I made a face at John as my fingers easily slid out of the pouch of the man walking by us- his pocketwatch now in my grasp. John hid his smile as he looked up at the man- just as the gentleman harshly brought his walking cane down upon poor John's lower-back, demanding he get out of the way.

John scrambled for cover, but not before the man landed another lash to his rear.

I ducked behind the barrel of pickles just outside of a general shop, scooting back to make room for John. He was rubbing at the place on his back that had been struck- his shirt was torn up far enough that I could make out the raised welts forming from the cane that had landed upon him.

"I should get more than half of what we steal, Meli!" He griped under his breath, glaring after the man. "I'm the one who has to take all the beatings!"

"Well, I'm the one who is actually good at it," I reminded him. "You limp too badly to sneak up on people without being noticed. And I am the one to take the risk of being punished for the stealing. Besides, you're a crippled. You get more money by stepping in front of them to beg."

John scoffed, muttering something about a wide-eyed peasant girl such as myself being able to make more than any boy begging on the streets, and watched as I counted our score for a day.

"Not as much as two pence!" I shook my head, angry with myself. Truthfully, though, I wasn't at fault. Nobody seemed to be carrying much of value on them today.

Nudging me, John nodded towards the pocketwatch still gripped in my hand. "Someone will buy that, though- I'll bet its worth at least twenty pence, first offer!"

I just shook my head. "I think not. It is a common sailor's watch. It's cheap. And the initials engraved in will just make it harder to sell. I doubt we'll even get an offer on it today."

Seeing the disappointment on John's face, I quickly glanced around. No eyes were on us, but I knew that could change at any moment. Still, I didn't hesitate as I reached up, shoving open the container of pickles just behind us. My arm had only been in the barrel for a moment before I heard someone shout at me.

"Run!" I urged John, but he was already on his feet, taking off towards the river. He knew to leave me behind- I was faster than him, and would lead our pursuers away. Though it put me in a bit more danger, it was the only way to save John from being caught when such things happened- he would never be able to outrun someone with his limp.

That was another reason I always used him as the distraction, rather than letting him learn the pickpocket trade. If he was caught, he would never be able to outrun the law. But I could.

Securing as many pickles in my hand as possible, I took off, running in a different direction than John had. The streets weren't all that crowded today- the weather was rather poor- and that made it difficult to simply disappear into the crowd, or use my small size to my advantage by ducking between feet and slipping between bodies.

So instead, I focused my sights on a horse-drawn carriage further down the street. Hearing a man still hollering from behind me, and footsteps nearing, I moved even faster. The horses were at a walking pace rather than a trot, so instead of taking hold of the back of the carriage to gain a free ride, I pulled myself onto the chests tied to the tailboard and then hoisted myself onto the top-drop.

I didn't heed the gasps from within the carriage as they realized I was above them, stomping against the wood. Leaping from the top of the carriage, I caught hold of the arch above the doorway of the bank, and then reached for the metal railing outside the balcony of the second-floor window. Luckily, the window was open ever so slightly, and I was able to pull myself in.

Dodging through the unsuspecting banktellers and businessmen was easy. By the time the man chasing me had opened the downstairs door to holler the word 'thief!', I was already gone, sliding down the drainpipe just outside the window on the opposite side of the building. I was rather impressed with myself for keeping hold of the pickles through the whole scuffle.

As expected, John was waiting for me in the squalor housing area just beyond the river. I made sure to soak myself extra well as I crossed the water, despite the cold weather. I was fairly sure they would not call for the dogs over petty theft, but it never hurt to play it safe.

"Here, John," I offered him, holding out three of the pickles. He should have considered himself lucky- I only kept two for myself. He didn't seem to notice, though, as he shoved the food into his mouth. I bit into my own pickle as vinegar ran down John's chin and dripped onto his torn breeches. It had been several days since we had eaten.

We didn't speak as we chewed, but once he had eaten half of his last pickle, he held the remaining half out to me. I smiled at his kindness- he had noticed that he had gotten the extra one. But I just shook my head. "That's alright, John. You go on, now. Besides, you took the beating, remember?"

He made a face. "You're bigger than me. You need more food."

"That's alright. I don't want it."

John growled. "Take it, Meli!"

I just shook my head again. Both John and I were skinny- far too skinny to be healthy. But he was even younger than I; While I was about seven or eight, he must have been nearer to five or so, or a bit older- he had only been a malnourished toddler when I had first come across him. He looked closer to four. Every time I looked at him, at his tiny frame, I couldn't help but think of how much smaller he was than he should have been.

I supposed I looked younger as a result of lack of food, too. But it didn't bother me nearly as much- after all, I never had to look at myself.

