"Welcome, gentlemen." As Amy, Karim and Titus approached the entrance, the doorman in livery bowed deeply. "May I ask, are you here for the...event?"

Amy didn't miss the meaningful pause before the word. Neither did she miss the fact that he completely ignored her as if she wasn't even there. Oh yes, they were in the correct place all right.

"Yes." Titus nodded. "We're here for the auction."

"Is that so, Sir?" The doorman's gaze flickered to Amy in her low-cut dress, showing off her curves. "Are you sure the...products on sale will be to your taste?"

"Oh yes." Linking his arm with Amy's, Titus gave the doorman the most disgustingly lascivious smirk she had ever seen. And, coming from her, that was saying quite a bit. "After all, variety is the spice of life, isn't it?"

And, reaching out, he moved to give Amy's butt a squeeze.

"Oh aye," Amy agreed, giving him a simpering smile. "Aye, it is. I bet ye can't wait for me ta test my new toys on ye, can ye? Especially da whip and da new freshly equipped torture chamber."

Titus' hand froze—then very, very quickly retreated.

Not as if that was going to save him from Amy's vengeance. But best to let him live in his delusions for how. They had work to do.

"How right you are, Sir. How right you are." The doorman gave another subservient bow. "May I see your invitations?"

"By all means, go ahead." Amy didn't let her simpering smile vanish from her face for a single instant as Titus reached into his pocket and pulled out three invitations printed in fancy script. "Here you go."

"Thank you, Mr..." He glanced down at the invitation. "...Titus Irving. And your companions are...?"

"My bodyguard and my..." He sent her another lascivious look. "...companion."

Damn, she had to admit, he was good at playing the debauchee. Then again...for a duck to pretend to be a duck probably wasn't too difficult.

"Show us the way, will you?" Titus gave an arrogant wave. "I fancy taking a good, long look at your products before the auction starts. After all, what is pleasure without anticipation?"

"Very wise, My Lord. Very wise. Unfortunately, I cannot leave my post, but—" With one quick move, the doorman lifted his fingers to his lips and gave a short, sharp whistle. A moment later, a young man in livery came jogging down the corridor and bowed. "This here is James. He'll show you to your seats, where our attendants will take care of your every wish and whim."

Titus eyed the young man with a frown. "Well, I hope those attendants are more pleasing to the eye. And less male."

"I assure you, they shall be to your taste, Sir. And if that should happen to not be the case, simply let us know and we shall find someone more suitable."

"That's how I like it! Come along, sweet. Let's find our seats." He gave Amy a wink. "If there's just one, you can sit on my lap."

"'ow...generous, dear."

Amy waited till they were out of hearing range of the doorman, and till their young guide had enough of a head start, before she turned to Titus with a sweet smile. "Are ye just playin' yer role really well, or is dis 'ow ye usually be'ave?"

"Hm...not really, no." Titus scratched the back of his head. "Usually, I'm much worse."

"Is dat so?"

"Um...yes." He hesitated. "You won't tell Patrick, will you?"

Amy grinned. "What do ye think?"

Titus swallowed.

Curiously, Amy cocked her head. "But why would ye be worried about dat? I would 'ave figured, after knowing ye for God knows 'ow many years, 'e'd be perfectly aware of 'ow ye act."

"He most likely thinks I'd be on my best behavior because I'm with you." He shook his head with a pitying, nostalgic smile. "Poor, deluded fellow."

Amy had to work hard to suppress a snort at that.

Remember why ye're 'ere, she reminded herself. Remember what's gonna 'appen in dis place.

That thought turned her mood sober more quickly than a bottle of hair of the dog.

Maybe ye shouldn't knock 'im for what 'e's saying. 'e's just doin' 'is job, just like me.

She glanced sideways at Titus, who, through the open doorway ahead, had just spotted the previously mentioned "attendants" and was examining their curvy figures with interest.

Though 'e might just be enjoyin' playin' da role a little bit too much.

"This way, Sir," their liveried guide called out, bowing repeatedly. "Here is the main auction hall."

The half-open door at the end of the corridor was pushed open the rest of the way and revealed a view of the most luxurious room Amy had ever seen. Up until recently, that might not have meant much. But during the last few weeks, she had spent time in the most magnificent mansions, castles and manors that English aristocracy had to offer.

And this?

