John blinked slowly as his immediate surroundings came into focus. Looking around he found himself in a large wooden square. The planks on the ground were smoothed by the passage of time and booted feet. Old stains from sweat and blood could be seen within the whorls of the wood. Timbers rose from the ground at the four corners of the square and in the center of each side of the square. Horizontal planks of wood surrounded John on all sides. They rose in height to John’s chest and were only broken on one side of the box by a swinging, wooden door. Each of wooden pillars had a bronze sconce, darkened with use. Paraffin wax candles sat in the sconses, dimly lighting the box.

Glancing up, John noticed a chandelier lit with more of the candles. The spaces between the pillars were dimmed but John could see scores of roughhewn seats arranged in such a fashion that people could watch whatever event this box of wood was designed for. A few men occupied these benches and were watching John as if frozen in time. They were dressed oddly. They wore dark woolen trousers with white buttoned shirts that were rolled up to the forearms. Some were smoking, and some were drinking alcohol straight from dirty glass bottles. Dark woolen vests and caps placed low on their heads completed their ensemble. Sconces within these areas were lit with candles as well but the total effect kept them dimmer than the area that John now found himself and draped the watching men in shadow.

The age about the place was palpable and the smell of cigar smoke, sweat, and mold was readily apparent. At the very back of the odd room behind the wooden seating area, John noticed that the walls themselves were wooden and rough. Brass fixtures adorned them haphazardly. Unlike the area John was in, these walls were painted a deep crimson. John’s knowledge of Unarmed Combat combined with his basic historical knowledge led John to believe that he was in an ancient bare-knuckle boxing ring. The type that were found within Victorian-Era England and neighborhoods within America. The lack of electricity, reliance of candlelight, and distinctive structure, led John to this conclusion.

A sudden pressure could be felt in John’s ears and it seemed as if all the sound in the world had been turned on at once. The men began laughing and joking whilst drinking and smoking could now clearly be heard. They were animatedly talking amongst themselves and gesturing to John. One of them, a man much larger than his companions, stood up and took the cigar out of his mouth. His previously jovial expression turned into annoyance as he began to berate John.

“What are you bloody doing Jonny?! You’re never going to beat Bricky Timmy that way! Christ, get your bloody head in the fight! You’re supposed to be practicing in here and instead you’re dozing off into space. That’s not what Smiley is bloody paying you for! If you lose this fight then you and I will have matching graves when Smiley gets done with us!”

John blinked slowly and turned his head towards the voice. He noticed that his body was positioned in a different fighting stance than what he learned in the last simulation and he slowly lowered his hands in confusion. John was surprised to note that his hands were also different from how he remembered. They were crudely covered in cloth wrappings. The cloth itself was stained with old blood, sweat, and other fluids of unknown origins. What kind of simulation was this?

As John appraised the man speaking to him. He felt a piece of his personality being subsumed. He began to slowly remember who Jonny was with the sort of logic found only in dreams. He was John but he was also Jonny. That’s right. His name was Jonny. He could remember his life as Jonny. Many parts of it resonated with his own life as John. In this moment, the two identities became one. He recognized the man yelling at him now. It was Patsy. Patsy McGinnis was his boxing mentor and benefactor.

He was training for his upcoming fight with Bricky Timmy and he was spacing out as he was thinking about…something…Jonny in characteristic fashion, quickly dismissed the thoughts that wouldn’t seem to coalesce in his mind. He rushed to respond to Patsy before Patsy really got fired up. Once that started it was damn near impossible to get him to calm down again without a fight or a pint. He was pretty evenly split on which he liked more.

“Eh Patsy, what are you bloody talking about? I’m right here aren’t I? We’ve been going through the same tired patterns for hours now. We’ve been at it since the sun came up. You know you don’t need to worry about the fight with Timmy. Everybody knows that he’s gotten slow in his old age. It’s a right shame innit but that’s the score, Patsy.”

Patsy growled. “Don’t sell me a dog, Jonny. The only way you’ll beat Bricky Timmy is if you keep practicing. Timmy hasn’t kept his spot at the top because of luck. He’s a tricky fighter and one of Smiley’s favorites. You’re lucking that your Smiley’s new favorite or you wouldn’t even be getting a chance to fight him yet!” His heavy set frame vibrated with suppressed annoyance. He gestured expansively to a group of men with him.

