Dark Remains: A Maggie Power Adventure (Maggie Power #1)

Chapter 1 - Mudlarks

Chapter 1 - Mudlarks

London, May 1842.

There was no reply.

Maggie cupped her hands to her mouth - ready to call once more, when a small boat, drifting down the centre of the river, caught her eye and distracted her for a moment.

Amid the creeping shadows of the falling darkness, she was unable to make out the faces of those aboard the vessel but recognised the silhouette of a riverman standing tall at the bow.

Behind him a smaller figure sat - a boy perhaps, maybe the son of the man - rowing fluently against the tide. She knew they were dredgers and also knew what it was they were seeking. As the boy rowed, the father - with a hook fastened to the end of a rope in one hand and a lantern in the other - stared deep into the dark water below.

"It's about time we left," Maggie repeated, shifting her attention once again to her younger brother. She knew Thomas could hear her perfectly well and waited for him to lift his gaze up from the water. But Thomas shuffled on across the mudflats, moving farther and farther away from the shore, his back arched, his eyes fixed - like the riverman's - on the water below.

Maggie heaved her body upright and stretched herself straight; every sinew ached of the full afternoon hunched over the mud. The tide had begun to turn, and as she paddled back towards the dock wall, she turned to face her brother. "It's been a useless day, Tom. Come on, my little man, let's get some food and shelter."

Water and thick, black sludge devoured her ankles and the hemline of her tattered dress clung to her calves. Her voice was tired, her gaze empty, her impatience with Tom growing with every unanswered call sent out across the deserted river bed.

Maggie waited for Tom to turn and offer up his usual litany of excuses: just five more minutes please, Sis? We may find something precious, something that might provide us with enough food for a whole week, a whole month even. Who knows what might cross our paths?

But thirteen-year-old Maggie knew off by heart the harsh lessons of scavenging: miracles don't happen. Knew that she and Tom were not even genuine mudlarks; that they had been thrust here merely through circumstance; and, more importantly, she knew most of the gangs crowded upon the river at low tide carried with them criminal intentions. Unlike Maggie and Thomas, who searched for meagre pickings, these gangs - the professional mudlarks - were set upon plundering all they could from docked ships and passing barges.

Earlier that afternoon, they had set off behind a dozen or so of the lowliest scavengers - all dressed alike in filthy rags - to search the same stretch of riverbed. They searched for anything: a piece of coal, an unwanted shard of metal, a misplaced coin, even a discarded item of clothing.

And, as always, took great care to avoid other items, of rather less value, flushed from the open sewer further up river.

They continued to search long into the dying light of the mild, spring evening, long after the other scavengers had drifted away.

"Stop being so selfish, Thomas. Come here now!" she called once more to her brother.

Still Tom continued to ignore her.

For a second or two, the man in the boat, distracted from his work, glanced up from the water and looked back to the shoreline where Maggie stood calling.

"Thomas, I'm very cold and very tired."

She looked towards the dredgers. The man signalled to the boy to cease rowing and fed the rope, with the hook attached, into the water. To set his other hand free, he placed the light to the side of him, which enabled him to release the rope more quickly into the river.