In the shadows of the nocturnal corridor, the hulking figure of a turban-wearing man closed the door behind him and slowly started moving forward.

"Be ready!" the leader of the ambush team hissed. Soon it would be time. Very soon.

One step. Two steps. Three...

The big man stopped.

What the...!

Standing there in the middle of the hallway, the dratted turban-wearer gazed out of the window and contemplatively twisted a lock of beard around his finger.

"What da 'ell is dat idiot doin'?"

"Shh!"

The huge man stood there for a moment longer—then suddenly moved.

"No! Now, he's going to—"

—turn around and go back into his room?

The door closed with a click.

"What the bloody 'ell was dat about?!"

"Maybe...maybe 'e was checking if da coast was clear?"

"By twirlin' 'is bloody beard?!"

"Ehem, well..."

More time passed by. An owl flew past the window, peeking inside on the lookout for more mice.

"Um, boss? Are ye sure yer info was correct?"

"Shut up and wait! They'll come! They will come!"

And they did indeed come. A few minutes later, the door opened once more, and this time, not just one figure stepped out, but three.

Three?

"They brought da maid along?"

"Shhh!"

The leader watched as the three figures snuck through the doorway. With silent footsteps, they slowly moved towards the hidden men lying in ambush, until...

...until they turned around and went back into the room!

What da bloody stinking 'ell?

The leader felt a muscle in his neck twitch.

With another click, the door once again closed behind them. This click was shortly followed by the clinking of glasses, the popping of a cork and...was that laughter?

"Boss...are dey drinkin' and 'aving fun in dere?"

"They wouldn't dare!" the leader hissed. "They are planning a plot against our master! No one would dare take this time to—"

"No alcohol for me, please," a rumbling voice from beyond the door interrupted him. "Just some water."

For a moment, silence reigned.

"Err...boss? Did you hear—"

"Not a word! Not. A. Word!"

"Aye, boss!"

The leader sat where he was and stewed as he listened to the chatter from within the room. Finally, the noise subsided, and...

Now! The leader smiled. Now, the time has finally come!

He waited with bated breath as once more, the three shadowy figures emerged from the room. Soon. Soon, they would be within his grasp, and...

And they turned around again.

The leader almost smashed his head against the wall. Eyes flaming with anger, he stared at the retreating figures as they moved back towards their room.

"Thomson?" he hissed, low enough for only his men to hear. "This is crazy! Any bloody idea what's going on 'ere?"

No answer.

"Thomson?"

Still, no reply came.

"Morris? Saunders? Webb?"

The night stayed as silent as a grave. Not even the owl seemed to be in a mood to make vomiting noises. Suddenly, the leader felt very, very alone. When he decided to whirl around and run, it was already too late. All he felt was a sharp pain at the back of his head before he keeled over straight into darkness.

***

"Never...again...!" Titus panted, staring down at the unconscious form of the man in front of him. "Never...ever...again!"

"Oh, cheer up." Patrick marched forward, just happening to step on a few of the men lying unconscious on the ground, and slapped his friend on the back. "The plan worked, didn't it?"

"You mean the plan that involved you playing charades and swigging drinks while I was busy risking my life? Oh, yes, it worked like a charm!"

"Excellent." Grabbing his friend by the scruff of the neck, Lord Patrick strode forward. "Let's go."

"You know, just because I'm wearing a lackey's uniform, that doesn't mean I am one."

"Titus?"

"Yes?"

"Servants should be silent and obey!"

Ignoring any further grumbling of his friend, Lord Patrick Day strode down the shadowy corridor, determination in his eyes. And, which was of considerably more importance, a loaded pistol in each hand. Tonight, he would not allow a single thing to go wrong.

"Where do we need to go?"

"This way." Stepping past the others, Titus led them down a certain corridor, then took a turn, and another, and another. The farther they went, the more silent and cold the corridors seemed to become.

"Where is the girl?" he asked in a low voice.

"Just where she should be," Titus answered. "Everything is going according to plan."

"Good." Taking Amy's hand, Lord Patrick hastened his steps. "Let's keep it that way!"

***

Lord Abrehan DeLacy strode along a corridor lined with beautiful paintings and statues. It was a sumptuous corridor, downright luxurious, and wouldn't have been out of place in any manor house in the British Empire, except for one thing: it did not have any windows.

