Heavy footsteps. From the left, approaching quickly. Amy swallowed.

"What now?" Patrick hissed.

"Now," Karim growled, drawing his weapon and fixing his narrowed eyes on the corner, "you shall see why it was a good idea to bring me along."

In a blink, he was at the corner. If Amy hadn't seen him do it before, she would never have believed that such a large man could move so quickly and noiselessly. Karim readied himself, taking up an attack stance—when suddenly, another set of footsteps came from the other direction!

'oly fanny-frigging flapdoodles!

"What do we do now?" Amy hissed.

"This," Karim said—and disappeared.

"What the—!"

The giant bodyguard had vanished around the left corner. Moments later, they heard a thud and a grunt—and one set of footsteps ceased.

"Hello?" The other footsteps stopped as well—then resumed, faster than ever. "Who da hell is dere? Joe? Jack? Is it ye?"

Patrick pulled out a pistol, aiming at the right corner. Amy pulled out a rusty knife, the only weapon she could afford. But before either of them could move, Karim returned, carrying the unconscious body of a ruffian under one arm. In a few quick steps, he marched around the right corner and hurled the half-dead man down the corridor.

"What the hell—!"

Thud!

"Aagh!"

Wham!

Patrick cast a glance at Amy. "Err...how did you meet this gentleman again?"

"It's a long story."

"Tell me! Tell me!" Besides Amy, Flo was hopping up and down, her eyes shining. "I wanna 'ear all! Please?"

"Um..."

Amy blinked at the little girl. Before she could think of an age-appropriate answer, Karim came around the corner, carrying an unconscious thug under each arm.

"Oh!" Rushing forward, Flo flung herself at the only part of Karim she could reach, which was his left calf. "Ye're spiffin', Mr Karim! Just spiffin'!"

"Ehem, well..." Karim raised his victims. "We must move fast. Where shall we stash these three?"

Frowning, Flo glanced up at him. "But dere are just two thugs!"

"Nah, dere are three all right." Suddenly, arms enclosed her from behind and, moments later, Amy plucked her off Karim's leg.

"Oy!"

"I'll take care of this one. Ye'll tie up da other two and stash dem in dere." She jerked her thumb at a nearby broom cupboard.

Nodding, Karim marched off towards the narrow door. Amy moved off in the opposite direction.

"Oy! Ye can't just—"

"Ye!" Giving the little girl a good shake, Amy tucked her under her arm and sped up. "Be quiet, or I'll stuff ye into da broom cupboard, too!"

Flo quickly closed her mouth. Amy marched on, and quickly reached the right corner. Patrick was at her side, his firearm still out.

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Do I get one of dose?"

Patrick looked shocked, then stern. "You are a lady! Of course not!"

"Den would ye like ta take care of protecting 'er?" She raised Flo into the air like a wet cat.

Threatened with superior fire power, Patrick clenched his teeth. Amy grinned as he reached under his tailcoat and pulled out a second pistol.

"Do you even know how to use one of these?"

"Sure. I can even tell ye 'ow dey work. When da trigger frees da 'ammer, it strikes the cap, and da chemical thingamies explode the mercuric fulminate to explode. And then it gets really interestin'! Because when da fire from da explosion goes down da tube in da nipple—"

"All right, all right!" Patrick held up a hand. "I believe you!"

Amy's grin widened. "Are ye sure ye don't wanna 'ear about 'ow it plunges into the barrel, where it ignites—"

"No! Not necessary, thank you."

Patrick held out the pistol. "You hold it like this, and—"

He cut off when she grabbed the pistol, swiftly checked for bullets and aimed to check the weight and barrel.

"Hm. Single shot? Well, it'll 'ave ta do." Deep inside, she formed a determination. The moment Lilly gets back, I'll squeeze a revolver out of her!

Just then, Karim emerged from the door of the broom cupboard.

"I've bound and gagged the two," he reported in a low voice.

Amy grinned. "I knew ye're a kinky fellow deep inside."

"I shall now proceed down the left corridor, as discussed," Karim continued, his eyes on Patrick, completely ignoring her. Or at least trying to. "Since this is a covert operation, I shall attempt to move silently. However, I shall not refrain from using deadly force. Do you object?"

"Not in the least." Eyes glittering dangerously, Patrick popped a bullet into his pistol and cocked it. "Use it to your heart's content." His eyes flitted to Flo and then, shifting towards the corridor, turned hard and cold as steel. "For what they've done, they deserve to burn in hell!"

