Knuckles was really pushing for a fight. I don’t know, maybe that really was the best tactic, or maybe it was just youthful stubbornness and a thirst for revenge flaring up again. I doubted he’d ever forgiven the Hunchback for trying to feed his brother to a vampire.

  “You sure this is necessary?” I asked. “We’re supposed to be here for something else.”

  “Apologies, Lord Loxlin,” said Knuckles, overly formal, with a shallow bow, then spat on the floor again. “Right. Look...” he glanced at me, almost sheepishly “…you lot seen the building site? The slums are coming down. Full rebuild. This place’ll be nicer than New High, richer than the City, flashier than Shiny and the shit’s getting swept out.”

  The Hunchback interrupted with a juicy spit toward Knuckles’ polished shoes. Missed, but got him to shut up.

  “You moron,” he sneered. “Do you know how many times they promise crap like that before every election? You believe every word...?”

  “Oh, I know who to believe,” Knuckles said. “Bremor men don’t throw words to the wind.”

  “And what, you think the people who actually own this land are just going to step aside?”

  “This land,” I said evenly, “belongs to my clan, the Duke of Farnell, and His Worship de Camp. And those last two won’t mind if we do some cleaning.”

  “You won’t pull it off,” the Hunchback said stubbornly.

  “I’d love to see who’s going to stop us.”

  “Some already tried,” Knuckles said, casually. “Ten or so. Came well prepped: amulets, shotguns with enchanted rounds, even a machine gun. Tony Short’s lot. Ever heard of him?”

  A nervous ripple spread through the room. Word of the ambush on me, and the string of ‘accidents’ that wiped out the gang’s upper ranks, had already made the rounds. No one knew who was responsible. But with a well-timed hint, Knuckles had now linked the event to us, redirecting all suspicion away from the real culprit and making the myth work in our favour.

  The only question was whether it was smart to scare the kids like that.

  Then, without missing a beat, Knuckles switched tone as if he’d never mentioned it.

  “Idiots were lucky it was Lord Loxlin they attacked. He’s soft. Only killed the guy on the machine gun. If it’d been Sir Albert or his son Donald...” He shook his head, letting the implication hang in the air, “… a bloodbath.

  “Anyway, you lot, I’d have chased you off with a piss-soaked rag, but Lord Loxlin’s a soft sort. Understands your, ah, ‘difficult situation’. So the Bremor clan’s offering a way out. A chance to live like people. You seen my boys?”

  A freckled kid in the Hunchback’s pack opened his mouth.

  “I saw Tooth.”

  “Shut it,” the Hunchback snapped.

  “Don’t you shut him up,” Knuckles growled. “Or I will put your eyeballs on your arse — and you’ll be able to see your own shit.”

  “Oh, yeah? Do it, then. One on one, coward. Right here, right now.”

  “With pleasure,” Knuckles grinned, smashing his knuckledusters together, the amulets sparked, clearly not your average trinkets.

  “Take off the metal,” the Hunchback sneered.

  “Who's the coward now?” Knuckles shot back, but he took them off and shoved them in his pockets. The Hunchback immediately bared his teeth in a predatory grin.

  I looked closer at his hands and spotted a few giveaways: earth magic glowing in a ring, steel in one of the bands. There was a fire amulet tucked under his shirt and something else hidden in his pockets.

  “Rings off,” I ordered. “Fair’s fair.”

  “They’re just accessories,” the gang boss tried to bluff.

  “Do you know who you’re saying that to?” I asked coldly. “First skill any wizard learns is seeing subtle forces. I can see everything you’ve got: under your shirt, in your pockets.”

  “Come on, coward,” Knuckles goaded. “Didn’t you want a fair fight?”

  Of course, it wasn’t entirely fair. The stoneflesh spell I’d cast on Knuckles earlier was still holding. Unlike skin, which fades quickly, stoneflesh lasted, and didn’t wear off all at once. It weakened slowly as it absorbed hits.

  And Knuckles hadn’t taken a single one yet.

  So his body was still nearly granite-hard.

  The Hunchback had advantages of his own, like his grotesquely oversized right arm. Nature had compensated for his hunched back with raw power. And he still believed he could pound the skinny kid into a meat patty.

