Toad hopped off the buggy as it passed the bakery. His arms and legs trembled with exhaustion from gripping onto the buggy for so long. The moment his feet stood on solid ground, his legs gave out and he wobbled sideways, seeking refuge in a vacant alleyway. He leaned up against the wall but his legs refused to hold him. He slid to the dirty pavement, legs shaking, heart quivering. He was home. For a moment, Toad took it all in, relishing his return to the city he loved.

But the question remained: What to do now?

Should he go to Owl without the ingredients? That seemed stupidly dangerous. But where else would Melena be, if not with Owl? Was she already at the big, bricked house? Or was she wandering the streets, asking passersby the way, for Toad was sure Melena had never heard of Owl before he’d broken into her apothecary.

He could wait on the lane outside Owl’s house. Hide in a bush, or something. And if she was already inside?

Toad gulped. Well, he’d sneaked into Owl’s house once. He could do it again.

Toad got back to his feet, trying to ignore his aching muscles, and ran out of the alley just as an old woman crossed in front of him. Toad barely had time to jump out of the way, but his arm caught her bag, sending it flying into the air. Shopping goods scattered onto the sidewalk.

“You earworm!” the old lady shrieked as onions rolled. “Look where you’re going!”

“Sorry,” said Toad. “Didn’t see you.”

“Didn’t see me!” the woman screeched, indignant. “I was standing right here!”

“Sorry!” As Toad hurried away, an onion bounced off his back.

“Where would you like to get dropped off?” asked the red-haired woman, as Hickory shops swept past the buggy’s windows.

Melena shot a covert glance down at Joe, who gave the tiniest of winks.

“This’ll do.”

The woman leaned forward and rapped on the glass behind the driver. He pulled up on the reins and the buggy sidled up to a curb.

“I hope your brother likes his gift,” said the woman as Melena and Hazel stepped down from the buggy.

“Thank you!” said Melena. The woman gave a short nod, shut the door and the buggy moved back into action.

“All right Joe,” said Melena at once. “Where is he?”

“21st Street, East Hickory.”

Melena spun on the spot, trying to get her bearings. She shouldered her knapsack, and with Hazel perched on the other, set off.

“Quickly, m’lady!” Joe urged.

Melena broke into a run, weaving through pedestrians. She zinged around a corner —

And collided into an old woman. They fell in a tangle of legs, arms and shawls. Joe rolled across the pavement with an indignant, “I say!” Hazel let out a loud screech and burst into the air. Melena was showered in onions.

“FOR THE LOVE OF—”

“I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!”

“ARE YOU CHILDREN BLIND?”

“I wasn’t looking—”

“IF I CRACKED A HIP, YOU’RE GOING TO WISH YOU WERE A PICKLED SNAIL!”

With many frantic apologies, Melena quickly retreated. Scooping up Joe, she escaped into the staring crowd. Now that she was on 21st Street, her eyes darted, searching for a familiar mess of brown hair.

But there were too many people, the street as clogged as a drain pipe. Hazel fluttered down onto a lamppost, peering over heads.

“Oh, this is impossible,” Melena cursed. “I can’t see him.”

“That is because he is now on Lendell Avenue, m’lady,” said Joe. “Master Toad is not stagnant.”

Melena had taken one step to the left towards a distant street sign that read ‘Lendell Avenue’ when Joe spoke again.

“Bower Street.”

“Bower?” repeated Melena, stopping in her tracks. “What about Lendell?”

“It is Bower Street now, m’lady.”

“How did he get all the way to Bower Street? That’s what — two, three blocks from here?”

“Perhaps Master Toad knows a shortcut,” mused Joe.

Melena scowled. Of course Toad knew shortcuts.

Another lengthy, weaving dash and she found herself on Bower Street. One swift sweep of the quiet neighborhood revealed that Toad was no where in sight. She quickly found the house that Joe pointed her to, sitting stoutly behind a thick patch of maze-trimmed hedges, the entire property encircled by a tall, wrought iron fence. Melena stood at the gate and gave it a push; it was locked.

“M’lady, this is causing a most displeasing delay.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Melena snapped, frustrated. “The gate’s locked. Are you sure that he’s in there?”

“I can show m’lady proof, if m’lady would prefer.”

“Show me?” Melena repeated, confused.

“Quite. Now that I’m closer to young Toad or … should I refer to Master as Milo?”

“Call him what you want! I don’t care!”

“Ah, well then. Now that I am closer it is much easier.” Joe’s eyes spun so fast they were a blur of color and suddenly he was full to the brim with water. Melena was so startled that she nearly dropped him again.

