Before heading out, I stopped by Jim. Apparently he had finished his speech and was on to a new project. He was checking a huge ledger full of numbers against a collection of parchment scraps filled with scribbles. Every few seconds he wrote on a fresh sheet of parchment in his small, neat handwriting.

“Hey Jim,” I said, sliding back into the booth. “Having fun?”

“Turns out accounting is a viable choice of profession, though I could use a break,” Jim said, setting down his work and rubbing his eyes. “How can I help you, Will?” he asked with a weary grin.

“We got paid for the warehouse raid, I figured you could find a good use for some funds,” I said, showing him the heavy coins Ajax had given me.

Jim’s grin relaxed and became more genuine. “That would be enough to rent this place out for the rest of the month. How much can you spare?”

“That really depends on how much things cost, I don’t really have a good understanding of what things are worth. So far I have been getting by on barter.”

“Well,” said Jim as he reached over and picked up one of the pound coins. “One pound is worth twenty shillings.” Jim held the pound coin in both hands, then set down two stacks of smaller coins. Seeing my look of surprise he explained. “I picked up currency exchange as one of my skills. I can change any currency to a different one of equal value. It is not terribly powerful by itself, but I think the upgraded versions will be useful. Anyway, one shilling,” and he picked up a coin from the stack, “is worth twelve pence,” and he set a new stack of twelve small coins next to the nineteen shillings. “Your average servant makes about 7 pence a day, or 11 pounds a year. A crappy bed for a night is about two pence. This place,” he gestured to the inn as a whole, “costs five pounds a month. That said, anything made for nobility is really expensive. A tailored suit goes for around eight pounds.”

I did some mental math. If a servant makes 7 pence a day, I figured I could make my plan work with just one of the fat pound coins. I picked up the stack of ten shillings and set it off to the side. That would cover the Archbishop’s tithe. Then I slid two more of the pound coins over to Jim. “Go ahead and add that to the guild funds then. This should be plenty,” I said, tapping the two pound coins I had left.

After getting some change from Jim, Ajax and I headed out. It took us about an hour of walking along the riverbank before we finally found what I was looking for. The small beach was grimy and covered in litter. At the shore, a mob of children was harrying a shambling figure. Watching where I stepped, I made my way over to the group.

The zombie was even slower than the ones Ajax and I had fought yesterday. It’s waterlogged body was bloated and sluggish. After each clumsy swing, one of the kids would dart in and slam a makeshift club against the rotting corpse. The blows didn’t seem to do much, but they were slowly wearing down the zombie.

When the children saw me approaching, they backed off warily. I summoned my force shield and carefully overlaid the material with the back of my hand. Like with the bartop in the Bitter Flagon, the material fused without causing damage, securing itself firmly to my arm.

Next I drew my shamshir and approached the zombie from behind. I gave a quick testing cut with the sword before slamming my new buckler down on the undead’s head. The translucent edge of the shield bit deep into the soft skull, splitting it like a watermelon hit by a sledgehammer.

The zombie dropped like a stone. Vaguely nauseated by the grisly display, I was nevertheless pleased by the result. Apparently I was right about the interaction between the Multi-Weapon Fighting and True Time skills. Putting away my shamshir, I looked up at the children.

There were six of them, watching me with clubs raised. They seemed torn between fleeing and their desire to loot. I decided to speak up before they could cut and run.

“Hey, are you the River Rats? I’m looking for Roach,” I said, taking pains to keep my voice casual.

“What’cha want with ‘im?” asked one of the older boys defiantly. He looked maybe fourteen or fifteen and his coat was covered in patches.

“I want to hire him, and a few others, for a job. It pays,” I said, holding up a handful of pence.

The kid’s expression grew even more grim. “Listen mister, I dunno what you heard, but we ain’t running no drugs. Not for you, not for them Greys, not for nobody. So take your job ‘n piss off.”

“Nothing like that,” I said, taken aback. “We just need you to watch some people, it won't even be illegal.”

Patchcoat studied my face carefully. “You with them gossip rags then? Cheating hubbies and gov’ment bribes?” he asked.

“Close enough,” I said, wiping my face. “Look, could you just get Roach and I’ll explain everything.”

The boy thought for a moment before nodding. “Wait up there,” he said, pointing up the beach. Once we backed away he started barking orders. “Cat, go get Roach. You lot, strip the zeds and pack it in. We still need to check the Knob before it gets dark.”

Ajax and I watched as the children sprang into action. A girl of about eight ran off, presumably to get Roach, Patchcoat just stood watching us, and the other four started stripping corpses. There were three bodies, including the one I had killed. While Ajax and I had only taken the valuables off the zombies we killed, the kids took everything. Even the rotting clothes and shoes went into burlap sacks and makeshift backpacks.

“Do you really think this will work?” Ajax asked. “I would hardly call them the ideal private investigators.”

“They’ll be cheaper though, and cover more ground,” I explained. “We have no idea who the killer will go after next, so we need to cast a wide net.”

Eventually the girl came back with Roach. Patchcoat gathered his people and moved off, casting one last suspicious glance in our direction. That left just the three of us on the filthy beach.

“Good to see you again, Roach,” I said. Roach just grunted noncommitaly, so I started explaining. I told him about the racetrack and its possible connection to the Decoction Killer.

“So basically, we want to hire your gang to watch for suspicious people during the races, follow them, and send us messages if anything happens,” I finished my explanation.

Roach looked skeptical. “Needle in a ‘aystack, innit? One bloke in ‘undreds.”

“Try to focus on regulars, people that are there every time,” I said.

“And anyone that interacts heavily with the staff,” Ajax added. “That ticket salesman was suspicious as hell.”

After a moment's consideration, Roach nodded. “I can get ‘round twenty Rats to watch for ya. Gimme a shilling fer each.”

“Nice try kid,” I said, thankful for Jim’s finance lesson. “I’ll give you one pence per person for every race day.”

“Two pence each and a shilling for im that gets yer killer,” Roach said, folding his arms over his narrow chest.

“Done,” I said, and shook Roach’s hand. “You start tomorrow. Forty pence comes out to…” I did some mental math “three shillings and four pence.” I counted out the coins and placed them in Roach’s waiting palm.

“Don’t screw us on this, kid,” Ajax cautioned.

Roach looked at Ajax reproachfully. “The River Rats keep our word.”

Business concluded, Roach ran off. I turned to Ajax. “So, now what?”