Thud, thud, thud, thud...

The rhythmic footsteps of the guards fell heavily upon the stone floor of the castle corridor, echoing off the cold, bare walls. Slowly and carefully, something appeared from beyond a corner. First a few strands of hair. Then a watchful eye. Then...a baby's diaper.

"Gagaaah?"

"Shh! Be quiet!"

"Ga!"

Silencing the baby with a candy, Amy leaned forward a little farther, peering after the guards. The patrols were everywhere, the watch was tight. She hadn't been able to get farther than a dozen or so steps before she had to hide in an alcove.

This was already the third patrol that had passed by. Amy had kept her ears pricked the entire time for any hint regarding the girls' whereabouts—but so far, she hadn't heard a single whisper. The only thing the guards uttered were the commands shouted by their commanders. There wasn't even the tiniest of hints, dammit!

So...what to do?

In order to find out more about the captives' whereabouts, she would have to get info from the patrolling men. But where and how could she do that?

Hmm...it would have ta be somewhere dey'd never expect a spy, somewhere dey'd relax and let deir guard down...

Suddenly, inspiration struck!

That's it!

A wicked smile spreading across her face, Amy whirled around and marched down the corridor without another second of hesitation!

Treading lightly as a feather, she followed the patrol, always certain to stay at a safe distance. The farther she got, the dingier and darker the surroundings became. This was a far cry from the luxurious and elegant surroundings of the ballroom. Small wonder. The place they were heading to was a place always hidden in the dark, that no one would dare to discuss out in the open.

Amy just had to be patient. Soon, it would be time. Soon...

"Permission to speak, Captain?"

Just then, one of the soldiers raised his chin.

Was it time? Would her patience be rewarded?

"Granted!" the captain growled.

"I have to go...to that place. You know why."

"Ah." The captain nodded grimly. "Go. Take care of matters."

"Yes, Sir!"

The man turned down a side-corridor, Amy stepped forward to follow—which was when a hand grabbed her from behind!

Whirling, she brought up a knee, ready to smash the child-snatching bastard's bollocks in—and came face to face with Lord Patrick Day.

"Oh."

"Oh indeed. What, pray, do you think you are doing?" he hissed.

"Err...kickin' ye in da balls?"

"That," Lord Patrick Day stated, his voice low, his eyes glittering frostily, "is painfully obvious. What I was referring to was what you are doing in this place! Have you lost your mind?"

Amy shrugged. "Ye win some, ye lose some."

"Evidently." His eyes narrowed as he jabbed a finger at the contents of Amy's eyes. "What in the name of St George possessed you to bring them with them?"

In answer she simply cocked her head and blinked up at him with puppy-eyes, like a harmless little damsel suddenly cornered by a brute. "Oh m-my, Sir guard, I didn't know I wasn't supposed ta be 'ere. I...I was just lookin' for a place ta change da diapers on Lady McDingleton's children. 'er Ladyship is ever so anxious for 'er children. Could ye point me da way to da washroom? I wouldn't wanna try changing deir diapers on da duke's whiskey cabinet, would ye?"

"That...might actually work," he admitted with extreme reluctance. "But still..."

"No time for more chit-chat! We gotta move!"

Tearing herself free from Patrick's hold, she dashed down the corridor after the single guard, always making sure to keep a safe distance between her and the man ahead. Muttering something she was pretty sure was very unlordly, Patrick stalked after her. Finally, the two of them reached the end of the hallway, and cautiously peeked around the corner.

"What are we doing here?" Patrick hissed. The guard was marching away from them while they were just standing there, and there was nothing at the end of the corridor but a single, solitary door.

"Shh!" Lifting one finger to her lips, Amy sent him a stern look. "Wait and watch me brilliant plan in action."

Then she turned her focus back onto the door so he wouldn't see the devious grin on her face.

Oh, aye. Ye watch. I 'ad ta watch ye dancing with dose 'usssies, so now ye get ta watch dis!

Just as she expected, the guard had vanished through the door. Some time passed, and he exited again.

"Hide!" Amy hissed. "Hide!"

Rushing back down the corridor, they squeezed into a broom closet. Breathless, she waited as the footsteps outside approached. Amy cocked her head and listened to the footsteps, then raised her head—only to find her nose around half an inch from Patrick's finely sculpted face.