“You will see him now,” said Joe.

Melena cautiously peered down into the mug. The water rippled slightly and a vivid image appeared. She was looking down from high above, like a fly on a ceiling, onto a lavishly decorated room. Toad was in a leather chair, looking every bit like a man cornered. Two people stood next to him, one as massive as an ogre.

“I thought I’d taught you about breaking into my home, Mr. Toad.”

A third man had spoken from behind a desk. He rose, but from her angle she could only see his smoothly brushed hair and neat suit. It was quite obvious to Melena, though she had never met him, that this man was Mr. Owl.

Toad stayed silent.

“The manner in which you slipped into my home just now has me wondering if your visit has malintentions,” Owl continued. “I take it that you are not here to deliver my ingredients?”

Toad’s eyes widened. “I —” He cleared his throat. “I don’t have ’em.”

“Why ever not, Mr. Toad? I was under the impression from Cutter that you were doing shockingly well.”

The ogre on Toad’s right gave a derisive snort.

It was obvious that Toad was doing a great deal of very quick thinking; his eyes darted from man to man before fixing on Owl.

“I got all of ’em, every last one, but my partner … she split. Took ’em and left. I was hoping that maybe,” and Toad’s eyes flickered around the room again, “that she might have already stopped by.”

“No,” said Owl softly. “No one has come to me regarding potion ingredients other than you. It seems,” he said, voice growing softer still, “that you’ve been duped, Mr. Toad.”

Toad opened his mouth but Owl continued, seeming to grow more threatening the gentler his voice became. “Are you telling me, Mr. Toad, that you allowed my ingredients to be lifted from your person? Was I not grotesquely clear what would happen if you did not come through?”

There was no blood left in Toad’s face.

“Mr. Ogg, was I not quite clear to Mr. Toad?” Owl asked and the enormous man grunted in agreement.

“There isn’t a guard outside,” said Ogg. “I can take care of him now.”

“What? No!” Toad tried to stand but Ogg grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back into the chair while the man on his other side snarled, “Stay put!”

“She didn’t steal ’em! We just got separated on the road, that’s all,” Toad insisted. “Let me go and wave her down — I’m sure she’s—”

“Fletch.” Owl ignored Toad, addressing the other man who was as slim as Ogg was massive. “The girl’s name is Melena Snead, according to Cutter. Waist length blond hair, typically tied in a braid. Blue eyes, owns a green Spit-Fire. I expect Cutter to be bringing her along, but in case she too managed to wriggle free, I want you to keep your eyes out for her. And make sure that she’s dealt with properly.”

“NO!” Toad lunged forward, causing Ogg to restrain him again. “Leave her alone!”

“Right o, sir,” said Fletch. He strode out of the room.

“All you want are the ingredients!” Toad shouted, struggling against Ogg. “Leave her alone!”

“Mr. Ogg, if you’d be so kind as to remove Mr. Toad from my presence,” said Owl, settling back down behind his desk. “Put him somewhere out of the way. We’ll deal with him tonight.”

Toad squirmed like a worm on a hook, but in Ogg’s thick hold, he could do nothing.

“You said I had ’til February!” Toad raged.

“Oh, Mr. Toad you so amuse me — I will be rather sad to see you go. That was nothing but more coal for the fire. I couldn’t have you growing lax, could I? You are of no further use.”

Toad snarled; he tried to kick Ogg in the shins, but Ogg merely pressed his bulging forearm against Toad’s throat, making his words now strangled. “We had a deal, Owl!”

“A deal? We never had a deal, Mr. Toad. I don’t make deals with thieves. I use thieves and when I’m done with them, I dispose of them like the rags they are. I’m surprised Jack never told you that.”

Melena watched in horror as Ogg dragged Toad from the room, Toad still kicking, still struggling, growing redder in the face from the suffocating pressure of Ogg’s arm across his throat. Melena’s hands shook so badly that the picture rippled and disappeared. Joe blinked his marble eyes and the water vanished completely.

Melena felt terror like a physical weight. She spun around, staring at the house through the gate’s bars where somewhere Toad was being strangled —

“M’lady, we must leave this area at once.”

“No! Toad’s in there! We can’t leave him!”

Melena grabbed the bars and yanked, making them rattle like chains. There had to be a way in.

“The man named Fletch is on his way to find you!” Joe shouted. “You must not let that happen, m’lady!”

