Temple Boys. Jamie Buxton
us a favour,’ Big said. ‘Don’t say another word.’
‘And do me a favour,’ Yeshua said. ‘Spend some time with us and get to know us a bit better. Will you, Flea? Please?’
Flea felt the force of the magician’s clever, intense eyes and looked away.
Yeshua said, ‘We’ve got a tough one here, friends. Going to have to do more than my usual tricks to get him interested.’
Flea looked for Jude, but he wasn’t there. ‘One day you’ll meet a real magician who’ll blast you off the face the earth with lightning bolts,’ he muttered.
‘Until then, you’ve just got me.’
‘We should have robbed you.’
‘You wouldn’t have got much.’
‘I mean after you’d collected from the crowd.’
‘We don’t do that.’ He smiled a steady, warm smile that somehow spread beyond Flea to take in the rest of the gang. ‘Now, can we join you? That looks like a fine shelter. Did you make it yourselves?’
And in no time at all, Yeshua and his followers were sitting down by the shelter as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Flea shook his head. All he felt was a profound suspicion. He had to admit that the magician had a sort of power – he couldn’t think of any other word – that could pull smiles out of a person like a butcher dragged the guts from an animal, but did it really make them happier? Did it change a thing?
When Clump asked Yeshua how he did the trick with the egg and the dove, Yeshua opened his eyes wide and said, ‘Trick? How dare you. Have none of you heard of magic?’
‘But can you . . .’ Clump’s voice tailed off.
The gang exchanged glances. They knew exactly what he wanted to ask. A month ago Clump had stolen the gang’s takings and bought a cure for his twisted foot from a travelling doctor. The foul-smelling ointment had done no good at all except earn him a black eye for nicking the money and a foot that reeked of camel dung and rancid lard, which was probably what the ointment was made of.
‘I know what you want,’ Yeshua said. ‘You want to know if I can cure people. The answer is yes, I can sometimes.’
Yeshua looked around the gang, meeting and holding their eyes. Once, twice he did it and then, without anyone uttering a word, Gaga stood and approached him as if he were on a string. Yeshua put his hands on Gaga’s head, looked upwards, muttered something, then bent down and whispered in Gaga’s ear. Gaga smiled uncertainly, cleared his throat, smiled shyly and said, ‘Thank you,’ in a little hoarse voice.
They were the first words any of the Temple Boys had ever heard Gaga speak. Everyone got up and made a fuss of him – slapping him on his back, asking him to say something else. Everyone apart from Flea, who felt sick in a way he could not understand.
He slouched to the end of the alleyway where the woman and her daughter were standing by their mattresses and staring at the gathering with undisguised curiosity.
The followers pooled their money and two of them went off with Big and Red to get some food. When they came back with bread, cheese and fresh vegetables, one of the followers produced a cloth and they spread the food out, then sat around it.
‘Flea, come and join us,’ Yeshua called.
Flea felt as if he were being torn apart, with half of him wanting to accept Yeshua’s invitation, but the other too proud. He went round the corner and sat down, hugging his knees with his back against the alley walls and the laughter of people having fun burning inside him. What was wrong with him? The man had just cured Gaga and even that didn’t impress him. There was just something about Yeshua, something that tried to draw you in. That was it! He wanted to draw you in, but to what?
‘What are you doing?’ a voice said. He looked up in surprise. The skinny girl who was always hanging around was standing in front of him. She was about Flea’s height, with gangly, skinny limbs. Her tunic was even shabbier than Flea’s. She had half a loaf of flatbread in one hand and an orange in the other.
‘What does it look like?’ Flea snapped.
‘It looks like you’re sulking,’ the girl replied. ‘Here, want some bread?’
Flea tried to wave her away.
‘What’s going on?’ she persisted. She pointed at the magician and said, ‘Who’s that man?’
‘Don’t you know? He’s only meant to be the Chosen One,’ Flea said.
‘Who chose him?’ the girl asked. Flea opened his mouth to answer, then realised he didn’t know. ‘If you ask me, he’s trouble,’ she went on. ‘I heard people talking about him. They said he’s come to the City to mess things up.’
‘How?’
A shrug.
‘Well, if you don’t know, there’s no reason to hang around, is there?’ Flea snarled.
‘No reason for you to, either,’ the skinny girl said calmly. ‘Why don’t you come with me? You could have some bread. I’ll even give you bit of orange.’
Flea’s mouth watered, but he said, ‘You think I need your food? Anyway, I’ve got to stay here. Someone has to look out for the gang.’
The girl gave him a level look that made him hate her. Then it was her turn to shrug.
‘See you, then,’ she said and walked slowly off. But she had given Flea an idea. If he found out more about Yeshua, maybe something that showed he was using them, then he would have something real to tell the gang.
When Yeshua and his followers finally got up to leave, Flea hid. When Big and Little Big came looking for him, his heart lifted – for a moment.
‘That’s it,’ Big said. ‘You’ve just proved you’re a total loser.’
‘Yeah,’ Little Big said. ‘Loser.’
‘What do you mean, loser ?’ Flea protested. ‘You’re the loser. Who’s hanging out with –’
‘Just shut it, Flea,’ Big said. ‘No one cares what you say. In fact, we’ve decided to kick you out.’
‘You what?’
‘We’re kicking you out of the Temple Boys. Not that you were ever in the gang. You just bored us into letting you stay.’
‘But I do stuff. I get the water. I –’
‘Yeah, you were useful, but now you’re not. You’re just annoying. We’re moving on and you’ve made it clear what you think.’
‘But I’m allowed to say –’
‘Shut up.’
‘ . . . to say . . .’
Big picked up a stone and tossed it from hand to hand.
‘ . . . what I think.’
The stone thumped hard into the middle of Flea’s chest and suddenly he was sitting down, feeling as if the air had been sucked from the world around him.
‘But –’ he managed to gasp.
‘Just get out.’
Big picked another stone and Flea staggered to his feet and out of the alley, folding his arms against the pain.
It was the worst night of Flea’s life. Worse than the night he left the glue maker (even though it had been snowing then), worse than the night he escaped from Mosh the Dosh’s house (he had picked a hole in the roof and scraped his back