"This is a really, really 'orrible idea!"

"Orrible? What a relief. I thought you were going to say horrible. But as long as it is only orrible, everything is fine."

"Ye arrogant son of a...! Ye can take yer Cambridge English and stuff it where da sun don't shine!"

"Oxford. Oxford English."

"Oxbridge, Cambford, why the 'ell would I care? It's a terrible idea, and ye're an arrogant arse'ole!"

"Miss Amy's right!" Flo popped up. "Better we'll do somethin' by ourselves dan...dan go to...to dat place!"

She glared at the building ahead as if it were full of people kicking cute puppies. Amy followed her gaze, her eyes sweeping over the cab station to the back of the building, which, a bit more than a decade ago, had been renovated and repurposed. Then, as if unable to resist staring at the gates of hell, her eyes were drawn to the big sign near the front of the building, proclaiming:

"This," Amy repeated once more, "is a 'orrible idea."

"If we investigate that matter by ourselves, we'd have no choice but to break into a house. We are respectable British citizens." Patrick's gaze swivelled to Amy. "Well...mostly."

"Is dere somethin' ye wanna say to me?" she asked sweetly.

"No. 'Wanna' is not an auxiliary verb I am in the habit of using." He started towards the police station, giving Amy the perfect opportunity to stab him in the back. Too bad she didn't have a pointy candleholder with her. "But what I want to say is that, as proud citizens of Great Britain, we should follow the laws of the country. My first encounter with them regarding the matter might not have yielded stellar results..."

"Dat's a nice way of puttin' it."

"...but I'm sure that this time, the officers of the law will not disappoint us. I even have something of a relationship with one of the police inspectors here."

"I knew there was a reason why I can't stand ye!" Amy grumbled.

"I assure you, the feeling is mutual."

He continued towards the door, and Amy realized he really meant to do this. Stupid idiot!

"Dis ain't gonna work!" She hissed, hurrying after him. "Dere's no way a mutton shunter is gonna help us!"

"No, but a policeman will."

"Dat's da same thing!"

"Really? How intriguing."

And he marched into the station. Cursing, Amy stomped after him. "Flo? Wait 'ere!"

"No problem!" The little girl surveyed the crowded street, eyes sparkling at the sight of the affluent passers-by. She reached into her pocket—

"And don't try to sell matches!"

"Oh. All right."

Leaving behind a rather grumpy-looking Flo, Amy hurried to catch up with Patrick. It turned out not to be hard, since he was standing in the middle of the entrance hall, hands on hips, looking around proudly as if he'd build the place itself.

"Isn't this wonderful? A monument to British law and public order."

"Yes," Amy said, glancing from left to right, just to make show no one would jump out to grab her and drag her into a cell for the night. "Wonderful."

"Now, come and let's meet my friend, shall we?

"I'm so looking forward to it."

Crossing the entrance hall, they came to a stop in front of a thick oak door. Patrick reached up and knocked on the thick wood.

"What?" came a gruff voice from beyond.

Stepping forward, Patrick pushed open the door far enough to stick his head inside. Amy, for her part, positioned herself right behind him, out of sight.

"May I come in, my friend?"

The voice from inside gave a grunt. "Oh crap! It's you again!"

"Good morning to you, too, Inspector Pritchard. I'm glad to see you're doing well. Thanks for inviting me in."

Pushing open the door the rest of the way, Patrick stepped in. Amy was quite impressed. It took quite a bit of entitled aristocratic arrogance to misread that as a friendly welcome.

She followed him into the office. There, behind a well-used, rough oak desk sat a bulldog with a cup in its paw. Oh, wait! Amy corrected herself. 'e's drinkin' tea, so 'e's probably 'uman.

On the other hand, he was a policeman. So the 'human' thing was still debatable.

"So what is it this time, Your Lordship?" The inspector's sizable moustache twitched—and not from amusement. "A Freemason conspiracy? An assassination attempt on the queen?"

Amy saw Patrick stiffen in front of her, his ears reddening. "That did actually happen, Inspector."

"Except that the bugger's pistol was stuffed with tobacco instead of gunpowder."

"And how, pray, was I supposed to know that?"

"Harrumph!" Stuffing a pipe into his face, the inspector dragged in a deep breath of fumes and narrowed his baggy eyes at Patrick—until his gaze found Amy. He coughed, choking on bits of tobacco.

"Somethin' wrong?" Amy enquired sweetly.

"What," Pritchard wheezed, raising a finger to stab it at Amy, "is she doing here?"

"The lady was kind enough to accompany me to—"

"Cut the crap, Day! If that's a lady, I'm a prima ballerina!"

Amy gave him a sweet smile. "I bet ye'd look lovely in white stockings and a tutu."

Sending her a glower, Pritchard turned back to Patrick. "With all due respect, Your Lordship—I assume there's a reason why you've brought this...creature into my office?"

