Blue Eyes Under Fog City Bridge (2)

Under the collapsed thatched shack, a tiny figure was curled up on a pile of damp straw.

Six-year-old Irene was running a fever.

Her short hair was matted against her flushed cheeks, and in her left hand, she still clutched half a piece of black bread that her brother had begged for the night before.

It was the portion her brother had saved for her while going hungry himself.

She had developed a fever after getting caught in the rain last night, and it had persisted for an entire day; now, her lips were cracked and pale, and she couldn't even swallow food.

The high fever left Irene's consciousness drifting in a blur.

In her delirium, she seemed to see her mother smiling at her: "Mommy... water..."

A simple sentence caused her to choke with uncontrollable coughing, her blue eyes clouded with the mist of high heat.

The sound of uneven footsteps approached from the distance.

The sound grew closer and closer.

Irene struggled to pry open her heavy eyelids, instinctively stuffing the bread into the most hidden pocket of her rags.

This was for her brother; it must never be taken by anyone.

A cane was planted firmly in front of her.

Irene lifted her head with great difficulty.

Her deep blue eyes reflected a wide, grinning mouth and a pair of eyes staring at her with greed.

"Little thing... come with Grandpa..."

The putrid smell of alcohol from the man's breath hit Irene's face, but she no longer had the strength to pull away.

"Get lost! Old Cripple, stay away from my sister!"

Billy's figure suddenly lunged out from a hole in the wall, like a small, enraged beast. He gripped a sharp piece of broken tile in his hand, his thin, small body shielding Irene.

Old Cripple stumbled back a step, a flash of annoyance crossing his murky eyes.

He grinned, revealing his yellow, rotting teeth: "Little brat, what's the point of protecting her? She's dying anyway; you'd be better off selling her to Old Parker to trade for a few coppers to fill your belly..."

"Shut up!"

Billy's hand holding the tile trembled with fear, but he still stood firmly in front of Irene: "If you dare touch her, I'll slit your throat!"

"You? With what?"

Old Cripple chuckled sinisterly, thumping his cane heavily on the ground: "You little mongrel, just wait until Scarface gets back; see if he doesn't break your legs—"

Before he could finish, a coarse, savage shout echoed from afar, and the other children in the shack scattered like frightened rats.

Billy's expression shifted.

Scarface was back, and judging by the situation, he seemed particularly irritable today.

Irene coughed weakly, her small hand trembling as she tugged at Billy's pant leg: "Brother... run..."

Billy gritted his teeth, looking down at his sister's fever-reddened face.

He knew that if they didn't flee now, Scarface would definitely sell Irene, or perhaps even toss her directly into the slum's sewer.

Billy bent down abruptly and scooped Irene up.

His thin, weak arms could barely support her weight, but he held her tight, turning to scramble toward the hole at the back of the shack.

Old Cripple roared and reached out to grab them, but Billy kicked him in the knee, sending him stumbling to the ground.

Just as Billy was about to escape, a large, scarred hand suddenly shot out and grabbed him by the hair.

The ten-year-old boy was dragged out of the shack like a rag doll.

The searing pain in his scalp made Billy's vision go black, but he did not let go of his sister.

Billy was slammed hard onto the ground, and a coin rolled out from a hole in his pant leg with a clink. He struggled to lift his head, and through his dizzy vision, he saw Irene crawling toward him with great difficulty.

Scarface sneered and stepped on Billy's back, pinning him down so he couldn't move.

"Little thing, your brother can't afford to keep you anymore." He bent down to pick up the coin, flipping it between his fingers: "Look, a whole day has passed, and he only managed to steal one shilling."

Scarface's mockery cut like a dull blade against bone, filling Irene with despair.

"Your brother didn't fulfill our agreement."

Irene shook her head desperately, broken sobs spilling from her throat: "No... please... I don't want to leave my brother..."

Pinned underfoot, Billy struggled violently, his fingernails digging into the dirt: "Let her go!"

Scarface merely scoffed: "A tough little bone, aren't you."

A short club slammed heavily onto Billy's back. Right in front of Irene, he grabbed Billy by the scruff of his neck, hoisting him into the air like a butcher lifting a rabbit for slaughter.

"But don't worry, lucky girl, a well-dressed gentleman has taken a fancy to you. You'll survive, and you might even live the good life you've always dreamed of."

Hearing this, Old Cripple, who had been watching the show, changed his expression: "Scarface, you clearly promised..."

"Shut your mouth, you old beast!"

Scarface dropped Billy and lunged forward, kicking Old Cripple into the mud. "Listen here, the children in my care can be bought for labor, but bought to fill your filthy pits?"

He flicked his short club, striking a nearby rusted iron barrel with a chilling, thunderous clang.

"Maybe I should just send her to the River Thames to feed the fish right now."

Old Cripple struggled to prop himself up and spat onto the ground. "Scarface, quit acting like a saint. We're all rats in the gutter; what business is it of yours what I buy her for!"

"I've already made an agreement with Madam Martha at the George Inn to deliver a clean girl to her."

Upon hearing this, Scarface's gaze turned abruptly cold.

"I don't care what kind of agreement you made, but since you're on my turf, you follow my rules!"

"Of course, of course, I was just looking for a bargain." Intimidated by Scarface's ferocious glare, Old Cripple immediately put on a fawning smile. "Who knows, that little sickly brat might not even recover, and then my money would just go down the drain."

"Get out."

Scarface waved his hand in disgust.

"I'm going! I'm going!" Old Cripple picked up his crutch and scurried toward the door with a hunched back. The moment he turned around, a flicker of malice flashed in his eyes.

Damn you, Scarface!

I'll be sure to spin a tale to Madam Martha later and make this arrogant bastard regret crossing me.

Old Cripple leaned on his crutch and slowly stood up.

Just as he was about to leave, a brick struck him square in the forehead.

"Who...?" Old Cripple swayed, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

Inside, Scarface sensed something was wrong and spun around sharply.

He immediately moved to call his men, but a flying dagger descended, embedding itself deep into the ground right by his feet.

The henchmen who had rushed out with clubs stopped in their tracks.

The children in the shack grew restless, and a few of the older ones even leaned out in excitement.

Billy, who had been lying on the ground, scrambled up and hugged Irene. They huddled in the straw, their two pairs of Blue Eyes peering through a small gap, watching the scene ahead with shock and anticipation.

"Police! Hands in the air!"

A slender figure stood at the entrance of the alley.

A young man in his early twenties, his black trench coat snapping in the wind, held a revolver in his hand.

Beside him, a squad of officers in blue uniforms fanned out. Leading them was a middle-aged man in a brown coat; his eyes swept across the shack, and his expression shifted instantly when he saw the shivering children in the corner.