"Well, you see, it's like this..." Titus swallowed, quailing under Miss Amy Weston's glare. "I was thinking..."

"Bad idea," Lord Patrick commented, speaking from experience. "A very bad idea."

Sending him a glare, Titus straightened his back. "I was thinking," he reiterated, "that, in case our other plan went to hell for any of a hundred random reasons, it would be good to have a backup."

"And yer backup is a..." Amy raised an eyebrow at the little leather-clad menace who, Lord Patrick noticed, was by now raiding his liquor cabinet. "Who exactly is 'e? For dat matter, what is 'e?"

Titus cleared his throat. "Well, ehem..."

But before he could say something that would get him strangled again, the little fellow turned around.

"Oh, how forgetful of me! I completely forgot to introduce myself." With a flourish, he bowed and swiped several bottles from the liquor cabinet. "Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen, it is a pleasure to meet you. Maximus the Marvellous, wrestler, acrobat and circus artist extraordinaire at your service."

Maximus struck a pose, flexing his leather-clad muscles for everyone's inspection. Goodness gracious...Lord Patrick had never thought he would use such a word, let alone in regard to a foul-mouthed midget, but he looked...cute.

Or he would have, if not for the three whiskey bottles still hidden behind his back.

Sending everyone an enchantingly innocent smile, he bowed with a flourish. "But please, don't stand on formality. You can call me Max." He winked at Amy and Cora. "Especially you lovely ladies."

"Didn't ye call me a twat just a minute ago?" Amy enquired in what sounded like horrified fascination.

"And what a lovely twat it is, I'm sure."

There was a moment of silence.

"No," Karim confirmed dourly. "He's definitely not a boy."

"'ow can so much booze and profanity fit into such a tiny body?" Amy asked with morbid curiosity.

"It's a talent, sweety, it's a talent." Stepping forward, Max the Marvelous batted his eyelashes up at her. "Wanna see some of my other talents?"

Hurriedly, Patrick cleared his throat. "Ehem, well, perhaps we should get to the important subject?"

"Haven't we already?" Max enquired.

Lord Patrick felt an intense urge to grab the little bastard and strangle him until—

—until the sweet little boy batted his eyelashes up at him, giving him an innocent, angelic, childlike smile.

Lord Patrick's hands fell to his sides.

Titus smirked. "I think you've just realized the reason I have engaged the services of Mr Maximus."

"Forgive me if I seem dense..." Lord Patrick began.

"Don't worry about it." Graciously, his best friend waved a hand. "You should never try to hide your true self."

"...if I seem dense," he repeated, once again suppressing the urge to strangle, "but I cannot quite see the connection."

"'e looks like a child." Amy's remark, quiet as it was, instantly drew his attention.

"Exactly." Nodding, Titus gestured between them. "We all want to infiltrate that despicable ring of child slavers. We can go at it from one direction—but never from the other. We can infiltrate the gang, but not the children that are captured. If we don't, how are we supposed to keep track of where the newly auctioned 'merchandise' are sold off, or whom they are sold to? That list of buyers we have will not last us forever. What will we do once we have no idea anymore where those children end up? We must obtain a new source of information!"

Lord Patrick blinked. Slowly, he turned his head towards Amy. She, too, was blinking.

"That...actually makes sense."

"It...does." Karim admitted from his corner, each word dragged from his throat with reluctance the size of Mount Kilimanjaro.

"Should we get 'is 'ead checked?" Amy enquired in a whisper, gesturing to Titus. "Is 'e sick?"

"I most certainly feel like it," Titus muttered, rubbing his bruised ribs. "I wonder why."

"So," Lord Patrick decided to intervene, before his friend remembered his distinct lack of protests while his best pal was being pummelled, "Mr Maximus has volunteered to help us in our investigation? Splendid! Simply splendid! Truly admirable. I must applaud such—"

"Pffft!" He was interrupted abruptly by whiskey spewing out of little Max's nose as he gave an indelicate snort. "Volunteer? That's a good one! A really good one!"

"He...didn't volunteer?"

Lord Patrick glanced over at Titus, who suddenly looked very, very innocent, and seemed to be highly interested in the patterns of the wallpaper.

"Titus?"