"Up yours, mutton shunt—mmmph!"

The rest of Amy's words were stifled by an extraordinarily quick hand placed over her mouth. "Indeed there is," Patrick said while Amy tried to bite his fingers off. "Thank you for your interest, my dear Inspector. Your interest in the plight of the public is very much appreciated. Let me explain. I've stumbled across some information regarding certain horrific events that have been going on right under our noses. I have discovered that..."

He delved into the events of the last few days. Amy let him, since, after a few minutes, he was wise enough to remove his hand from her mouth. Still...she didn't bother to actually listen. All she needed to do was watch the copper's moustached mug. That told her everything she had to know.

"So..." Pulling his pipe out of his mouth, Pritchard knocked it against the desk. "What ye're telling me is that there's a gigantic white slavery ring in the London underworld, and although there are several hundred police officers all over the city, you, out of all people, just happened to discover it first?"

"Exactly!" His Lordship beamed, obviously gratified that the lowly commoner had been able to grasp the matter so quickly. "You've gotten it in one, Inspector! Now, I expect you'd like to work together to solve this problem. I'd be happy to provide all the information you require, and all I ask in return is that—"

"Ha!"

Patrick blinked. Amy's mouth quirked. How nice it was not to be disappointed.

"Pardon, Inspector?"

"I said ha!" The inspector's eyes narrowed. "Which means I would have liked to laugh, but I feel more like crying! I've had enough of you infernal amateurs! Scribblers for the rags, nosy buggers, so-called 'consulting detectives', and now even aristocrats are sticking their noses into our business?" He gave a derisive snort. "White slavery? Girls sold on the underground market for lascivious villains to devour?" He chortled. "Rubbish! You all need to keep your imagination in check, My Lord! Or if you can't, why don't you go write a penny dreadful? I'm sure you'd make a killing!"

Amy glanced at Lord Patrick Day. The determined, friendly expression on his handsome face hadn't changed—but there was a certain spark in his eyes that sent a shiver down her back.

"I certainly," he said, his voice deceptively calm, "find the idea of making a killing rather intriguing right now."

Amy almost heard the words As long as you're the victim.

With all her might, she suppressed a grin. Sometimes, Prince Perv— um, Patrick wasn't so bad after all.

"You see?" Pushing himself up, the inspector lumbered over and patted Patrick on the back. Coincidentally, the same motion also propelled Patrick towards the door. "Now that your worries are gone, My Lord, why don't you go write your book and don't bother me for the next few months. Unlike you nobles, we public servants must actually work for a living, you know. And if you ever decide to come visit me again..." He turned his moustache in Amy's direction. "Come alone, will you?"

"Is dat stick up yer arse nice and comfortable?" Amy enquired.

Patrick slid an arm around her and pulled her out of the room before it could come to any bloodshed. Pity. She would have loved to slug that copper in the conk.

Patrick kept the smile on his face until they were out the front door. The moment they crossed the threshold, his smile flicked and disappeared, as if someone had extinguished a candle. Half-turning, he slammed his fist against the brick wall of the building.

"That...that..."

"Lazy old loiter-sack?"

"Yes!"

"Snivelin' arsewipe?"

"Yes!

"Bloody cockless cockroach of a copper?"

"Ye—um...well..." Patrick cleared his throat. "Perhaps. I have not checked his anatomy in detail."

Amy grinned. "It must be terrible if ye didn't learn yer own swear words groin' up."

He turned to glance at her from beneath some dark blond strands of hair that had broken free and rebelliously dangled into his face. One corner of his mouth curled up. "Sometimes it can be. But, then again, why would I need them? I have you now."

Amy's heart leapt.

Bloody 'ell! What was that?

Shaking off her weird reaction, Amy reached out to pat his shoulder. "Don't feel too bad about what that arse'ole copper said. I told ye it wouldn't work, didn't I?"

"So...it didn't work?" Flo had come up to the front door, looking grim, but not very surprised. In her right hand, she held a box of matches.

Throwing her a significant look, whereupon Flo hurriedly hid the matchbox behind her back, Amy shook her head. "No, it didn't. Apparently, we'll 'ave ta take care of dis matter ourselves." Gesturing, she led the other two away from the building. Discussing what they were about to do in front of the main office of Scotland Yard was probably not the best idea.

"We know what we've gotta do," Amy told them as soon as they were around the corner. "But we can't do it alone. If we're gonna go through with dis, we're gonna need some muscle! We can't go up against da gangs without reinforcements!"

"But..." Patrick frowned. "What kind of battle-hardened maniac goliath would dare go up against the most dangerous scum of the London underworld?"

"Oh..." Slowly, a wicked grin spread across Amy's face. "I think I 'ave a volunteer in mind."