This was more extravagant than all of them. The tall room spanned over three storeys. The multiple galleries and balconies along the walls offered a resplendent view of the hall below, decorated with portraits, panellings and golden ornaments. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling, glittering in the light of thousands of candles that bathed the room in a warm, soft glow. Yes, this place was truly extravagant.

Yet it was all wrong. All so very, very wrong. The decorations were too gaudy. The luxury fake. The portraits were of random people who had no connection with each other. Civilisation here was only a thin veneer to cover up the barbarism lurking just below.

"Your seats, Sir." Amy's attention was abruptly drawn back from the examination of the hall to the here and now. Their guide had stopped in front of a row of gaudy, gilded velvet chairs at the front of the room, right in front of a podium. Bowing, the young man gestured to three curvy ladies assembled in a row not far away. "These are Chastity, Candy and Lotus, your attendants for the night."

Amy was just barely able to turn her snort of laughter into a cough. Chastity? Yep, right.

Suddenly, she felt rather happy to have volunteered for this part of the job. And it didn't have anything to do with the fact that Patrick was somewhere backstage, far away from those three seductive sirens. Nope, not at all.

Then she heard the crack of a whip from somewhere at the back of the house, followed by a cry. Instantly, she felt her fists clench, and any trace of happiness evaporated.

Time to get to work!

"Shall we?" she whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

Without letting the stupid, lecherous smile disappear from his face, Titus gave an imperceptible nod.

So 'e is just pretendin', biding 'is time. Good ta know.

"You know what?" Titus announced loudly. "I don't quite feel like stupidly sitting around. Especially when I have such beautiful ladies for company." Slinging an arm around...Chastity, was it? Or was it Candy? Well, one of the C-girls and Lotus, he stepped towards the doorway leading to one of the adjoining rooms. "Let's have a look around while they prepare things for the big auction. You three lovely ladies can show me around, can't you?"

In answer, he received three inane giggles.

Wow. 'e really is good at dis.

"As for you..." He sent Amy a dismissive glance. "Have a look around and see if there's anything I'd like. But don't touch or break anything, or you'll have to pay for it yourself, understood?"

Amy demurely ducked her head. "Yes, Me Lord. I'll go straight away."

"Good. Don't disappoint me."

He stalked away, his nose high up in the air. The three attendants, as well as several servants in livery, followed him to ply him with compliments, completely ignoring the insignificant courtesan they had left behind.

Just as planned.

Stepping back, she sidled into the corner and disappeared into the shadows.

Time ta begin.

***

"All right, ye rats!" In a dingy cellar deep below the house, the roar of the gangster echoed from the walls as he surveyed his underlings. "Listen up!"

The men all around shuffled, forming up. Patrick quickly fell in line, and, together with the other gangsters, stood straight in front of the man glaring at them. His eyes swept across the shadowy underground hall, searching, but apart from the moss-covered ramp that led out of the cellar, there were only gangsters, shadows and stains of mould.

"We've got big clients 'ere tonight!" the head gangster barked, quickly pulling Lord Patrick's attention back to the man. "Big money! And we've got all da merchandise dey could ever dream of. Ye're gonna carry dem upstairs. Don't ye dare let yer grimy mugs be seen! And if da merchandise gets so much as a single scratch, I'll personally tan yer 'ides! Got it?"

"Aye!" they roared.

"Good. Now get ta work! And don't ye let me 'ear a single word of complaint! Chop chop!"

The men shuffled off to the other end of the hall where, under several big tarps, the cargo was stacked.

Yes. Cargo. Lord Patrick was firmly determined to think of it that way. If he didn't, he'd lose his sanity. If he didn't, he might pull his gun right here, right now, and start exterminating the vermin he was supposed to blend in with.

With trembling hands, he grabbed the first cage full of "cargo".

They'll soon be free, he told himself. Right this moment, the police are surrounding this place. They'll all be free, and will never be harmed again.

It was the only thing that kept him from going into a berserker rage worthy of his ancestors from Normandy.

For the next hour or so, Lord Patrick managed to keep moving by acting without thought, like a puppet on strings. When the last of the cages—Don't look at what's inside! Don't!—was finally where it was supposed to be, he made his way over to the rest of the panting, exhausted men and, taking a sip from his whiskey flask, offered the rest of the drink to one of the men.

"'ere ye go. Want some?"

"Thanks, mate! I really need ta grace me throat after all dat work."

The man grabbed the flask and greedily started guzzling down the alcohol.

Yes, drink. Drink and loosen your tongue!

