A dark alley, deep, deep in the most dangerous parts of the East End slums. A little boy was dashing through the shadows, glancing left and right—that is, until he spotted two dark figures looming at the end of the alley.

His heart dropping, he came to a stop. No. Not this again! This had happened to him only last week! He could still feel his jaw hurting from the punch that had sent him to the ground, could still hear those bastards' laughter as they tore from his hand the coin that was meant for his sick mother.

No! This couldn't happen again!

Whirling around, he dashed away from the two sinister thugs, ignoring the pain rushing up from his bare feet as they pounded against the ground.

"Oy, you!" a voice came from behind him. "Wait!"

Fat chance!

The little boy sped up, his heart nearly busting his ribs. Behind him, he could hear the bastards' boots pounding on the ground, coming ever closer.

"Wait!"

Never! Never again! This time, he was going to escape! He was not going to let those buggers get their hands on him or, God forbid, his family!

Rushing towards a nearby wall, he leapt up. His fingers scraped desperately against brickwork, trying to find purchase. Hell, he was going to fall! He was going to—

He'd done it!

Grabbing the top of the wall, he pulled himself up and over. Slamming into the ground knees first, he bit his lip to ignore the pain, scrambled to his feet again and dashed forward, uncaring where he was or where he went, as long as it was away from those monsters!

***

On the other side of the wall, the two monsters were staring at bricks, nonplussed.

"So...who are we going to ask for directions now?"

"'ow am I supposed ta know? And don't forget ta drop yer H's!"

"My sincehere hapologies."

"I liked ye better when ye were all lordly and well-mannered."

"I'm sure. So...what now?"

"Oy, see dat street sign? I think dat's da way!"

"You mean like the last three times?"

"So what? Did ye think it was gonna be easy ta just roll in through a gang's front door? Dose buggers don't just nicely stay at home knittin', waitin' for ye ta show up. Dey tend ta move around ta avoid little things called 'police raids'. I've bin out of da city for weeks now, and ain't talked ta my contacts from Devil's Acre in ages. Da gangs probably 'ave moved around 'alf a dozen times."

"And you neglected to mention this earlier because...?"

"Just shut up and follow!"

"Yes, Hmadam."

Grumbling, she strode off, and Lord Patrick, noble and proud gentleman that he was, did the only thing he could do: follow. After all, he had even less of an idea than Amy how or where to find criminals, unless he were to visit Tyburn to pull one off the gallows.

That would probably not be an option.

The farther they went, the worse things started to look. Lord Patrick had thought they'd already been in the darkest pit of the slums. Quite obviously, he had been mistaken. The houses around them looked about ready to fall over. Piles of foul substances were scattered throughout the streets. Several times, they were waylaid by less than desirable individuals, until finally...

It stopped.

Frowning, Patrick glanced around. The surroundings still looked just as bad as before, if not worse. Why...?

"Are ye wondering where all da crooks are?" Amy's voice suddenly came from beside him, low enough for only him to hear.

"I must admit to some curiosity, yes. I would have thought that in these parts, the streets would be full of thugs."

She jabbed a finger to where they had come from. "Did you see any normal people out on the streets back there?"

"No, of course not."

"And why was that?"

"Assumably because they were afraid to leave their homes."

Her finger moved, now pointing ahead. "Aye. So, if 'ere dere ain't any thugs out on da streets, either..."

Then they are also afraid.

She didn't say the words out loud. But she didn't need to. The look on her face was enough. They had entered another kind of place. A place where no sane man would wish to go.

Yay! Destination reached!

He just really, really hoped he wasn't going to regret this.

From beside him, Amy grinned up at him. "Let's go through da plan again, aye?"

"Very well," Patrick nodded, and started to recite what Amy had told him. "We cannot approach the gangs directly and just ask to join. They'll be far too suspicious. So at first, we'll try to come to their attention with small-time crimes, selling them supposedly stolen items and the like. For that purpose we're now heading to a...wall?"

"Fence. It's called a fence."

"We're heading to a fence, which apparently is also a human, and we will try to sell him things."

"Remind me ta brush up yer underworld lingo."

"I shall do my best."

For a minute, they strode down the dark street in companionable silence. Finally, Lord Patrick glanced sideways at her.

"So...what are we going to sell to those gangsters?"

Amy smiled. "I've got it covered, don't ye worry."

Suddenly, Lord Patrick Day felt a whole lot more worried.

***

The moment Amy saw the lamp with the blue shade in the shop window, she knew they were in the right place. Old Jem always used the same signal to convey he was open for business.

"Now, remember what I told ye," she whispered to Patrick. "Keep on dat old cloak I gave ye and hide yer mug till we can find somethin' better for ye. Keep yer mouth shut as much as possible. And for God's sake, try and look less noble!"

"I shall endeavour to—ow!" He rubbed his ribs where Amy's elbow had hit. "I mean, aye, I'll do dat."

"Good." Then, without waiting, Amy pushed open the door to the store.

"'ello dere, dear." The fellow behind the counter—a bald, emaciated old goat with half-rotten teeth and an actual hunchback—sent Amy a charming, gap-toothed smile straight from a gothic horror novel. "Welcome to me little lamp shop. What can I do for ye?"

