Don't Do It

We were waiting, all of us squished on an ornate loveseat, to speak to our boss. Or, rather, to get spoken to by our boss. Very sternly spoken to.

I was prepared to take the brunt of it; I was the oldest, and therefore the leader of our little gang. The others gave me sympathetic looks as I squared my shoulders. Better own up to our - my - shortcomings and deal with it. I was twelve years old, after all. Almost a man.

There were four of us in all, all knobby knees and threadbare coats, stolen hats and gloves with the tips worn through. We were so small and motley a crew we didn't even have a proper gang name. It was nothing but pure luck that we were brought under the wing of Mister X, to be errand boys and do the little jobs that even his most loyal followers didn't want to bother doing. But we'd messed up, and he'd caught wind of it, and now we were here, all of us squashed together and sweating nervously.

Sal, the smallest, sat to my right, all but perched on the armrest. He was looking around the room with those dark little eyes of his, flicking his gaze from one spot to the other like the bird we called him for. Starling, Sal Starling, the only name he bothered to remember himself by.

The other two, Theo and Vic, looked like two turtles, heads down and shoulders hunched up over their ears. They knew to be proper afraid of Mister X, something that Sal hadn't seemed to catch on to yet.

Sal picked absently at his gloves. He was feeling snitch-ish, I could tell. We hadn't been in a parlor this nice since... ever. I caught his eye and raised my brows pointedly. He rolled his eyes and fell against the velvet loveseat with a huff.

That's when we both saw it: A tiny silver chest on the endtable just beyond Sal's reach. His whole face lit up with greedy glee. He looked back at me excitedly and I shook my head. There was no way he was going to steal from the most dangerous man in the city, not for all the scones in England. My mouth went dry, I couldn't say a word as I glowered at him in a silent warning and plea not to try anything so stupid.

Sal grinned with all his teeth and slid off the armrest, scampering silently to the endtable and reached out his grubby mitts for the chest. Vic noticed what he was doing and tugged frantically at my sleeve.

You're the leader, do something.

I looked back. The chest lay open and an exorbitantly expensive string of pearls stretched between our pickpocket's hands.

I snapped and jabbed my finger at the silver box. Still tongue-tied, I tried to make my meaning clear as possible.

Put. That. Back.

Something dangerously mischievous sparked in his eye, and his face was suddenly wide and innocent.

Do you know how much we could get for this?

My stomach growled. We'd be feasting like kings for a month with that necklace. I forced a hard look to cover my weak-kneed hunger.

Don't do it.

Sal slipped the pearls into his coat pocket.

Footsteps boomed up the hallway.

Theo and Vic all but jumped out of their skins, motioning frantically for Sal to run for the loveseat, bouncing with anxiety.

Sal bolted, quiet as a cat, and jumped for the loveseat, landing on the armrest and scrambling for his seat.

Shushing each other in silent terror, we sat stock still as the doorknob rattled.

Sal Starling, my little brother, had just stolen from the most dangerous man in the city, from under his very nose. I tried my best not to look like a wide-eyed ghost. If we wanted to make it out of here, I couldn't let on that we were not only pathetic errand boys, but reckless thieves as well. Sal looked scared, but a smug little smik turned up the corners of his mouth, for all the world like the cat who ate the canary.

The door swung open.

Don't let Mister X find out.

Don't get caught.

Don't mess up.