Perry Scrimshaw's Rite of Passage Read Online Free PDF Page A

another step.
    ‘ No! Keep
away!’ she hobbled away from him.
    ‘ Freak!’ he
hurled the word after her, stupefied by her reaction.
    He didn’t have
many options. Ahead, the notorious Blue Anchor Lane mingled with
the dusky darkness. It was the gateway to the Ward and its maze of
backstreet passageways, where the poorest of the poor lived, slum town some folk
called it. It was avoided by the law; not even the commission
chasing School Attendance Officers dared venture in. And because of
this, the Ward offered the poverty-stricken labourers, the whores,
street urchins, the rotten-toothed witches and gaunt opium-slaves
alike its ugly protection from the authorities. Perry headed for
it. One thing was sure; nobody would look for him there.
    He stepped in; the first
tumbledown houses arched unevenly like huddled mushrooms. The way
was then blocked with a pile of decaying vegetables, hay and
splintered crates. He covered his mouth and stepped onto the
rotting heap. His foot squelched in, the foul mulch wetting his
ankles. He shuddered and leapt down onto the other side. The stench
seeped through his fingers; rot, decay, piss, shit. It was as dense
as a wall and it was all he could do to not throw up. The lane was
used as a public latrine but it was ten times worse than in Mrs
Donnegan’s sick room. He muttered a prayer for her and urged
himself on, covering his mouth with his arm.
    It was slippery underfoot.
Lamplights and candles glowed in the windows; halos in the foggy
gloom. He cleared a grubby window with his sleeve and counted nine
mattresses cramped together in front of a fireplace. The room was
even smaller than at Mrs D’s. He gave a thought for the boys,
though they didn’t deserve it. He’d look for them on the morrow,
but he needed to get out the cold and hunker down before darkness
truly turned the thieves and slashers out into the night. Someone
surely would take him in. Perry banged on the next door he came
to.
    An old hag stuck her head out
of a window, ‘Piss off!’ she yelled, revealing a mouth with barely
any teeth.
    Rubbing his arms as he went, he
passed a tramp too old and too drunk to pay him any mind. He looked
to be adding his own contribution to the sodden walls and cobbles.
Perry was getting used to the smell and that was no good thing. A
little further along he came to the Southampton Gospel Mission, one
of the few attempts to seed goodness into the area. It was barred
shut with a wooden plank and padlock. He gave it a rattle anyway,
but it didn’t give.
    ‘ Thanks God,’
he said to the sky with all the sarcasm he could muster. A
passageway, barely shoulder-width apart, meandered off to the
right. Teeth-chattering, he took it, tracing his hands against the
walls to steady himself, ducking under a low beam - one of a
labyrinth above him that braced the houses together or kept them
apart. The passageway ended in a narrow square of mud, surrounded
on all sides by the backs of crooked houses. Apart from a few
windows, only one of these houses had a door. A gaunt rat scurried
between his feet and sniffed the air.
    ‘ What a
palace.’ Perry knocked. As he waited, he realised what a state he
must look, clothes caked in mud and torn by brambles. Mrs Donnegan
would no doubt be licking her finger and smudging the mud off his
face. He took off his cap and combed his hair with his hands and
hoped it would improve his appearance. The door opened. A woman
thrust out a candle and sized him up. He tensed, ready to
run.
    ‘ You’re a bit
young aintcha?’
    ‘ Fifteen ain’t
young,’ he replied mechanically.
    She moved the candle back in
from the rain. A messy nest of hair, but a fine, almost pretty
face.
    ‘ I don’t often
get door knocks. Can you pay?’
    ‘ Depends
really. How much for the night? And food?’ he’d almost forgotten
how hungry he was, ‘have you got any food Miss?’
    ‘ Where do you
think you are? A bleedin’ Inn?’
    ‘ Just that I’m
starving, if you had anything to