"Miss Amy," Patrick squeezed out. "What is this 'plan' of yours again?"

"Oy, why suddenly so formal? After all..." She waggled her bottom which just happened to be pressed rather tightly against a certain part of his anatomy. "...I thought we've become rather close. About half an inch close, ta be exact."

"You...you...!"

"Shh!"

Quickly, she clapped a hand over his mouth. Only when the footsteps had finally faded into the distance did she let go again.

"Miss Amy, what—"

"No time ta explain! Move yer arse!"

Grabbing him by the arm, Amy dashed out of the closet, dragging one reluctant lord in tow. It didn't take long until they stood in front of the door.

"So," he muttered, glancing from left to right. "Now can you tell me what your genius plan is?"

"Simple. We need some intel. We need ta catch dose guards in a place where dey relax and open up."

"And this is the place?" Sceptically, he stared at the dingy door ahead. "Are you sure?"

"Oh aye." She sent him a broad smile. "Trust me. I'm very familiar with spots like dese. A place were all men open up and relax, aye?"

Reaching up, she tapped a certain spot on the door. A spot where, in faded print, one could see the stylized figure of a man.

***

A place where men relax and open up.

That confounded, cheeky little...!

After all that had happened in the last few days and weeks, Lord Patrick Day had believed there was nothing anymore this woman could do to shock him.

He had been wrong.

"Miss Amy Weston! We cannot possibly—"

"Why can't we?"

"That's the men's toilet!"

"Oh?" The wench blinked up at him innocently. "So ye're secretly a lady in disguise?"

"What? I...I..."

"Ah. I see." The wench reached out to pat his shoulder. "Don't ye worry. I'm very open-minded. Some of me best friends are crossdressers."

While he was still busy trying to figure out how to use his noble privileges to get away with murdering her and explain it to his sister afterwards, Amy had already opened the door and pulled him inside. In his life as the most eligible bachelor of London, he'd been pulled into a dark corner by many a lady. However, never a dark corner quite like this. Catching a whiff of special odour, he gagged.

"Stole yer breath away, did I?" She blinked up at him innocently.

Innocent? Yes, as innocent as Satan's defense attorney!

"In...a manner of speaking. What in the name of God, the angels and all the demons in hell are we doing here, woman?"

"I already told ye. We're 'ere for intel."

"But how—"

"Shh!"

Suddenly, a hand covered his mouth again, and a surprisingly strong arm pushed him backwards into the room and into one of the stalls. The door thudded closed behind him, and he was about to struggle free and demand to know what the heck was going on when he heard it.

Footsteps.

Peeking through the gap between the door and the rest of the stall, Lord Patrick caught sight of a thin sliver of a figure. He heard the scuffle of boots on stone floor, the rustle of clothes, and then...

Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle...

Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle...

Lord Patrick closed his eyes.

I am a Peer of the British Empire. A Peer of the Empire. This is not happening. This is not happening. I am not standing standing next to a lady of the night in a gentlemen's toilet listening to some man...letting the river flow.

More footsteps, and then...

Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle...

Ah. He had indeed been right. He wasn't listening to a man. He was listening to two!

Oh, joy. As the ancient poet Rumi said, When you do things from your soul, you feel a river of joy moving inside you.

"Oy, so 'ow's it goin', mate?" asked river of joy number one.

A grunt came in answer. "Ye know, same old, same old. Me old warwound actin' up, me wife naggin' all da time..."

"Aye, mine too! Can ye believe she actually wanted ta kick me out of da bedroom last night?"

Slowly, Lord Patrick Day leaned forward until his mouth was next to Amy's ear. He didn't have to go far, thanks to the fact that they were squeezed into a tiny cubicle. Somehow, he could not find it in him to be thankful for this.

"This," he hissed, gesturing in the direction of the continued tinkling noise, "is what you wanted me to listen to?"

"Ha!" The man outside continued, laughing gruffly. "Too bad dat old 'ag don't know I can get as many twats as I want right 'ere. Perks of da job, ey?"

"No," Amy whispered back, her voice solemn. Lord Patrick felt his spine stiffen. "Dis is."

"Oh aye!" A dirty chuckle came through the flimsy wooden door. "So nice of our Lord ta keep 'is old toys around. Some of dem 'ave grown up quite nicely, 'aven't dey?"