"Ehem, well...I may have promised him some money in return for his services."

Lord Patrick's eyes nodded. "You don't have any money."

"Err...I might also have told him all about how you so graciously offered to pay the salaries of anyone willing to assist in this important matter."

"You did, did you?"

"Aaaand...I might have mentioned he could get a cut of whatever money he's sold for."

Lord Patrick's jaw dropped.

"So," Mr Cutie Patootie enquired, batting his eyelashes up at him. "how much do you think I'll sell for?"

Lord Patrick took a deep breath.

Calm, he reminded himself. Stay calm. This scheme is a brainchild of Titus Irving. You have known him for over a decade and haven't murdered him yet. Which means it's not necessary for the good of humanity...probably.

"Titus...even if he's not a child, he's still a man with the body of a child."

"I know." Max smirked. "Comes in really handy when you put on da cute look and all the ladies invite you to sit on their laps."

"A man in the body of a child," Patrick reiterated, fighting down the renewed desire to choke the little imp. "Which means he is vulnerable. You cannot possibly guarantee his safety."

"Oh, don't worry." Titus waved his hand. "Max can take care of himself."

"How?" Patrick demanded, gesturing to the tiny figure. "He's no taller than a—gaagh!"

"No taller than a gaagh?" Titus enquired, looking down at where his friend was suddenly lying on the ground. "What's a gaagh?"

"I shall tell you once I have put all my limbs back in order," Lord Patrick Day responded from the carpet, his arm twisted behind his back, with Maximus the Marvellous kneeling on top of him.

"Wrestler, remember?" Titus reminded him, smirking.

"I do now, thank you very much," His Lordship growled. "When can I stand up?"

"How much do I get if I let you?" Maximus enquired, curiously.

"I have a cellar filled with excellent, well-aged brandy."

"You, Sir, have a deal!"

Wincing and rubbing his painful joints, Lord Patrick got to his feet.

"Well?" Titus enquired, his chest jutting out proudly. "My plan is fantastic, isn't it?"

"Wonderful," His Lordship growled. "Absolutely wonderful."

Titus's chest puffed out even more. He beamed, waiting for praise.

And, Patrick presumed, waiting for him to foot the bill.

Suddenly, an inspiration struck him. A quite splendid inspiration. A vicious gri—ehem, charming smile spread across his noble features.

"Yes. Yes, your plan is really quite ingenious," he murmured.

Titus preened.

"So ingenious, in fact, that, I think we cannot let your talents go to waste."

"Ha! You see? I always told you you were underestimating me."

"Oh yes, indeed. We cannot just let you sit on the sidelines like I originally intended to. No, with talents like yours, we need to involve you more deeply in our main infiltration plan and give you an important position on our team. Perhaps we can give you the task of investigating any adult women who have been robbed of their freedom and clothes."

"Finally!" Titus's grin widened. "You've realized my true talents!"

"So...you agree?"

"Of course! Of course, my dear friend!"

Lord Patrick's smile widened as well. "Excellent. Then your training can begin!"

Titus froze. "Training?"

"Certainly. After all...I can take care of myself, Amy can, Karim can, and as you said, Max can. You on the other hand...you have no experience in that regard, my friend. We can't possibly put your life at risk while you are incapable of defending yourself, can we?"

"What kind of 'training' do you have in mind?" Titus enquired with the voice of a man who just realized the bright light at the end of the tunnel came from an approaching train.

"I think," Lord Patrick said, the devious grin nearly splitting his face apart, "we will start with some fighting lessons. Amy?"

Horror spread over Titus's visage. "No. Oh no, God, please, no!"

"Yes," Lord Patrick said. "Oh, most definitely, yes."

"But if I join your investigation," Titus demanded, desperately searching for a way out, "who will implement my new plan? Who will pose as a dissolute reprobate and take Max to the auction, into that den of vileness and villainy, if not I?"

Lord Patrick cocked his head. "Mr Karim?"

"No!" Karim exclaimed. "Absolutely not!"

"And again," Patrick repeated with a raised eyebrow. "Yes. Most definitely yes."

"You cannot do this!"

"'e probably can't," Cora agreed, snatching his arm. "But I can."

