The Artful Dodger

Chapter 1

London was a huge city. Hundreds of thousands of people lived on either side of the river Thames, all carrying out different jobs, from different parts of society. In one specific part of London, nearby St Paul's Cathedral, was a market square, which was packed with the hustle and bustle of people buying and selling food. The sounds of bartering tradesmen filled the air, and the streets were made dangerous by horses and carriages trundling through. Amidst these crowds, near a pillar, were two boys speaking. Neither of them were particularly noticeable, both the same height but the dark haired boy was certainly older in years.

If anyone had cared to watch, they would have seen that the older boy had spoken to the smaller boy for a while in a friendly manner before introducing himself, but of course nobody was.

"Pleased to meet you Mr Dodger, are you sure the old gentleman won't mind?" asked the younger boy, who had blond hair, and wore ragged, dirty clothes. He had obviously been sleeping rough.

"Mind?!" laughed the Dodger who was dressed in a blue waistcoat with a top hat. He started to dance around happily, quite at ease.

"Consider yourself, at home, consider yourself part of the family, I've taken to you, so strong, it's clear we're going to get along!" he sang in a confident cockney accent. The younger boy, by the name of Oliver, followed the Dodger through the streets, mouth open, as he sang and danced away. It was not pre-rehearsed, of course, but it was funny how everyone danced and sang along. Must be a London greeting, Oliver decided. Nothing else could explain it.

The boys danced through the streets, singing until they reached the dark alley which led to the Dodger's home. Oliver thought he detected a slight flush in Dodger's cheeks as they came to the open sewer and the rickety houses all around them. This Dodger boy couldn't be embarrassed, could he? He seemed so confident and careless. They tiptoed across the sewage river on a wooden beam, and Dodger shouted up a pipe that he was coming in. They hurtled up the steps to a bridge, which did not look steady in the slightest, and Dodger opened the door, leading Oliver into his home.

It was a large attic, that's all it could be described as. There were a few steps up into the main room, where there were an assortment of beds, hammocks, and beams. In one corner was a table and two benches, and near this was a smaller table with a few stools. The pole close by had a barrel of water in front, presumably used for washing. In the centre of the room was a brick chimney going up to the ceiling, which was very wide, with a ragged curtain hanging in front. It was steaming ominously, and Oliver gasped. Was there a fire?

Before he could ask Dodger if all was well, an old man emerged from the small room. He had a straggly ginger beard and piercing blue eyes. His clothes were common and dirty, his shoes were unpolished, and his teeth yellow. However, this was not as alarming as what was in his hands. A huge poker, with a sausage impaled on the end.

"Dodger... who's this?" he asked.

"Oliver Twist, sir!" piped up Dodger.

"Oliver Twist..."

Fagin walked towards him slowly, swooping like an eagle on his prey. He introduced Oliver to their dark, twisted lives, to the boy's wonder.

Oliver was by now sure that everyone in London pre-performed songs- all the boys had burst into a song called 'pick a pocket or two', and danced around merrily until Fagin told them to go to bed.

At that point, Oliver nervously undressed. He was well aware of the other boys who could be watching him, and he got into his small bed by Fagin's den. This was isolated from the other boys' hammocks and mattresses, which was where Dodger had gone.

The Dodger had a rather different night to Oliver. As he lay in his bed, surrounded by sleeping boys, he let his thoughts drift to Nancy. To him, she was so perfect. The way that she danced and moved, her beautiful 'rags' and infectious smile. Her ginger hair was badly cut but long and clean- but he had no chance with her. She was with a much older man, Bill Sikes. All the other boys aspired to be like him. Power, influence, money. But the only thing the Dodger envied of his was Nancy. He felt jealous, but there was nothing he could do. Sikes could squash a boy like him flat like a fly. The Dodger fell into an uneasy sleep that night, as he thought miserably about her.