"C'mere, lad!"
The young boy, pale, underfed, rickety, with hunched shoulders -- a weedy boy, they would call him -- came to a standstill. He bowed his head, shivering all over his body. He did not want to go to those men -- never wanted to comply with their commands.
Yet he always had to go. Or else.
***
That morning he had agreed to go to a house to clean the chimney, it being empty of its occupants during the holiday season. Aye, that was what he was -- a chimney sweep. His job was indeed cleaning chimneys when the residents of a house were out. It was not that he liked it that way but because that was what usually happened.
He was not too fond of his job but this was the only thing he could do when he was sent off from the orphanage where he used to live. He did not want to be a beggar and he spat at the idea of being a pickpocket. Being a chimney sweep was not that bad, especially during the holidays. Many families left their houses in London to delight in Christmas at their houses in the country. They usually wanted to have their city houses cleaned thoroughly so they sent their maids to find hands to help with the work. The boy had several offers already for a couple of days ahead and he was quite pleased with that.
Never mind though, about the pay. He eyed the five-penny coins in his palms bitterly, feeling his parched mouth. He had worked for hours and had gone out when the morning was still dark, and this was all he'd got. He forced a smile to the maid who had handed the money to him, bowed politely, and walked out of the house with his long brushes, a piece of ragged cloth used to cover his mouth (though it oftentimes did not help at all to ward off the dust), and his high white fabric hat (which was no longer white and of no use at all for his work).
Now with the five pence clasped in his hand he had to face the threatening men.
***
One of the men went tetchy. He unwrapped a filthy scarf from around his neck, threw it to the ground, crushed it with his equally dirty boot, and grabbed it back before hurling it in the boy's direction. It landed on the boy's neck with a loud wet smack, leaving a big blotch there, adding to the smears of dirt that were all over him.
The young boy twisted round, flushed with rage. His hand was fastened around his brushes. Roars of laughter stung in his ears.
