She's still not sure if this is a good idea.
Tom Correy confirms it. Mother Tibb's been sentenced to hang -- Monday next, say the gossips around Newgate.
Kim resolves to go, even though her stomach clenches up as though she'll be sick at the very thought of it. She wonders once, half-heartedly, if she could do anything if she went, then pushes the idea out of her mind. There's nothing to do. Mother Tibb's best chance had been to talk her way into being transported, and if she hasn't managed that by now, she's not going to -- not even if she convinces some autem bawler that she's repented.
There's nothing to do but go there and watch it be done.
She goes, and finds a place where she can see the nubbing cheat from the back of the crowd. A good number of the other spectators are in a holiday mood, though here and there she sees other grim faces.
The door from the prison opens, and a line of three women is led out by the hangman, followed by a minister. Mother Tibb's in the middle. They shuffle up the stairs of the gallows, standing with their heads bowed as the minister asks them for final confessions, repentances, prayers. Kim has never seen Mother Tibb look so old. None of the women speak loudly enough to be heard, though one starts crying.
Then the minister closes his book, and the hangman straightens up, and Kim can't help it -- she shuts her eyes, tight, and turns her face away. But she hears the slow, hollow tread of the hangman's boots on the gallows floor -- the clack -- the muted noise of the ropes pulling tight -- the satisfied jeers of the crowd.
A few minutes later, as the crowd is dispersing, she opens her eyes and looks up.
And she doesn't cry, and she doesn't get sick, not even watching Mother Tibb's body dangle.
She almost wishes she could, though.
He's clearly surprised to see her when she skulks into his shop during his night-time hours, but when she mentions she's looking to sell, he turns into all business. Pulling out his spectacles and turning up the lamp, he nods to his desk. "Let's see 'em, then, boy."
( Bargaining. )
Kim hides a grin; the oddness of the pen might have put him off, but the oddness of the watch got him by the curiosity. It's a hook she knows well. She's glad she didn't try the silver coin she got from the pink mort's purse, though.
"Any more?" he asks, and when she shakes her head, he opens a drawer and counts out her money quickly and accurately. A pound, eighteen shillings, ten pence. She sweeps the coins and note into her hands and into an inner pocket.
"Thanks, Mister Cutt," she says, touching her cap.
"Hm. Pleasure to do business with you, lad," Cutt replies, formally, and turns down the lamp. Recognizing it as her cue to leave, Kim turns and heads for the door.
It's a lot of money, she thinks as she makes her way through the alleys. But there's more where it came from.
She'll go back, then, and try her hand again. If her luck holds, she could make enough off this lay to find a way off the streets for good. It's a shivery thought, one she tries not to look at too closely in case it dissolves and drifts away. But it's there, in the back of her mind, even as she picks a lock and whispers "Milliways" to it.
If her luck holds . . .
( Besides, she has to know what's going on out in London. )
It's late, and dark out. Kim and two of the boys are on their way to one of the regular fence's from a job; Dick's oldest, so he's in the middle with the silver they've lifted. The streets aren't empty, quite, but most of the people out this late aren't inclined to look too closely at what others are doing.
Billy's murmuring a joke to the other two, sniggering, when a pleased, silky voice cuts him off.
"Kim, dear boy."
Kim's head comes up sharply, and spots the speaker in the mouth of an alley. She doesn't need the gray hair or clothes, too fine for the area, to identify him -- only Dan Laverham has that smooth tone of voice.
"Evenin'," she replies, stepping a little forward. The move hides the nudge she gives Dick; lingering anywhere with loot is a bad idea, and lingering around Laverham is downright bacon-brained. He fades back behind Billy and keeps moving down the street.
Before Laverham can follow Dick's progress, Kim adds, "You wantin' something, Dan?"
"Only to pass a little time, my dear." He smiles pleasantly. "I've heard you're becoming a rather good lockpick."
"Good nothin'," blurts out Billy. "He's a regular charmer."