“But maybe I’m wrong. What do you blokes think? Jonny here wins some collie shangles in that rookery he calls a home, dodges the skinners, and all of a sudden thinks he’s ready to take the bare knuckle boxing game all by himself. Think he needs to stop training?”

The men laughed and gave Patsy all the answers he wanted and Jonny scowled at their responses. Traitors.

Patsy turned his attention back Jonny.

“That what you think Jonny? Maybe I should just stop coaching you, promoting your fights, and making sure you fall on the right side of Smiley? Huh, Jonny? Want me to leave you to the streets like the orphan you were? You won’t be able to afford those posh outfits you like so much.”

Jonny looked uncomfortable. Patsy was really working himself up into a frenzy. It sounded like Patsy was worried about something and was just taking it out on him. Jonny decided to reassure him, hoping that might calm him down.

“Patsy, it isn’t like that. I’m just confident that Timmy isn’t as good as he used to be. I’m undefeated right now and not even the blokes from St. Giles want to send their fighters here to face me. You don’t have to worry, I know you’re the reason that Smiley let me leave the thieving business to come to boxing. I’m thankful. Here, I don’t have to worry about the bobbies and can earn a somewhat honest living.”

Patsy grinned evilly. “Don’t you forget it Jonny. You’d still be breaking into houses and picking pockets without me. Smiley would still be dangling you like a fish on the line if I hadn’t convinced him that you’d be worth more as an established part of the Family. Otherwise you’d still be a no account street rat without protection. I don’t care if the blokes on the street called you the “Ghost” or any other bloody nickname. Everybody in the city knows that thieving doesn’t last forever. They always get caught.”

Patsy finally looked uncomfortable and as soon as Jonny noticed the discomfort he was elated. The conversation was over. Patsy surprised him though.

Hey Jonny, come up here for a second. I have something I’ve got to tell you in private away from these meatheads.” Patsy gestured to the bruisers that he usually had as an entourage. Some of them were other boxers but most of them were people that Smiley hired when he wanted to write a message to someone in blood. Patsy was Smiley’s main provider of muscle. Luckily, Jonny hadn’t had to do that sort of business. He was more valuable as a boxer these days than getting snatched up and throw in the gaol. Even worse, he could be thrown into the Queen’s prison. No one walked out of that nightmare.

Patsy gestured for Jonny to follow him as he wedged his bulk through the benches that everyone else was sitting on and made his way to a shadowed corner of the exhibition ring. Relieved, Jonny followed him away from the others. Patsy sat down and gestured for Jonny to do the same. Jonny did and waited for what Patsy had to say.

“Listen Jonny, Smiley needs another job from you.”

Jonny felt a spike of fear spread through him as he struggled to control his emotions.

“What kind of job, Patsy? You just said that I wouldn’t have to anymore thieving for Smiley unless I wanted to do it. Boxing is supposed to be the game now that I’ve proven myself to more profitable as a fighter than as a thief.”

Patsy waved Jonny to silence.

“I know what I said Jonny. But you know Smiley. He isn’t someone you just go and tell to bugger off. That kind of man will leave you in a hole in the ground so deep and so dark that not even the bobbies will be able to find you. Besides, he said it’ll be worth your while.”

Jonny frowned in thought.

“Well, how much did he offer?”

Patsy barked a laugh. “Not even going ask what the score is Jonny before you try and jump into the game?”

“Listen Patsy, you know that doesn’t matter to me. I’m one of the best cracksman Smiley has.” Jonny gave a dark chuckle. “The rest are either dead or locked up.”

“Yeah, I know Jonny. I know, but that’s not the problem. Smiley wants you to steal from the Lord of Seven Dials. The bloked named himself that. No one gave him the title. Pretentious git isn't he?”

Patsy looked pained and for a moment and Jonny felt a measure of sympathy for him. Patsy did pull Jonny of the streets when he was a kid and one good turn always deserved another. Jonny owed Patsy his life. In many ways, Jonny had always been a part of “the Family.” He had been an orphan and then a thief and now an illegal boxer.