Next, Lord Patrick Day had the distinct pleasure of seeing Karim being dragged off by a pregnant woman half his size. However, it was nowhere near the pleasure of seeing a protesting Titus being dragged off by Amy a moment later. Paying no attention to Titus's screams, she towed him off to the living room, most likely for some extended sparring sessions. Karim, meanwhile, was dragged by Cora out of the back door—for what, exactly, His Lordship did not really want to know. Judging by the whimpers coming from outside, Karim had just been informed he would be conscripted for babysitting duty in eight to nine months' time.

As for Max the Marvellous...

Well, he'd long since skedaddled off to find the wine cellar.

Which left Lord Patrick Day in the drawing room, alone. Wonderfully, blissfully alone. He didn't even bother to wash up or take his boots off. Like the East End gangster he was dressed as, he hurled his whiskey glass out of the window and flung himself onto a comfy chaise longue, putting his muddy boots up on the coffee table. With a huge sigh, Patrick closed his eyes, covering his face with his arm. Finally! Finally, he would get some peace and quiet!

Tomorrow, he would plunge into the shadows of the East End again. Tomorrow, he would face the darkness, when they would begin the most dangerous part of their plan: the true infiltration of the Blackstreet Snakes. But today, he would relax, and nothing and no one would disturb him!

God willing, everything would go according to plan tomorrow.

***

In a dark room, a menacing figure sat, chuckling evilly.

With an ominous creaking sound, the door opened a crack wide. "Um...Your Grace?"

The cackling stopped. "Ehem. Yes?"

"The sun set about an hour ago. Wouldn't you want to turn on the lights?"

"Oh, um...I was so engrossed in this fascinating book that I never noticed."

The maid approached her employer from behind. "Is that another wedding catalogue, Your Grace?"

"What? No! No, certainly not." Hurriedly Her Ladyship the dowager duchess pushed the volume in her hand under a nearby embroidered cushion. "Do you think the only thing I read are wedding catalogues?"

"Certainly not, Your Grace," the maid stated, somehow managing to keep her face straight.

"Hm. Good. Well...was there anything you wanted, girl? I should get back to reading this fascinating treatise on seventeenth century classical composers I was just studying."

"Yes, Your Grace." The maid took a cautious step sideways, so she was no longer situated between the dowager duchess and the doorway. "The instructors—"

She could not get another word out before the dowager duchess had leapt up and dashed towards the front door, peering out into the darkness.

"Are they here? Are they here?"

"No, My Lady," Bending down, the maid reached under the cushion and pulled out a certain wedding catalogue. "Treatise on eighteenth century classical composers, eh?"

Her face reddening, the dowager duchess strode back into the room. "Put that down, girl! And what did you mean about the instructors? There's nobody in sight outside!"

"At eleven pm? I should hope not, My Lady."

The shade of red on Lady Henrietta's cheeks deepened. "Then what was all that about the instructors? What were you going on about?"

"I was referring to the fact that the instructors sent a messenger boy. Here, Your Grace."

And, reaching out, pulled a small slip of paper from her pocket. She had hardly pulled it out before it was snatched out of her hand.

A moment later, an eager dowager duchess looked up, eyes shining.

"Is this true? I thought they would need much longer to reach London!"

"It seems that they were already on their way for another engagement. But when they heard of your offer, and that it was coming from the duchess of Exeter...well." A smile tugged on the corners of the maid's mouth. "They seemed to have decided to switch employers."

"Excellent! Excellent!"

"Though..."

"Yes?"

"They do seem to be wondering why the future daughter-in-law of the dowager duchess of Exeter would need lessons in table manners, speech, proper behaviour, proper walking, proper looking-at-people and proper breathing."

Both of them looked off into the distance for a moment, a mental image of Miss Amy Weston appearing in front of their inner eye.

"Well...no need to tell them in advance. I suppose they'll find out soon enough."

"Yes. Ehem. Yes, they will, Your Grace."

"So, when exactly will they be arriving?"

"Soon. They will be here and ready to take up their duties by tomorrow morning."

"Oh, splendid! Simply splendid!" The dowager duchess clapped her hands. "Just wait till I tell Patrick! It'll be such a lovely surprise!"

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

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

What do you think, will Lord Patrick love the "lovely" surprise? ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob