"Finally!" Breathing a sigh of relief, Lord Patrick slammed the front door behind him and sank against its smooth, wooden surface. The ball had gone on and on and on, and lasted far into the morning. Those strange women intent on assaulting him had been relentless! When, at long last, he'd managed to throw them out of his house, he was nearly ready to keel over.

Evicting his mother had been surprisingly easy, in the end. Though the fact that this was due to her being chased by her three best friends on the hunt for gossip was probably not a good sign for his future.

"Tired, are ye?"

He raised his head. One corner of his mouth quirked up as he met Amy's eyes. "Found your accent again, have you?"

"It was 'idden under da carpet," she replied, deadpan.

"I'm sure it was."

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, then an arm slid around his back, supporting him. "Ye look exhausted."

She sounded concerned. Genuinely concerned, and kind. He felt an instinctive urge to wrap her in his arms and hold her tight.

He resisted. Barely.

"Not fond of festivities, are ye?"

Straightening, he rubbed the red handprint on his cheek. Some of the women had been rather...forceful. And he had a feeling he knew who was behind it. Narrowing his eyes, he glared at her. "What gave it away?"

She snickered. And he...didn't feel angry. Didn't feel annoyed. Not even a little bit. Just looking into her emerald eyes made him want to enfold her in his arms instead and never let go.

Of course, there was also the little fact that he was too bloody exhausted to feel much of anything right now. His eyelids protested as he tried his best to keep them open. A yawn escaped him. Pushing off the door, still supported by Amy, he started to make his way towards the nearest chaise longue.

"Well," he sighed, "at least now that it's over, we can finally rest and relax."

Just then, the doorbell rang, and, a moment later, someone started hammering against the wood.

"Open up! Open up now!"

Amy sent Patrick a look. "You just had to ruin it, didn't you?"

"Patrick, let me in!" the voice from outside called again. "It's me, Titus!"

Lord Patrick Day took a deep breath. "We know! Why do you think we aren't opening the door?"

A wicked cackle came from outside the door—one that, Patrick noted, did not come from Titus. It was cut off by a thump that sounded suspiciously like a fist colliding with the top of someone's head.

"Oy! How can you hurt a cute little boy like me?" the anonymous cackler protested.

"You are not a cute little boy. Unless the bottle of whiskey in your hand is very deceptive."

Lord Patrick blinked. "Mr...Max? Is that you?"

"Ha! You see? I'm so friggin' cute even the lordly lord remembered me!"

"You are rather hard to forget," Titus' voice came through the door. "Like any other traumatic experience. And now, Patrick, would you be kind enough to let us in? We have things to discuss."

Lord Patrick stiffened.

That tone in Titus' voice...

That was not the tone of his cheerful, mischievous friend. Immediately, all Patrick's drowsiness vanished. Pulling out his key, he jammed it into the lock, opened the door and pulled the two inside. Better that no one saw them. Especially not the gangs. There was no reason that any gang would be observing his house, but he was not stupid. Criminals had eyes in many places. And he could think of only one reason why Max and Titus might be here.

His eyes landed on the man with the face of a child. "What did you find out?"

"Why, hello, Max," the impertinent imp dressed in—Was that red leather?—piped up. "So glad you got out of that sexual deviant's lair safely, Max. Rescuing you must have slipped our minds."

"Ehem." Lord Patrick cleared his throat. He didn't quite know what to say to that.

Fortunately, he had backup.

"What kind of drink do ye want?" Amy asked, getting straight to the point. "Wine? Vodka? Absinthe?"

Max beamed. "Why not all three?"

"All right. Three comin' up."

And Lord Patrick was left standing there as his fiancée moved off, chatting with his guests and preparing drinks like a proper lady. If he ignored the fact that the guests were a notorious reprobate and a leather-clad circus artist, he could almost make himself believe it was a nice, homely scene.

Maybe it is. Maybe you'll just have a different kind of home.

"Oy! P, what are ye waitin' for?"

"Coming, dea—ehem, I mean I'm coming!" He started forward, privately determining he would never admit that, right now, he might have sounded slightly like a whipped husband.

After Max the Marvellous had been plied with sufficient amounts of alcohol, his tongue was finally sufficiently loosened.

"It's a big one," he told them, his eyes steely. "No, scratch that. It's the big one."

Lord Patrick quickly connected the dots. "The slave auction?"

"Yes." Taking another swig of his wine-vodka-absinthe cocktail, Max nodded. "You should have heard that old perv going on and on about it. He was going to buy at least three exotic new 'toys'."

"Was?" Lord Patrick did not miss the past tense.

Max smirked. "Well, let's just say he won't be playing with toys any time soon."

With the wisdom of a well-educated English gentleman, Lord Patrick decided not to enquire further into the matter. In any case, he had more important issues to discuss.

"The auction?"

"From what I overheard of his boasting—and trust me, there was a lot of that—half the degenerates of London will be there, and a good portion of the ones from the rest of this lovely cesspit of a country." Under the jealous gaze of Titus, Max added some sherry to his cocktail and took another sip. "And that's not all. No, that's not all."

It sounded as if he were trying to build up the suspense, as if he were enjoying his story. But the expression on his face told another tale.

"What?" Patrick demanded.

"The boss is going to be there. The boss of the gang."

"Rathbone?"

"Not Rathbone."

Beside him, Patrick felt Amy stiffen. "Ye mean..."

"Aye. The boss. The big boss."

***

The door to a luxurious chamber opened. A skeletal figure swept into the room, discarding its gloves and overcoat.

"Report!" a curt command echoed through the dimly-lit space.

"Sales have been slowly but steadily rising," a figure in the corner, dressed like an accountant, responded swiftly. "We should soon see a significant increase in profits."

"Hm?"

"If you'll remember, the annual auction is approaching soon. We have quite the roster of guests invited, among them many potential new clients. If you would like to review—"

"No need."

"Huh?"

"I'll be there myself." Fingers steepled, the mastermind gazed out of the window, across the city. "Things are happening that are outside of my control. It is time that I take back the reins!"

***

The big boss.

Amy felt her heart freeze. A moment later, the cold evaporated in a fierce, fiery explosion of rage. The big boss. The one responsible for everything. And they had a chance to catch him in the act. To stop this entire travesty once and for all.

Just then, Lord Patrick decided to throw a spanner into her plans.

"Even if he is there, how will we recognize him? I doubt very much he'll be sitting on a throne like a king, his identity evident for anyone. If that were his style, he and his entire gang would have been revealed and arrested long before."

Amy scowled—then suddenly brightened.

"Not evident to anyone among the guests, maybe." Her eyes landed on Patrick.

"What are you thinking?" His Lordship enquired, sidling back slightly. Smart man.

"Well, we did decide ta infiltrate da gang from both ends, didn't we?"

"Did we?"

"Aye, we did. And I doubt da big boss is gonna be as suspicious of 'is own thugs as 'e'd be of some random rich toffs." Amy felt a smile spread over her face at the expression on Lord Patrick's face. "Looks like dis is a job for Willy Perv."

Lord Patrick Day sent her a dark look, one of his noble eyebrows twitching. Amy wondered why. Was there something that had annoyed him, perhaps?

"How about we start planning?" Titus suggested. He didn't look the least bit annoyed. In fact, he was grinning ear to ear as he clapped a hand on his best friend's shoulder. "I must say, I'm really looking forward to this. Must be the knowledge that I'll be selflessly doing good for the world."

"Must be," Patrick squeezed out, his stare at Titus promising vengeance and alcohol withdrawal. "Must be. But I must point out that even 'Willy Perv' might not gain perfect results. The leader of an entire civilization is not very likely to spend much time with a simple thug."

"Hm...true." Amy nodded. "But I've got plans of me own." Leaning over to him, she whispered something into his ear. His eyes sparkled.

"Hm...that might work."

"Naturally." Amy smirked. "It's me plan."

"Good. Then we shall proceed with those plans in mind. Now...do we have any information about where the auction is going to take place?"

Titus nodded, his grin fading. "It's on the tickets. Some swanky establishment with, ehem...adult entertainment, at the edges of the East End. Respectable enough to be well-known among the rich of society, yet just seedy enough to attract the debauchees who are lured to anything taboo like moths to a flame. I know the place rather well."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Because you know me?"

"Not dat I ain't enjoyin' da banter," Amy cut in, "but we've got a stakeout ta plan. Maps?"

Nodding grimly, Patrick strode down the hallway. "I have one. I'll go fetch it. Meet me in the drawing room, will you?"

"Aye. I'll be dere in a jiffy."

By the time Patrick arrived in the drawing room, Amy had already cleared a table and stopped Titus and Max from looting the liquor cabinet. Not that she would have begrudged them a drink or seven. In fact, she would be more than happy to indulge herself on any other day. But not right now. Right now, they couldn't afford to be drunk.

"Here you go."

Ah. Patrick was back. Intently, Amy watched as he placed a folded map onto the table and unfolded it, revealing a birds-eye view of the entire city of London.

"There it is." Titus' right hand tapped a spot on the map, pointing out a rather large building. It did not escape Amy's attention that it was centered around a courtyard, thus cutting off any outsiders' view of what was going on inside.

Her mouth twisted in a not-very-amused smile.

What a coincidence.

"So," Titus asked, "what are we going to do?"

Patrick's eyes zeroed in on Amy. So did everyone else's.

"What?" She cocked an eyebrow, blinking innocently at everybody. "Staking places out ain't yer expertise?"

Titus raised a hand. "Only if they're full of pretty girls and—ow!"

Withdrawing his elbow from Titus' ribs, Patrick gestured to the map. There, not too far east of the stakeout location, areas were marked in red, with a helpful warning printed on the paper at regular intervals. Dangerous Area—Do Not Enter!

"You might not be an expert on staking out places—but you are most definitely knowledgeable with regard to a certain place. I do believe you know why this is here, don't you, Miss Amy?"

"Oh, aye." She couldn't quite keep the smirk off her face. "'ow nice of da mapmakers ta warn everyone of da big, bad East End."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Suddenly reaching out, he touched her cheek for just a moment. Amy felt her traitorous heart leap in her chest. "If I had been warned away and never entered the place, I would never have met you."

The way he was looking at her...it made her heart sing. He was looking at her with such emotion in his eyes. He, Patrick, her...fiancé.

It was hard to even think the word, but there was no way around it. He really was. The whole of London knew it by now. And more importantly, so did she, in her heart of hearts. If there had been any hint of doubt within her, it would have been eradicated by the expression on his face. It was a hundred, no, a thousand times better than any man painted on the cover of some romance book. It touched her more deeply than anything else ever had.

It would have touched her even more deeply if Titus hadn't been pretending to puke in the background.

Swiftly and ruthlessly, Amy raised her foot and brought her heel down.

"Aagh!"

"Now that the distractions are dealt with," Patrick stated with just the right amount of casual disregard for his friend's squashed toes, "let's get back to the subject, shall we? It's clear who should lead the reconnaissance mission. It would be foolish to assign this task to anyone else but our resident East End expert."

Amy felt a blush rise to her cheeks. Dammit! He was complimenting her on being an expert on a place full of thieves, cutthroats and killers, and she was blushing!

Back to da subject, Amy. Back to da subject.

"Aye, very well. Let me see." Reaching for the map, Amy was about to take a closer look at the venue's surroundings, when she heard a creak from behind her. Instinctively, her head whipped around—only to see a familiar, small figure peeking through a crack in the door leading to the staircase.

"Flo!" She sent a reproving look at the girl. "What are ye doing 'ere? Were ye listenin'?"

The little girl quirked an eyebrow. "Do doves shit on rooftops?"

Amy clapped a hand in front of her eyes. Who did she think she was talking to?

