“Où habitez-vous?” I asked in my slow French.
“Les rues,” he said. The streets.
For a moment, but not for long because my nerves were alert to impending danger, I gazed at her with such admiration and love in my heart that I nearly wept. Fiona Barnes was something. I braced myself for what was coming next. Fiona would ask me to help her take the boys out of there and back to her apartment. They would never let the boys go. Or us. The crowd seemed menacing.
But that never stopped a Barnes. “Li, lift him, please.”
I knelt near the boy. His eyes fluttered open and fixed upon my face. I helped him to his feet. “Can you walk?”
He looked at me with glassy eyes, clearly without comprehension.
“Tell him he’s coming home with us,” Fiona said, nodding toward the other boy. “And that he’ll dine with us.”
“Rentrez à la maison avec nous. Manger.” I pantomimed eating.
The bushy boy raised his eyebrows. He took another look at Fiona and then back at me. “Vous allez me nourrir?”
“Yes, we will feed you,” I said. “Souper.”
He pointed to the boy in my arms. “Mon frère aussi?”
Brother. They were brothers? What kind of monsters had arranged a fight between two children? “Oui. Your brother too.” This made the sordid business seem all the more so. These little boys were made to fight each other for the entertainment of bloodthirsty men.
“They’re brothers?” Fiona asked.
I nodded. They were young, probably no older than eight. Despite the misshapen face of the short-haired boy, I saw for the first time they were twins. “Êtes-vous jumeaux?” I asked him. Are you twins?
“Oui.”
“They’re twins, Fi,” I said.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Twins. Oh, Li. Twins?”
“Yes.” Like her brothers. It didn’t take much imagination to see how her mind organized this into the hand of fate. Divine instruction. We would take them home to her apartment and she’d begin making plans to find them a home. I knew it without her ever having to say the words in English or French.
“Quels sont vos noms?” I asked the boys their names.
“Je m’appelle Bleu.” The one with long hair pointed to himself. “Mon frère s’appelle Beaumont.”
“They’re called Bleu and Beaumont,” I said to Fiona.
Fiona held out her hand to Beaumont. To my surprise, he took it. Eyes downcast, he mumbled something in French I couldn’t understand. She smiled at him with that smile that had wrecked many men back in Emerson Pass, then offered her hand to Bleu. He shook damp locks away from his eyes and looked at her. Apparently, her smile had the same effect in Paris as it did at home, because his bloody mouth turned upward into a partly toothless smile. Swollen from fighting, his grin seemed almost ghoulish.
By this time, the referee had wandered away and now stood with a group of men. Bills changed hands. The results of the betting, I guessed.
Bleu spoke urgently while tugging on the hem of my jacket. “Et notre argent? Ils vont nous payer?”
“You’re owed money?” I asked. “L’argent dû?” My American accent destroyed the pronunciations. Somehow, Bleu seemed to understand. He nodded and pointed to the referee. “Il doit nous payer.”
“All right, I’ll see what I can do.” This wouldn’t go well, but I had to try. The boys should get their pay after what they’d gone through. I walked over to the referee and asked for the boys’ money in French. He argued with me for a moment, saying I was not their keeper and to leave him alone. I persisted, saying as well as I could that they were owed money for what they’d had to do.
The men surrounding the referee pushed closer. I stood my ground. The referee darted toward me, seizing hold of my collar and deluging me with vulgarities and threats.
“Li, let’s just go,” Fiona called out to me.
I shook off the referee and turned toward her voice. My gaze didn’t reach her before he punched me hard on the side of my face. I stumbled backward but remained on my feet. The referee was not a large man, but paunchy, and I was quick. I didn’t want to be violent in front of Fiona but it had to be done. I lobbed my fist into the side of his cheek, followed by a solid kick to his chin. He fell against the rope and onto his rear.
The crowd cheered. Did they think this was part of the show?
Bleu was by my side, speaking fast and pointing toward Fiona. It didn’t take much to be convinced. I nodded and said to Fiona, “Let’s go. We can take the boys with us.”
“Yes, come along,” Fiona said as if it were nothing.
My jaw stung, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. He hadn’t gotten further punches in, thanks to my quick movement. I offered my hand to Bleu, and we followed Fiona and Beaumont to the edge of the ring.
Reminding me of the tale of the Pied Piper, the boys docilely went with Fiona. When we reached the ropes of the ring, Bleu lifted the highest one so that Fiona could step through. He waited for me to do the same. I followed, unsteady but managing to make it through with the boy intact.
The crowd, strangely enough, had quieted. Someone called out to Fiona, “Bonjour beauté.”
“Bonjour,” Fiona said, thrusting back her shoulders and lifting her chin. “Tell them we’re taking these boys home,” she said to me.
“I think that’s obvious,” I said, chuckling despite the seriousness of our situation.
“If you think so.” Fiona gestured toward the direction of her apartment. “Lead the way, please.”
As if I wasn’t following her. As if I had any choice at all but to follow her anywhere she wanted. I was at her mercy, now and always.