Suddenly, Amy felt a mad, wild desire flood over her. A desire she'd never, ever felt before.

Except maybe once.

Last night.

Don't kiss him again! Don't you dare kiss him again!

"C-come on!" Grabbing him by the arm, Amy started to drag him forward, making sure to keep her flushed face turned away. "Let's go!"

They set out down their assigned corridor. The last thing before they turned the corner was Karim grimly marching down the hallway, tightly gripping his sabre.

A grim smile flitted over Amy's face. God 'ave mercy on dose bastard kidnappers! 'cause 'e sure as 'ell won't. She glanced up at Patrick's face, whose eyes, somehow, were even harder and more unrelenting than Karim's. And neither will we.

Let's kick some bastards in the bollocks!

***

"Keep still, ye little bitch!"

Slap!

"Aaah!"

Clyde grunted and drew his hand back for another slap. And he'd make it a good one! That little bitch deserved it. He only wished he could give her a good, hard—

"Argh!"

The next moment, he received a good, hard, knee in the bollocks!

"Bloody midget! Take dat!"

Wham!

"Ow!"

"Now," he growled. "Are ye gonna hold still and do as I say, or do I have to become nasty?"

"Den what are ye bein' now?" The wench spat out, wiping blood from the corner of her small mouth. "Go frig yerself!"

He smirked. "How about ye do dat instead?"

Of course it was just talk. He wouldn't dare touch the merchandise. He knew the boss. The thought alone of what would happen to him made him shudder. But...

He smiled.

That didn't mean he couldn't do other fun things to her.

"Hold yer hands out! Ye're gonna get tied up whether ye want ta or not!"

All he got in response was a string of curses. Bitches! They never stopped nagging! He punched, and punched, and punched until she finally quieted, then reached for the ropes, and—

"Dickless Gibface! Ha, no! Dickface! Da only dick ye've got is that big nose in yer face! Is dat why ye go after little girls?"

Rage welled up in Clyde. He wished he could just give it to her good and show her exactly how wrong she was! If not for that damn rule of the Boss...

Why wouldn't the wench just stay quiet? Why wouldn't she just give in?

Frustrated, he lashed out again.

Slap!

"Stupid wench!" he growled, and smirked, feeling better with every slap. "Didn't yer bitch of a mother teach ye any manners? Don't you know that you've got to show respect to people bigger than you?"

"Go frigg yerself!"

"You...!"

He was just about to slap her again when he heard footsteps from outside. A vicious smile spread over his smile.

"Finally! Me pals are coming. High time they got their lazy asses moving! Just ye wait! When dere are three of us, ye'll be a lot more docile!"

Smirking, he stood up and strode over to the door. "What are ye waitin' for? Get yer arses in 'ere!"

Grabbing the door, he pulled it open, stepped forward with a broad smirk—

—and slammed into a wall.

But...wait. A wall, where a door was supposed to be? A wall with...with a beard?

He looked up. And up. And up.

"What," a volcano-like voice said, "did I hear you say about showing respect to people bigger than you?"

***

Amy and Patrick hadn't gone far when they heard noises from up ahead. Noises that were...

"No! I don't wanna go with ye! Let go! Let go of—"

Slap!

Amy felt her stomach turn.

"Shut yer trap ye little tramp!"

Glancing to the side, Amy saw Patrick's jaw clench. "I think it is fair to surmise," Patrick whispered, "that we are in the right place."

"Aye."

"Let's go faster."

"I couldn't agree more."

After about twenty years in Devil's Acre, Amy had learned a lot about moving swiftly and silently. Patrick, for his part, seemed to be possessed. He moved like a ghost of vengeance, his eyes burning like blue flames, his feet whispering across the cold stone floor. It only took them a few moments to reach a door, behind which—

Slap!

"Ah!"

Amy didn't hesitate a second—but Patrick was even faster. His shoulder slammed into the locked door, and the flimsy wood shattered under the force. In the room, a hulking figure pressed a far, far smaller one to the wall.

Amy saw red.

She raised her gun.

"Don't!" Patrick barked. "You'll hit her!"

So if I shoot 'im, I might 'it 'er. What a pity.

"What the..."

The man started to turn.

In an instant, Patrick was behind him, driving his fist into the thug's skull from behind.

Wham!

"Agh!"