"Shut it, Billy," Kim growls, reaching out and cuffing the younger boy upside the head. Looking back at Laverham, she asks suspiciously, "Heard from who?"
Laverham turns the smile on Billy, who looks down at his feet. "Through the grapevine."
"Hunh."
"You know, my dear," he continues, giving Kim a look, "I could find work for you. You could keep a few more sovereigns than Mother Tibb lets you."
Billy looks up, from Laverham to Kim. Kim draws herself up a little. An offer of work, and money? She doesn't even have to think about it.
"I do all right, thanks."
Laverham's smile doesn't change. "I see. Loyalty is a fine thing."
Kim makes no reply. Laverham lets out a genteel little sigh. "Well, my dear, I am sure you have . . . work, and I wouldn't dream of keeping you." He moves forward, stretching out a hand, and both Kim and Billy tense -- but all he does is clasp Kim's shoulder as he goes by. Billy steps out of his way with a polite, "Evenin'," and then he's gone down the street.
Kim and Billy exchange a glance, and break into a trot the opposite direction, after Dick. They catch him up only a few streets away, where he's waiting, throwing anxious glances down their way.
"Why ain't you at Cutt's yet?" Kim demands, catching her breath.
"I don't trust that back-door usher," Dick snaps. "What'd he want?"
"Nothing," she replies, with a warning look at Billy. Billy nods in agreement. "Come on, let's unload the goods an' get home."
Kim sleeps on the side of the room farthest from the window, so that the sunrise hits her first, before the boys. When she wakes up, she very carefully and quietly wraps herself in her blanket to change whatever clothes need changing. She's gotten good at it; she's only been caught once by another light sleeper, a boy a year older (they thought) than her. He'd given her a knowing look and accused her in a whisper of having a wank. She'd been so relieved that he hadn't seen anything incriminating that she confirmed it, and put up with a month of jokes from the boys.
***
Stay quiet.
The boys her age -- past fourteen, not yet fifteen -- are starting to speak in voices that crack in a way Kim can't imitate. Safer to not say anything, most of the time, than try to sound like them. For now, though, it's all right if her voice is sometimes high and piping instead of rough. After all, so's Dick's, and he's months older than she is.
Anyway, it's not the boys she has to worry about noticing. They've known each other too long for them to notice much change, or lack thereof, in one of their number. It's the rest of the canting crew, the market folk, greedy-eyed soft-handed Dan Laverham, that need a boyish tone. If they wake up to something odd about her, Kim's sunk. Some people are fond of making decisions for you if they can, Desmotes had said. Too right, she knows -- but not if they never notice you in the first place.
The boys her age -- past fourteen, not yet fifteen -- are starting to speak in voices that crack in a way Kim can't imitate. Safer to not say anything, most of the time, than try to sound like them. For now, though, it's all right if her voice is sometimes high and piping instead of rough. After all, so's Dick's, and he's months older than she is.
Anyway, it's not the boys she has to worry about noticing. They've known each other too long for them to notice much change, or lack thereof, in one of their number. It's the rest of the canting crew, the market folk, greedy-eyed soft-handed Dan Laverham, that need a boyish tone. If they wake up to something odd about her, Kim's sunk. Some people are fond of making decisions for you if they can, Desmotes had said. Too right, she knows -- but not if they never notice you in the first place.
***
Ignore it.
When Jenny remarks to Tom what a pretty boy that Kim is--
When she brushes up against Charlie, who has fingers almost as clever as hers and green eyes, and her stomach twists like it does when she hears a sound on a crack lay--
When a cull casually shoves her in a distracted moment, and she falls and scrapes her knees--
When lightskirts pass her on the street with their johns in tow, looking for an empty alley or a vacant room--
When a lightskirt passes with Charlie in tow--
She ignores it. Disappointment and confusion aren't helpful; fear is only useful when it pushes you to survive.
