The Faerie Ring (2 page)

Tiki stepped away from the table and slid sideways through the crowd, head down so the bill of her cap shadowed her face. Usually she wouldn’t take such a risk on her last pick of the night, but she wanted to prove Rieker wrong.

“Tiki, wait,” Rieker called after her.

Tiki glanced back, but Rieker was stuck in the crowd, unable to stop her. She smiled to herself in satisfaction. She could handle MacGregor. Plus, a few more coins to line her pockets would certainly warm the long, cold ride home to the abandoned clockmaker’s shop adjoining Charing Cross.

Tiki took a deep breath as she neared her mark, dodging the arms and legs swinging wildly around her. MacGregor was engrossed in the brawl, red-faced and hollering encouragement in a hoarse roar. His face shone with excitement, a large bead of sweat hanging from the tip of a nose that had seen more than a few fights.

She slithered close and slipped her hand into his pocket. Just as she’d hoped, MacGregor was carrying a load of money. She pinched several of the coins together and started to pull her hand free.

The big man jerked around and squinted his red-rimmed eyes in her direction.

“Wot you be about, boy?” he growled.

“N-nuthin’, guv’nor,” Tiki stammered. She tried to back away but was hemmed in by the mass of bodies.

“Wot you got in your hand?” He snatched for her with a big, meaty paw. “Show me.”

Tiki slapped her hands together to mask the sound of the coins dropping and held her palms up, wiggling her fingers to distract him as the coins slid down her sleeve. “Nuthin’, sir, I swear.”

There was another surge in the crowd, and a large man, dressed like a coal porter, collided with MacGregor. The man’s black hat flew off as MacGregor’s glass of ale hit the wooden floor with a resounding crash.

This was trouble.

MacGregor roared with rage. Tiki swung her right elbow back as hard as she could, hitting a soft belly.

“Umphf,” a voice gasped as her elbow made contact. “What the bloody hell?” The man behind her stepped back, opening a small space in the crowd. In a blink, Tiki darted through the gap.

“Come back ’ere, you little thief,” MacGregor yelled.

Tiki cut her way through the crowd. She reached the heavy plank entry door and yanked it open just enough to slip out into the chill winter air. Her breath came in short gasps, her chest heaving with exertion. Where could she hide? She only had a moment before MacGregor would catch her.

In the distance, the brisk clip-clop of a lone carriage working its way up the cobblestone lane echoed in the cool night air.
Blast.
It was so late that there were few cabs about, and this coach was headed in the wrong direction.

She took a step toward the street, peering right and left, looking for any other means of escape. Behind her, the pub door creaked open.

“Where is he?” a thick voice cried.

Tiki’s breath caught in her throat. It was MacGregor. She pushed away from the building and ran. The carriage was just turning the corner onto the lane.

“You there,” MacGregor cried. “Stop!”

Tiki darted out of the shadows and raced toward the back of the carriage. With a burst of speed, she placed a hand on one of the rear struts and jumped lightly onto the boot where the luggage was usually stored. Wedging herself into the corner of the little shelf situated behind the wheel box, she watched as MacGregor lumbered down the cobblestone lane, his head swiveling back and forth in confusion.

“Where’d he go?” he bellowed.

Behind him, just exiting the pub, Tiki recognized Rieker’s tall silhouette before the carriage creaked around a corner, and the pub disappeared from view. “And that’s how you pick MacGregor’s pocket,” she whispered.

Tiki repositioned herself on the small shelf with a tired sigh, settling in for the ride back to Charing Cross. She fingered the solid weight of the coins she had stashed in her pocket and pressed her lips together in a small, satisfied smile. There would be enough to pay the muffin man and to buy a chunk of cheddar big enough for all of them.

Tiki thought of how excited the others would be. Food had been scarce lately. Shamus and Fiona had been giving part of their portions to the younger ones, Toots and Clara, and even with that, four-year-old Clara was painfully thin. Tiki tried not to think of the persistent cough that had been racking the child lately. Maybe she could find some milk for Clara to soak her bread in as well.

