The Artful Dodger

Chapter 4

Before long, the boys were back at the den and passing their finds to Fagin. In return, he gave each boy a piece of stale bread, to which there were many mutinous whispers.

"We do all that for 'im, an' that's all we get?" said Paul, chewing on his crust in disgust.

"I've half a mind to leave." replied Davy, "but I don't wanna go by myself. If only I was still with Georgina! She'd come with me!"

"Georgina was pretty, my gosh..." said Paul, getting distracted like he always did when girls were mentioned. Dodger laughed at him and finished off his bread.

"That girl wouldn't look twice at you, my boy, just wait for an old hag to come along and maybe you'll 'ave a chance!"

Paul stood up indignantly and made to hit the Dodger, but he was too fast and he ducked before getting up and running around the den. Quickly, Paul pursued him, but the Artful was too fast and after at least five minutes, Paul ended up flat on his back on the floor, panting.

"Come back here, you pig! I'll have you know, my uncle Dr Birling would have whipped you for that!" said Paul, punctuated with gasps.

The other boys sniggered at the scene. Dodger winked at Paul before climbing onto one of the beams.

"Sorry, mate. Maybe next time?"

Paul said an obscene word, but was unluckily overheard by Fagin, who ordered him straight into bed, with the threat of no breakfast hovering over him.

Dodger smirked and lay back on his own bed, thinking about the day. It was a good day for him. He'd met Rose and seen Nancy, who were both very pretty girls. In fact, they looked similar in a way, both with strong noses and blue eyes. But Nancy had copper hair, whilst Rose's was straight and a light shade of brown. He didn't know why he was trying to compare them, but in the end he couldn't decide who was more beautiful, and fell asleep still pondering this question.

The room was dimly lit. A single candle flickered on a fireplace that the Dodger did not recognise. Nancy and Rose were there. Nancy looked angry, her blue eyes glimmering with hatred as she shouted at the other, younger girl, who had tears running down her cheeks. She yelled back at Nancy, and their faces both turned red with fury. Dodger was standing on the sidelines, trying to make them stop fighting, but their rage was too great to notice his feeble attempts to push them aside. Finally, in the head of the moment, Nancy picked up the poker by the fireplace and started beating the other girl around the head, blood flying through the air in small splatters that landed on the cracked floorboards. Rose started screaming and clawing at Nancy, huge gashes in her forehead from the wounds, sticky rivers of red running down her face...

Then the Artful Dodger awoke, panting. He sat bolt upright, and took in the surroundings. Charley lay in the hammock at his feet and he could see Paul, Davy and the other sleeping boys around him. Oliver was near Fagin's area, dead to the world. Still breathing fast, he jumped out of the bed nimbly and landed, quiet as a cat on the floor. He knew very well that both Nancy and Rose were in their own beds sleeping but he needed some fresh air to breathe so he went outside onto the bridge. He gulped the polluted London air as if he had been swimming underwater for a long time, as his thoughts raced. Why were Nancy and Rose fighting? He knew it was a dream but he was also aware that there were tensions between them immediately. Could Nancy be... jealous? No, certainly not- she had Bill. But then what could it be?

Having calmed down, he went back inside and lay in his bunk. A sleepless night followed, because he was scared that somehow his horrific dream could have been a reality. He refused to shut his eyes.

The next day dawned typically for London: cold and wet. The summer was beginning to turn into autumn, the mid-September transition. But Fagin did not care that it was miserable outside; he liked his boys to work through all weathers.

Fagin shooed them all out after breakfast, amidst complaints of 'these sausages are mouldy!' from Charley Bates. However, one boy remained behind. The sixteen year old Dodger. Fagin raised his eyebrows at this turn of events.

"What's botherin' you?"

"Fagin, I need ter talk to you," began the Artful.

"Yes, my boy?" he said.

"Nancy were spyin' on me yesterday an' you know I've always loved her... but I met this pretty girl down the market yesterday an' I like her as well, but I don't think Nancy likes her much," Dodger continued and spoke faster when he saw that Fagin was interested, "An' I 'ad this dream where Nancy was beating this girl and I don't know who I like better!"

Fagin behaved very peculiarly at that point. He muttered to himself, disappeared into his little bedroom area, then came back out.

"Dodge, Nancy's with Bill and y'know Bill wouldn't be happy. Now normally I'd say go for the flower girl but you don't know who she is, could be a policeman's grass." Fagin said and looked sternly at Dodger.

"How d'yer know she was a flower girl? So Nance WAS spyin' for you!" exclaimed the Dodger, grabbing his top hat and putting it firmly upon his head. This he did when he was angry, and angry he was.

"No, my boy, not Nancy. Not Nancy. So, be off with yer! Go pick some pockets! An' if you see that girl, don't yer dare tell her anythin' about your... mentor." Fagin straightened up, proudly, his thumbs in his button holes of his jacket.

Dodger nodded, still fuming that Fagin would try and spy on his most trusted servant, but he visibly relaxed in the fact that it wasn't Nancy who had turned on him. Then who was it?