Amy glanced around the room they had been assigned. The tower room. In the tallest tower of the castle. Really, could this be any more cliché?

"All I'm missin' are a wicked witch and fifty-five feet of long golden hair," Amy muttered.

She didn't miss the fact that there were several beds missing in the room, either. For the four of them, there was only a single one. It seemed that His Grace intended for the girls to sleep somewhere else. Imagine that.

"Is it just me," Flo asked, glancing around the bare room with the single door and single window, which happened to be roughly fifty feet above the ground, "or does dis place look a little like a prison cell?"

"Oh, no," Amy told them with a serious face. "A prison? Surely, you are mistaken! That can't possibly be!"

Just then, a key clicked in the lock, and a latch was slid in place, shutting them in. Raucous laughter echoed outside in the corridor, followed by thumping footsteps as whoever had just locked them in this place looked for something more interesting to do.

Flo gave Amy a look.

Amy shrugged, and smirked. "Oops?"

"Ha!"

"Oy, don't give me dat look, Missy! Ye volunteered to come ta dis place, remember?"

"Hm...I guess I did." Frowning, Flo glanced around. "But dis ain't going da way we expected it to. For starters, why are we 'ere with ye? We should 'ave bin taken ta where dey keep da other girls."

Just then, Amy heard the sound of rattling from outside, accompanied by the pounding of hooves. Striding to the window, she peered outside, just in time to see a magnificent black-and-golden coach rushing out of the gate.

"Dere's yer answer. Seems like da duke wasn't just airing 'is coach earlier. Apparently, 'e's got places ta be tonight."

"Which means..."

"Aye." A smirk spreading across her face, Amy turned back to face the three girls. "We'll 'ave all night ta play around in dis pretty castle."

Thus began the wait. The afternoon passed quickly, thanks to Amy's foresight. Other people might have gone on a dangerous secret mission armed with knives and pistols and tools. Amy, however, had a different approach. She had spent pretty much her whole life in dark and dangerous places, and had long since learned one thing: the most dangerous thing was not danger, but the boredom before the danger.

"Cards, anyone?" Pulling a deck out of her pocket, she waved it in the air.

"Oh, goody!" Clapping her hands, Flo rushed over and settled next to Amy on the bed. "I bet two matches!"

"Skinflint!" Leona muttered.

Five minutes later, they were settled around a central pile of winnings, cards held closely in front of their faces, sandwiches in hand.

"Ham?"

"Nah, I'm good with cucumber."

"All right, stop stalling ye two! Let's see yer cards."

"Don't get yer nickers in a twist. 'ere ye go."

"Ha! I win!" Aggie punched the air in triumph. "I win! Gimme all yer matches!"

They continued playing until the sun began to sink behind the horizon, and the sounds of life from the castle slowly started to subside. Except for the occasional owl hooting in the distance, the night was silent.

Amy glanced out of the window, and the only things she could see were the flickering lanterns carried by the guards patrolling the property. Idiots. Patrolling in the night with a lantern? If you did something like that in Devil's Acre, you'd end up as target practise for a dozen thieves armed with throwing knives. In the night, light didn't illuminate. It only alerted your enemies.

And I'll be only too 'appy ta fulfil dat role.

A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth.

Seems like it's time. We should move quickly.

"Come on, girls," Lowering her cards, Amy started to rise to her feet. "We should go and—"

"Oy! 'old on dere! Show me yer cards!"

So much for moving quickly. Drat!

"Ehem. We're 'ere on a mission for freedom and justice! Now really isn't the time for—"

"Cards!"

Grumbling, Amy showed her cards.

"Ha! Knew it!" Smirking, Flo swiped all of the winnings, and started to count.

"Freedom and justice?" Amy reminded.

"In a minute, in a minute. Thirty-eight, thirty-nine...forty!" Leaping up, Flo beamed. Her winnings, Amy noted, were nowhere to be seen anymore. "All righty! Let's go!"

They all gathered around the window, gazing out into the darkness. In what little light the moon provided, Amy tried to judge the distance to the ground. All she could figure out was that it was too damn far to want to climb if you didn't have a death wish.

Now some Rapunzel hair would really come in handy.

Well...

As the saying goes, God 'elps dose who 'elp demselves.

Reaching under her skirt—and not for the reason that you might normally think of, perverts—she grabbed the rope wound tightly around her waist and started to remove it. Ha! Who would have ever thought that ginormous hoop skirts would ever be so useful?

"Do ye see dem?" Aggie whispered, peering into the darkness.

"I...I think so. 'ere, tie dis to da bed." Handing one end of the rope to two of the girls, Amy waited until they'd tied it tightly around one of the bed posts, then took the rolled-up rest of the rope and stepped towards the window. Searching the darkness far below, Amy spotted a vague, shadowy silhouette. Even in the darkness, she spotted a glint of familiar blond hair.

A smile spread over her face.

Found ye.

And, taking aim, she pulled back her arm and threw.

She was so intent on her aim that she didn't hear the click of the key in the lock behind her.

***

Down in the darkness, Lord Patrick Day stood beneath the window of a woman who was not his wife, waiting for her to let him climb into her bedroom. Or at least that was how Titus had phrased it earlier before Patrick had punched him.

"You know," the Honourable Titus Iriving grumbled, "you really could have held back a little."

