The Thieves of Pudding Lane by Jonathan Eyers

Author:Jonathan Eyers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2014-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Samuel had never seen Lombard Street so empty, not even last winter when he had kept walking all night to stay warm and then slept during the day.

Wilf led him and Catherine onto Gracechurch Street, where everything was lit a different shade of flickering orange. Stopping only for a moment, Samuel watched the black shadowy shapes of a dozen men in front of the wall of fire that blazed across the bottom of the street. They looked like puppets dancing, but Samuel knew their rhythmic movements were a desperate, lonely struggle to beat the fire back. Meanwhile, beyond them, flames belched into the air above them, twice as high as the houses being consumed in front of them.

‘Come on,’ Samuel told a transfixed Catherine. He tugged at her sleeve.

Samuel recognised the cart waiting outside the graveyard. It was the one they had helped load up outside the Three Sisters that morning.

As they approached, Mr Morley appeared out of nowhere with a brutal-looking cudgel raised to shoulder height.

Catherine drew breath sharply. Samuel felt an urge to step backwards.

‘It’s just us,’ Wilf said, putting on a snarly voice.

Mr Morley lowered the cudgel and slunk back into the shadows. His unblinking eyes followed Samuel and the others as they passed.

‘He’s guardin’ the cart,’ Wilf explained as they went through the lich gate.

‘I don’t think there’s anyone left who needs one,’ said Samuel.

‘Not here, per’aps.’ Wilf shrugged. ‘People on Walbrook and Cornhill are leavin’ now too.’

In the quiet darkness of the graveyard, sheltered from both wind and firelight by the soldier-like trees standing around the edges, Samuel saw a ghostly glow hovering in the smoky air. As they got nearer he heard the low hiss of mischievous laughter.

Catherine trod on a dry bit of wood, which snapped underfoot. Several people moved hurriedly. ‘Who’s there?’ Uncle Jack’s voice growled out of the darkness.

‘Wilf. I’ve brought the others.’

The ghostly light floated up into the air and turned out to be a lantern that had been sitting on top of an old, moss-covered grave. Mr Boyle was now holding it up.

Samuel and Catherine followed Wilf into the clearing, where Uncle Jack stood sucking on a pipe. In his hand he held an axe. Samuel noticed Mr Boyle held one too. It almost looked like they might be planning to fight the fire, except they didn’t have a single pail of water between them. Samuel didn’t want to imagine what else they might have them for.

‘Where are the others?’ Uncle Jack said, glaring fiercely from Samuel to Catherine and then turning to face Wilf.

‘I couldn’t find anyone else,’ Wilf replied, his confident snarl vanishing.

‘All scarpered, Jack.’ Mr Boyle sounded quite amused by the fact.

‘We’re ready to leave,’ Samuel told Uncle Jack.

Mr Boyle sounded even more amused by this. The lantern jiggled as he chuckled.

‘We’re not leaving,’ Uncle Jack said.

‘We have to,’ said Samuel. ‘The fire’s coming in this direction and it’s coming fast.’

‘The fire’s coming in every direction, Sam, but it’s not coming too fast for us.’

Samuel

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