Rage flooded through Lord Patrick's veins. Never before had he craved so much to simply forget all about his upbringing as a gentleman, grab a man by the throat and squeeze until all life had left him. Fists clenched, he moved towards the door—then felt something grab him from behind and stop him. His conscience?

"Where do ye think ye're goin', Pea?"

Ah. Definitely not his conscience.

"Let me go!" he hissed. He wanted to strike! To break! To cut down all that dared to stand in his way!

"No!" Amy's hiss in his ear was like a bucket of ice water on his seething temper. "Or do ye wanna lose yer only chance of findin' out where da captives are kept? Be quiet, before—"

She abruptly cut off.

The mumbling outside had stopped.

And the next moment...

"Who's there?" a gruff voice called from outside. "Who's in there?"

Tarnation!

Lord Patrick suddenly felt an urge to slam his head against the wall. He'd given them away! They would be discovered, and there was nothing he could do to stop—

Just then, Amy reached up with her hand and waved over the top of the stall.

"Who do ye think?" she asked, and followed up with a flirtatious giggle. "Sorry, but I'm a bit too busy ta take care of ye boys. I'm already occupied."

Silence.

There was nothing but silence, until...

"Bwahaha! Hahahaha!"

Laughter exploded from beyond the door. A hand slapped against the wood, and a thumb pointing upwards was lifted above the door.

"Good job, mate! Is she good at what she does?"

Patrick swallowed, gazing deeply into Amy's eyes that, while her voice had been throaty and seductive, were as cold and hard as jade.

"Very."

"Ha! 'ave fun, den! We'll be goin' ta visit da lady's friends and show dem a good time!"

"Aye!" The other man sounded as if he were licking his lips. "I 'aven't visited da old infirmary in far too long! Time ta 'ave a bit of fun!"

"Let's go!"

Chuckling, the guards sauntered out of the room.

"Old infirmary?" Lord Patrick rasped, his voice hoarse. He had heard it. He had processed it. He just didn't want to believe it. There had to be some limit to humanity's depravity, didn't there?

Amy shrugged. Had...had she already expected this? "Castles used ta be military strongholds. Stands ta reason dat dey would 'ave somethin' like a 'ospital. Nowadays, 'is Grace da Duke naturally wouldn't need it for 'imself. Plus, with da way dose women are likely treated, why bother carrying dem back and forth between deir quarters and a 'ospital when ye can just 'ave both in one?"

His Lordship very much wanted to wretch.

But right now, making other people wretched is more important. One person in particular.

Staring in the direction of the guards' receding footsteps, as if his eyes could burn a hole through the wood and stone, Lord Patrick felt rage roaring through him, and, drawing back his fist, he slammed it into the wooden wall of the stall. Those bloody bastards! There was simply no way to say it without using vile words. Bloody, stinking, despicable—

"Let's go!" he growled, grabbing Amy by the hand. "We have work to do!"

He moved towards the stall door with the strength and determination of a true gentleman—only to stop in his tracks when the door to the room creaked open again, and, after heavy footsteps entering the men's room, he heard the sound of a pair of trousers hitting the floor, followed by:

Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle...

"I 'ave a feelin'," a voice whispered beside him, "we're gonna be 'ere for a while."

***

Amy did not quite know what to do. They were on a mission to free children from abuse and slavery. They were in the heart of the enemy's lair. There could hardly be a more serious situation. And yet, as she stood there, watching the expression on Lord Patrick Day's face while listening to the rushing of the yellow river, it was very, very hard to keep from collapsing with laughter.

Her good mood, however, only lasted until they had managed to sneak back out of the toilet and into the ballroom.

She stood behind a curtain at the end of the corridor, watching as Patrick slipped into the alcove hiding a buffet table, and from there strode out into the open, as if he'd just returned from partaking of refreshments. The instant he came into view, all eyes turned towards him. She saw the moment when the transformation took place. The moment when Patrick turned back into Lord Patrick Day.

Oy! Since when did 'e turn inta two different people? 'e's just one darn man!

A darn man who, right now, was looking for another beauty to dance with!

With a huff, Amy marched out from behind the curtain she was hiding behind and headed in the exact opposite reaction from His Mighty Lordship. If that bloody Casanova wasn't going to do anything productive, she would have to do it herself! Searching the ballroom with her eyes, she zeroed in on a certain bulge, and the woman attached to it.