Not a single one.

Not far ahead, a door loomed out of the shadows. Raising the flickering oil lamp in his hand, Lord Abrehan grinned and moved faster. There was a soft clink as he lifted the ring of keys from his belt and inserted one of the larger and more complicated keys into the keyhole. He almost trembled in anticipation when the key turned and the door slid open. Ah...a fresh toy to play with. He had his favourites among his little house guests who always managed to get his blood boiling, but there was nothing quite like a fresh, unblemished toy. The look in their innocent eyes when he showed them for the first time what it meant to be with a real man...

Smirking, Lord Abrehan pushed open the door, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the figure curled up beneath the blankets on the sumptuous bed, turned towards the wall.

"Well, hello there," he whispered. "Do you like your new home, sweetling?"

She didn't even dare to turn around. His Lordship's smirk widened at the sweet taste of terror in the air.

"Oh, come now. Don't be like that. We're going to have so much fun together..."

Striding over to the bed, he grabbed the figure on the bed, turned it around and—

And out from under the covers tumbled a pile of pillows. Lord Abrehan stared at the cushions for a long, long moment. Then, from among the white folds, fell out a piece of paper on which, in elegant handwriting, were written the poignant, poetic words "Go suck your own dick, bastard!"

A scream of rage echoed through the secret cellars of the mansion.

***

Amy cupped one hand behind her ear, a smile spreading across her face.

"Dat sounds like our starting signal. Time ta get da girl."

"Time to what?" Patrick demanded.

"Titus?" she asked, ignoring the scorching look he was directing at her. "Where did you stash her?"

Reaching sideways, the honourable Titus Irving grabbed a medieval suit of armour and lifted off the breast plate, revealing the face of a familiar little girl.

"Oi dere! I've bin wonderin' when ye'd come for me. It's stuffy in 'ere!"

"Well, den ye'll be 'appy ta 'ear dat yer comin' with us now. Upsie daisy!"

Lifting Grace out of the armour, Amy started forward. It didn't take long for a certain aristocratic someone to catch up to her.

"You can't be serious!" Patrick hissed. "Please tell me you are not serious! Taking a little girl into a place like this?"

"Aye."

"But it's far too dangerous! We should never let her set a foot in a place like this!"

Amy looked at him, at his handsome face with the fiery eyes, determined to do right. She wanted to hug him. Or punch him. Or both.

"Oh aye we should, trust me."

Then, before he could say a word, she gestured to the others. "Let's get moving!"

None of them really had time to argue. They rushed down the corridor until Titus brought them to a halt in front of a certain portrait.

"This is the way," he said and pressed against the frame. With a click, the large painting swung aside, revealing an opening in the wall. Beyond, there was a dingy stairway. Quickly, they started to descend. For the first dozen yards, there was nothing but the bare stone walls of the usual wine cellar in an English manor. But the unusually thick oak door at the end of the stairs, studded with iron fittings, did not really fit the picture.

"Step aside," came a deep rumble from Karim's direction, and without hesitation, Amy did as asked. She was not one to stand in the way of an avalanche.

"You know," she said, "I could just—"

"Rrrraaawr!" With a bellow like an explosion, Karim rushed forward, slamming his shoulder against the door. Once. Twice. A third time.

Crash!

The door slammed to the ground, and with Karim at the head, they rushed into the room beyond.

"What I was about to say," Amy hissed, holding up her lockpicks, "Is that I could just have used these."

Kicking the door aside, Karim strode forward. "I like my way better."

"I have to say," Patrick said, striding to the very first of the many doors that lined the luxurious hallway, "this time I have to agree."

He stopped right outside the door. It looked like any other door in a luxurious British manor—except for the barred window and the massive lock. Patrick didn't hesitate. He raised his pistol.

Bam!

The lock on the door was blown clean out of the wood, leaving nothing but a smoking hole behind. Determined, he pushed open the door and strode into the cell. Amy didn't go in behind him. Instead, she stood in the doorway and watched as Patrick marched up to a small figure huddled in a corner, clad in far-too-flimsy clothes.

"Hello." Never before had she heard Patrick speak so gently. It almost broke her heart. "We're here to get you out of here. Come with us. We'll bring you to a safe place, where you won't be hurt anymore."