  I didn’t know what level the Hunchback was really at, but over the past year, Knuckles had seriously improved his technique in sparring. He’d added formal training to his already massive arsenal of dirty moves, the same ones he’d taught me. Not a bad mix, really.

  The Hunchback gave a nasty grin, slammed his oversized right fist into his smaller left palm, and stepped forward twice.

  Knuckles, arms still lowered, strutted forward, and then suddenly shifted. He dipped under a lazy left jab and answered with a sharp one-two straight to the chin.

  The Hunchback’s head snapped back. His body reeled, and he barely kept his balance, shaking his head, dazed. Knuckles didn’t let him recover, landed another pair to the face.

  The Hunchback swatted back with his right and interrupted Knuckles’ rhythm, blocked one of the next punches. But Knuckles kept up the pressure, striking fast and rhythmically, like a dragonfly in flight, while the Hunchback stumbled back, waving him off with slow, heavy hands.

  Bloody hell, his skull was tougher than my stoneflesh spell.

  Knuckles kept pushing until the gang boss was cornered. His face looked like raw meat, lips split, nose bent and swollen, blood from gashed brows pouring into his eyes.

  Pressed to the wall, the Hunchback snapped. He snarled, roared, and was promptly silenced by a crunching punch that shattered his jaw. What came out instead of a war cry was a wet, gurgling wheeze.

  The Hunchback flung his right arm like a whip, not even aiming to punch, just to hit. Knuckles didn’t dodge in time. The open palm crashed into his ribs and flung him into the corner, slamming him against the wall.

  Time for him to start shaking his head, and for me to start worrying.

  But Knuckles had taken hits before. He recovered fast, faster than the Hunchback could land his next blow. His massive right fist struck the spot where Knuckles’s head had just been. The building shook, plaster rained down, and the wall cracked under the blow.

  A fair fight? Against a monster who could nearly punch through the wall?

  Yeah, right. Don’t make me laugh.

  Sliding down into a crouch, Knuckles snapped an uppercut into the monster’s elbow, straightening his legs to add power. The impact was solid, but no satisfying crunch.

  Instead, the Hunchback’s body flared with blood magic. His twisted arm jerked free of the crater it had just made in the wall and flexed, unnatural and steaming.

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  Knuckles swore, kicked him in the knee, ducked under a wild swing, and slipped behind, driving a vicious combo into the kidneys. That hit home. The Hunchback arched with pain. Knuckles followed through, slamming him face-first into the wall.

  “Right pocket,” I said. “That’s where the blood magic amulet is.”

  Before the brute could recover, Knuckles reached in and pulled out a large copper amulet, set with an aquamarine reservoir.

  The healing stopped, though tendrils of magic were still stretching toward the Hunchback’s body. Looked like it was bound, like some of mine.

  I held out a hand. Knuckles tossed it to me. Now that there was enough distance between it and the wearer, the link severed cleanly.

  “Interesting piece,” I said. “How much is it worth?”

  The Hunchback didn’t answer.

  “Roll him over,” I told Knuckles.

  He did. And the brute’s right hand immediately latched onto Knuckles’s throat.

  My pistol was in my hand before I could blink, and the shot rang out. An armour-piercing round tore through the Hunchback’s forearm and cracked the brick behind him, sending splinters flying across the room.

  “Fight’s over,” I said, coldly.

  Knuckles broke free of the grip and rubbed his throat, eyes full of hate.

  I slowly holstered the gun and looked around at the now-quiet gang. I picked out the smallest one wearing a coat over his shirt and said: “Give me your vest.”

  He peeled it off instantly, holding it out with a trembling hand. I wrapped it around my thumbs and walked over to the Hunchback.

  “I’m going to reset your jaw,” I told him, then shoved my wrapped fingers into his mouth.

  Normally you’d use a towel, in case the patient bites down. But with stoneflesh, I wasn’t worried about that. I just didn’t want my hands covered in bloody spit.

  There was a dry click as the joint snapped back into place. His jaw clenched on my fingers, briefly, and I waited until he loosened up before pulling away.

  I handed the vest back to the boy and tossed him a quarter, saying, “His coin. Not yours.”

  Then I turned to the bandit and asked again: “Interesting amulet. How much?”

  “A hundred,” the Hunchback growled, and immediately clutched his jaw.

  “No shouting, no yawning, and no solids for a couple days,” I advised.

  I pulled out my wallet, counted out five twenties, and handed them to the stunned thief.

  I figured the amulet had been stolen either by him or one of his lads. From a fence, he’d be lucky to get a few miserable coins. And he likely had no idea how valuable the thing really was.

  Still, an interesting artefact. Didn’t stop a dislocated jaw, but it saved the arm...

  I’d give it to Harry. Let him figure out what the maker had cooked up.

  “Lord,” Knuckles cut in. “He definitely stole it.”

  I could’ve easily taken the amulet as a trophy, but the whole “astonishing generosity” act had to continue, especially in front of the kids. Knuckles's last comment had landed perfectly, and now the Hunchback was eyeing the cash like it might bite him.

  “I don’t steal from people,” I muttered. “Take it.”

  He took the notes hesitantly, licked his cracked lips, and rasped out: “I’ve got more, if you’re interested, Lord?”

  “Don’t push your luck, runt,” Knuckles snapped. He slipped his enchanted knuckledusters back on and clicked them together, sparking ether into the air.

  But I was thinking, maybe money was exactly the bait we needed. Nothing attracts street kids like coin.

  “Do I look like a fence to you?” I said, arching a brow. “This amulet caught my attention because of the unusual effect. That’s the only reason I bought it.”

  Then, to keep the Hunchback on the hook, I added, “I seriously doubt you’ve got anything else worth my time.”

  “Who knows?” the bastard croaked slyly. “Maybe I’ll find something interesting.”

  Damn it. Why did you have to phrase it like that?

  “I suggest you forget that particular line of business in this city,” I said coldly. “Get yourself a ticket on the next train out. There’s no place for people like you here anymore.”

  But how to pivot back to the money, without undermining the threat?

  “Mister Sparrow,” I said. “Appraise anything this man offers. Pay him double what the fences would give.”

  I pulled the rest of my cash from my pocket and handed it blindly to Knuckles.

  “Yes, my Lord,” Knuckles muttered, clearly unimpressed.

  The Hunchback’s eyes locked onto the money greedily, but I kept my tone like ice: “After that, you disappear, sir. Or else the fate of that vampire in the courtyard will look like a happy ending by comparison.”

  Then I turned to the kids, who immediately shrank back against the wall.

  I spotted the lad who’d mentioned Tooth, whoever that was, and addressed him.

  “Young man, would you like to work for Clan Bremor, like Mister Sparrow’s friends?”

  “Yes, sir! Uh… Lord I mean, sir!” the boy blurted, uncertain which form of address to use but sure of his answer.

  Knuckles jerked his head towards the Hunchback, gesturing for him to leave. The man obeyed.

  I carried on spinning my tale, though maybe some of it would turn out to be true.

  “Then you’ll need training: reading, writing, physical drills. During that time, the clan will provide housing at our orphanage, three meals a day, and proper clothes. At the end of the training, only the most diligent, intelligent, and obedient will be accepted. You must give up stealing and all other crime. Don’t cause trouble, and obey your instructors. They will decide what sort of work you’re suited for, if any. Questions?”

  The boy whose vest I’d used earlier raised his hand.

  “Speak.”

  “Is the orphanage only for orphans, sir?”

  “Do you live with your parents, young man?”

  “I…”

  “Be honest. Lying will cost you your chance.”

  “I ran away, Lord.”

  “Why?”

  “My dad drinks, Lord.”

  “That’s a valid reason. Anyone else here with living relatives? Hands up.”

  About a quarter of them raised their hands.

  “Inform the instructors at the Bremor House. They will decide what to do with you.”

  I wasn’t about to take on more responsibility than I had to.

  “And now… who wants to earn a pound?”

  A forest of hands shot up. Every single one.

  “Excellent. This will also show how reliable you are. Within half an hour, I want each of you to spread word of what’s happened here to as many of your peers as possible, and then report to the Bremor House. We are willing to buy amulets from gang leaders, provided they agree to leave Farnell within twenty-four hours. We’ll also accept children of any gender for training.”

  I deliberately left out any age limit.

  “Make sure they mention your name. For each one who stays, you’ll earn a quarter.”

  I pulled out my watch and showed them the time.

  “Your time starts now.”

  They bolted for the doors like a stampede, pushing and shoving, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

  “Mister Sparrow?” I called out.

