Amongst Thieves

CHAPTER ONE- Tallies

The blow landed hard and heavy against his side but his face showed nothing of the pain that beat against his skull. Even children knew that to show weakness in the slums was to invite death; not that he was a child anymore. Children were protected, fed and sheltered and though the fifth cut on his arm was yet to scar everybody knew what it meant: five years. Fair game. The beatings, like the scars, had almost become a rite of passage in the slums, a taste of the world that sent a clear message to those within the walls. You are weak, you are alone, and nobody cares enough to save you.

The assault gradually tapered off and the two bodies above him began to move away but wise to the trick the boy only allowed his body a moment to relax before bracing for the parting blows that always came. Sweat matted dark blonde hair to the sides of his face and his lip was cut and bleeding but his bright blue eyes were clear.

'Actually thought you fell for it. Almost left you there.'

The girl's voice acted as a signal, for now at least he was safe.

'You okay?'

He groaned in response, untangling his arms from around his head and spitting a bloody tooth onto the dirt at his feet.

'Been waiting for that to come out,' he mused to aloud.

'Gross!' She squealed as she leapt back.

As his vision cleared he began to separate her figure from the haze of light around him. Skinny and short, still taller than him, she had short brown hair and pale green eyes. Like many he had assumed she was a boy when they had first met.

'You okay or not?'

'Fine,' he groaned again, uncurling his legs and squatting in front of her.

'I can still run.'

'Nobody'll believe that act,' she said with a smile. 'You aren't that tough.'

'Am too!' He cried. 'I'm seven today.'

'You don't know that.'

'Could be! I've got a full tally now!'

'One scar for every year in the safe-house; that's only five,' she responded, smug as ever.

'I could still be seven,' he mumbled into his chest.

'I could be seven,' jeered a boy as he appeared from the around the corner, 'but you aren't smart enough.'

Taller than the pair of them by at least a head, the boy had shaggy dark hair and eyes so brown they seemed black. Like the others he was caked in dirt and wore little more than rags.

'So how was it?'

'Longer than I thought. How'd you do?'

'They all say that,' he said with a knowing smile. 'Who knew having the snot kicked out of you took that long? It sure made a great distraction though.'

His smile grew larger as he passed them each a chunk of bread.

'Bread mould is the best mould,' he laughed, biting into his own portion. 'Happy tallyday!'

'All that time and all they had was bread?'

It sounded harsh but sensitivity was almost unheard of in the slums, particularly from those beaten and bleeding.

'Some people are never happy,' the boy replied, smiling through his mouthful and tapping the small pouch he wore strapped to his leg, hidden beneath loose-fitting burlap shorts. Instead of the all too familiar silence or occasional clatter of wooden coins there was a dull metallic thud.