"I do believe that, occasionally, they do," Patrick retorted. "That does not answer the question, however. What are you doing here?"

Flo bit on her lower lip—but then raised her head, stubbornly. "I 'eard what ye said. I 'eard ye're gonna go after da big boss. Da bastard be'ind all dis."

"And?" Amy demanded. Not that she didn't already know what was coming next. She felt like banging her head against the wall. Or, better yet, banging Patrick's head against the wall for not having better sound-dampening doors.

Flo met her eyes fiercely. "I want in!"

"Flo, you c—"

"I. Want. In."

"—an't," Amy finished. Not that an ant would help her much in this situation. By the look of things, not even a tiger or lion would help in the face of the fire-spitting little dragon in front of her.

"Now listen here, young girl," Titus started, "you can't just—"

That was when Flo turned her gaze upon him.

"—ehem, never mind."

Amy sent Titus a glare, then fixed a hopeful look on Patrick. After all, he was her fiancé now, right? The man who had declared her his in front of London's high society. The man who had taught her, learned from her, and fought beside her. Surely, he would have a solution?

Lord Patrick cleared his throat. "You...shouldn't go?"

Amy took a very, very deep breath.

Count to ten, Amy. Count to ten.

"Why da 'ell not?" Flo demanded.

"Err...because you're too little?"

In utter desperation, Amy turned her gaze on the last person in the room.

"Oy, don't look at me!" Raising a hand, Max took another sip of his brainmelter cocktail. "You wanna leave the little ones behind? Have you seen my size?"

Beaming, Flo ran over and plopped down onto the sofa next to Max. "See? If ye take 'im, ye've gotta take me!"

"Despite his looks, 'e's an adult," Amy pointed out.

"So am I."

"Huh?" Amy blinked. "No, ye ain't!"

Flo batted her eyelashes up at her. "'ow do ye know?"

"Well, just look at—"

Amy stopped. She had been about to say "just look at your size"—but then she glanced at Max right beside the girl and shut her mouth again.

She took another deep breath. "Ye can't be a bloody adult, Flo! I've known ye all my life!"

Flo leaned towards them. "Dat was my secret little sister," she informed them with a conspiratorial, and completely believable look. "Really looks quite a bit like me, don't she? I'm actually twenty years old."

"No ye ain't! Ye're just a little twirp!"

Flo cocked her head. "Can ye prove it? I could be an old crone for all ye know."

Amy's eyes narrowed. "Ye're certainly crafty enough for one."

Flo beamed. "Ye see? I can come along!"

"Oh, no." Reaching out, Amy patted the little girl's shoulder. "Ye're an old lady, after all. I couldn't possibly put someone of yer advanced age at risk."

Flo scowled. "Now, ye listen 'ere...!"

"No. Ye listen!" Amy didn't scold. Didn't lecture. Instead she rose to her feet and knelt on the soft carpet in front of the girl who had been the light of her life for so long, drawing the child into a tight embrace. "I...can't. I can't let ye go dere. I can't lose ye. I can't."

Flo stiffened for just a moment—then slowly relaxed. Her tiny arms came up, hesitantly, then returned the hug.

"I...I know," she sniffled, hiding her face in the folds of Amy's dress. "I can't lose ye either, but..."

"Aye?"

"If ye think ye can stop me with sentimental drivel, think again!"

"Blast! And I was so sure it would work!"

"Ha! Ye need ta get up a lot earlier ta fool me."

Moving back slightly, just far enough to be able to look Flo in the eyes, Amy clasped her by the shoulders. "Ye know I still meant what I said, don't ye? Every word of it."

"I know." The little girl gave Amy another hug, tugging at her heartstrings. Damn the manipulative little twirp! "I did, too. So stop tryin' ta give me dat look."

"Blast!"

Lifting her chin, Flo looked straight at her. Amy could see it in her eyes. Unshakable determination. "Can it. Dere's no way around it. I'm goin'."

"So am I!" came a voice from the door.

"And I!" Another voice.

"And I!" And another.

