Several hours later, a group of four tall and thirty-seven tiny, tired figures left the newspaper's building. One of the children stumbled as they moved towards their coach, and Amy jumped forward just in time to catch her.

Bloody 'ell! Poor thing. I should 'ave expected dis.

Not that she had a lot of experience with children, but still...

"What now?" she asked, cradling the little girl against her.

"Now," Patrick sighed, "we wait, and make our plans for the next attack on the—"

"Dat ain't what I'm talkin' about," Amy told the bloody thick-headed man, sending a glare at him as she gestured towards the snoring child in her arms. "I meant what now?"

"Oh. Ehem..." He tugged at his lapels, in a manner that made it clear he was an experienced man in full command of the situation, and that he would do anything with his hands as long as he didn't have to use them to change diapers. "I suppose we shall have to find another more permanent home for the infants and juveniles, won't we?"

"Ye don't say."

A moment passed—then all eyes slowly turned in a certain direction. Karim, a brave warrior who had faced countless dangers without flinching, suddenly took an abrupt step back, his hand flying to his sabre.

"No!"

"I haven't even asked ye—"

"No! No, and once again, no! I shall not allow the Sahib's home to be invaded!"

"'ow about his office instead?" Amy asked, sweetly.

Karim sent her a death glare. Could it possibly be that he didn't appreciate her friendly suggestion?

"Mr Karim." Reaching out, Patrick placed a solemn hand on the other man's shoulder. "They have to go somewhere safe."

Karim gave him a deadpan look. "And you wish for me to send them to the Sahib's office?"

The three others exchanged looks.

"He's got a point," Amy interjected. "And a bloody good one."

The children had only just escaped one kind of slavery. Sending them to Rikkard Ambrose's office would definitely not be a good idea.

"So...what to do now?"

The interior of the coach went quiet. Amy had to admit her brain was completely blank of ideas. The only place with lots of rooms she had accesss to was not exactly the place that came to mind when you thought "safe, happy home for children." For a long time, nobody said anything.

"Well," Patrick finally spoke up, "I suppose there is always one other person we could try..."

For a few moments, Amy was nonplussed—then, a wicked grin spread across her face. "Oh, aye. Let's do it! Please, let's do it!"

Around twenty minutes later, when the late afternoon sun was just beginning to touch the horizon, two coaches rolled to a stop in front of a certain small, neat bachelor pad. The pitter-patter of tiny feet on cobblestones sounded as they all approached the door. Reaching up, Patrick pulled at the doorbell.

Ding-dong...

A minute or two passed before footsteps resounded from the other side of the wall. The door swung open, revealing the smiling face of Titu Irvings, bathed in the light of the setting sun.

"Patrick! So you've finally learned to show up at a civilized time of day, have you? Did you come to have a chat and take a break? Well, I'm delighted you've finally grasped how to behave like a real friend. I thought the next time you'd drop by, you'd drag me off on some crazily dangerous outing again!"

Oh, ye poor sod...

"Why would you think such a thing?" Giving his friend a broad smile, for which Amy was very tempted to give him an acting award, Patrick clapped the other man on the back. "In fact, what I'd like you to do this time practically requires you to stay at home, and you'll be staying up most of the night, just like you prefer."

"A binge!" Titus grinned. "We're going on a binge together? Finally, my friend, you've seen the light! Come to drink with your old mate, have you? Well, you've come to the right place! I'll take out my very best scotch for you and...we...will..."

His voice trailed off as a little girl with a scruffy toy bunny clutched in her arms peeked around Patrick's legs. The girl noticed the professional bachelor debauchee and, with a beaming smile, held out the plushy towards him.

"Hi dere. Wana pet Mr Bunny?"

A moment passed in silence.

"Patrick?"

"Yes, my dear old friend?"

"What the heck is going on?"

"Now, no need to sound so suspicious, my dearest most valued friend! It'll be easy. You've already had some experience at the orphanage, haven't you?"

"Experience in what exactly?"

With a far-too-charming smile, Lord Patrick Day stepped aside, revealing the roughly three dozen tiny figures he had somehow, miraculously, managed to hide behind him. Over thirty lethally cute smiles beamed up at the The Honourable Titus Irving.

Patrick cleared his throat. Amy thought it was quite impressive how he managed to not look like a fraudulent door-to-door salesman. "They just need a place to stay for a couple of days. I'm sure after that, we'll find another solution and—"

Bam!