If it weren’t for Patsy, then Jonny would probably have died long ago. Where didn’t matter. He could’ve died in the streets by catching a stray knife in the back or had a smile carved in his throat. There was a reason Smiley earned his name before becoming the closest thing to a ruler Jonny had ever known. Smiley ruled this neighborhood with an iron and bloody fist. It was well within his power to get rid of Jonny if he became too much of a nuisance. If the underworld didn’t kill him then what passed for legal work could have just as easily. He could’ve died starving or broken in a workhouse as every day was just a new excuse for the London elite to profit of the manual labor from the unwashed working class. At least a death from Smiley was quick. Hell, he could’ve died by some mutton shunter from the Watch pounding his skull in with one of their clubs.

Instead Jonny was alive right now to hear Patsy give his pitch. It wasn’t much but in a life like Jonny’s, being alive was something to be thankful for. Maybe it was different in the nicer parts of London but Jonny didn’t know. In Jacob’s Island, Smiley’s domain, lives were very cheap things. These thoughts swirled in Jonny’s brain as he responded to Patsy.

“You know I’m going to do it Patsy. Smiley doesn’t expect anything else.” Jonny put some false cheer into his voice. “Besides, it might be fun. It’s been a while since I robbed anything more than a street vendor. My skills need the practice.” He gave Patsy a playful grin. “After all, we can’t all be bruisers like you Patsy. Some of us actually have some brains in our skulls that haven’t been beat to bloody hell.”

Patsy was unusually subdued. He didn’t laugh or respond in kind to Jonny’s riposte. Normally, his expressions were expansive and boisterous in keeping with his Irish roots. He was something of a surrogate uncle to Jonny and so Jonny usually humored his outbursts good-naturedly. In fact, Jonny could usually pick up some new curse words from Patsy if he listened carefully enough. Since Jonny had been living on the streets his whole life, that was quit the achievement.

“Nobody knows, Jonny. Apparently, Smiley knows and he’s going to provide a street rat to act as your crow. The kid knows where the building is, who the Lord is, and what you need to palm. You’ll have to figure the rest out. Smiley didn’t tell me anything else.”

Jonny looked at Patsy with some confusions and said slowly. “That’s not how things are usually done, Patsy.”

“Yeah, I know lad. That’s not even the worst part.” He trailed off.

Jonny waited silently and merely raised his eyebrow when Patsy didn’t immediately respond.

Patsy sighed heavily. “You’ve only got two days to do it, Jonny.”

“Two days!? You’re joking. Only two days to case the place, gather the tools I’ll need, and figure out how I’m actually going to steal whatever Smiley wants? Christ, Patsy you’re trying to get me killed!”

With a nervous glance to the other men laughing and talking on the other side of the room. Patsy hurriedly gestured for Jonny to lower his voice.

“Look. I don’t know, Jonny. All Smiley would say is that the item he wants is only there for one day and since you’re the best, he knows that you can steal it. I only learned about this last night and I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you all morning.”

Jonny pursed his lips. “So to sum it all up, you want me to steal an unknown item from an unknown person, for an unknown amount of money for the worst gang boss in Jacob’s Island… all in only two days?”

Patsy laughed with a headsman’s humor. “Yeah, that’s about right, Jonny. You don’t even want me to mention what Smiley will do to you if don’t agree.”

Jonny sighed and ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. “Alright, where am I going to meet my crow?”

Patsy clapped his hand on Jonny’s shoulder happy that the awkward conversation that he had been dreading was over.

“You’ll meet him over by the shankhouse over by the docks. I don’t know what the lad looks like but Smiley was confident that the little crow could find you before you made it there.”

Jonny nodded to Patsy and stood up to leave. Patsy frowned at his departing back.

“Hey Jonny.”

Jonny half turned. “yeah?”

“Be careful lad, Seven Dials isn’t a place to mess about. If the bobbies don’t catch you, the Lord might, and everything I’ve heard about his gang makes an honest man shudder. Smiley has done some brutal things both himself or having ordered it done, but the Lord makes Smiley look like a priest.”