"And you," Lord Patrick answered, not even bothering to look at his friend, "could learn to be decent."

He thought for a moment. Then... "No. No, I really couldn't."

"Titus?"

"Yes?"

"Do me a favour and shut up."

And amazingly, Titus did as ordered. It might have been because he was not drunk for once.

Or maybe, a little voice at the back of his mind spoke, it is because of the trail of destruction you left in your wake.

He might have gone...a little overboard. Just a tiny little bit. He was not even sure what happened. Sure, he had killed before. He had stabbed, and shot, and slaughtered people.

In battle.

Under Her Majesty's orders.

But now...

Taking a deep breath, Lord Patrick half-turned, glancing at the dismembered corpse of the guard who had surprised them on their way in.

"Do you think anyone heard?"

Titus gave his friend a somewhat forced smile. "I think anyone who might have isn't in a condition to alert anymore. You know, for lack of ears? And a head?"

"Ehem. Well." Lord Patrick cleared his noble throat, not knowing what to say, and inconspicuously tried to wipe the red off his duelling sword. What the blazes was the matter with him? He was supposed to be a gentleman! A calm and reasonable man of honour, not some bloodthirsty barbarian! So...why exactly, when he'd thought about Miss Amy Weston, locked away behind cold, hard stone walls, had he suddenly seen red? They were supposed to sneak in, to be inconspicuous. But then one of the guards had caught sight of them. It just so happened to be one of the guards that had been standing at the gate earlier, leering at her, and...

Red.

So much red.

He had killed. Not in war. Not in a duel. And...he didn't regret it at all. You could only regret something if, given the choice, you would not do it all over again.

For a moment, he saw a flash of green that cut through the red haze in front of him. Green eyes, beckoning him forward.

His fists clenched.

By George! What is happening to you, Patrick?

Tilting back his head, he gazed up at the castle that towered above him like some huge black behemoth, ready to devour anyone who set a foot inside. Somewhere in there, Amy and the children were imprisoned. And he could do nothing to help. Not until their part of the plan was fulfilled. When there had still been daylight, one of Karim's men had spotted them with a pair of binoculars being led towards the west tower. That's where Lord Patrick and the others were hiding now, cowering in the shadows, waiting.

It should have been me risking his infernal hide! Not a lady! Not children! Me!

He knew it couldn't have worked. That still didn't make the voice roaring inside him shut up, however.

Please. Please, let her be all right.

Just then, he heard a whistling sound, and—

Thwack!

Something akin to an overweight boa constrictor slammed into Lord Patrick's nobble noggin, sending him sprawling to the ground. Blinking, he stared at the rope that had landed right on top of him—then his eyes wandered up the castle wall until they made out the faint silhouette of a wench visible through tower window,

Eyes narrowing, he fixed his gaze upon the distant figure. Was that just his imagination, or could he see a faint smirk glittering in the moonlight?

Ah. So she is all right. Very much so.

"Everyone," he said, his voice low and cold as the night. "Let's move."

Dashing forward, he leapt up and grabbed hold of the rope. It gave way a few inches before jerking and tightening under his weight. Slamming his feet against the wall, he started moving up, first feet, then hands, then feet, then hands again. Just like back in the army training camp.

"What are you waiting for?" he called back. "It's simple!"

Behind and below him, he heard Titus mutter something—something which most likely contained more than a few choice invectives for a certain friend.

He smiled.

A smile that vanished abruptly when, through an arrow slit in the tower wall beside him, he heard footsteps. Footsteps moving up the tower.

No!

***

It took a moment for the click from the lock to register in Amy's mind. The moment it did, she moved. In a blink, she had grabbed some blankets, dunked them into a bowl of water and thrown them over the rope, as if it were a washing line hung up for things to dry.

"Hide!" she hissed. "Now!"

The three girls had good reflexes, trained through long years of not dying in the East End. They darted in all directions, squeezing into the gaps behind cupboards, a corner up in the rafters, and similar shadowy corners. Not a moment too soon. An instant later, the door squeaked open, and men entered the room.

One...

Two...

Three.

This was bad. She'd hoped it wouldn't come to this, hoped they'd be too scared to damage their lord's wares to come mess with them. Even if one came, she would be able to deal with him easily enough. But three?

She was a street brawler, not a professional killer.

Fortunately, she was also a woman. One with lots of wiles.

By the time the three leering guards stepped into the room, Amy was sprawled out over the bed, her outer garments discarded, only half-covered by blankets, somehow managing to exude a simultaneous air of innocence and seduction.

"G-gentleman!" she breathed, a hand flying up to her mouth. "Pray, what is da meaning of dis? Did ye enter da wrong room?"

The eyes of the guard at the front raked over her. "I don't think so, luv."

"D-did yer Lord send ye 'ere? Are ye 'ere ta stand guard?"

"In a manner of speakin'." The men's smirks widened. "We're 'ere ta take care of ye. And we'll take really good care of ye, oh aye, we will."

"Ye...ye will? But..." Amy made her lip tremble. Her hands slid protectively to the front of her body, which also happened to be where a certain pointy something was hidden between the folds of her dress. "Dis is improper. Ye shouldn't...ye can't..."

"Don't ye worry, luv." Chuckling, the three advanced on her. "Tonight, ye'll be doin' loads of stuff dat's improper. Grab 'er!"