With a satisfying crunching noise, the man's face smashed into the wall, and he let go of the little girl. Darting forward, Amy snatched the dazed child and sprang back, out of the danger zone. Tempted, she glanced at her pistol...but no. They had made enough noise already. If they alerted the other thugs, drawing them here, it wouldn't be good. Besides...

Her gaze flashed back to Patrick. As he looked at the thug in front of him, there was a certain glint in his eyes that Amy had seen before—on the faces of serial killers to be hanged at Tyburn. She smiled. This was going to be fun.

Whirling around, the big thug growled like a wild animal. "What da 'ell do ye think ye're doin'... Oy, wait! I don't know ye! Who—"

Wham!

"Big mistake!" Patrick growled, as his fist slammed into the man once again, this time aiming for his gut, robbing him of his breath. "You should have screamed for help when you had the chance. Now—" A third time, he pulled back his fist, "—it's too late!"

Thud!

The man toppled over, gurgling, his hands clutching his abdomen.

"Stay down," Patrick advised.

The man uttered a groan—then suddenly twisted around! His hand was on the grip of a dagger. Tearing it out of the sheath, he lunged up towards Patrick, and—

Bang!

An ear-ringing silence followed the sound of the gunshot. The man stiffened, his eyes turning up as if trying to catch a glimpse of the small, black hole that had appeared on his forehead. The dagger fell from his fingers with a clang, and he slumped back onto the ground.

"So much for keepin' quiet." Amy quirked her mouth, not really regretful in the least. She killed that bastard. That was worth it!

The thudding of feet came down the corridor that led further into the building. Amy looked at Patrick, and their eyes held for a moment that seemed to stretch like eternity. "Would ye be so kind, My Lord?"

"Most certainly, My Lady."

Amy felt warmth blossom in her heart—until a fist buried itself in her gut.

"Ow!"

The little girl in her arms seemed to have woken up—and boy, was she awake!

"Let me go, let me go, let me gooooo!"

"Ye go ahead," Amy wheezed, waving to Patrick. "I'll take care of 'er!"

A corner of Patrick's mouth quirked up. "You are truly a brave woman."

And he was gone. Soon after, the sound of gunfire, interspersed with thuds and crashes, came from outside.

"W-who are ye?" The girl Amy had torn from the grip of the now deceased thug had slipped from her grasp. She now stood with her back pressed against a wall, her eyes filled with suspicion and fear. Somehow, she had gotten hold of the thug's rusty knife. Smart of 'er. But maybe not so good for me vital organs. "What do ye want?"

"Well, err..." Amy cleared her throat. "I'm Amy. Amy Weston."

"Never 'eard of ye."

Well, I'd probably question yer upbringing if ye 'ad. "Don't worry." Amy raised her hands to show she was unarmed, and also to slap the girl all the way into next week if she decided to use that knife. "I don't mean ye no 'arm!"

The little girl's eyes narrowed. "Ye're 'ere! Ye're with dem! I don't believe ye!"

"Den...would ye believe me?"

From behind Amy, Flo stuck her head out. The other girl blinked, taken aback, and the knife in her hand lowered just a bit.

It that moment, Amy realized something. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to bring 'er along after all. It may turn out ta be a godsend.

"Who...who are ye?" The girl dragged in ragged breaths, her voice hoarse.

"Me name's Flo."

The girl's grip on the knife tightened again instantly. "Did dey kidnap ye, too?" Her fiery eyes settled on Amy. "Should I get rid of 'er for ye?"

Or maybe not such a godsend after all. Please say no, Flo! Please say no! I'll buy a bunch of matches from ye!

"We ain't 'ere to 'urt ye or catch ye." Stepping forward cautiously, Flo held out a hand to her. "What's yer name?"

The girl pursed her lips—then swallowed. "Aggy."

"Won't ye come with us, Aggy? I promise ye'll be safe." Flo glanced around. "Well...safer dan 'ere, anyway."

Aggy still seemed to hesitate—until Flo held out her hand. "Please?"

That seemed to do it. Hesitatingly, Aggy took Flo's hand with her free one. Amy decided this was the right moment to intervene. She held out her hand.

"Won't ye give me da knife, Aggy?"

Instantly, the girl's back went straight, and she raised the blade, ready to hack away like a mass-murdering butcher any moment, an expression on her face as if Amy were a wicked adult aiming to take her favourite toy away.

"All right! All right! Ye can keep da knife!" Amy quickly retreated, wondering whether it was really such a good idea to take this girl with them. Well...it would probably at least be better not to let her walk behind her.