Joe was right. She couldn’t sit out here and get caught. She’d be no use to Toad if she were dragged inside with an empty knapsack. Sick with dread, praying that Owl wouldn’t kill Toad until he’d caught her, she returned Joe to her bag and scurried from the gate, leaving Bower Street and turning onto another and another and another at random, shooting terrified glances over her shoulder in case she noticed someone following her, choosing to walk on the most crowded streets. Knowing Fletch would be looking for a green Spit-Fire, Melena urged Hazel to hide inside the bag, too.

What was she going to do? Her brain could have been replaced with panicked bees for all the help it was giving her. How was she going to get Toad out of that house safely before nightfall? She needed a plan. She needed to think.

Melena stopped and blocked out the street with her hands, fingertips digging into her scalp.

“Hey — Outta the way, if you ain’t gonna buy somethin’.”

Melena’s hands fell. She turned.

A scruffy man was flapping at her to move away from his rickety stand. On it were different-sized bottles, lined up in neat little rows.

“You’re blockin’ the customers,” he said.

Melena stared at him. He glared at her in turn.

“Get goi —”

“Are you a Rambler?”

The man jerked. His eyes darted about the street, as if expecting someone to jump him.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he began evasively, but Melena cut him off.

“You’re a thief, aren’t you? Those are stolen potions, aren’t they?”

The man muttered something inaudible, shifting slightly, still glancing about the street, but no one was paying them any mind.

“I don’t care whether they are or not,” said Melena, stepping closer. “I just want to know where the Ramblers are. You’re a thief, you must have heard of them. Where’s their hideout?”

When the man remained mute, Melena grew desperate. “It’s important! I’ll — I’ll give you this!” She dug inside her bag, fingers groping around Hazel and Joe for the little bottle of Mirg water.

She held it out to the man. His eyes narrowed.

“What’s this?” he asked, suspiciously, fingering the bottle.

“Mirg water, from the springs.”

The man did a double take.

“You know about the Springs of Mirg, then?” she said, heart thumping.

“You’re lyin’,” said the man, but he didn’t release his hold of the bottle. Melena knew that he could feel the magical warmth pulsing against his gloveless hand.

“I’m not,” said Melena earnestly. “And it’s all yours. It’s priceless; it’ll fetch as many gorents as you want. Just tell me where the Ramblers are.”

The man, still with that dubious air, pulled the stopper free and peered inside the bottle with one eye. He tilted it enough to let a drop fall on his finger. “Mother of — ” But again he grew suspicious. “Why’s you givin’ me this? Eh? Why’s you givin’ me somethin’ so fine?”

Melena wanted to rip her hair out. “Because I must find the Ramblers!”

“But why —”

“Please just tell me!”

“Run down ballroom on 4th an’ Kent, South Hickory. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

Melena started to run, when the man called her back.

“Here!” He tossed her two small boxes. “Two in one special. Go have you some laughs.”

Melena only spared a moment of surprise before stuffing the boxes of Sneezing Snuff inside her bag and speeding off.

The ballroom on 4th and Kent was crumbling before Melena’s eyes. The roof sagged, the sooty brick walls were covered in graffiti, and the half dozen windows that weren’t boarded up were smashed.

The trip over had nearly ended before it had begun. An extremely thin man grew uncomfortably interested in her as she waited to cross the street and after a breathless, heart pounding spell, she managed to lose him in a mass of school age children, noisily following their matron.

Or at least, she hoped she had.

Now, standing in a derelict and quiet corner of Hickory, Melena felt horribly exposed. This would be the perfect place for Fletch to jump her. She doubted anyone in the shabby line of apartments behind her would raise a note of alarm. So with an eye on the street corner she quickly crossed the road, stepped up to the paint-peeling door and knocked.

“Hello?” she asked through the door. “Er — hello? I’m looking for the Ramblers?” Then as an afterthought, “Toad sent me.”

A narrow bit of wood in the door slid away and a pair of doleful eyes peered down at her through a peephole.

“Who are you?” asked the man.

“Melena Snead. I need to see the Ramblers.”

“You a thief?” asked the voice, suspiciously, a behavior Melena was growing quickly ill-tempered with. Why must all thieves ask twenty questions?

“No,” said Melena, “but I know Toad. He’s in—”

“Toad ain’t a Rambler no more,” was the voice’s curt reply. “He knows the rules. He’s got no place tellin’ people ’bout our hideout.”

“But he’s in trouble,” said Melena. “He’s in danger!”

“Nuthin’ new there,” sighed the voice.

“Please, I need your help!”

It was clear that the thief on the other side of the door didn’t like turning her away.

“Look … I ain’t allowed to let non-thieves in, strictly speakin’ … Rambler rules. I’m sure Toad’s fine.” But he sounded skeptical.

