Freaks (21 page)

The morning edition of the
Times
was full of speculation about the events in Hyde Park. The front page showed a drawing of the Crystal Palace with flames rising from a gaping hole in its side, and beneath it the article read:

There was also a piece on the theft, which Sheba read eagerly:

Sheba folded the paper and placed it back on the kitchen table. She was glad it had all turned out all right, but couldn't help a twinge of envy.
It should have been us in the papers,
she thought. Instead nobody would ever know who had
really
stopped Mrs. Crowley.

Although that wasn't quite true. The parlor at Brick Lane was full of little sleeping people who would remember. They filled up most of the floor space, curled around each other, gently snoring. And after all, everything the Peculiars had done hadn't really been anything to do with foiling burglaries or catching criminals. It had been about keeping those children safe.

Sheba hopped down from the table and started to stoke up the stove, ready to put some coffee on for breakfast.

A few hours later, everyone was sitting in the front room, talking about the events of the night before. Upstairs in the bedroom, Gigantus had hauled up the tin bath and filled it with water from the street pump, warmed over the fire. The mudlarks were taking it in turns to have the first bath of their lives, and the sounds of whoops and splashes drifted down every now and then.

“But what happened when the bomb went off?” Sheba was asking. “How come none of you were hurt?”

“Luck, I suppose,” said Mama Rat. “It just happened none of us was near it at the time. If we hadn't split up to find that woman, it might have been a different story.”

“And how did you get out without being caught? The place was crawling with soldiers when I left.”

“We all ran back to the east wing when we heard the blast,” said Gigantus. He was writing in his notebook again, pen scratching across the paper, just as if the events of the past few days had never happened. “The guards were so busy with the fire, we managed to slip out of Sister Moon's hole in the glass and join the crowds.”

“And then we find this,” said Sister Moon. She held up the chipped marble that Till had given Sheba. “It must fall from your pocket. Before that, we think you stuck in exhibition, or hurt by bomb. Then Monkeyboy spot you running down Rotten Row.”

“That was very clever of you, Monkey,” said Sheba as he puffed out his chest.

“I know,” he said, beaming.

“We watched you following Mrs. Crowley into that old hospital,” said Mama Rat. “We would have caught up to you sooner, had it not been so crowded. Thank goodness we got there in time. What you did was very brave, though, Sheba.”

Sheba blushed beneath her fur. She didn't know what to say. She was saved from further embarrassment by the mudlarks coming down the stairs. It was strange to see them so clean and happy; they were like a completely different group of children. Sheba could see their faces properly now, without the coating of mud. There were rosy cheeks, freckles, and happy smiles. They looked more like a school class on an outing than a bunch of kidnap victims recently saved from certain death.

“I'll get some soup on,” said Mama Rat. “Feed you lot up a bit. Won't be long until Large 'Arry reads my little message, if Bartholomew rat gets his skates on.”

Not long after that there was a knock at the door. Sister Moon opened it to reveal a group of nervous-looking figures, clad in shapeless, muddy rags. They were bowing and scraping, and trying to peep past Sister Moon at the same time.

Sheba recognized Till's ma and pa, along with another boy who might have been Barney Bilge (it was difficult to tell, because last time she saw him, he had been completely covered in wet mud). Behind them were even more people, all clutching their caps in their hands and chattering excitedly.

When Moon stepped aside, they all rushed through and gathered the children in such tight embraces that Sheba began to worry their stick-thin limbs might snap. The parlor was full to bursting, and the Peculiars found themselves pushed back against the stairs. But it was a heartwarming sight, and Sheba felt a lump in her throat, especially now that she knew such a reunion would never be hers.

Her father was dead, her mother lost, and her family fortune stolen by Mrs. Crowley. She had nothing left. Not even the hope-filled daydreams of a normal life. It was like everything she had ever wanted had just been dangled before her eyes, only to be snatched away again. Forever.

She glanced up to see Gigantus blinking rapidly and pretending to look at something on the ceiling. She silently offered him her hanky, then had to wring the sodden little piece of cloth out after he gave it back.

“Your amazing worshipfulnesses . . .” said Till's father, as soon as the hugging and kissing was over. “I 'as got no idea 'ow we is ever going to fank you. We never fought we'd see our dear little'uns again, and now 'ere they are, all bafed and everything! I never imagined a child of mine would live to 'ave a proper baf.”

