A Steampunk Story of Triumph, Disaster, Inventors, Insane-asylum escapees, and American Frontiersmen with guns. They are not thieves, merely lady and gentlemen members of the Acquisitions Bureau.
Theodore Thaddeus Thatch the Third...
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In my experience, the gypsies and peddlers who frequent the docks and street corners are untrustworthy at best. They aim to swindle those in a rush with trinkets and baubles of dubious origin for suspicious prices. Half of the time the goods are stolen and more trouble than they're worth. If not stolen, they are plaster and paste, pigs in a poke or variants thereof. Many of the airmen and factory workers have grown wise to their ways, but still there are trusting young travelers and day-trippers for the Hawkers to prey upon. So they stay, and make a penny off the few fools with air in their heads and stars in their eyes.
"A lovely necklace for the lady sir!" said one grungy peddler in worn tweed as he exhibited a sparkly pendant on a silver chain.
"Lovely!" Mr. Sparks Exclaimed "how much?"
"Just twelve shillin' sir!" The man replied. "Won't find a bargain like that in any shop, upstairs or down!"
"I should say not!" Sparks replied, digging in his pockets for the coin needed to part the man from his bauble. He paid, and walked on.
"Perhaps a pocket watch for you, keep your time sir!" The peddler hopped after him on a crutch; his pack and pockets jangling clamorously with each step.
"I already have one my good fellow!" Sparks replied.
"A toy for your boy Gov.? I have them too!" The peddler insisted.
Mr. Sparks continued on, and just when he thought he had left the scrounger well behind, he reappeared further up the street. "I can see you're a man of taste," The man said as he proudly displayed a pristine sheer scarf in his grubby gloved hands. "Silk sir! The finest! All the way from Arabia!"
"Well, that is something!" Mr. Sparks remarked. "Arabia you say? Smashing!"
And soon the scarf had been exchanged for ten pence and a lit cigar, But Mr. Sparks did not come to lower London for trifles. He left the merchant counting out his money, and proceeded down Wells street, past the lines of red-brick factories. The air around them was heavy and oppressive, how anyone could last a day in such a place was a mystery.
Sparks stepped carefully so as to preserve the shine on his shoes. With the plentiful horse muck, and the carcasses of vermin that lined the streets, this proved to be a difficult task, though his trail was soon picked up by a gypsy boy in an over-large top-hat that preceded him, and aided him by sweeping his path clear of detritus.
"Penny sir?" The boy asked, extending his hand. His fingers were bruised purple at the first knuckle. The lad received his shiny new coin, and tucked it away inside his coat pocket. "Where's a fancy gentleman like you going this morning?" he asked, turning back to his sweeping.
"Visiting a friend" Sparks answered simply.
"Pardon me saying so mister, but folks like you don't have friends down 'ere." the urchin observed.
