Mobo Novels
Polly woke up with a splitting headache, only to find herself in a different set of clothes—a shirt, vest, and stockings.
The craftsmanship and fabric were rough, with some areas even frayed, the stitching crooked, and a strange smell of sweat permeating.
Where was she?
Who had changed her clothes?
Polly instinctively propped herself up, lifting her clothes to check her abdomen—no wounds.
Rolling up her sleeves, there were no needle marks on her arms either.
Before she could even breathe a sigh of relief, a sudden loud bang erupted from outside—Boom!
Followed by a series of malicious sneers.
“This kid’s bones are tough, dragged behind a horse for so long, yet he didn’t make a sound…”
“Shoot him between the legs, see if his bones are still tough!”
Another round of laughter.
“That won’t do,” someone said, “if we cripple him, the manager will kill us… he’s the cash cow of the circus.”
“Cash cow? Him? A kid who hasn’t even grown all his hair?”
“He’s got skills,” the man said with a laugh, turning his head and whistling like calling a dog, “Eric, show everyone your ventriloquism, your singing, your tricks…”
Whatever Eric said, the laughter outside abruptly stopped.
Everyone fell silent, leaving only the sound of horse hooves pacing in place.
Someone sneered, shouted “Giddy up!” and sped up the horse.
No one spoke again.
But Polly felt a chill in her heart—if she remembered correctly, that “Eric” was still being dragged behind the horse.
What made her blood run cold was that the people outside were speaking English.
Although she lived in Los Angeles, their accents were clearly not from the West Coast, sounding more like… French?
Had she been kidnapped by the French?
Or…
Polly squeezed her eyes shut, lowering her head.
The moment she saw her palms, her mind went blank, the back of her head tightened, and her heart pounded wildly.
—These were not her hands.
She had a slight obsession with cleanliness, her nails always clean and neat, smooth and pink.
But these hands were rough and red, the joints swollen as if frostbitten, dirt embedded in the crevices, and several brownish-yellow calluses on the palms.
What do people see the most every day?
Not their face, but their own hands.
Polly had never imagined waking up one day to find someone else’s hands on her body.
…It was like a scene straight out of a horror movie.
What on earth was going on?
“…Hey, Polly, Polly, look at me!”
A voice like thunder exploded in her ear.
Polly’s scalp tingled, and she jerked her head up.
At some point, a little boy had squeezed in front of her, staring at her with big eyes.
He seemed malnourished, sallow and thin, wearing a crumpled flat cap, his face covered in red pockmarks.
“What are you spacing out for!” the boy said, “Something big has happened, you know? Eric stole Mack’s gold pocket watch!”
Polly croaked, “Eric?”
“Yeah! Mack was so mad, he tied Eric’s feet to the saddle and dragged him for hundreds of meters… When the manager found out, his leg was swollen like a bun, his back almost torn apart, the ground littered with shredded flesh… serves him right,” the boy spat disdainfully, “always stealing our spotlight!”
The ground was littered with shredded flesh…
Just thinking about it made Polly’s back ache, but the boy didn’t seem to care, as if he wasn’t talking about a living person but a rat caught in a trap.
“If it were up to me, he shouldn’t get off so easy… that gold pocket watch is so expensive, Mack should call the police, send him straight to the gallows…”
Polly thought, could they even call the police in this godforsaken place?
Wait, gallows?
Then, the boy suddenly squeezed closer, signaling her to lower the tent flap, leaving only a slit to peek through.
“Shh, shh…” his face flushed with excitement, he whispered, “The manager and the others are coming!”
Polly looked up and immediately saw Eric.
He was thin, severely injured, lying motionless on a stretcher.
His shirt was soaked black with blood, like a greedy shadow ready to devour him whole.
A thick, fishy smell filled the air, invading her nostrils.
Polly initially thought she had a nosebleed, instinctively tilting her head back, only to realize seconds later that it was the heavy stench of blood.
A spark flashed as a man struck a match, lighting a cigar in his mouth, and walked over to Eric.
The dim light of dusk made it hard for Polly to see the man’s face clearly, only that he was wearing a suit, a watch chain on his vest, and a gold ring with a sparkling gem on his thumb—likely the “manager” the boy mentioned.
“Dear Mack,” the man said slowly, “may I ask why you treated him like this?”
Only then did Polly notice a blond boy standing nearby, fat, sturdy, and ruddy-faced.
The blond boy immediately shouted, “He stole my watch!”
“No, no, Mack,” the man shook his head, “you misunderstood me, I mean—why do you think you have the right to beat him like this?”
At this, Mack was stunned.
He seemed not to expect the man to side with Eric, and became anxious, “Uncle, he stole the gold pocket watch mom gave me…”
The man took a puff of his cigar, making a gesture to shut up, “You’re my beloved nephew, so I usually turn a blind eye to your squabbles, but this time, it’s really gone too far.”
“Eric can do magic, ventriloquism, sing,” the man glanced at Eric on the stretcher, his gaze pained, as if looking at a dog too weak to guard the door, “with a single command from me, he can even jump through hoops of fire—what about you? You only waste my food, can’t even earn half of Eric’s performance fee.”
Mack’s face turned red and purple, “But, but he stole my gold pocket watch… Uncle! He stole my watch! Gold!”
The man asked, “Did you see him steal it?”
Mack, “No, but—”
“Did you find evidence he stole it?”
“No, but who else—”
The man’s tone suddenly turned icy, “Since he wasn’t caught, then he’s good.”
Mack said incredulously, “Uncle, how could you…”
“How could I?” the man sneered, “My sister was a good pickpocket, could empty a lady’s bedroom without anyone noticing, and you? You didn’t even know your own watch was stolen, and almost crippled my cash cow.”
The man lowered his head, glancing at Eric, “And not even in a decent place,” he said coldly, “now, Eric’s leg is broken, his back injured—who’s going to perform magic in the meantime, you?”
Mack looked as if he had been slapped several times, his face flushed, unable to speak for a while.
After all, they were uncle and nephew, the man scolded a few more times, then waved his hand, dismissing Mack.
Polly carefully pondered their conversation, feeling a chill run down her spine.
—Was there even law in this place?
Mack looked no more than sixteen or seventeen, yet the man casually told him his mother was a pickpocket.
He had committed such a serious mistake… brawling, dragging someone behind a horse, almost killing another child, yet the man only lightly criticized him.
Plus all the bizarre details: the gold pocket watch, the gallows, the cigar, the match, the completely unfamiliar hands.
…She might very well no longer be in the modern era.
Polly took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down, and continued to listen.
She needed to hear more useful details to figure out her current situation.
After finishing his cigar, the man lightly kicked Eric on the stretcher, “…Can you still talk?”
No response.
The man didn’t mind, continuing on his own, “I know both you and Mack want me to give justice, but unfortunately, I’m not a judge, nor a cop, I don’t care who stole what. I only want money.”
“Mack’s mom gave me five thousand francs to take care of this kid…” the man chuckled, “if you can earn me five thousand francs, even if you kill Mack, I won’t say a word, understand?”
Still no response.
Eric remained silent, motionless, as if dead on the stretcher.
But Polly felt a chill run through her body, her heart sinking—the man was clearly hinting to Eric that as long as he earned enough money, he could kill Mack.
He was encouraging the two boys to kill each other.
What kind of place was this?
Or rather, what… era was this?