John begrudgingly finished the last of his pickle. Hoping to ease the guilt on his face, I tacked on, "I think I'll see if any businesses will let me peddle firewood for them before dusk. Will you be at your usual corner?"

He shook his head as we both stood. "I think I've worn out my welcome there. Perhaps I'll try a new corner today."

"The street near Main- just near the old Mill. Plenty of people take that path home for the day. It's the best time to catch them, since nobody wants to lug firewood along all day."

John told me that it was a brilliant idea. I reminded him that all of my ideas are brilliant. He raised his eyebrows at me, and quickly snatched a bonnet off a clothing line as we passed a house. A few young boys stopped to stare at the blatant theft, but my scowl had them quickly turn their heads. I was glad when none of them ran inside to inform someone a bit more intimidating of what John had done.

"Not that brilliant, Gibface," John teased me. "Put this on in case anyone recognizes you. You did just commit a crime in broad daylight."

He was right- I hated it when he was right. I was supposed to be the one in charge, after all. Yanking on the bonnet, I was quick to tie it around my chin, and to tuck my hair behind me. Hopefully that would work well enough to conceal my appearance. I didn't have a particularly notable face after all- a proud feat in my line of work.

It didn't take long to find a business that would let me peddle their scrapwood for them though the pay was hard to negotiate. I had been bartering for enough to add to my savings to buy a loaf of bread. In the end, I agreed to less than half of that, if the factory owner gave John and I a bowl of the gruel he had served to the children working in the factory that day. The strings of the bonnet around my chin made it hard to chew, and I pulled the whole garment off in exasperation.

The factory-owner had called me a con-artist when he had heard the price I first asked for selling his wood. He didn't want to know the things I called him when I met back up with John a few streets over.

"And that stupid hornswoggler wants to call me a crook!" I raged as I chewed- not that the watery gruel required much chewing. "Me! Look at this bowl, John. It's not even halfway full! That ratbag owes me double what he gave me!"

John shrugged, lifting the bowl and tilting it to take a sip- we hadn't been given spoons. "Keep all the money you make, and do not return the extra wood. That will show him!"

I sighed, hoisting the heavy bundle further into my arms as John raised the bowl to my own lips for my turn. "I can't. What if he tells all the other businesses that I'm a thief? They'll never hire me for a day's work again. The money they give me is close to half of what I make."

A man tossed a coin to the ground near our feet without glancing at us. John leaned over to pick it up, slipping it into his own pocket. "Meli, I think I may save for a pair of shoes."

"Shoes?" I scoffed. "What would you do with shoes?"

"Wear them, of course."

Shaking my head at the foolishness of the boy, I took a few steps away from him to make it clear that we were not together- one was a beggar, one was a seller, both in need of separate funds. That would bring more money in. "Shoes won't stop your stomach from growling in the night, John, nor your feet from breaking through them."

"Are you selling that wood?" My eyes flew towards the voice, and I bit back an irritated response to the question with an obvious answer. It was just a child- perhaps even younger than John. Much better off, though- his coat had no unmended-tears in it, and his feet were secured in brown boots.

When I didn't immediately answer, the boy furrowed his eyebrows. "Well, are you? Mother will be cross if I'm late. We need firewood."

I nodded, accepting his money and handing him the wood he had paid for. He frowned down at the kindling in his hands.

"These are only five pieces," He complained. "Mother told me to bring home eight."

"You didn't pay for eight," I informed him, turning away in search of my next customer. "You get five."

The boy stepped forward, gripping my arm almost painfully in his attempt to regain my attention. "But Mother said-"

John huffed, pushing between the boy and I, and freeing my arm. "Well, did your mother give you more money?"

The boy stumbled back slightly, though John did not look nearly as intimidating as he probably meant to. "Well, no, but-"

"Then your Mother should learn to count. Off with you!"

I frowned as the boy turned and hurried back towards a nearby Inn. "John, that was harsh," I scolded. "Now he will be too afraid to come to us for more if he needs it."

John just made a face before moving to the opposite side of the street. He was usually so docile- unless he felt that I was being threatened. But that customer had just been a boy himself, and had clearly not been a real threat. In the last few months, John had become a bit more protective of me. It was a little annoying. I assumed it was because he was growing older and beginning to understand the different roles of boys and girls in society, but I was no more a damsel in distress than I had been a year ago.

And it was much easier for the two of us to avoid conflict when he remained quiet and soft-spoken, and allowed me to be the one that did the talking.

As I watched John survey the area, I noticed that he was putting far more emphasis on his limp than usual. He was looking for a pity-payment, and with such a dramatic act, I was sure he would get at least a few pence.