"So, what's next?"

"Next?" The man snorted. "Next we wait down 'ere till it's all over. Ain't like grunts like us are supposed ta be anywhere near those high and mighty toffs while dey're busy throwin' deir money around."

So, Amy was right. I won't be able to get anywhere near the gang leader. Looks like it's up to her, then.

His fists clenched at the thought. The man beside him seemed to mistake that as annoyance with the top brass.

"I know, right?" he grunted. "Dose bloody, stinkin' sons of—"

"Shh!"

Abruptly, Lord Patrick raised a finger to his lips, silencing the other man.

"What's—"

"Shh! Quiet!"

This time, the thug stayed silent. Good thing, too, because a moment later the man who had ordered them around earlier came marching around a corner. He stared at the two suspiciously. "What are da two of ye prattling on about?"

"Just some stories." Patrick shrugged. "Passing da time while getting' sloshed, ye know?"

The overseer's eyes narrowed. "Well, see ta it dat ye don't get too 'sloshed'. If ye damage somethin' ye ain't got enough skin and guts ta pay for it."

"Aye, boss! No need ta worry, boss!"

"Harrumph." With a grunt, the overseer shuffled off. The two remaining men waited until their temporary boss was out of hearing range—then breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, mate." When his drinking companion's hand fell on his shoulder, Lord Patrick had to resist the urge to grab it and break the wrist with a twist. Maybe he had internalized Amy's lessons just a little bit too well. Or maybe, a little voice whispered at the back of his head, this bastard just deserves it!

"Didn't do much."

"No, really. Ye saved me neck back dere. If dat bastard 'ad 'eard what I said..." He shuddered.

"No problem." Lord Patrick patted the man's back. "What are drinkin' buddies for?"

"Aye, mate. Aye." The thug took another swig from the flask. "I'll d-drink ta d-dat."

Stuttering?

Lord Patrick suppressed a smile.

Already drunk. Excellent. Now is the time.

"So, tell me," he enquired. "When's da boss gonna show up?"

The drunkard blinked at him confusedly. "What d'ye mean? 'e was just 'ere, wasn't 'e?"

Patrick shook his head and lowered his voice until it was but a whisper. "Not dat boss. Da Boss."

From the way he pronounced it, the capitalization was very clear.

The thug paled, coughing as he swallowed some of the drink down the wrong pipe. "Y-ye mean Rathbone is comin' 'ere?"

"Rathbone? Nah." Lowering his voice even further, Lord Patrick leaned towards the man. Not something he found easy to do when he took the man's stench into consideration. "I heard a rumour...dat Rathbone's boss is gonna show up. Da big boss."

If the man had been pale before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. If he'd been dressed in white, he could have easily passed for a ghost.

"Dere's another boss? One dat's above Rathbone?"

"Ye didn't know?"

"I didn't 'ave a clue, mate. Not a single clue!" Sweating, the drunkard, who suddenly seemed very sober, shook his head.

Darn it! So it's as we suspected.

It made sense, really. Why would a secret mastermind mingle with the thugs? No, if he wanted to oversee his operations, it made far more sense to go in through the front entrance and mingle with the guests. Nobody would ever even know he was there. Yes, it made so much sense, really.

He wouldn't have cared, if not for one little detail.

Amy was up there.

"Bloody 'ell! Another boss..." the thug muttered. "Nah, mate, I didn't know, I swear. And if I ain't in da know about 'im, ye probably ain't supposed ta be either. So...keep yer 'ead down, will ye?"

Patrick nodded, somehow having absolutely no problem with letting appropriate traces of anxiety show on his face, though probably not for the reason the thug was thinking. "Aye, I'll do dat. I think I'll go outside for a smoke for a bit. Out of sight, out of mind, right?"

"Right ye are, mate! Best of luck!"

"Ye too, mate," Patrick told the other man as he turned towards the ramp that led outside. "Ye too."

You'll need it.

With grim strides, he made his way towards the exit. Not to smoke, but to guard. No one would get out of here while he had anything to say about it! As for catching the mastermind?

All he could do was pray and hope that Amy's plan would work.

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

In case you were wondering about the term, Hair of the dog is a common hangover cure which consists of drinking even more alcohol in the hope that the drunkenness will alleviate the hangover. When I first learned English, it took me a while to discover that. Originally, I thought it involved eating literal dog hairs ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Getting sloshed—British slang for getting drunk.