When Jenny remarks to Tom what a pretty boy that Kim is--
When she brushes up against Charlie, who has fingers almost as clever as hers and green eyes, and her stomach twists like it does when she hears a sound on a crack lay--
When a cull casually shoves her in a distracted moment, and she falls and scrapes her knees--
When lightskirts pass her on the street with their johns in tow, looking for an empty alley or a vacant room--
When a lightskirt passes with Charlie in tow--
She ignores it. Disappointment and confusion aren't helpful; fear is only useful when it pushes you to survive.
***
Do it by yourself.
She can bandage her own scrapes -- sloppily, but well enough -- and darn her own clothes. So can all the boys, of course. Mother Tibb refuses to coddle any of them.
Kim washes by herself, too, after all the others are done -- face, neck, hands, and hair. And while the boys will step into the mouth of an alley and take a piss against the wall, still talking together, Kim slips into the shadows when no one's looking and does her necessities quickly, quietly, alone.
She can bandage her own scrapes -- sloppily, but well enough -- and darn her own clothes. So can all the boys, of course. Mother Tibb refuses to coddle any of them.
Kim washes by herself, too, after all the others are done -- face, neck, hands, and hair. And while the boys will step into the mouth of an alley and take a piss against the wall, still talking together, Kim slips into the shadows when no one's looking and does her necessities quickly, quietly, alone.
***
Keep your distance.
A few years ago, they slept in a tangle to keep warm, and roughhoused and shoved each other with abandon. Now, Kim still gives as good as she gets if the boys are horsing around, but she doesn't wrestle anymore. She doesn't think she's got enough of anything for them to notice -- but she won't take the chance.
A few years ago, they slept in a tangle to keep warm, and roughhoused and shoved each other with abandon. Now, Kim still gives as good as she gets if the boys are horsing around, but she doesn't wrestle anymore. She doesn't think she's got enough of anything for them to notice -- but she won't take the chance.
***
Survive.
It's all second nature.
It's all second nature.
It's the perfect time for it -- at sunset, all her boys come back to their hidden away rooms to deliver the spoils of the day's work and get assignments for the night -- a chance to get a dozen rats with one stone.
They don't give any warning, of course; one moment, the boys are all gathered around the smoky stove as Mother Tibb holds court, and the next, the door's been kicked open and there are constables yelling and boys scattering in every direction and Mother Tibb shrieking something. It's pandemonium. Some of the boys try to duck past the constables out into the hall, but there are more men out there grabbing them up.
Kim just stands there, dumbstruck.
Finally instinct catches her up and she pelts for the back door, but one of the bigger boys shoves past her, sending her careening into the doorframe. She hits her head with a solid whack and sits down hard, stunned. She's got a perfect view as the constables advance on Mother Tibb. The woman looks almost as stunned as Kim feels.
Then the men's hands close around Mother Tibb's skinny arms, yanking her to her feet, and she shrieks as her future suddenly becomes all too clear.
The sound breaks Kim out of her daze. She scrambles to her feet and stumbles out of the room.
"Hey! Get him!"
One of the constables is giving chase. Kim puts on a burst of speed, races through the back door, and takes a sharp turn down the alley. She can hear the constable's feet pounding behind her, and she could sob but she's using all her breath for running.
A left, onto a main street, and a dash across the road between cabs and carriages, into another alley, a right. Down the alley is the back door to some shop or other. Kim can't hear the constable anymore -- he may have given up when she disappeared into the crowd -- but she takes no chances.
She drops to her knees by the door, pulling out a bit of wire from her pocket, and starts working on the lock as quickly as she can, casting anxious glances over her shoulder. The last tumbler clicks into place, and she leans close.
"Milliways," she whispers. The word falls crystalline and sharp from her lips. "Please be Milliways. Please--"
She turns her wrist. The lock clicks open; the door pops ajar, and through it are tables and chairs and soft lighting and a sliver of black with stars exploding in it.
And now Kim does sob, once, relieved, as she slips through the door and pulls it to.
- Kim is extremely class-prejudiced. Toffs are uncaring, greedy, and naive. Well, most people are the first two -- toffs get an extra dose of stupidity. And she thinks that toffs think that people like her are pretty much worthless and very much inferior.