He held out his hand to her.

Yet she did not take it. In fact, she did not react at all.

"Hello?" Cautiously moving into her line of sight, Patrick smiled. "Did you hear me? We're here to rescue you. Just come with us, and nothing bad will ever happen to you again, I promise."

There was no reaction whatsoever. The girl—if that's what she was, with the page haircut it was rather difficult to tell—simply stared blankly into space, as if she were in a world of her own. Swallowing hard, Patrick got to his feet and strode towards the exit of the cell. Amy wanted to reach out to him, but he swept past her before she could even make a move. In a blink, he was at the next door.

Bam!

Crash!

The door to the next cell flew open. Amy arrived just in time to see Patrick striding inside, and kneeling before the girl curled up on the bed in the corner.

"H-hello?" This time, his voice was even softer. "We've come to rescue you. There's no need to be afraid anymore. You can come with us. We'll bring you to a safe place. A nice place, with people to take care of you. Won't you come with us?"

No reaction. Not even a blink. It was as if her soul had long fled, and all that was left was a lifeless puppet that barely remembered how to breathe and pump blood through its body.

When Patrick stormed out of this cell, his face was ashen. This time, Amy didn't try to reach out to him. He went straight to the next door.

Bam!

Crash!

The next door crashed open. And the next. And the next. In each and every room, the result was the same. By the time Patrick emerged from that room, he was trembling with...what? Rage? Desire for vengeance? Maybe. But it could just as well be disgust at himself for not arriving sooner.

"Th-they don't even hear us," he whispered, staring at the wall as if it the answer to a great and terrible mystery. "They don't even see us."

"I would guess," Amy gently said, "they've learned not to hear and not to see. And, most especially, not to feel."

"What..." His voice was rough, like he'd just drunk a mouthful of magma. "What are we supposed to do?"

Amy placed a hand on his shoulder, and glanced downwards. She had known this moment would arrive. Which was why she'd come prepared. "Grace?"

"Aye?"

"Yer friend was taken 'ere, right? Do ye think ye can find 'er for me?"

The little girl nodded grimly. "On it!"

And she was off, rushing down the corridor, peeking into the cells through the barred openings in the doors as she went. Finally, she froze, and then quickly turned towards Amy, giving her a nod. Striding over, Amy knelt in front of the door and, inserting her lock picks, began to work. Moments later, the door slid open with a click. Not even hesitating a second, Grace strode into the room. For a moment or two, nothing happened. Then...

"Gracy?"

Another moment passed.

"Gracy!"

"Aye. Aye, it's me."

"'o-'ow did ye get 'ere? Did dey catch ye, too? Did dat bastard..."

"Catch me? Ha! Not in a million years!

"Den...den what—?"

"What else? I've come ta get ye out of 'ere!"

"Or more precisely," Amy said, stepping into the cell after Grace, "we 'ave."

The two girls were standing in a corner, hugging each other tightly. When Amy entered, the girl she didn't know grabbed Grace and pushed the girl behind her.

"Wh-who are ye? I'm warning ye, stay back! I ain't gonna let ye 'urt Gracy!"

Amy scrutinized the girl. She had bruises on her face and dark bags under her eyes—but within her eyes, there was still a fierce spark. She was bent, but not broken. Thank God!

"Delighted ta 'ear dat." She smiled. "Since I've no plans ta do dat anyway."

"Oh, let go of me, ye!" Grace pushed herself forward, gesturing towards Amy. "Dis is da lady who 'elped me ta get in 'ere! It's thanks ta 'er I didn't get snatched by dat bastard DeLacy!"

"Really?"

"Really! And now we need yer 'elp!"

The nameless girl hesitated, her eyes flicking to the doorway as if she feared DeLacy might appear at any moment. No. Not as if. She definitely feared it, and for good reason. "M-my 'elp?"

"Aye." Amy nodded. "In a place like dis, ye've surely started ta communicate with each other, right?"

The little girl swallowed. "Da...da days get long in 'ere. De...DeLacy only comes durin' da night when 'e wants ta...wants ta..." Swallowing, she cut off and lowered her gaze. She only looked up again when a gentle hand landed on her shoulder.

"I know," Amy told her, gazing down at her. "Trust me, I know."

