Dodger by James Benmore Page A

holding out his hand once we was readying ourselves for bed.
    â€˜Piss off,’ I said, climbing into the bed still holding on to it and pulling the blanket over myself. ‘It ain’t his yet.’ He cursed under his breath but went over to the lanterns and blew out the lights. I knew he wouldn’t fight me for it tonight, not when the Froggats could hear. Once I was sure he was in his own bed I rolled over and pulled my knees up, so as to sleep in this bedstead that was made for children, and I placed the prince on the pillow next to me. I looked at it and thought about the man who had given it to me for a Christmas present. The man who was both my father and mother. It was hours later when at last I got to sleep.

Chapter 6
Red Meat
    Containing a good deal of blood
The more sensitive reader may wish to skip it
    It was hot, Australia hot, and close by I could hear the horrible screaming of wild beasts.
    â€˜Meat for the lions, Dawkins!’ jeered Lord Evershed as the whip cracked just by my ear, causing me to flinch. ‘That’s all a thief is fit for. Meat. For. The. Li. Ons.’ There was a whip crack for every full stop and my head turned this way and that as I begged him to knock it off. But he looked to be enjoying himself, the nasty old brute.
    I was in these rusty convict shackles and my back stung from the whipping. I had this tight iron collar around my neck with which I was being pulled through the colony like some dangerous dog. Ahead of me, through the blinding sun rays, I could see it was Warrigal what was doing the pulling. He was as naked as Adam but covered in that white body paint his people slap over themselves whenever they is feeling celebratory. It was so thick on his face it made him look more like a pantomime clown than a proud aborigine. I shouted over to him to stop. Was we not friends? I asked him. But Evershed just cracked his whip again and repeated his comments about my use as lion meat.
    The big tent was not dirty and ripped like all the other convict tents but clean white with red stripes. It was just like those of the travelling circuses in America I had seen in pictures of and, as I was dragged through its opening, I could see there was a full house for this here show. Inside the seats was lined with spectators, many of them people I recognised from picking their pockets in the London streets, and they was all grinning at me and pointing.
    â€˜Picture if you will, ladies and gentlemen, a great big juicy steak!’
    In the dead centre of the ring stood Ringmaster Evershed, now wearing a red coat and clutching a cat-o’-nine-tails. He was stood next to a giant cage with a red sheet covering it and from inside animal roars was getting louder and more terrifying. The cage shook with great violence and the crowd gasped.
    â€˜Because that,’ Evershed went on, ‘is what we have before us. For your delectation tonight … Mr Jack Dawkins!’ As the crowds clapped and cheered Warrigal began prodding me with a stick to move forward. When I was a nose-length from the cage, Evershed pulled back the covering with one strong stroke, the bars of the cage fell away and I was screaming good and hard. Warrigal then poked me in the side of the head with his finger and I jerked my head to look at him. He was fully dressed and sat over my old bed in Saffron Hill. It was morning.
    â€˜Shut up, you,’ he said. ‘Too much noise.’
    The tiny bed was soaked in sweat and the very second I recalled where I was I began feeling for the wooden toy I had gone to sleep with. It was gone. I looked to Warrigal and saw the blue hat of the prince’s head poking out of his pocket.
    â€˜You thieving imp,’ I said, most vexed. ‘Fancy pinching a cove’s property while he is fast asleep like that. I would never stoop to such unsporting behaviour.’ I got out of the bed and took off mynightgown. ‘
I
only steal from those what is awake,’