Early in the morning, Oliver woke up on a straw mat, his mind still reeling from the events of the past few days.
That night, Fagin had sat hunched on a rickety stool, his greasy fingers fumbling with stolen pocket watches, his sharp eyes glittering with calculation.
Beside him lay a pile of processed handkerchiefs, neatly folded. The original owners’ embroidery had been picked out, and they were now waiting to be sold for a tidy sum.
Opposite him, Oliver sat awkwardly, clutching half a loaf of bread.
He now understood the meaning of “he who does not work shall not eat.” Today’s failure and his narrow escape made him treasure the food in his hands all the more.
Nearby, Dodger leaned against the wall, effortlessly tossing a stolen coin between his fingers. The other children sat around them, playing a game of hide-and-seek by the fire.
“Now listen closely, my dears,” Fagin said in a low voice, his fingers waving like a sleek rat directing the transport of stolen food. “A new game is afoot—a kind of portering, and one that won’t have you dancing on the gallows!”
He tapped a dirty finger on the table, where a crumpled newspaper clipping lay—the very advertisement Arna had published.
“Four shillings a week! A roof over your heads! And no magistrates poking around!”
Dodger snorted.
“Since when did we start doing honest work, Fagin?” With a flick of his thumb, he flipped the coin into the air, caught it easily, and tucked it into his pocket. “I don’t see the point.”
“Yeah,” Charley Bates chimed in, lazily stretching his legs toward the brazier and scoffing at the price. “Four shillings, ha.”
“It’s more than that, of course. Look here, children, would I ever want us to go hungry?” Fagin chuckled. “I heard this fellow keeps a safe in the factory office.”
He grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. “A fortune worth two thousand pounds.”
Oliver frowned.
“But, but we can’t…”
Fagin patted his shoulder with a bit too much force, making Oliver wobble involuntarily. “Oh, my boy! You don’t understand, do you?”
“Work and theft—why should we draw a line between the two? You see, factories are full of lovely little things that just… disappear. It’s only natural. Whitechapel is crawling with nasty gangs and thugs—who would ever suspect honest, harmless little apprentices?” He snapped his fingers. “Dodger, what do you say?”
“Just another way of life,” Dodger said indifferently. “Right, Charley?”
Charley nodded. “You should broaden your horizons, friend.”
Before Oliver could argue further, the curtain hanging over the doorway was yanked aside.
Bill Sikes strode in, his brawny frame casting a long shadow over the room.
Closely following him was Nancy, wrapped in a shawl. Her sharp gaze swept the room before settling on the newspaper on the table.
Sikes slammed a fresh newspaper onto the table with such force that the pocket watches nearly bounced off.
“Dear me, dear me,” Fagin cried, pained by the sight, and quickly swept the watches into his pockets. “Bill, the watches didn’t do anything to you!”
“You know what’s bothering me,” Sikes growled. “Look at the paper, the latest edition, Fagin! You aren’t the only one with designs on that factory.”
Nancy pulled the clipping from under Sikes’s fist and smoothed out the wrinkles with her fingers.
“It says they’re recruiting a teacher,” she said. “For the little ones, Fagin.”
“Yes,” Fagin said craftily, clearly unwilling to share the spoils. “My old friend Bill, I don’t follow your meaning.”
He glanced at Nancy with a hidden sneer. “If Nancy leaves, who will take care of you?”
Sikes didn’t take the bait. Instead, he jerked his thumb toward Nancy. “She’s going.”
Nancy’s eyes flickered.
“Bill,” she said softly, “I’m not—”
“You’re going,” Sikes roared, making it clear there was no room for negotiation. “You’ll learn the layout of the place—what’s valuable, what isn’t, and who comes and goes.”
He crossed his arms and let out a short, raspy laugh. “The fellow plays hard with men, but Jack told me he goes soft for the runts. Sounds like a gentleman, eh?”
Fagin’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, wonderful, my dear,” his tone immediately turned sweet. “Nancy learns the layout, the children go in and out, doing a bit of… portering—”
Nancy didn’t smile.
Her gaze swept across the room, lingering for a moment on Oliver’s pale face before moving away.
“Suppose I actually teach them something real,” she murmured to herself. “To keep them from being suspected.”
Sikes sneered. “Sure, teach them how to pick pockets for all I care, Nancy. Do whatever you want, as long as you give me the map and find a way to get that fool drunk. I’ll handle the rest. Including making sure he keeps his damn mouth shut forever. That’s what happens when someone takes what they shouldn’t.”
He straightened up and looked at Nancy. “You go tomorrow. If you snitch to them…”
He didn’t finish the threat, merely warning the girl, who was prone to bouts of misplaced soft-heartedness, with his eyes.
“Let’s go, Nancy.”