They all stood there in silence for a moment, gazing at the firmly closed front door. Titus was nowhere in sight anymore.

Leaning forward, Patrick knocked against the closed door. "Ehem, Titus, would you consider—"

"No!"

"I haven't even—"

"No, no, nononononono! Going up against murderous gangs? I'm in! Breaking and entering into a lord's mansion? No problem, I'm your man! But this? Never, ever, ever! I'm a bloody bachelor for a reason!"

Amy smirked. "Ye mean da reason of no woman wantin' ta marry ye?"

"Hey! I could marry any time I wanted to! I could settle down and have a big family if—"

Patrick smiled. "If...?"

Once more, silence, fell. Then...

"I'm not falling for your tricks! Get those brats off my front lawn, you two!"

"Oh, come now, Titus," Amy cooed. Picking up one of the cutest children, she opened the letter flap and held the little fellow up. "Look at dat cute face. Don't ye just wanna 'ug and cuddle 'im? Don't ye wanna invite 'im in as a 'ouseguest for da next two weeks?"

"I'm not looking! I'm not looking!"

"Or 'ere! Dis one 'as dimples. And she's all alone in da world."

"Lalalala! I have my fingers in my ears! Lalalala! I'm not listening!"

"'ow about ye let us in ta talk about dis? I'm sure once ye talk with dem all, we'll be able ta convince ye ta—"

She was cut off by the sound of fast receding footsteps.

He had fled.

They all exchanged glances.

"What now?" Patrick asked. "Titus won't take them. Karim won't take them. Angeline cannot. From what you've told me, you cannot either, Miss Amy. Who else is left?"

"Well..." Amy cleared her throat meaningfully. "Dat only really leaves one person."

"Who?" Lord Patrick Day asked, his noble brow furrowed.

Oh dear. It's really quite cute 'ow clueless 'e is.

A moment later, His Lordship seemed to notice how everyone's eyes were focused on him.

"No," he said. "You cannot be thinking...you said yourself! I have no experience whatsoever with children! It would be a catastrophe! No, no, no!"

"Don't worry." Angeline took a step forward.

"Aye." Nodding, Amy advanced on him from the other side, cutting off all avenues of escape. "We'll 'elp ye."

"When we're in the mood," Angeline said, sweetly.

His Lordship took another hurried step backward—until his back slammed into a wall. The bearded kind.

"The children have to go somewhere safe, do they not?"

Lord Patrick Day, champion of the Oxford Debating Club and renowned orator in the House of Lords, finally found out what it was like to have your own words biting you in the derriere.

"Fiddlesticks!" he said.

Some time later, on the porch of a magnificent town house in the West End of London...

"My Lord! Ye're finally back!" Beaming, Mrs Morris opened the door, her smile becoming even wider as she noticed Amy. "And ye're back, too? Such a pleasure ta see ye again! 'ave da two of ye bin spendin' a lot of time together? Ohohoh, I can't wait till da two of ye 'ave some cute children for me ta take care of."

"Really?" Grinning, Amy stepped aside, revealing thirty-seven tiny figures, along with Lord Patrick's expressionless face, "What a coincidence ye should say dat."

And thus it came about that the ancestral home of the ancient and honourable house of Day was, for the first time in its long history, invaded by a horde of barbarians. The kitchen was the first to fall, the defending general, Mrs. Morris, being soundly (and completely voluntarily) defeated. Griffiths, the venerable butler, put up a decent fight, repeatedly removing invaders from the master bedroom, the study, the sink, the piano and, in one particularly ingenious case, a secret passage no one had known about before. But in the end, it was for naught.

"Found any treasure?" Amy asked the small boy dangling from the butler's outstretched arm.

The boy shook his head. "Nah, I didn't."

"But I did!" Jo exclaimed, proudly holding out a handful of coins, and golden and bejewelled trinkets. "Look!"

"I am lookin'," Amy told her. "And what I see don't exactly look like it came from a mouldy old secret passage."

"Well, ehem..."

"In fact, it looks more like da kind of stuff nobles would have lyin' around in fancy glass cases..."

"Err, really? I found this in the secret passa—"

"...which I know 'cause a few days ago, I saw dose in a fancy glass case down that corridor over dere."