From somewhere in the distance, they heard a crash.

"Sounds like Lord Pervy Bastard is busy," Flo said. "Shall we go 'elp?"

"Aye." Reloading her pistol with one of the reserve bullets Patrick had generously provided by failing to notice her pickpocketing, she moved towards the door. "Flo, stay be'ind me. Aggy and da knife, stay in front of me!"

Leaving the room, the three of them started moving down the corridor. It wasn't long before they came across the unconscious, and rather maltreated, figure of a kidnapper. It lay stretched out on the floor, drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

"Ye know..." Flo cocked her head. "I'm startin' ta be rather fond of dat perv."

Amy didn't reply. But she did speed up her steps so Flo couldn't see her burning cheeks.

So am I, damn 'im! So am I!

Gritting her teeth, she sped up even more, rushing down the hallway. And at the very end...

Thud!

"Where is it?"

"I ain't tellin' ye nothi—"

Wham!

"Where. Is. Da. Key?"

Amy beamed like a proud professor. Her language lessons were successful! It was always so satisfying for a teacher to see their students displaying their best abilities and behaviour.

Thud

"Argh!"

"'ello?" Knocking against the old door frame, Amy stuck her head into the room. Inside, two men lay on the floor—dead or unconscious, she didn't know or care. Patrick was standing near a door, helpfully holding up a poor third man who for some reason didn't seem to be able to stand by himself anymore. "I ain't disturbin' ye, am I?"

Patrick looked up, a fierce, almost wild look on his face. Amy almost couldn't recognize the fastidious, arrogant arse she'd grown to know. A corner of his mouth twitched. "Would it matter if I said ye did?"

She couldn't help smirk back. "Not in the least."

"Thought so." His smile morphing into a baring of teeth, he turned back to the man whom he was holding by the collar. "Keys. Now!"

The man shook his bloody head. "Won't...can't...! Boss...kill me...!"

Boss?

A shiver went down Amy's back. "Who are ye talkin' about?" she demanded. "Which gang leader?"

The man gave a strangled laugh, which turned into a cough. Blood ran down the corner of his mouth. "Ye bastards ain't got no idea what ye've gotten yerself into! I ain't talkin' about some measly gang leader! Ye'll regret...regret ever..."

His head slumped to the side, unconscious.

"Damnation!" Patrick dropped the man to the ground like filth, giving him a kick for good measure. His voice instantly returned to the arrogant aristocrat Amy knew and lov—ehem, well, knew. "What do we do now?"

"Allow me?" Moving forwards, Amy knelt beside the fallen fart and started sliding her hands all over his body.

"Miss Amy! I very much doubt that is appropriate behaviour!"

Amy grinned. Ah, the fastidious, arrogant arse is back! I've missed him.

"On da contrary." Grinning, Amy shoved her hand into the man's trousers. "It's very appropriate."

"Miss Amy!"

"Da first thing ye gotta learn when searchin' for something," she told him, her voice in teacher-mode, "is ta look in da place nobody in deir right mind would wanna look."

Moments later, she triumphantly withdrew her hand. "'ere we go!"

In her palm lay a rusty iron key.

Suddenly, she realized something.

"So, err...what's dis key for?"

Without a word, his face grim like a wooden mask, Patrick pointed at a big oak door. Not the flimsy kind of door you'd usually see in the East End. Oh no. This one was of an entirely different calibre. It was no wonder no one from downstairs had come running out to investigate yet. By the looks of it, the door to the cellar was at least three inches thick, and solid enough to swallow any noise short of Napoleon's cannon fire.

So no one can hear the screams from down below.

The thought that forced its way into Amy's mind made her want to wretch. But not as much as it made her want to kill someone.

Slowly, she rose from beside the fallen thug, gun in her hand. Beside her, Flo's eyes were sparking with fire.

"Leona's down dere?"

"Let's go find out." Amy stepped towards the door—only to have Patrick step in her way and take the key from her hand. He turned towards the door.

"Oy!" Amy's eyes glittered dangerously. "Ain't ye supposed to be a gentleman? What 'appened ta ladies first?"

Eyes fierce, he turned to glare at her. "It became invalid the moment knives and guns were involved."

Amy raised her chin. "And why da 'ell is dat! I won't stay back and—"

Suddenly, he whirled to fully face her, and then his fingers were touching her face. They were so swift. So gentle. Unlike anything she'd felt before.

"I know," he whispered. "I know you won't stay behind. Just...be careful."