“You're welcome,” said Sheba, Monkeyboy, and Sister Moon together. Seeing the reunion made everything they'd been through seem worthwhile.

“I knew you'd come frough for us,” said the father mudlark. “We is so used to losing young 'uns to the river and the sickness and a 'undred other things. It's our way of life, and no one but us seems to care. We didn't expect you to, neither, but I'm very glad to say we was wrong.”

Sister Moon bowed gracefully, while the rest of them just beamed. Most of the other families left with their children, after shaking the Peculiars' hands in turn. Till's family hung back after the rest, and accepted Mama Rat's offer of tea. They stayed for most of the afternoon, listening with rapt fascination as the Peculiars recounted the story of the rescue. As Sheba heard it retold, she was struck by how incredible it sounded, but the mudlarks never once questioned it. They only stopped every now and then to wail in terror or sympathy, or to heap excessive praises on each of the Peculiars in turn. They even had the decency not to stare too much, although she did notice Till's ma absentmindedly stroking her cheeks when she looked at her, as if she was wondering what a coat of fur would feel like.

At the end of the story, they all broke into applause and Till hugged Sheba tightly again.

“What will you do now?” Sheba asked. She didn't like the thought of her new friend going back to a life of dangerous scavenging, even if there were no longer strange mechanical creatures lurking in the mud.

“Well, miss,” said the father mudlark, “first, we is going to fank Large 'Arry for all his 'elp. Then meself, the missus, Till, and 'er brothers will be leaving the city.”

“Leaving?” Till and Sheba said together.

“Yes,” said Till's mother. “I 'ave a cousin what works on a farm down in Kent. A place called Stanhope Farm. She's always said there's room for us there. The children can work picking 'ops, and Tam and me can labor on the farm.”

“It'll be a better life for us all,” said the father.

Till looked at Sheba with tearful eyes. “I won't ever see you again, will I?”

Sheba shook her head, too heartbroken to speak.

“I don't know about that,” said Mama Rat.

“Aye. We often go down that way in the summer, when the fayres are on,” added Gigantus.

“We find a way to make Plumpscuttle go to Kent,” said Sister Moon.

“Just as long as there's something to eat besides turnips,” Monkeyboy added. “My arse can't handle all that again.”

“Promise you'll come see me,” Till said, squeezing Sheba's hands. “Promise!”

“I will, I promise!” Sheba said, laughing. Next summer was a long way away, but it was better than nothing.

With that, the mudlarks prepared to leave. Before heading out the door, they bowed and smiled at each of the Peculiars in turn, so that Sheba began to feel as though she was some kind of royalty. As she watched them disappear down Brick Lane on the way back to the river, she held the chipped marble Till had given her when they had first met. She looked at it for a moment, squeezed it tight, then took it upstairs to place inside her ebony box.

Afterward, she sat for a long time, running her fingers over the carved jasmine flowers.
This box must have come from India, too,
she thought.
Perhaps it was my mother's?
It made her think again of Mrs. Crowley's story, opening everything up like a fresh wound. Those little, star-shaped flowers, just like the ones at the exhibition. But she had seen them somewhere else recently, too. Where had it been?

Shortly after that, they received another visitor, a messenger, this time from the London Hospital. He brought them a note that said Plumpscuttle had almost fully recovered, and would be returning the next day.

The Peculiars all groaned. Without the gluttonous Plumpscuttle, their little house was quite a pleasant place to live. Now they would have to return to being slaves and exhibits.

“We should have charged those mud-sloppers a blooming fortune. Then we could have done a runner while fat ginger-knickers was on his sickbed,” said Monkeyboy, as he stomped off to his cage to sulk.

“And what would they have paid us with, exactly?” said Gigantus. “Half a ton of raw sewage?”

“I'd rather have a load of rotten poo than that blubbery bully, any day,” Monkeyboy called back from the yard.

Sheba was inclined to agree. Still, a free afternoon gave her time to run a little errand or two.

Leaving the others to repair the house as much as possible, she padded upstairs to fetch something hidden under a certain strongman's bed. While he was still scribbling in his journal, she slipped out of the house.