Postcard For Reader

Guest Post: Chelsea Swiggett

I'm not the only person who loves Bloody Jack, as you bloody well know. (Hahaha, see what I did there?) Chelsea Swiggett, blogger at The Page Flipper and author of the upcoming Rae, hosted Bloody Jack week over at her blog last week. Right now, she's hosting Labyrinth week.

But what would this continuation of Bloody Jack week be without her popping in to say a few words?

So her post is under the cut; just click to read it. I'm sure you'll enjoy it. It's about one of the lesser known characters - and, if I may say, one pretty awesome one.

One of my favorite characters from Bloody Jack is one that's in the book for very few precious pages.

Rooster Charlie lead Mary's street gang in London. He devided every portion of food fairly and made sure the people under his care were protected. He was respected. Mary grew to love him as a brother as well as a leader, and in the few short pages you know him, you can understand why. He's a redheaded, cocky, clever kid who looks after his gang like family.

But living life as a teen on the streets of 18th century London isn't easy. You have to beg for money and steal food and use your wits and strength to keep you alive - which is hard when there are countless other street gangs vying for territory. And then there's Muck, who takes the dead bodies of street kids and sells them to anatomists. And his way about getting the bodies isn't always morally sound.

Rooster Charlie allows as how today he's goin' to see Dr. Graves himself, the bloke what sends Muck around to pick up dead orphans for the di-seck-shun and for the good of science and all, to see if Charlie and his ownself can get paid for his body before he goes croakers so's he can have the pleasure of it himself, like.

Me and the others laugh and jeer and say, "Charlie, you ain't got the bollocks. He'll prolly open you up right there, without so much as a by-your-leave." But Charlie, he hikes up his pants and gives his vest a pat and off he goes to sell his body. The pat is for his shiv, which he keeps tucked next to his ribs.

You know an author is excellent at his job when even a very minor character stays in your heart years after first meeting him. And Rooster Charlie, RIP, you're still in my heart.