"Oh."

"Gimme." Extending her hand, Amy sent Jo a look more pointed than a freshly sharpened pencil. "Now."

Grumbling, Jo dumped her stash onto a nearby sofa.

"Bad Jo! Bad!"

The little girl gave me an innocent smile. "What do ye mean? Why am I bad?"

Amy raised an eyebrow. "'ow about lookin' for da reason in yer other hand? Out with it!"

With a distinctly disgruntled expression, the little girl pulled her left arm from where it was conveniently hidden behind her ack, and opened her hand, revealing a second, much larger stash so big it was technically impossible to fit into a child's hands without space-folding magic.

Dropping all the valuables onto the sofa, she once again turned towards Amy, with a smile as innocent as a baby born to be the world's best thief.

Amy didn't buy it for a second. "All of it!"

Reaching into her clothes, Jo started pulling out one thing after another from folds, secret pockets, and various other places, dumping it all on a small side table.

"Err...where did she get secret pockets from?" Patrick whispered. "Those clothes were made by my tailor."

Amy didn't pay bother to answer. She was still focused on Jo. Meaningfully, she cleared her throat.

"Fine, fine!" With a put-upon sigh, Jo slipped out of her boots, emptying them as well, then started pulling stuff from her hair, her undergarments, her...

"Where did that come from?" Patrick asked.

Karim cocked his head, looking both horrified and impressed. "I have no knowledge of the matter whatsoever. This young creature is too filled with criminal intent for me to fathom."

"Oy!" Jo jabbed a finger at the bearded mountain. "Dat's out of line!"

With a plink, a glittering golden ring fell out of her sleeve.

"Err...all right, maybe not entirely."

"Come on, ye!" Cracking her knuckles, Amy stepped forward. "Ye're comin' with me!"

Hurriedly, Jo took a step backwards. "Now, wait a minute. I didn't do it on purpose! Don't ye know? I'm a Crapptomaniac! I've got ta pilfer stuff, I can't 'elp meself."

Amy cocked her head. "And I've got ta spank little girls who pinch stuff that don't belong to dem. I can't 'elp meself. Ain't dat a coincidence?"

She was just about to step forward, when a hand landed on her shoulder.

"Don't you think I should have a say in the matter? After all, I am the man of this house and owner of these items." Blinking, she watched as Patrick stepped past her and, kneeling on the floor, picked up the golden ring. "How pretty. And you found this and all these other things in that secret passage? All by yourself?"

"Ehem..." Jo nibbled on her lower lip. "Um...definitely!"

"How admirable!" He exclaimed, his face perfectly serious. "Such a great feat deserves a finder's fee. Here."

Taking hold of Jo's tiny hand, he slipped the golden ring onto her finger and winked at her. "A pretty ring for an even prettier girl. I'm sure I can rely on you to make sure that none of the others 'find hidden treasures', correct?"

The little girl's chicken chest puffed up, her face glowing. "Ye...ye can rely on me! No one will get deir 'ands on nothin' 'ere! Not on my watch!"

And she raced off to show off her prize to all the others. Patrick smiled after her—all the while completely unaware of the gaze burning into him from behind.

Blast! Who da 'ell said da son of a bachelor wasn't good with children?

Watching him interact with the little girl made a strange feeling rise inside Amy. It was as if her heart was being squeezed. No, not squeezed...pulled. In his direction. And when he went to his knees and slipped that ring onto the little girl's finger...

Stop! Stop it, Amy! 'e was just tryin' ta show off to a little kid! It's got nothin' whatsoever ta do with...dat!

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Amy nearly jumped a foot high as her thoughts were abruptly interrupted. "Ehem. 'cause ye're still squattin' on da floor like a squirrel lookin' for nuts, of course! Get up! We've got work ta do!"

Then she quickly whirled around and dashed down the corridor. The reason, of course, was to help Mrs Morris, and definitely not to keep anyone from seeing the faint redness tainting her cheeks.

Going to help turned out to be a great idea. Apparently, Jo wasn't the only one who got a little overenthusiastic exploring their new territory. By the time night had fallen, everyone's bellies had finally been filled, their pockets emptied, and their bedrooms decided. Everyone who had the misfortune of being an adult was about ready to drop.

