The Pickpocket

Liz glanced around the crowded street, fully aware of everyone and everything. People’s eyes usually slid right over her, so it was easy to slip through the throng of adults. Small and dirty, she was usually the one parents told their children to avoid.

This particular morning, her eighteen-year-old cousin, Luc, had tipped her off about a few men who were expected to arrive by boat at nine o’clock. It was rumored that they carried with them some 1,000 pounds and were going to a secret meeting with the Prime Minister. Ha! They’re not very good at keeping secrets if Luc has found them out, Liz thought wryly.

She knew that if these men were important enough to negotiate with the Prime Minister than they most certainly had pockets clanking with gold. She slipped along the crowded street, spinning a plan into the web of her mind. It had to be a good plan, this one; because as everyone knows, carrying out a plan is easy-peasy. Coming up with a good one that will work… well, that’s harder. Living on the streets of London taught you that. When she’d expressed her theory with Luc, he’d just smiled at the ceiling. With hands quicker than her mind, everything is easy for Liz, he’d said to the rotting wooden beams of the little shack they lived in during the winter. In his opinion, Liz was the best pickpocket in England.

And now, her skills were put to the test. The girl glanced up at Big Ben. Luc had taught her how to read time, and she was glad of it. Right now, it was eight forty-six. She had to hurry. 

As Liz neared the docks, she could hear fishermen shouting to one another and smell the salty air. It was another foggy London day, but Liz knew not to trust the fog for protection. It could clear at a moment’s notice, and she knew better than to be out in the open if it did. She found some slightly damp barrels to hide behind and watched the harbor carefully. 

She had only been there ten minutes before the gangplank of the largest ship was lowered. Getting restless, Liz left the safety of the barrels and made her way to a pile of crates not far from the huge boat. There was a carriage being filled with luggage by two men in uniforms. When everything was packed, four people came down the gangplank. First strode a man in a crisp suit and white gloves that matched his well-groomed hair and beard. He had a sharp nose with eyes that peered down it as if anything smaller than him was nothing but a speck of dirt on his shiny black shoes.

The second man walked swiftly toward the carriage. He was also dressed in fine clothes, but he had an anxious air about him. His blue eyes darted this way and that behind round spectacles. At his side, he clutched a satchel like he was afraid someone was about to steal it. Which may be the case, Liz thought maliciously. When one of the uniformed men offered to take the bag for him, the nervous man pulled back sharply and said, in a stuttering voice, “N-not the books, sir. P-please, n-not the b-books. They’re v-very important, you see…”

Liz scowled. All that was in the satchel were stupid books. Nothing of value to her. She turned to the third man. He was taller than the anxious one, but not as tall as the old one. He had a good-natured, confident demeanor and smiling blue eyes. He, too, wore a suit and gloves, and he seemed comfortable in them. Looks like he’s used to such fine clothes, Liz thought dryly. But her sharp look was replaced by a curious one when she saw a fourth figure standing behind him. It was standing in the shadows, so she hadn’t seen it before. The smiling man put his arm around it and pulled it into the light.

Liz gasped.

“Duncan,” said the man, addressing one of the uniformed men. “If you don’t mind, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” 

Duncan walked over. As Liz studied him, she realized that he was very young; no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. The other coachman was evidently his father. 

The young man smiled. “Ah, Mr. Mildow, is this the fine lass you’ve been telling me about? She’s just as beautiful as you say.”

Mildow nodded and nudged the figure by his side. She studied the kind coachman shyly. Duncan gave a jaunty bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mildow,” he said.

She smiled and curtseyed. “And you, Mr. Duncan.”

The first two men had entered the carriage and were waiting, somewhat impatiently, for their companions. “Jordan, we’ll be late!” the old one growled. Mr. Mildow glanced at the coach, sighed, tipped his hat to Duncan, who nodded back, and turned to follow his daughter into the buggy.

And that’s when Liz seized her chance.

--

Bryn never wanted to go to London. She knew all it would bring was trouble. But her father had pleaded, her grandfather had roared, and Harald had stuttered. Harald always stuttered. He was a very intelligent man, but his lack of confidence always got the best of him.

Bryn knew how he felt. As the daughter of Jordan Mildow, and the granddaughter of  Michael Mildow, she was destined for fame… or, at least, that’s what her father said. You can go to college, Bryn, he’d say, Be anything you like. Not many girls get chances like you.

And now he was making her go to London to negotiate with the Prime Minister or something. She knew she should probably be more excited, but Bryn would honestly rather be back home, in New York City, pouring over maps. She wanted to be a cartographer, for goodness' sake, not a politician.

But they boarded the ship nonetheless and sailed all the way to Britain. Bryn thought it would be the most boring trip of her life. 

And then, her grandfather had done something that made her stomach clench in horror. Their original mission was to bring 1,000 pounds to the British Bank in exchange for a large shipment of gold that was to be sent home, to New York.

But her grandfather had had other ideas. He had whispered them to her before they’d left the ship.

"All right, girl, now listen up," he'd said. "When your father and Harald aren't looking, I need you to slip the money out of the bank vault. All of it. Understand? I'll distract them. We'll run away afterward. Don't worry about your father. He won't know a thing."

Bryn had wanted to scream. Her grandfather, a criminal? He was never very nice to her, but she'd never, not in a million years, suspect him of bank robbery. He pressed something into her hand, then walked away before she could say anything. That something was now in her outer coat pocket, and it was all she could do to not take it out and hurl it into the sea. She knew now what the phrase ‘burning a hole in your pocket’ meant. She felt clammy as she and her father walked down the gangplank of the ship.

After their talk with Duncan, Bryn turned to enter the carriage.

CRASH!

She whipped around and heard a yell of pain. It was already hard to see in the foggy morning air, but the dust sent up from the heap of toppled crates made it almost impossible to see.

Which was why she felt rather than saw the shadow dart past her. Her coat whipped up and smacked her in the face. She quickly patted it down. It was just the wind, she thought, shivering. This place made her feel uneasy.

Just then, the sun came out and the fog lifted. Bryn saw what had happened. A stack of crates had fallen on top of Duncan, who had been instantly buried by splintered wood. Luckily, the friendly coachman wasn’t hurt badly, and the crates had been empty.

But why had they fallen in the first place?

Bryn glanced around and saw a grungy girl, around her age, walking briskly in the other direction. “Hey!” Bryn called. The girl froze. She turned and fixed Bryn with electric blue eyes.

“Yes?” she asked in a cold voice.

Bryn suddenly wished she hadn’t stopped this filthy girl. She had a bad feeling about those cruel eyes. “Um… I-I just,” she stammered. Now you’re just sounding like Harald, she thought bitterly. “Do you know why those crates toppled over? My friend Duncan was almost hurt and the wind wasn’t even blowing…”

“Oh, him,” the girl said, glancing at Duncan. “You fancy him?”

Bryn’s ears turned red. “What? No, I—”

The girl’s face broke into an evil grin. She made a high-pitched impression of Duncan’s voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mildow….”

Bryn faltered. “Wait, how did you—?”

The girl’s eyes widened. She turned on the spot and ran. She pushed the crates, Bryn realized with a sinking feeling. And the wind hadn’t even been blowing… how had her coat flown up like that?

The color drained from her face. Bryn frantically reached inside her pocket.

But the key wasn’t there.

And the girl was already gone.