You know, ma'am...there's nothing I wouldn't do for you.

  ____________

  Toby didn't stick around to hear whatever Mr. Todd and Anthony were cooking up. In the pie shop, he tossed the broom angrily into the corner. Just when he was listening to Mrs. Lovett, seeing her! Did the world have no kindness in it?

  He stormed about the shop in his mood for a few hours. The sailor stayed up in the barbershop a long time. When he finally came back downstairs, he was holding a few different-colored locks of hair. Toby heard him muttering to himself, "There's tawny and there's golden, saffron, there's flaxen and there's blonde..." Anthony poked at his own yellow hair – what shade it would be, Toby didn't know – and went on into the rainy streets.

  Toby snorted to himself. He'd heard tell that wigmakers used asylum hair for their wigs. Guess now he knew it was true. Smart enough plan, but whether the sailor would have the balls to pull it off remained to be seen. Sailor he might be, but Anthony looked like he'd never been in a real, fight-or-die brawl in his life. The things girls could get a gent to do...

  Mrs. Lovett eventually came down to the shop. But she was very quiet all day, giving Toby his tasks with just a glance or a nod. Every once in a while he caught her looking out the window or up to the barbershop as they awaited news on Anthony and Johanna.

  Waiting. It seemed like that's all Mr. Todd, and anyone around him, ever did.

  ____________

  Later the same day, around two, Mr. Todd called Toby up to the barbershop. He went up with ill grace, still thinking about Mrs. Lovett and the conversation Anthony had barged in on. The barber gave Toby a letter in a sealed envelope.

  "Take this to Judge Turpin's house," he said, pressing a shilling into Toby's other hand. "Speak to no one and hand it to no one except the judge. Come back when you're done."

  There was a funny glint in his eye. Kind of like the look a dog got when it saw you coming with meat. Toby didn't like it, but he nodded. "Yes, sir," he muttered, and he went back out into the streets.

  The judge's house was near Hyde Park, a fancy white building. Toby knew it from his workhouse days. In fact, Cleveland Street was sort of on the way, and it got Toby thinking. He took a slightly out-of-the-way route to get to the judge's neighborhood and stopped outside the old blocky mess he'd called home for so long.

  He could hear the other kids calling to each other inside. Must be free hour, then. In the distance, Big Ben rang three peals across the city. Toby stared up at the gate; it still seemed so big, something larger than life –

  "Oi, watch it there!" Toby was knocked into the mud by a boy charging out the gate. After a moment of scuffling, the boy gave a cheerful shout, "Well, if it ain't Toby Ragg!"

  "Sam!" Toby cried. The two boys cuffed each other's heads affectionately as Sam laughed, prodding Toby's stomach.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  "Someone's been feedin' you good!" he exclaimed. "You still with that barber man, then? The Italian?"

  "Naw, working at a pie shop now. Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies on Fleet Street." And Toby was off, listing all the things Mrs. Lovett had done for him. By the time he was done talking, Sam was looking at him with jealousy and awe.

  "She sounds a real lady, Toby," he said.

  "That she is," he replied. "Next time they send you out for something, come by. I'll get you a free pie, she won't mind."

  "Thanks!" The great clock chimed once more, and Sam straightened his ragged coat and hat. "Better get back in. Good seein' you, Toby." He darted back into the workhouse, and Toby laughed a little to himself.

  Then he patted his coat pocket, only to find nothing there. The letter! Toby felt his heart start to race, but sighed in relief when he found it at the edge of the street. The envelope had come loose when he dropped it and Mr. Todd's letter now lay open in the mud. He knew it was wrong to nose, but there was no real way to put it back in the envelope without reading it. So he did.

  ____________

  Most Honourable Judge Turpin,

  I venture thus to write you this urgent note, to warn you that the hot-blooded young sailor has abducted your ward Johanna from the institution where you so wisely confined her.

  But, hoping to earn your favour, I have persuaded the boy to lodge her here tonight at my tonsorial parlour, in Fleet Street. If you want her again in your arms, hurry – after the night falls.

  She will be waiting.

  Your obedient, humble servant,

  Sweeney Todd

  Toby stared in disbelief at the curling script. The ink dribbled as it started to rain again. He quickly folded the letter up and tucked it in his coat, his mind racing. Mr. Todd was snitching on Anthony, a lad who'd done him no harm! And throwing this Johanna girl, poor lass, right back into the hands of the man who'd had her tossed in a loony bin!

  "What should I do?" Toby muttered to himself. He was scared of Mr. Todd, tell the truth. If he didn't deliver the letter and the barber found out...and Mrs. Lovett –

  Making up his mind, Toby ran to the judge's fancy house near Hyde Park. He shoved the letter into the door-slot without looking at it. Then, as fast as his feet could carry him, he darted back towards Fleet Street and the pie shop.

  ____________

  It took a while for Toby to pluck up the courage to talk with Mrs. Lovett. The whole Anthony thing had him worried. On top of everything else that'd been building in his head about Mr. Todd. The disappearing customers, how he treated Mrs. Lovett, the staring into space. He couldn't quite put it into words, but the barber was no good and up to no good. And no good could come of Toby or Mrs. Lovett being around him anymore.

  Toby fidgeted, tugging nervously at the scarf Mrs. Lovett had given him earlier. She'd knitted it herself out of gray wool, and it was lovely and warm. He took a deep breath, standing up to go to her in the parlor. But before he did, he reread what he'd written on a scrap of paper. It had just sort of come out of him, like his grabber songs. His spelling was a bit off and it wasn't Shakespeare or nothing, but it read nice.

  Not like he was going to share it with her or anyone. But he meant it. And he'd keep his promise, or his name wasn't Toby Ragg.

  Nothin's gonna harm you, not while I'm around

  Nothin's gonna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around

  Demons are prowling everywhere nowadays

  I'll send em howling, I don't care, I got ways.

  No one's gonna hurt you, no one's gonna dare

  Others can desert you, not to worry, whistle – I'll be there

  Demons'll charm you with a smile, for a while

  But in time...

  Nothin's gonna harm you,

  Not while I'm around.