Lucky's bicep burned as he slowly curled his arm, straining a little as he drew the thick iron weight level with his chin, feeling the sweat collect on his forehead and body, making his thin shirt cling to his back. Three of the older boys, Sharky, Birdy and Mutt were topless and in their usual spot in front of the large mirrored wall, where they could admire their well-honed bodies and loudly encourage each other to lift increasingly heavy dumbbells.
When he'd first started coming here he'd got a fair amount of stick regarding his lack of muscle. He'd been pretty lean when he'd first arrived, as skinny as a stray dog, a result of living hand-to-mouth on the streets for several years where he and Eamon had had to fight for every meal. But thanks to Cookie's calorie-heavy meals and long afternoons of exertion he'd bulked up a little now and they usually left him alone.
He'd lost his thickly tangled mass of hair too. Madam liked her boys to have short, neat hair, and it had been shaved down to little more than stubble by a local barber a few days after he'd started. The barber, a swarthy middle-aged man who ironically had no hair of his own, visited regularly and it wasn't just the hair on their heads that was kept well-trimmed. Madam also prioritised hygiene and cleanliness, so they also had to keep their bodily and pubic hair short too. A doctor came and examined them weekly for any signs of venereal disease; it wouldn't look good if one of their members caught something.
It wasn't just the weight-lifting that was improving his physique, there was a seemingly never-ending list of chores as well. As the new boy he generally got the ones that no-one else wanted. Hauling coal and wood up from the market for the boiler, cleaning the toilets, scrubbing the front steps, making the beds. He didn't mind though, however hard he worked in the day there was always a warm, safe bed to fall into at night. He reckoned it was still better than the constant struggle of life on the streets.
He'd quickly fallen into a routine at the Madam's house. After breakfast, he'd spent the morning doing whatever chores he was assigned on the rota; today it was sweeping the floors downstairs and carrying several large bags of potatoes up to the pantry. After he was done, he grabbed an apple from the kitchen and headed outside.
It was a cool spring day, the sky overcast and gloomy, a fresh breeze sweeping in off a steely sea making him shiver and draw his jacket tighter as he skipped down the broad stone steps. He liked to get out into the fresh air at least once a day, and Tuesdays were generally quieter allowing him to take a longer walk. He headed off down the broad tree-lined streets towards the docks, past carpenters' row with its sounds of sawing and hammering, and its rich fragrance of sawdust.
Further down the hill, in the shadow of the guildhall, there was a small crowd gathered around a man standing on a soapbox. Lucky paused, listening to the man espousing the virtues of democracy, arguing for an elected leader, and insisting that everyone should be entitled to have a say in how the empire was run. Some gold cloaks loitered nearby, looking edgy and having a muttered conversation as if debating whether to get involved, or maybe wait for some assistance from someone more senior. As a rule, you were allowed to have your say as long as you stuck to general themes like politics and systems of government, and avoided directly criticising the royal family. Lucky had seen this particular man many times before and so reckoned he was probably smart enough to avoid a night in the dungeons.
He wasn't arguing for anything new and Lucky had heard it all before in the local inns. The drunks all seemed to think they could solve the world's ills after a few ales. It all sounded good in theory but what made someone like him think he was a better leader than the Queen, a woman who'd spent all her life being groomed to lead? Had watched how the King and his advisors had ruled and kept the peace first-hand. He was implicitly criticising her wealthy, privileged life and yet didn't that wealth put her above the kind of corruption that dogged local business and politics?
He shook his head and moved on, pushing through the crowd that had gathered, some listening quietly, some already heckling.
"Long live the Queen!" he heard an older woman shout angrily as he left the square and headed down towards Fishpit.
The further he descended into Fishpit, the more the streets grew darker and more crowded, the sky disappearing. The wooden framed houses looming over him on both sides of the narrow streets. Smellier too, the fresh air of the upper streets giving way to the stench of rotting vegetables and poor sanitation.
He passed a couple of street urchins, and they looked up at him, their grubby hands outstretched, hoping for a few coins. It always surprised him; inside he felt like he was still one of them, still struggling to get by. But he supposed that all they saw was a clean shaven, healthy young man dressed in a smart green waistcoat and jacket. It always surprised him how people's perceptions were so shaped by appearance. Would he recognise the Queen if he saw her in rags? He wondered if he'd ever feel as confident and secure as he looked, and if he'd ever have enough coins to help them out.
He was heading towards the docks, as he'd done every Tuesday since he'd started at Madam Pomfreys. He nearly always took the same route, starting in the east with the shipyard and the docks then moving west along the harbour, although each time he came down here he was a little less confident of finding Eamon. His friend just seemed to have disappeared.
He was luckier today. He encountered an old fisherman near the docks, looking grimly at where his line disappeared into the shifting grey waters. Although he looked cold and miserable, he seemed to like having company and told Lucky that he'd seen a boy matching Eamon's description talking to a sailor outside the Barnacle tavern the evening before. Lucky asked around near the tavern but there was no further sign.
Still, it was progress and that was good, because he'd been starting to lose hope of ever seeing his friend again. There had been no sign of him for months and in darker moments, he'd thought about giving up, so now he felt a little more optimistic as he headed back up the hill for the other thing he always did on Tuesdays, studying with Rachel. He'd become very fond of Rachel, she was very kind and patient with him, lending him books from her extensive collection and helping him with his reading so he could fully appreciate them.
So he always looked forward to studying with her. Of course, it helped that she was attractive too. Slim and in her early thirties (he guessed), with prominent cheekbones, sympathetic brown eyes and her fair hair usually tied back in a sleek ponytail.
She had a well-appointed room on the first floor, its walls lined with well-stocked bookcases and brightened by watercolour paintings of the city. It had been clear that he needed to do some catching up before he could study with the other boys, and so she'd been spending time helping him whenever she wasn't busy. They'd been studying history for the last few weeks and their time started out as it usually did with her going through his homework, which this week had been studying the key achievements of the predecessors of the current Queen.
"So, let's see, King John the Third, what do you think he's best known for?" she prompted, perching on the edge of the bureau where he sat, his notes scattered across its smooth mahogany surface.
"Well, he was known as Justice John, and he's best known for standardising the law and justice system throughout the empire. He introduced the right to a fair trial for all, and set up the Royal Court for settling tricky legal matters," Lucky said, flicking through his notes and trying not to be distracted by her legs. It was warmer today, and Rachel was wearing a thinner sundress, with bright yellow flowers contrasting with a navy blue background.As she jiggled her foot, the hem swished around her shapely calves.
"Good, and he also introduced the right to appeal. And what of his predecessor, King James the Second?"
"He was known as James Longfellow, on account of his height. It's said he was over seven foot tall. He was famous for exploring and colonising new lands, and he's best known for conquering the barbarians to the north and adding the Spice Islands to the empire."
He talked for several minutes about the King's formative years, his time in the army, the woman he went on to marry as Rachel smiled at him, obviously impressed.
"That really is very good, Lucas," she said, reaching out to touch his arm. "You have been studying hard."
"Thanks," he said, feeling the warmth of her fingers through the thin linen of his shirt as they lingered. "It's a good book, quite interesting to read, although Tully had to help me with some of the bigger words."
"Well, you definitely have the mind to impress our ladies, and I can tell you've been working hard at the gym as well," she replied, her slender fingers curling around his arm and briefly squeezing his bicep.