Amy's head jerked up and she glanced over Flo's shoulder. There, in the doorway, girls appeared one after another. Leona. Grace. Issy. Aggie. Throatripper.

All right, maybe they weren't all girls. Although, for all Amy knew, the rabbit might be female. Right now, though, that was very much beside the point.

"Are ye completely off yer rocker?" Amy demanded. "None of ye are tall enough ta reach da top shelf on a cupboard, and ye want ta come take down da biggest bastard in all of London?"

Beaming, the various girls nodded, happy that she had finally understood. Adults could be so slow on the uptake, these days.

"No! Abso-friggin'-lutely no!"

In answer, five stubborn chins rose. And one stubborn pair of long ears.

Amy threw a helpless look at Lord Patrick.

Patrick, reliable gentleman that he was, threw a helpless look right back.

"Don't ye look at me like dat!" Amy hissed. "When dey 'ave children, ain't it da man's job ta take responsibility?"

"That," His Lordship informed her, "applies only if the man gives the woman a child. Not if the woman drags the man off on a mad quest to collect half a dozen children from various dungeons."

"Ha!" Amy stabbed an accusing finger at him. "I knew it! Ye're just lookin' for an excuse ta abandon me!"

She managed to hold her heartbroken, accusing expression for about three seconds before one corner of her mouth started twitching. A moment later, Patrick's lips twitched in answer, and then, they were suddenly laughing, and she suddenly realized he was very close. As were his lips. Beautiful, tempting lips that were still smiling as he moved closer and—

"Awww..." a hushed, girlish voice whispered. "Are dey gonna kiss?"

"Shh, Grace! Don't interrupt!"

Amy froze.

Blast, blast, blast! Amy, what are you thinkin'?

Clearly, she wasn't. Something that would have to be changed if she wanted to prevent an imp invasion of the Blackstreet Snakes. Taking a deep breath and very deliberately not looking at Patrick, she turned towards the girls, who wore grins that were far too cheeky for her liking.

"Now listen 'ere, ye five..."

"Oh, we're listenin'," Leona told her.

"And watchin'," added Aggie. "It's bin an interestin' show so far, but now it's gettin' borin'."

"I. Said. Listen!"

Something in her voice must have tipped the girls off that now was not the time for jokes. Their mouths snapped shut. Throatripper's ears drooped. Fixing a stern gaze on the group, Amy leaned forward.

"I'll make one thing clear. I will not take ye to dat place while it's stuffed full of gangsters."

"But—"

Amy cut off Flo's protest with a raised hand. "Let me finish. I'll not take ye dere while da place is full of gangsters. But before dat? Maybe."

Flo narrowed her eyes.

"What do ye mean?" Aggie demanded.

"Ye 'eard us talkin' about needin' ta do a stakeout on da place, right?"

Any other child would have looked puzzled. It said something about these girls that, instantly, their faces lit up with understanding.

"Ah." Smiling up at Amy innocently, Flo cocked her head. "And if some poor urchins were ta pass by, beggin' for scraps, nobody would really notice or care, right?"

"Ye read my mind, ye little menace."

Flo's smile widened into a grin. "Spiffin! I—"

"But," Amy cut her off as she raised a finger, "only pass by. Only dat. No more, no less. Ye'll be our eyes and ears, but ye ain't goin' inside, and da moment it looks like something fishy's gonna 'appen, we'll get ye out of dere. Understood?"

Flo's grin evaporated. "But—"

"Understood?"

She lowered her head.

"Fine."

Amy clenched her fist.

Yay! Victory!

Although the fact that she was ready to do a victory dance for triumphing over a group of ten-year-olds should probably be concerning. Right now, however, she didn't really care. There were more important matters to deal with.

Rising to her feet, Amy swept a look over everyone. In the end, her gaze landed on the five girls.

"Well, what are ye waitin' for?"

Flo's eyes widened. "Ye mean...?"

"Aye." Amy nodded. "No time like da present. Let's go."

---------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Only two minutes left to publication time! Can't think of a good author's not that fast... ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob