Free Jim Morgan and the King of Thieves by James Matlack Raney Page B

hisknowledge of foul words, but it was no use in the end, for something happened that all the old servants predicted would happen to James for a long, long time.
    Big Red hauled back and planted his fist right into James’s face.
    James fell back through the gang of boys and landed flat on his seat with a thud. His face lit up with pain like a candle and his eyes flew wide as tea saucers. He gingerly raised his hand to his lip. The flesh was already tender and swollen, and when James pulled his hand away red blood ran down his fingertips. “You, you s-s-truck me,” James said, eyes watering and chin quivering.
    “I…I…s-s-ure…did,” Red mocked, his band of lunks joining in.
    “How…how…did it f-f-feel?”
    “Is b-b-aby gonna c-c-ry?”
    “Can’t even fend for himself…he’s a dandy all right, an absolute dandy!”
    James sat there, throat tightening and face flashing with heat. No one came to pick him up. No one stood up for him or stepped forward to mete out justice. No one reminded the boys that he was a lord and they were commoners, and no one came to admonish them that stealing was wrong. Instead, the thieves heaped derision on poor James - and he just sat there and took it because he had no idea what else to do.
    “Thanks for the trade, my good fell-ow!” Red said. He snapped his fingers again and he and his little band strutted off down the street.
    James sat there silently for a moment, and then he did the last thing that any self-respecting boy would do in the middle of the street: he balled his eyes out. It was hard to blame him really, after all he’d been through, but the crying wasn’t solving any of his growing list of problems.
    “Tears won’ get your treasure back, m’boy,” a beggar who had sat by and watched the entire awful incident advised. “I know, I’ve cried a river full meself and still my tin cup stays as empty as me belly.”
    James stared incredulously at the beggar, wanting to ask why he bloody well hadn’t spoke up before now. But the man was right after all. So James jumped up and chased after the hoodlum gang.
    Fortunately, Big Red was just that: big and sporting hair bright as a firework, so finding him was hardly the issue, what to do after the fact was a bit more prickly. James had nothing even resembling a plan, but he was so desperate to retrieve his box that he pursued the boys down the crowded streets of London, through alleys and over bridges, until the streets grew unrecognizable, and the light in the air approached true night.
    James finally caught up with them and, lacking any better ideas, closed his eyes, lowered his shoulder, and ploughed headlong into Red’s back. He had hoped to knock the big lug over, but having never rammed anyone before, James lacked the momentum to weight ratio and suddenly found himself in the exact same situation as only a few minutes before.
    “Oy!” Red whirled about. “Watch where you’re — you?” This was certainly a surprise to Red, and his band echoed his sentiment.
    “You?”
    “You?”
    “Cabbage — it’s him all right.”
    “I need that box back,” James said, this time without the snide tone or dismissive gaze. All he had were tears and bloody lips. But Red wasn’t a forgiving sort of boy (he’d also had a rough childhood, you see, with a missing father and poor mother and all the rest), so once more he snapped his fingers, and again the gang seized James in their arms. Red pulled back for another doozy of a haymaker.
    James shut his eyes tight, anticipating the blow. But just before it came he blurted out his desperate reason for his desperate need: “I have to have it back! I have to take it to the king!”
    James waited for the punch, hoping it wouldn’t land on his nose (that would hurt a lot, he imagined), so he angled his forehead toward Red’s fist, thinking it might be the least painful spot on his face to take a beating. And so James waited, looking completely ridiculous, with his