Thing is, she's internalized those stereotypes to a certain extent. Because while toffs may be dumb, well, they're toffs. They're the ones that matter in the world. So while she doesn't see herself as inferior, exactly, she does think she doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. - I can't write Kim as a girl pretending to be a boy. It just -- doesn't work in my head. If Kim were a girl pretending to be a boy, she would be exaggeratedly boyish. And sure, she does that sometimes, if she's afraid of being found out, but generally, she just is a boy. You can't live like she has, for as long as she has, without a lot of stuff becoming instinct.
That's especially true at this point, when she's about thirteen and hasn't even had an inkling of puberty. It'll change some when she hits, oh, fifteen or so, and the hormones hit. Canonically, though, her development is only really catching up with her when she's seventeen. So I write her the way I would write a boy, just -- one who doesn't have a penis, and doesn't want anyone finding out.
She's not a transsexual, though, for all that I use icons from Boys Don't Cry. In another life, she would have identified solidly as female. When Magician's Ward comes around, she seems relatively comfortable as a girl. But I can't imagine that the transition was smooth. She has too many masculine habits -- and thought patterns -- to just stop being a "boy."
- Relatedly: physical contact freaks. Her. Out. Anyone getting close enough to touch her is close enough to notice what's off about her, and actual contact just ups the chances.
- I'm not sure how the whole dressing-up-as-a-boy thing came about, actually. Canon is mum on the subject. I'm inclined to think that Kim's mother was poor and pregnant, and took care of Kim for a year or two before either dying or abandoning her (maybe someday I'll do some kind of plot revealing Kim's father as a toff, but I doubt it; I prefer her origins to be squalid, not romantic, and being the long-lost daughter of some lord is definitely romantic).
At that point Mother Tibb entered the scene and started raising Kim. It must have been Mother Tibb, then who gave Kim boy's clothes -- probably to keep her out of the stews, because she was so useful as a lockpick and pickpocket.
- Kim's greatest fear is being caught. Not just being caught out as a girl -- being caught in jail and being caught in the stews are even scarier.
- Mairelon describes Kim as making "a very pretty boy." There will, at some point, be men trying to take advantage of that. Canon says she "had learned long ago to spot and avoid them," so there'll have to be at least one incident where she learns what they look like.
- I shudder to think what sex is eventually going to be like for her. (Well, okay, I don't just shudder, I write fic about it. ¬_¬ And she definitely freaks out.)
- I also shudder to think what puberty is going to be like. However, I look forward to playing it. ("WTF BOOBS?! AND HIPS?! AND AND AND BLEEDING?! WHAT IS THIS SHIT?!")
I'd like to bring Kim in from before canon, though, when she was still working as a housebreaker for Mother Tibb, a sort of less-evil Fagin, and the only parent figure Kim has ever had. It's not clear from canon whether or not Mother Tibb knows Kim's true sex; either with Mother Tibb's help or on her own, Kim passes for a boy all the way through adolescence. It's a vital deception -- the only other option open to an orphan street girl is the brothel. Luckily, Kim has a knack for locks, making her invaluable to Mother Tibb, and probably assuring her survival through most of her life, up to age fifteen.
Kim's world is a world where magic is relatively commonplace. It's taught in upper-class schools, at least the theoretical aspects, and practitioners can be found on all levels of society. Magic isn't something to be trusted, necessarily, by any means -- it's widely recognized as something dangerous, powerful, and more than a little queer -- but it isn't unheard of. Kim will eventually discover her own magical talent, but when she enters the game, she won't have any experience. She may do things accidentally, but not often.
I like Kim, a lot, and have for a long time. My copy of Mairelon the Magician is battered, stained, and generally lovingly abused. Kim is cynical, and yet still manages to be insatiably curious; socially inexperienced and mistrustful, but street smart and loyal. She's not given to angst, although her situation gives her plenty of room for it. She's a survivor, and she's good at it.
Not to mention she has a ridiculously complicated and fascinating system of slang.
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