"D-durin' da day, we'd talk through da barred windows. Sometimes, if dere were guards around, we'd use knocking signals. It's something she taught us."

"She? So dere is a leader 'ere? Someone dat calls da shots?"

"A-aye. Dere's dis one girl. She's bin fightin' dat bastard every step of da way, even gave 'im a black eye at one point. 'er name is L-Le..."

"Leona?"

"How did ye know?"

Amy smiled. "Call it intuition. Do ye know which cell Leona is in?"

"Aye."

"Can ye go ta 'er? We ain't got much time ta get deese girls outside, and I don't think dey'll listen ta me. If ye could 'elp..."

She didn't even need to finish. The girl was already rushing past her, towards the door of another locked cell. A bit of fiddling with the lock picks, and the door creaked open. Amy didn't go inside, this time. After only a few moments, instead of the two girls who had gone inside, three strode out, determined looks on their faces. The new one, a slim girl with a fiery red mane of hair, strode at the front. She just gave Amy a sharp nod in passing before snatching the lock picks out of her hand and marching to the first locked cell door.

"Ah." Amy nodded. "I can see why Flo likes 'er."

Swiftly, more and more girls exited their cells. In some cases, they were summarily hauled out by a determined Leona. But even if they didn't really move by themselves, there was a look in their eyes. A look of trust in the one who led them.

Amy felt a gaze on her. Glancing over, she saw Patrick gazing at her.

"How did you know?"

One corner of her mouth quirked up. "'ow could I not know? Did ye think dis is da first time I've bin in a place like dis?"

He swallowed—then rushed forward and enveloped her in a swift, fierce hug. Amy's knees nearly bucked beneath her. What the...! A fierce heat rose from her toes all the way up to her face. He was holding her! Holding her, shielding her with his arms in the midst of danger, like some hero in a romance novel.

And...and she was letting him!

Are ye completely cuckoo, Amy? Dere won't be no 'eroes for da likes of ye! No romance! And definitely no 'appy ending!

She should push him away immediately. She definitely should. And yet...

And yet, for just a second, she didn't. For just a second, she let him hold her. For just a second, she pretended her hero had finally arrived. A hero that could shield her from the nightmares that came to haunt her at night. When they broke apart, Patrick's eyes were blazing.

"Where is DeLacy?" His eyes scanned the surroundings like searchlights. "I will kill that man!"

One corner of Amy's mouth quirked up. "Dat might land ye in jail, ye know."

"Not," he growled and reloaded his pistol, "if it's a duel. That man insulted me, and I shall have satisfaction!"

"'ow did 'e insult ye?"

"By existing!"

Without another word, he whirled around and started down the corridor, looking into every single cell as he went. Amy gazed after him, her heart swelling. So he wanted satisfaction, did he? Well...for the first time in her life, Amy might not be opposed to help him get some.

In fact, 'elping out sounds like a spiffin' idea!

Coming to a decision, she started after him. But she had hardly taken a step before he strode out of the latest cell, fury blazing in his eyes.

"Gone!" Slamming open the door of the cell, he pointed into the empty room, at the end of which a part of the wooden panelling of the wall had been slid aside, revealing a dark opening. "The rat has left the sinking ship!"

Amy gave him a grim smile. "Dere are always rat traps." She glanced over to where the three girls by now had assembled an entire flock of followers. And to judge by the looks of the three shepherds, anyone who dared to come too close would get his hand bitten off.

"Everyone!" Amy commanded. "Gather round! Follow da big fella with da beard over dere!" Stepping up to Karim, she caught his gaze. "If anyone gets in our way..."

His stern face was like a block of wood. A chopping block, very used to blood and gore. "It shall be the last thing they ever do."

"Is everyone out?" Amy called out, looking around. "Are ye ready?"

"Aye." Leona nodded, giving her a piercing gaze. "And when we're out of 'ere, ye're gonna explain ta me who da 'ell ye are."

"With pleasure. All right, everyone. Move out!"

With Karim at the head, they all set out. Not back up the same stairs they had come down, but instead down the secret corridor through which Lord Abrehan DeLacy had escaped. Amy considered just for a moment to argue against this—until she caught sight of the look on Patrick's face, and decided against it. He was like a lion who had smelled blood. There was no stopping him now.