"Firewood, get your firewood!" I hollered, watching people hurry by me without a sideways glance. "Cheap wood, get your firewood, cheapest firewood around!"

The kindling and logs down at the gunsmith were actually the cheapest, but nobody needed to know that.

My voice cut off when I saw a man wandering by- he was strolling slowly, with a girl who looked just a bit older than me at his arm. He had a walking cane, a tall hat, a cape-like coat. And a moneysack so full it hardly even swayed as it dangled down near his side.

That would be enough to feed us for a week. Maybe even two or three. Perhaps a month!

I looked across the road, and realized that John had not noticed him- instead, he was speaking to an older woman, showing her his most pathetic face as he conveyed the struggles of being an orphaned crippled. I wondered how old he would say he was today- last time, he had said four.

But he never noticed my gaze. He never noticed the rich man, with the well-dressed child walking beside him, rambling on about the dress she wanted. I would have no distraction as I went to work- but I didn't need one. I never had.

Setting down the firewood, I began to walk behind them. I matched their pace for the first few seconds, making sure I went unnoticed. Then, I quietly crept closer, reaching into my pocket for my blade. My hand caught his bag of money, and I brought the blade up to the drawstring connecting it to him. Soon enough, it was mine, and I snuck it into my own pocket. In the same movement, I reached for the deep pouch of his coat, carefully keeping pace as my hand crept in so he would feel nothing.

A hand roughly grabbed the back of my dress, and I yelped as I was yanked away from the man. My hand was so deep inside of his pocket, though, that it got caught. The man's coat was yanked backwards as I was pulled away from him. He startled, and turned to face me.

"Thief!" It was the same voice from earlier- when I had stolen the pickles. He was a larger man, with a pudgy face. His breath reeked of alcohol as he tightened his grip on me, making it impossible for me to escape. "You are caught red-handed! The same heathen that stole pickles earlier, no doubt!"

My eyes were wide, and for perhaps the first time in my life, I was left speechless. I had never been caught before. Never.

For a fraction of a moment, I considered my only option of escape- to pull the blade from my pocket, to use all of my might to thrust it towards the man, to embed the weapon deep into his throat. But there were some things that even I could not do- so I just stood there, flopping back and forth in his painful grip as he shook me.

"Call for the bobbies!" The man went on, his spit flying into my face as he did so. I wasn't of the mind to wipe it off, but even if I had been, his hands were on both of my arms, keeping me from moving.

He loosed just one hand to reach into my pocket, hauling out the bag of money I had just stolen, and the pocketwatch from earlier. Several loose coins also fell to the ground.

"There you are, Sir," The man said proudly, keeping one hand painfully on me as he extended my winnings to the gentleman with the child. "This little heathen would have taken your earnings with not the slightest regret."

As the gentleman reached for the bag, he kept his eyes on me. "The watch does not belong to me. Thank you. Hand it over to the police."

Sure enough, two men in blue-tail coats and hard tops hats were hurrying towards us from a nearby alley near the bank. My eyes flashed to the child- she looked strangely uncaring about the whole situation- and then to the man escorting her by the arm.

"Please, Sir," I pleaded- foolishly, really. It didn't matter what I said, or even what he said. Even if I could somehow convince him I hadn't been trying to steal from him, there was a witness to me stealing the pickles, and a man's pocketwatch with initials and a photograph in my possession, as well.

Still, I went on. Tears were falling now- I couldn't remember the last time I had cried. "Please. I'm sorry. I've no choice, Sir, I must steal- or starve! I must!"

The bobbies were upon us now. One seized my free arm and yanked away my knife, while the other went around me, removing the rat of a man's hand from me and replacing it with his own. Their grips were just as painful, just as tight. Perhaps even more so, because I cried out at the pressure.

"Be careful," The rich man said- despite being my victim, there was real concern in his eyes. "You are hurting her."

The taller peeler laughed, tightening his grip- again, I cried out. "Don't worry about her, Sir. We'll handle her, alright. Go on with your day now." 

They turned me away from the concerned eyes of the man, lifting my feet off the ground and all but carrying me towards their carriage. It had a box-like structure on the back, with nothing but a small window with bars over it.

As one of the Constables climbed into the front to lead the horses, and the other threw me into the back and slammed the door before standing on the backstep to guard it, I looked for John. But I couldn't see him past the Constable blocking the door and only window as the carriage began to move.

I hoped he would know not to follow. I hoped he knew to just leave me to my fate.

And it would indeed be an even darker fate than it had been the day I was born into this world, and left orphaned just minutes later. For I knew what happened to little girls at the prison they shared with the older boys and adult men. And I knew I would never see my only true friend again.