“You don’t understand!” Melena cried. “He’s going to be killed.”

“Risk of the trade,” said the thief, unhelpful.

“But — ” Melena was flabbergasted. Hadn’t Toad said the Ramblers were like family? How could they just turn away, knowing he was in trouble!

“Tell him hello for me, won’t you?” said the man.

The peephole began to close and Melena saw her only hope of saving Toad slipping out of her hands. Then, in a sudden burst of inspiration, she shouted wildly while digging inside her bag, “WAIT! I am a thief! I’m the greatest thief of them all! Look — I’m the Thief Lord!”

“What?” The man’s hang-dog eyes popped as they fell upon Joe. The thief was frozen in place. It wasn’t until Hazel scurried up and out of the bag and snapped at the man’s eyes that he jerked into action. The eyes disappeared and there was a loud clanking and the door swung open.

Melena hurried inside, stowing Joe back out of sight. A scrawny man in a bright purple vest, top hat, and trousers four inches too short stood before her.

“Was that …. was that really …?” The man was breathless, pointing at Melena’s knapsack with a trembling hand.

“Yes,” said Melena shortly, keeping a firm grip on her bag. She had a feeling that she shouldn’t parade Joe about more than necessary. “I need to see Jack.”

“’Course!” The man tipped his hat in an excited, fluttery fashion. “This way!”

They hurried up a broad, carpet-lined stairway, sparsely lit with spitting oil lamps. As they stepped onto the first floor landing, Melena stopped in her tracks.

Before her was a sweeping ballroom that, in its prime, must have been a sight of gleaming gold and rich maple. But those days were long gone and now only a sad room with rusty chandeliers and grime-coated mirrors was left. The thieves had sprung up makeshift tents by hanging various drapes and sheets from hooks and wires twisted into the ceiling, all different colors and patterns. Above the arch-like entrance of the ballroom, a banner hung. In a script with many flourishes were the words:

THE MISCHIEVOUS HOUSE OF RAMBLE

Welcome Fellow Thief, Crook, Pickpocket, and Swindler

“This way,” said her guide.

So this was how her brother had grown up. She followed him through the maze of makeshift tents. There was a buzz about the place that put Melena in mind of a circus.

“WILSON!”

The roar made both Melena and her guide jump. In the blink of an eye, with a clatter of overturned chairs and scrambling feet, she and her guide were surrounded by the entire gang of Ramblers. The lazy, carefree atmosphere vanished in an instant.

Melena felt herself shrink. Hazel, perched on Melena’s shoulder, flashed her fangs. Melena hugged her bag close as the Ramblers crowded them. As a bald, muscled man covered in tattoos stepped to the front of the throng of thieves, Melena’s guide’s top hat nearly tumbled off as he gave a nervous twitch.

“Who’s this?” the frightful man barked, glaring at Melena. “Have yeh lost the last of yer marbles, Wilson? Yeh know the rules!”

“N-n-now hear me out—” Wilson began, twisting his thin hands together. “I gotta good reason—”

“Reason!” the man bellowed, making Wilson flinch so badly his top hat did fall off. “Rambler Rule Number 1: Thieves Only. Is that a thief?” He jabbed a thick finger at Melena.

“But Bone—”

“We just moved in to this moldy bin!” Bone yelled over Wilson’s stammer. “Took weeks! The gents won’t be happy to pack up so soon.”

In response, the circle of thieves grumbled darkly.

“What’s all the commotion?” said a new voice. “What’s going on?”

A tall man with a flaming red ponytail appeared, a look of mild interest on his face.

“Jack!” Bone exclaimed. “Wilson’s let in an impostor!”

“I am not an impostor!” said Melena.

“She knows our hideout!” Bone roared. “She’s probably a spy sent by Dowell!”

At this the thieves surged around them, making a cacophony of noise.

Jack put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly.

“Thank you,” he said to the sudden silence. “Has anyone asked the unknown individual for her credentials?”

Bone scoffed loudly. Wilson scuttled around Bone to hover at Jack’s elbow.

“Credentials?” asked Melena, nervously. “What do you mean credentials?”

“I mean, what thieves do you know? Who can recommend your prowess?” asked Jack. “What schemes have you partaken in? I need proof, little elf. Otherwise we would merely be taking your word for it and” — he chuckled — “thieves never do that.”

Wilson was mouthing feverishly beside Jack, his baggy eyes fixed upon the knapsack clamped in Melena’s arms, but Jack wasn’t paying him the slightest attention.