There was some scuffle about who would get to share a room with Flo, Jo, Aggie and Leona, who seemed to have gained some sort of celebrity status due to their being "dose kick-arse gals who beat da crap out of dose bastards". In the end, Amy had to put her foot down, and squeezed all the four girls into one room together, distributing snacks to the rest of them. Finally, after three hours, the house fell silent, peace and calm spreading everywhere. Everyone had gone to bed.

Everyone except for four, that is.

In the living room, four shadowy figures had gathered around a table.

"So...all of dem are safe?"

"Safe as houses. We are ready."

"And Hendrickson?" asked Angeline, who hadn't come up into the newspaper offices with them, but stayed behind to watch over the carriage.

"Will work overtime all through the weekend. He will be ready in time."

"So..." Karim stroked his beard. "What do we do now?"

"Now?" Amy smirked. "Now we wait for Monday, and watch dose bastards piss demselves!"

***

The next Monday in the city of London began with a beautiful sunrise. Humming and whistling, Inspector Ian Pritchard stood at the stove in his flat, frying his pan of bacon and eggs until the bacon was sufficiently charcoal-like, and the fried eggs were just fine for beating a liver to death with. Piling a mountain of fatty deliciousness onto his plate, he ambled over to the table, sat down and started to dig in. With a relaxed sigh, he reached for the morning paper to see what news there was—then spewed a mouthful of bacon all over the front page!

"What the...! That...that can't...!"

His eyes burned holes into the massive heading on the title page. Rage flooded through him. There was nothing that could possibly piss him off more.

Or at least that's what he thought until he got to the main article.

"Bloody stinking bastards! How dare they? Who's behind this? Who would dare—"

He cut off abruptly, as the face of a certain thrice-blasted, interfering aristocrat appeared in front of his inner eye.

"No. Surely, he didn't...!"

With a curse, he leapt up and rushed out of his house.

Ten minutes later, in a very different, much more affluent and stuck-up part of of London...

Ding-dong...!

No reaction.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong!

"Come on out here, Day! And don't you dare send your bloody butler!"

A few more moments passed, before...

"Hello, what can I do for—oh, Inpsector Prichard!" With a broad smile, the lord of the manor pulled open the door. "Good morning, what brings you here so early in the day?"

In answer, a fresh-smelling newspaper was thrust under his lordly nose.

"Guess!" The inspector growled.

"Hm...I'm afraid I've never really been good at guessing games, Inspector. Perhaps if you could help me with a little hint..."

"You want me to give you a hint? A hint? All right, I'll give you a hint!"

Unfolding the newspaper, the inspector started reading in a calm, carefully controlled voice. Like a volcano with a lid on top.

"Let's see...

Are the police doing anything?

Peace. Safety. Happiness. Those are the things we all want for our children. Those are the things that, under the beneficent rule of Her Majesty, they all get to enjoy.

Or do they?

Recent events unveiled by our top reporters paint a very different picture and force us to ask the questions: are our children safe? Are the police utterly incompetent?"

Looking up from the newspaper, the inspector sent a death-glare at Lord Patrick.

His Lordship returned a gaze filled with innocent curiosity. "Well? Is it?"

A vein in the inspector's forehead pulsed. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he lowered his eyes to the paper and continued reading. "A shocking event in the countryside has recently shown us just how unsafe the world truly is. Lord Abrehan DeLacey, known as a respected member of the Chester Charity Foundation, was found dead recently in his manor in Somerset, his heart pierced by a blade. Yet the murder of a member of an ancient family of the British Empire is by no means the most shocking revelation. No, that prerogative is reserved for the dungeons found beneath his manor. Dungeons that, as revealed both by physical evidence and our questioning of the manor's staff, until recently housed dozens of innocent children imprisoned to be used for the Lord's sick, perverted pleasure. Until, that is, an unknown hero fought his way into the place, slew the villain and set free his innocent victims!"

Breathing heavily from the non-stop litany, the inspector looked up, his gaze piercing Lord Patrick.

"A hero, hm? I wonder who that might be!"

"Yes..." His Lordship stroked his chin. "That is a mystery..."

"Interesting how unbiased and objective the reporting of this article is, isn't it? Quite amazing how DeLacey turned from a lord of the British Empire to a ruthless villain within one paragraph."

"Very true." Sadly, Lord Patrick shook his head. "Deplorable how fast morals decay these days, isn't it?"