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Outside Ogre Street, the proper people of London had a saying — that Christmas was for children. You could see it in the toy displays packed into shop windows, all the fanciful treats on display at the sweet shops. Garlands hung from windows and the sweet melodies of choirs and carolers filled the chilly air with warmth.
A far cry from the desolate alleyways of that dark slum, where Christmas meant no more than colder weather with which to spirit away the lives of the urchins who were unlucky enough to call it home. And so it was no wonder, on this particular Christmas, that two of those said urchins had deemed it necessary to find somewhere else to be.
Speedwagon and his best mate Tattoo huddled in the shadows along the cheerily lit street, knowing for sure they’d stand out in a place such as this. But they didn’t intend to stick around too long in any case.
Warm light spilled out from the windows of the orphanage before them, and they could hear the muffled sounds of excitement as those inside prepared. In an effort to bring Christmas joy to these poor unfortunate souls, the nuns were laying out a jolly treat — a veritable feast of sweets, from multicoloured sugar mice to rosy pink jelly pigs, all for their charges to enjoy. The sight alone made the two boys from the slums’ mouths water.
It would be like taking candy from a baby, as the saying went — putting aside the fact that they were hardly much older than the orphanage’s charges themselves. Life in an orphanage may have been no walk in the park, but even that would have been bliss compared to the harsh realities of Ogre Street. There were some forsaken souls who went unseen and uncared for even by the holy sisters who ran places such as these. Those who fended for themselves without even God to look out for them.
And thus, if they were ever going to have a merry Christmas, they’d have to make it for themselves.
They chose their moment to strike just as the nuns ushered the expectant children into the room. While the orphans’ eyes lit up with the joy of the season, no one was watching the door to the street when it swung open with a gust of cold air.
Speedwagon and Tattoo were hardly watching those same faces turn to shock as they burst into the room — no, they were headed straight for the colourful spread laid out before them. They’d begun to shovel the confections into two burlap sacks before anyone else in the room could register what was going on.
It was a mad dash, a risky one at that, but not anything the young street rats weren’t used to. They expertly dashed away from the grasping hands of the red-faced nuns, sweeping the last of the candy into their sacks and racing back out into the streets. Sprinting away, they let out whoops and shouts of glee, the night looking brighter already.
That is, until a voice called out from behind them.
“Stop!!”
Both glanced back to see a young boy trailing after them, a little too close for comfort. Hell, he seemed to be chasing them with all his might! Speedwagon had never seen another child run with such fierce dedication.
“Ah shit, this little bugger don’t know when t’quit!” Tattoo shouted over his shoulder.
“This way!” Speedwagon replied, pulling off into an alleyway — quick, though he doubted it’d be enough to lose their pursuer. While running was usually the best course of action, Speedwagon wasn’t averse to teaching this foolish little brat a lesson.
The urchins skidded to a stop in the slush, waiting for the boy to catch up, and catch up he did. He rounded the corner fast, stopping short with a wobble but managing not to fall.
The orphan stared at the other two quite seriously, balled his fists, and panted, “Those are mine! Give ‘em back!”
Speedwagon tossed his bag of loot to Tattoo, letting a smirk spread over his lips. Without a trace of worry, he pulled a knife out from under the brim of his cap. “Looks t’me like the one what’s got ‘em is the one they belong to.” He stepped towards the boy, who oddly enough did not flinch back. “But if you wanna argue I don’t mind clearin’ things up—” Speedwagon charged, weapon arching toward the boy, but rather than connecting he suddenly found the world invert in front of him.
Moments later, he slammed to the ground. The cold slush was not so much of a shock to him as the fact that this little kid had managed to flip him.
Tattoo pulled out his own knife and started forward, “Oi, I’m gonna tear you a new one you little—"
“Wait!” Speedwagon said from the ground, holding up a hand, and Tattoo stopped to look down at him. “He’s got spirit, I like that. Never met a kid what could do that before!” Not quite trusting his ability to stand up just yet, he rolled over to face the young boy, who was still maintaining a fighting stance. “Why don’t you join us?”
“You sure about that?” Tattoo said, glancing between the two of them. He was fairly used to his friend’s bizarre ideas by now, though. Speedwagon had a nose that could sniff out the good from the bad, and Tattoo had learned to go along with his instincts. The boy did seem to be considering it.
Speedwagon pulled himself up to sit cross-legged, a little winded but otherwise unhurt. “You’re tough, yeah? Ain’t afraid to chase after what ya want. Why waste that spirit in a place like that? Probably sell ya to a factory any day now and that’ll be the end of it.”
The boy took a moment longer to mull it over, then dropped his hands to relax at his sides. “…Alright,” he said, “Long as I can have some sweets.”
“Well in that case,” Tattoo stowed his knife once more, replacing it for a sugar mouse which he held out to their new friend, “Happy Christmas!”
The orphan’s cautious eyes lit up instantly, and he snatched the mouse and gobbled it down in a greedy motion that made Tattoo grin. Yeah, he’d fit right in.
“What’s your name?” Speedwagon got to his feet, brushing himself off best he could and walking over to the other two.
But the boy’s eyes became guarded once again. “Don’t see why you need t’know that.”
Speedwagon shrugged. Maybe, unlike Tattoo, this kid just hadn’t come up with a suitable nickname yet. “Well, you’re a fighter, that’s for sure,” he chuckled, “I’ll call ya that for now.” He patted his new friend on the shoulder, offering him a bonbon he’d stashed in a pocket.
Snow fell lazily from the sky as the three walked off together through the darkened alleys toward Ogre Street. A miserable night, damp and cold like most nights in this city. But this night, for these three little urchins, was for once filled with celebration, friendship, and all the sweets they could eat.
It was the first happy Christmas they all spent together, and while they didn’t know it at the time, it proved to be the first in a long line to follow.