  “Over here, my Lord,” came the reply, from the far end of the half-collapsed building.

  When I got there, the Hunchback was wheezing and wheedling, trying to haggle with Knuckles. A wad of notes in Knuckles’ hand was clearly burning a hole in the bastard’s soul, and Knuckles wasn’t having it, loudly insisting he’d already offered more than it was worth.

  To be fair, he had.

  On the broken table sat a small pile of trinkets, maybe a third of them glinting with magical essence.

  Knuckles couldn’t see the subtle energies, so I helped him out.

  “This lot here, about a third, just ordinary jewellery.”

  “Hunch!” Knuckles hissed sharply.

  The thug swept the banknotes off the table in a single, fluid motion. Faster than he'd moved during the fight.

  “All the best, gentlemen!” he called cheerfully.

  “Wait,” I ordered.

  He froze, wary. I reached into my satchel, pulled out the most basic healing potion I had, and offered it to him. It was in my interest he slipped away quietly, getting picked up by the city guard would cause more trouble.

  “With that face, you won’t get far,” I said, holding out the vial. “I’d suggest drinking half and dabbing the rest on your wounds, after you’ve rinsed them with clean water or whisky.”

  “Doubt I’ll be any harder to recognise,” he snorted, nodding toward the hump on his back.

  “I’ve no potion for that kind of disfigurement,” I said evenly.

  “Cheers,” he nodded. “Here’s hoping we don’t meet again.”

  The Hunchback left through one of the broken windows. Knuckles and I exited through the front.

  “Not bad, all things considered,” Knuckles said. “Question, though. I tossed him a twenty out of my own pocket, you taking that into account when we divvy up?”

  “You mean the trinkets?”

  “I doubt the Bremor lads care much for shiny earrings and bangles. I meant the amulets. You’ll pay proper price for those, right? Not full value, obviously, but better than the pennies they'd get from a fence.”

  “I haven’t decided yet what to do with the buy-back scheme,” I admitted. “Some amulets can be dismantled, and gold and silver are valuable materials.”

  “Fences barely pay scraps for the metals.”

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t want to be a fence. We’ll see. I’m not leaving money on the table, but profit takes many forms.”

  “Like what? I get that some amulets are worth stripping for parts, but the rest? What’re you gonna do, give ‘em back?”

  “That’s one option.”

  “What’s the point? No one’s gonna pay to reclaim their stuff. And half the time, how would you even find the original owner? Try returning a plain ring with no engraving. The moment word gets out that you're doing it, every chancer in the city’ll be queuing up with sob stories.”

  “Which is why I said I haven’t decided yet. But imagine the clan returning even a few heirlooms. Can you picture what that would do for Bremor’s reputation?”

  “Bugger,” Knuckles muttered, deflating.

  “Ha! A couple hours ago you gave up a thousand without blinking, and now you’re crying over a twenty?”

  “That thousand never touched my hands. The twenty came out of my own bloody pocket.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re right, it’s complicated. Might not be worth the trouble. We’ll see. For now, let’s get back home. The Bremor House I mean. Let’s cheer Donald up with some extra costs and refill the vaults.”

  The air outside the Bremor House smelled of roasted meat. Right by the fountain, a portable stove steamed away, with a great cauldron bubbling something thick and savoury. Nearby, three large coal grills sizzled with sausages, patties, and hearty cuts of meat. The men on cooking duty wore white aprons and silly chef hats to make them seem less threatening, and they’d even pulled a few young women in to help. Just as I’d lured in the street kids with coin, Donald, or whoever was behind this, had used friendly visuals and intoxicating smells to snag the interest of always-hungry ragamuffins.

  I nearly grabbed a bottle of lager myself and stayed to enjoy the view. Some of the girls were… Curvy.

  Betty?!

  Why is she here?

  Please don’t see me. Don’t see me, don’t see me…

  “Hello, Duncan.”

  Bollocks.

  “Betty! What a surprise.”

  “Clan orders. I’m here to eyeball the kids and make sure we don’t overfeed them. And you...”

  “Right, yes, sorry. I need to speak to Donald urgently.”

  “Always on business,” she sighed, shaking her head. “We’ll catch up later, then.”

  Right. So you can try and enchant me again? No thanks. I don’t play those games. Best I go find whoever let her into Farnell, and wring their bloody neck.