Wrapping her arms tight around her knees to ward off the chill, Tiki eyed the black swirls on her wrist and wondered again about Rieker’s strange reaction to her mark. She usually made an effort to keep her wrist covered, not wanting to draw attention to the odd birthmark. When she was younger, her mum had teased her and told her she’d been marked by faeries. Her mother’s whispered words came back to her now:
They’re around us. Pay attention and you’ll see them.

A pang of longing twisted inside at the memory of her mum. She pushed the painful thoughts away. She had more important things to think about now, like finding enough food to fill their stomachs each day. Tiki leaned her head back and closed her eyes, listening to the staccato rhythm of the horse’s hooves echoing in the night.

Chapter Two

T
IKI
jolted awake. The carriage had come to a stop.

She leaned forward to peer around the edge of the cab and stared in confusion at the orbs of lamplight glowing through the thick mist. She could make out the dim shapes of other carriages forming a queue. Snorts and the shuffling clack of horse’s hooves were oddly muffled by the dense fog. To her left, through the shadows, the walls of a great mansion loomed. To her right, she could see the dim light of the streetlamps through the overhanging trees. Where was she? It was impossible to tell through the blanket of fog.

She tightened her grip on a strut as the carriage jerked forward.

“Bring her this way,” a man cried in the distance.

Through the fog, she could see the outline of the large building. Tall columns stretched along the front of the façade. The bare limbs of several elm trees stretched in a row toward the entry. She had to get away. Taking a deep breath, Tiki jumped from the back of the carriage and ran for the shadows that surrounded the trees. Bark was rough on her fingers as she leaned against one of the trees. After a moment, she pushed off and raced toward the side of the building.

Tiki heaved a sigh of relief as she slumped against the rough stone. Of all the idiotic things to do, how could she have fallen asleep on the boot?

Her stomach gave a loud growl. She hadn’t eaten since afternoon, and that biscuit had been hard enough to crack her teeth. Clara and Toots would be starving unless Shamus or Fiona had been able to pick a pocket or snitch some fruit from a costermonger’s stall today. But the costermongers guarded their fruit and vegetable carts well, carrying a long switch to swat the hands of hungry children who might think to steal from them.

A twinge snaked its way through Tiki’s chest. It had to be close to midnight. She usually returned home around the supper hour, as the crowds were too thin to safely pick a pocket. Clara liked to wait up for her return each day. Was the little girl clutching Doggie, her sawdust-filled rag doll, wondering where she was right now?

Tiki peered toward a swath of light that cut across the dark yard. A side door was stretched wide open, as if beckoning her. The aroma of roasting meat was tempting. Tiki’s stomach gave another growl, louder this time.

She hesitated. The coins she had snitched tonight were heavy in her pocket, but the muffin man who worked near Charing Cross was long gone for the day, and the shops were closed. The children would be so hungry. Did she dare try to find some food before she started for home again?

She inched closer. She couldn’t resist the fragrant smells of baking bread and roasting beef. As Tiki stepped through the doorway, the heat from the coal-burning fires of the kitchen enveloped her like a warm blanket. The room bustled with activity. A red-faced, round-bellied woman, clearly in charge, brandished a butcher knife as she barked orders at the kitchen maids.

Tiki ducked into a dim alcove stacked with bags of flour and stayed tight to the wall as she peered around the corner. Her eyes grew wide at the staggering amounts of food being prepared. Soups and sauces were stirred over the fire. Some sort of meat, venison or beef, dripped juices onto the open flames. Nearby, pots full of peas and carrots waited to be steamed, and there was an entire table full of bread. Loaves and loaves of fresh-baked bread.

Tiki’s mouth watered as she eyed the bounty. What she would give to take even a few loaves and a good hunk of beef home to the others. At seventeen, Shamus was grown, but he’d become so thin and tall that his wrists and ankles stuck out from his ragged clothes as if he’d pulled on ten-year-old Toots’s trousers by mistake. And fifteen-year-old Fiona’s pretty face had become angular and sunken.

“Turn that spit before the meat chars and I have to char your backside.” The cook whacked at the meat on the cutting board. “An’ you, young miss…” The cook pointed her knife at a girl who stood stirring a large pot. “Don’t let me catch you daydreamin’ again.”

Tiki eyed a round block of cheddar on a nearby table that was surrounded by a number of smaller chunks of cheese, just waiting to be melted. She could snitch a few of the smaller hunks and a couple of loaves, and no one would be the wiser.