Sidling over with the demureness befitting a simple servant such as herself, she curtsied.

"Madam. Why are ye sitting 'ere all alone and not enjoyin' yerself?"

"Oh," Jenny replied with the incredible acting skills of a woman who could convince single-shot pistols they were actually twenty-pound cannons. "With da extra weight, dancin' is just a little bit too much for me. I decided ta sit down by da window and get a breath of fresh air. 'ave ye bin takin' good care of me little ones?"

"Aye, I sure 'ave, Ma'am. 'ere ye go."

And, smiling, she bent forward, handing both of the adorable little rugrats over to their mother. In the process, she just so happened to bring her ear rather close to Jenny's lips.

"I've done as ye asked," Jenny whispered, her voice fast and precise. "Ye were right. Dis is an excellent spot. Through dat window dere, I've bin able ta watch da courtyard and walls ever since I sat down. 'ere's da guard's schedule."

As the children changed hands, Amy felt a piece of paper slip into her sleeve. She had to work hard to suppress a smile.

"Did ye see two guards go into some building just a few minutes ago?"

"Aye, I did, actually. Why?"

"Keep an eye on it! Note down anythin' ye notice!"

"Aye." Nodding, Jenny leaned back, gathering her children in her arms and pulling out a picture book. Nobody but Amy seemed to notice that she also pulled out a pen and piece of paper, hidden within the book's pages. "Come on, ye two. Let me show ye a pretty picture book..."

Knowing that her friend was on the job, Amy turned away and let her gaze sweep over the ballroom to see what her minions—ehem, friends were doing. Karim was standing in a corner, glaring at everyone around as usual. Or at least that's what he appeared to be doing. In reality, Amy knew, he was evaluating everyone present, especially the guards, regarding their weapons and combat power. Titus was chatting up one of the maids, squeezing out information—hopefully. Cora was making sure nothing happened to the vicar, bless his innocent little soul. And Patrick...

Amy swallowed, hard.

Suddenly, she felt a lump in her throat.

She watched him, a ravishingly handsome lord, twirling around a lady like Cinderella at the Prince's ball. It was just like a scene right out of one of her romance novels, brought to reality—except for one thing: the heroin wasn't her.

What da 'ell are ye blatherin' on about, Amy? Dis ain't no time ta waste yer thoughts on stupid books ye don't even like! And dat goes even more for stupid, stupid men ye definitely don't like!

But then...why was she still staring at him?

The rest of the ball dragged on agonizingly slowly. By the time the last dance was struck up, Amy felt about ready to kill the musicians. Did they have to make it a slow, romantic waltz?

Apparently they did.

Finally, the last note sounded and ravishing beauty number thirty-seven—or was it thirty-eight?—reluctantly parted from Lord Patrick Day. Guests began filtering towards the door, passing His Grace the Duke and bowing deeply as they did. In the end, it was their little group's turn. For the first time, Amy was thoroughly glad for the servile role she was playing. It meant she only had to curtsey in passing, and was not worthy of speaking to the great Duke, may he roast in eternal hellfire. If she'd had to speak to the man, to actually open her mouth, she wasn't sure she could have kept herself from spitting in his face.

"Thank you so much for your hospitality, Your Grace." Smiling, the vicar bowed deeply. "And thank you so much for your support of our efforts."

"You're most welcome, Reverend," answered the Duke in his smooth, elegant voice. "It was my pleasure having you and your lady wife as my guests."

"I, too, must thank you for your hospitality," Titus said with an unreadable smile. "I've often been complimented about my exploits by my friends, and this is the first time I have met someone whose accomplishments not only surpass mine, no, they are in a whole league of their own that I simply cannot compare to."

"Thank you very much for your compliment, Mr Irving."

He and Cora passed the duke.

Next came Karim.

"It was my pleasure to have you as a guest, Mr...?"

"Harrumph!" Karim said, then turned around and marched out of the door. Smiling up at him from the safety of my ugly servant's bonnet, I winked at him, and gave him a thumb's up.

Finally, it was Patrick's turn. Amy watched intently as he approached his host, and the Duke bowed deeply.

"Thank you for honouring my little festivity with your presence, Lord Patrick. I hope you can visit my home again soon."