Melena didn’t want to reveal Joe. She was terrified that the Ramblers would pounce the moment that his spinning eyes greeted them. But Toad needed them. Melena couldn’t save him on her own. She didn’t have much time. Dusk was settling outside the boarded-up windows.

Melena made up her mind. Her face set, she dug into her bag and pulled out Joe.

“Drafty this place,” Joe observed.

There was a moment of complete silence and then the thieves exploded. They shouted so loudly that Melena was sure someone from the street below would hear them.

Melena clutched Joe tight to her chest and Hazel snarled on her shoulders, sparks flying, but not a single thief tried to approach Melena. It threw her for a loop, but she was protected by, as Captain Horace had put it, the Law of Joe.

It took time, but Jack finally managed to quiet the crowd.

“SHUT IT, GENTS!” he bellowed. “Is this any way to behave in front of our Thief Lord?” He scowled at the lot of them. “She must think you have fine manners.”

In the quiet, Jack spun around elegantly to face her, the long tails of his coat swirling. He grinned at Melena, arms spread wide.

“My dear elf.” He made a fancy bow with much twirling of hands, “may I introduce myself? Jack Pinch and the Ramblers, at your service. What brings you to our modest dwelling?”

“Toad’s in trouble,” said Melena at once. “He’s being held prisoner by a man named Mr. Owl. He’s here in the cit—”

While Melena spoke, Jack’s face had taken on a polite, mildly interested expression, but the moment Owl’s name was mentioned he gave an involuntary twitch.

“Owl, you say? Terribly sorry — so, so very sorry — but we have a … delicate relationship with Owl and to interfere with his business would be” — Jack searched for a word — “unpleasant.”

“But Toad needs your help. Owl’s going to kill him. Tonight. We have to help him tonight.”

“As to that,” said Jack, twisting a thick gold ring around his finger, “I am no longer responsible for Toad’s antics.”

“Toad told me the Ramblers were family,” Melena said hotly.

“I do pride myself on our inner house unity, but Toad is not a Rambler.”

From the depths of the crowd someone muttered, “Thank God.”

Melena glared.

“I’m the Thief Lord,” she said darkly.

“And we are so pleased you have taken the time from … whatever it was you were doing to pay us a visit. Can I offer you a crumpet?”

“Which means you have to do everything I say,” Melena continued. “Correct?”

Jack hesitated, his jaunty smile faltering. “In a manner of speaking…”

“Then I say that you wouldn’t like it if I told every thief organization to part ways with you. Being cut off from the black market or underground network wouldn’t be very good for business, I expect. Or,” Melena continued acidly as Jack’s eye’s widened, “what if I simply disband the Mischievous House of Ramble and order you to find jobs like common, honest men? Would you rather I did that, Mr. Jack?”

The silence that fell upon this speech was unlike any other. Jack seemed paralyzed. Looks of shock were plastered on each scruffy face.

“Wilson,” said Jack, jerkily. “Map.”

Wilson turned his hang-dog eyes to Jack. “What?”

“Map! Wilson! Map!”

Wilson gave a start and hurried away, diving into a nearby tent, decorated with purple windmills. The rest of the thieves remained immobile, their eyes fixed upon Melena with the same level of trepidation of one facing a tiger. Wilson reemerged, shuffling through the crowd back to Jack. In his hands was a tightly rolled scroll.

Jack took it and marched to a wall where crates were stacked in the form of a large tabletop. Melena followed. The thieves circled around them once more, still unnaturally silent. Jack unrolled the paper and laid it flat upon the crates, pinning its edges down with weights. It was the interior of a large house with rooms and floors labeled.

“I thought you said that you have a ‘delicate’ arrangement with Owl,” said Melena, startled to find such an intricate blueprint of the man’s house. “Does he know that you spy on him?”

Jack’s lips pursed in aggravation. “Be grateful that I have it,” he said tersely.

Melena ignored his foul mood, growing excited.

“So you know a way of getting into the house undetected?”

Jack cut her a glare. “Detecting the undetected is what Owl does. You said we need to get Toad out tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Bone, Lynch, get some more candles! We’re gonna need to think about this. Elf —”

“My name is Melena,” said Melena curtly.

The smile on Jack’s face looked painful. “If you’ll step closer, we can discuss a plan.”

Tired of holding Joe, as he was currently nibbling her fingers, she put him on the crate beside the map. At once Jack’s eyes brightened and the group surrounding them took in an audible breath, but Hazel slipped off Melena’s shoulders and curled around the mug protectively, her own eyes glittering dangerously.

“If anyone gets close, Hazel,” said Melena loudly, “give them a good burn.”