally, shoring up and repairing bits of the ever-crumbling sewers – would chase you off if they found you, though they were not as young as Dodger so he could easily leave them behind. Besides, they were working men with working hours, and a tosher might work all night on a good night, feeling in those little places where a brick had fallen out of the wall, or the floor was not level. Best of all were the places where the water would swirl around in a little whirlpool causing pennies, sixpences, farthings, half farthings and – if you were very, very blessed – sometimes even sovereigns,