Jonny just quietly nodded and made his way to where his gym bag was. Jonny thoughtfully stripped and changed into his clothing. He first put on his dark grey work shirt, following the shirt came his dark woolen trousers. Leather work boots went on his feet. No one walked around in anything less around Jacob’s Island. Good boots were priceless in this neighborhood. If you tried to wear anything else, the garbage or the river water would get inside and ruin them quickly. After rolling up his sleeves, Jonny put on a woolen vest to watch the same dubious color as his trousers and finished it with an overcoat to keep away the worst of the autumn chill.

Like Patsy had mentioned, Jonny had some posh clothing. He even had some that would let him fit in with the upper crust of society in London. He didn’t own them out of a desire to look wealthy. He wore them when he was robbing the rich bastards blind. Sometimes you have to be able to blend in if you want to make the big scores. However, if Jonny walked around here in clothes like that around here, he would be a priceless target for the various dippers, mobsmen, or toolers in the neighborhood.

The first trick to sneaking around is to wear clothes that resemble the area you’re trying to blend in. From Patsy’s tone, St. Giles was an even more down-trodden place than Jacob’s Island. Jonny had never been because he had never had a reason to go. From a robbery standpoint they didn’t have anything that Jonny himself couldn’t possess and from a fighting standpoint, fights were usually done on neutral ground.

With this reasoning, Jonny was confident he could blend in. John paused putting on his coat. Where had that errant thought come from? He didn’t usually think about the various methods of sneaking. He knew how to sneak around. He was the best thief in Jacob’s Island. Even Smiley, a terrifying individual otherwise, knew he could rely on Jonny. John shrugged on his jacket, dismissing the thought from his mind and made his way to the exit of the building.

The smell from outside the building hit him like a stagecoach to the chest. All of the dilapidated buildings around Patsy’s place smelled of rot, decayed foundation, and garbage. Sometimes, in the deeper alleys, the sweet swell of decayed corpses would overpower the senses. Most people tried to stay far away from these places. Each street and alleyway within Jacob’s Island had its own hierarchy of criminals and only the truly desperate would squat in the places where the bobbies feared to go. Even in the main walkways, trash and debris littered the streets. Gutters, small as they were, had been filled with piss and human shit long ago and it would often overflow onto the path. It just added to the aromatic cocktail of Jacob’s Island.

The best times in Jacob’s Island occurred when a deluge of rain would fall onto the city and wash away the stink and the filth into the Thames. For a brief period the streets would be clean and people wculd be seen walking the streets thankful at the reprieve. But like all slums, it would quickly go back to normal and then people would be rushing around to get out of the streets again. This neighborhood had never seen much wealth pass through. As London industrialized the wealth ended up being at the top and the divide between rich and poor were as wide as ever. It was in situations like this that the working class naturally turned to crime.

The evidence of this fact was everywhere in the streets. Often windows were cracked or completely busted. Hasty repairs were made with old linens or grungy rags. Nothing was kept clean. People didn’t have the expendable income to waste on niceties and even if they did, no one would take the risk of attracting the seedy underbelly of London with clean facilities. Everyone knew that clean meant money and money made a fine target for the poor and destitute. In some of Jonny’s darker thoughts, he wished for a raging fire to burn down the whole place so that it could be built anew.

Jonny kicked some of the garbage out of his way as he meandered his way to the docks. The wind started blowing harder from the docks and the chill began to bite his hands and neck. Jonny flipped up the collar of his jacket and pulled a cap from one of its deep pockets. He placed the cap low on his head so that he could observe his surroundings without looking obtrusive. Jonny inwardly cursed the weather, the job from Smiley, and generally everything and anything that had pulled him from the warmth and comfort of Patsy’s place to the reeking shithole that was the docks.

Jamming his hands into his pockets relieved him of some of the chill but Jonny knew that winter was just around the corner and soon even this coat wouldn’t be enough to protect him from the chill. At least he had some means of staving off the winter. Many in this neighborhood would die from exposure. Sometimes, Jonny would steal clothes from other parts of the town in order to give it to the kids on the street. Many times, even that didn’t help the children. There were plenty of skinners who lurked throughout the neighborhood trying to catch unsuspecting children. They were called skinners in the local jargon because they would literally catch and beat children, take all of their clothes, and leave the kids shivering in the cold. Whenever Jonny was able to catch one, he made sure to give them a thrashing. Jonny remembered the cold winters of his childhood and constantly hiding from the skinners while trying to eke out a meager existence. Now that he was older, he took every opportunity to pay the skinners back for every moment of fear he experienced.