A movement to her left caught her attention. A young boy watched her from the floor. He reminded her of a dormouse, his big eyes like two dark plums centered in the round pie plate of his face. She raised a finger to her lips. He blinked at her and nodded that he understood she wanted him to be quiet. Could she take the chance?

“That bread has had time to cool,” the cook bellowed. “Mary, start putting it in the bread baskets and store them against that wall. We need that table for the sweetcakes.”

It was now or never. Tiki made her way over to the table with the cheddar and crouched beside it. Watching the swirling skirts of the kitchen maids walking to and fro, she snaked a hand up over the edge of the table and grabbed blindly for a hunk of cheese. She slid the cheese into the oversize pocket of her jacket and on hands and knees worked her way over toward the table laden with loaves of bread.

She shot a quick glance back at the young boy. He was still watching her every move.

“Ellie,” the cook yelled, “get me a bag of flour.” The clank of pots and pans along with the rhythmic beat of chopping knives continued, as though the kitchen were a great machine, its gears and cogs in full motion.

Tiki crept along the floor, grateful for the shadows cast under the tables. Under the bread table, she paused, waiting for the right moment. Whoever lived here had so much food they’d never notice a few missing crusts. She thought of how Toots’s freckled face would light up when she showed him the fresh cheddar.

One of the kitchen maids came over to the table where Tiki hid. Tiki held her breath as the girl shuffled the loaves of bread from the table to a basket. When the girl walked away, Tiki groped blindly over the edge of the table. She’d just latched on to a loaf when a scream split the air.

“Who’s under there?”

Tiki bolted out from under the table. She caught a fleeting glimpse of the little boy, his eyes wide, his mouth open to form an O of surprise, as she flew by. As she ran for the door she’d come in, another kitchen maid stepped out of the alcove where Tiki had hidden earlier, a huge sack of flour clutched to her chest. A scream erupted from her throat and she froze in place, blocking the exit.

“Stop, you!” the cook bellowed. “Thief!”

Tiki darted toward another door, desperate to escape. A dim hallway stretched before her, and she flew as fast as her feet could move, unmindful of the clatter her boots made on the wooden floor. Shouts and shrieks followed her departure, and Tiki could hear the lumbering gait of the well-endowed cook. “Get back in the stables where you belong!” she yelled.

Tiki ran down a warren of dim corridors until she found a door slightly ajar. She slipped inside, closed it softly behind her, and pressed her forehead against the cool grain of the wood. She strained to hear any sounds of pursuit. Long moments ticked by as Tiki held her ear to the door. Nothing. She heaved a sigh of relief.

Thankful that she’d escaped for the moment, Tiki turned and gasped. She stood in a huge room with eight angled walls that formed an octagon. Every wall was filled with bookcases, every shelf filled with books. And if that weren’t enough, a second set of bookshelves lined the walls above the first set, reaching all the way up to the large, arch-top windows far above her head.

Tiki’s jaw sagged in disbelief as she tilted her head back and gazed up at the enormous number of books. Underneath her boots, plush carpet softened her steps. Tiki turned in a full circle, trying to take it all in. The sheer size of the room made her feel antlike and small.

A large desk sat in the center of the room, and on the far side there was a glass-paned door. A fire burned low in the grate, gas lamps lighting the interior of the room with a soft glow. A familiar longing tugged at her as she gazed at the shelves lining the walls.

An old memory rushed to mind, of her father sitting before the fire, a pipe clutched in one hand as he read stories from Dinah Craik’s
The Fairy Book
. Scotty, her cocker spaniel, was asleep on Tiki’s lap as she listened. Her mother sat in a nearby chair, her dark head bent over her fancy needlework. A lump filled her throat at the vivid recollection.

Drawn by an irresistible pull, Tiki moved to the nearest shelf and ran her fingers over the leather spines. She longed to pull open the pages and read the secrets kept inside. She moved deeper into the room. The great desk was exactly the same shape as the room, with four legs to support the eight-sided top. Nearby, an oversize book lay open on a stand, with a magnifying glass resting on its surface. Tiki picked up the circle of clear glass suspended by an ornately carved handle and peered at the map.