Or would ye like me to just do ye, instead?

Amy very much heard the unspoken question. But she was a professional. Keeping a smile on her face, she leaned over the counter, displaying her assets.

And for once, she was not talking about cleavage.

"I'm 'ere ta look at da special models," she told him, putting emphasis on the necessary words. Under cover of her cloak, she let him see something sparkle in her hand. "Would ye show me?"

He gazed at her for a long moment, his gaze no longer filled with lust. At least not lust for women. There was a different kind of desire in his eyes now, glinting golden.

Wrapping his dirty woolen cloak more tightly around himself, the hunchback turned and gestured. "Come into da back."

Amy did. Not without reaching between the folds of her dress for her knife, however. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Patrick doing the same. Smart man.

All her influence, probably.

"Down 'ere, sweet'eart," Old Jem's croaky voice came from up ahead. He had slid aside a part of the floor that, a moment ago, had looked perfectly solid, revealing a well-oiled trap door. Lighting an oil lamp, he led the two of them down the stairs into a dark room. There wasn't any merchandise lying around. Old Jem wasn't that stupid. But on the table in the centre of the floor, there were magnifying glasses, scales, and numerous other tools useful to assess...certain 'interesting objects'.

Lurching towards the table, the old hunchback patted the table.

"Well, let's see it, den." He leered at her. "Let's see what ye've got."

Har, har, har. Amazing subtlety.

Suppressing her urge to comment, Amy made to step forward. But before she could, Patrick grabbed her arm from behind. "What are you planning to do now?" He whispered from behind her, low enough for only her to hear. "Do you have anything at all?"

Amy didn't answer, and didn't turn around. Mostly so he didn't catch sight of her shit-eating grin. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out what she had brought. Gold shone. Jewels glittered in the dim light.

"Oy!" Old Jem whistled. "Nice merchandise! Where did ye get all dat bling?"

Amy's smile widened. "From a stinkin' rich nob who thinks far too 'ighly of 'imself."

From behind her, she heard a croaking noise. Probably a stray asthmatic parrot, right?

"A lord?" Jem's eyebrows shot up, and, picking up a magnifying glass, he started to inspect the jewels with a lot more interest. "'ow did ye manage dat?"

She waggled her fingers. "With talent."

Not her own, though. Jo truly was such a sweet, talented little girl. And very amenable to lend a hand to anyone who got her cute accessories for her beloved bunny.

"Not bad." Old Jem nodded, his eyes gleaming. "Not bad at all."

"I know. I'm spiffin'!"

The growling noise that came from behind her told her that Lord Patrick Day entirely agreed. Totally.

Amy didn't pay much attention. She was far too busy haggling.

"Two thousand pounds."

"Laughable! Dose ain't worth two hundred!"

"One thousand and nine hundred."

"Two hundred and fifty!"

Not that any of this was really necessary. After all, this entire little visit to old Jem was merely pretense, in preparation for the real show that was yet to come. But she had to keep up the sham to make sure he didn't grow suspicious. Plus, it was fun as hell trying to sell other people's stuff for as much money as possible. Especially when said other person was currently standing behind her, trying not to explode.

Finally, it was time.

"All right," Amy growled, doing an amazing job at looking pissed off, if she said so herself. "One thousand one 'undred pounds, ye vulture!"

"I'm losin' a bloody fortune on dis deal," Old Jem snarled, with a face that barely hid his exhilaration and greed. "But I've always 'ad too soft a 'eart. Done!"

Eagerly, he snatched up the family jewels, pun most definitely intended, and reluctantly handed over some bank notes. Amy grabbed them without hesitation and turned towards the door.

Time for the real show to start.

"Well, we'll be off den. Cheerio."

"What if I wanna get in touch with ye for another nice deal?" Old Jem licked his lips. "Won't ye tell me yer name before ye go, luv?"

Amy snorted. "What, so ye can tell yer boss about me and 'ave me place raided for more? Or snitch on me ta make ye seem legit with the coppers? Not on my life!"

Then, without another word, she stomped towards the stairs, Patrick striding right beside her, his eyes almost spitting fire.

"I'm amazin', don't ye think?" Amy enquired, batting her eyelashes.

"Fabulous," he told her in a voice that perfectly conveyed his intense desire to strangle her.

"And ye know what's da best part?"

"I would love to hear it."

"Aww...ye're cute when ye're pissed off. But don't ye worry. Ye'll soon 'ave someone ta take yer frustration out on." Her eyes sparkled. "And da best thing...'e volunteered."

Patrick blinked, and slowly, a not-at-all-gentlemanly smile spread across his face. "That actually does improve my mood. Considerably."

"It's even for a good cause. Every punch for justice and da betterment of humanity."

Lord Patrick Day's eyes glittered. "You know...I might just forgive you."

Just then, the two of them reached the top of the stairs, only to have the shop door open, and to find themselves face-to-face with a sour-faced Inspector Ian Pritchard.

"You...villains! Criminals!" he boomed, raising an accusing finger. "In the name of Her Majesty's justice, I demand to know: what were you doing in that shady back room?"

Amy grinned.

Time for da shit ta 'it da fan!