Jonny had some hope that the wind would at least blow the stench form the docks out and over the Thames but he didn’t have that kind of luck. Instead, it just brought the equally unpleasant smell of rotting fish and ship tar to his nostrils. Jonny picked up his pace, both to get his blood pumping and to avoid the costermongers hawking their wares in the street with their wagons. Costermongers were a bit like merchants. If merchants were poor, tried to buy up everything they could, and then tried to sell it back to the poor in times of hardship for meager earnings. In short, they were bloodsucking parasites and Jonny detested them more than the genteel nobility living in their richly appointed manors with their posh accents and dedicated servants.

Noticing one of the costermongers loudly advertising his meat pies and yet not paying attention to his cart, Jonny decided to saunter closer. The man was obviously new to the neighborhood. Jonny spied a gang of street rats thinking the same thing he was and as Jonny drew closer like a looming shadow and they scattered off. As Jonny neared the cart, he slowed his stride and appeared casual.

Many thieves when they were new thought that quick action and a hasty snatch was a better method than calmly and coolly palming an item. What those thieves didn’t realize is that human eyes are drawn to motion. Humans are hunters at heart. Anything that is slow, boring, or innocuous the eyes and the mind tend to disregard. Memory being what it is, it’s quite easy to let a man who looks like he should look, walks like he should walk, and moves like he should move to go completely unnoticed. In contast, fast or jerking motions draw the eye and unwanted attention.

The smart thief is a smooth thief. A smooth thief is an alive thief. Technology can advance, weapons can get more destructive, and society may improve but tricking the human mind will always remain the same. It was with these thoughts that Jonny snaked a hand out to palm one of the still steaming meat pies and with practiced motions retrieved it smoothly from the wooden cart. The donkey calmly attached to the cart gave Jonny a backward glance and that was the extent of the attention that Jonny garnered before he moved on like the ghost he was known as.

Jonny continued on his way to the docks. Hs eyes slowly panned the area around him. To a passerby Jonny looked to just be casually strolling but the reality was much different. In a neighborhood like this, you had to know the pulse of the thing. Neighborhoods all worked the same way. They all had a sort of beat. A pulse the guided the actions of the denizens within. Just like a heartbeat it’s hard to listen to your own but it’s still there, quietly ticking away your mortality. The heartbeat of a neighborhood is the common way that people move and interact within their environment.

Usually, if something isn’t quite right, people will respond even if they don’t consciously understand why they’re doing it. They might grow quiet when a mob boss walks the streets. They might avoid the main avenues if the bobbies were on patrol. These little idiosyncrasies and more are what separates a good cracksman from a dead one. If a thief can remember what the baseline feels like and spends enough time in the area then he can almost have a prescient understanding of what is happening and what may be about to happen.

This was the primary reason that Jonny was uncomfortable with the upcoming job. Jonny liked to take his time in a neighborhood. He liked to know all of the entrances, all of the exits, who the players were, and what kind of game was being played. Essentially, he wanted to feel the heartbeat of a place before he robbed it.

Soon enough, Jonny made it to the docks and the sound of the Thames lapping against the wooden planks mixed with the sounds of costermongers and merchants plying their trades. As Jonny entered the market he was careful to not allow anyone to touch him within the crowd. For the uninitiated, a single bump or trip could be accompanied by a dipper slipping his hands through your pockets and taking everything that you were worth.

Jonny made his way to a part of the market where he could sit and be observed by those who were paying attention and yet unobtrusive to those who weren’t. He figured the kid would be a professional much like Jonny was himself in those days. The kid likely knew who he was looking for since Jonny himself didn’t know anything about who was supposed to be watching his back during the heist.

Normally, Jonny would pick someone older to provide over watch on a job like this. They tended to be better with weapons and blend in easier with their surroundings. Kids were usually in on jobs where they could use their pitiful expressions and demeanor to scam the wealthy out of their belingings. The positive thing about it being a kid is the fact that kids were fast and could get into places that adults could not. All things considered, the kid wouldn’t be a bad choice for a crow.

Jonny settled himself in to wait.