Oliver opened his mouth to say something, but Dodger gave him a sharp tug, nearly knocking him off his chair.
Nancy frowned but didn’t complain about her lover’s words. She only sighed softly, “I understand.”
She adjusted her expression, returning to her tired, submissive demeanor. She glanced back at Oliver once more, a flash of shame in her eyes, before following in Sikes’s footsteps.
Oliver hadn’t seen Nancy since then, but he had eaten and slept well over the past two days, mostly playing games with Fagin in the house.
Games meant to train finger dexterity—the kind used to pull wallets or handkerchiefs, or even more valuable trinkets, out of a bag.
Or listening to more stories about how the kind factory owner had beaten Jack and Tom but let him off easy.
Oliver almost wished the wait would last longer, yet he couldn’t help but wonder if the factory owner would see through Fagin’s plan and send these terrible people…
He didn’t know. Perhaps to a solitary confinement cell for a while.
Or perhaps, like Jack and Tom, they would end up with broken ribs, lying in bed?
—But what if he really did get a good job? One that could support him.
As long as there was no whipping or verbal abuse, he was willing to eat less and work more.
Lost in these thoughts, Oliver changed into the clean clothes he had brought, washed his face, and followed the other children toward the factory.
The morning sun struggled to pierce the thick London fog. When he arrived, the young factory owner was standing on the freshly scrubbed steps, looking down at the children gathering in the yard.
The thief squad blended naturally into the crowd of ordinary East End children, chattering amongst themselves.
“I’ve heard of the Isaacs Textile Mill,” whispered a young girl nearby. She had braided hair and clothes that looked like they were made from old flour sacks. “My mother used to work here!”
“Tell us then, Bella,” another boy urged. “Tell the story again!”
And so, the suddenly popular little Bella told the story she had told many times before—how her mother had caught a fever at the loom, and how the elderly factory owner had generously paid for her medical treatment, a kindness her mother remembered even years later.
“So Mama sent me here,” she said innocently. “I think it’s okay even if I start with less money!”
At those words, the other East End children immediately grew wary, and lucky Bella became significantly less popular.
“That won’t do,” they grumbled. “Not a penny less! Oh, Bella, you can’t say things like that!”
Arna stood on the steps, looking down.
There were about twenty children below. Some were barely waist-high to her, while others had been hardened by years of hardship, shifting nervously under Arna’s occasional gaze.
Among them, the boy she had met once before stood in the crowd, his hands clenched in a nervous grip.
Beside him stood a boy who exuded a certain oily slickness, his eyes darting around and his fingers twitching near his pockets as if instinctively wanting to grab something.
Arna cleared her throat and then clapped her hands.
“Line up,” she said. “Come up one by one, register your names, and then take the test.”
Before anyone could react, Dodger lunged to the front.
“No need for a fuss, sir,” he said loudly. “We’re all quick learners!”
Nancy gave Dodger a warning look. Today, she had made a point of wearing a blue dress and clean stockings, looking exceptionally gentle.
“Line up here,” she said, holding a notebook. “Tell me your name, and I’ll register you.”
She then pointed to a long table inside. “Once you’re in, there are parts on the table and a diagram. Follow the diagram to assemble them step by step. Raise your hand when you’re finished. Is that clear?”
At the mention of an unknown test, all the children fell silent.
Some of the younger ones looked confused, glancing at each other, not knowing what to do.
Others, like the older children like Oliver who had some experience, stepped forward hesitantly but with determination, gave their names, and walked into the factory.
After Nancy took over the process, Arna naturally began her role as supervisor, strolling around.
She had drawn the diagrams yesterday—basic part assembly, not difficult, but requiring care.
As she walked, she stopped in front of a girl who had already completed most of the task.
The girl looked to be about fifteen, with fresh bruises around both eyes. She was the oldest child in this batch. Her fingers were nimble and steady, assembling the parts according to the diagram without pause.
When she finished and raised her hand, Arna picked up the assembled component.
“Very good,” she said, surprised to realize that the quality of the part had actually improved.
Arna turned to the girl and tapped her own eye.
“What happened here?” she asked.
Oliver, sitting beside her, had finished most of his work and pricked up his ears at the sound.
The girl lifted her chin.
“Stopped a man from beating his dog,” she said with considerable pride.
The other children looked up, their eyes reflecting a strange hint of admiration.
Arna was stunned for a moment and asked curiously, “Why?”
She habitually opened the Character Panel, intending to check the girl’s attributes.
“Because the man was a fool. The dog is much more useful than him,” the girl stated firmly.
Looking at the initial values of 8 for both Mechanical Engineering and Animal Affinity, Arna felt her mouth practically watering with envy.
“You’re hired,” she said decisively.