36. Amy's Plan

Amy leaned against the wall with a dim-witted smile on her face. She had spent enough time in the company of stupid hussies to be able to pretend to be one of them. Not that there were that many of them. Stupid ones, that is. You had to have a certain level of intelligence to lure money out of misers' pockets. But faking it...that was another matter altogether.

And fake it she did. Quite successfully, in fact. No one paid attention to the lady of the night loitering in the shadowy corner. The people here were not inclined to pay attention to anything with more curves than a ruler. As much as this fact made Amy want to set that place on fire, right now it was proving useful. Nobody even glanced her way. Which left her free to observe and make deductions.

Not him. Not him. Not 'er. No, dat one ain't it either.

One after another, she inspected and dismissed the guests. When she had first suggested this plan to Patrick, his jaw had dropped and he had simply stared at her, unbelieving. He hadn't understood. Hadn't realized how easy it would be for her to judge someone with just a glance. Especially if all she had to do was determine who was buying, and who was selling.

After years and years in a bawdy house, Amy had become a very good judge of men. Good enough to distinguish the different kinds just by the different looks in their eyes.

Customers. Like greedy pigs in front of a feast.

Pimps and traders. Like butchers judging horse meat.

Practically all men fell into those two categories.

Till Patrick, a tiny voice whispered at the back of her mind. Till you learned how a good man looks at a woman. A real man.

Shoving those thoughts down hard, Amy forced herself to concentrate on the here and now. On her mission. So far, she had dismissed two thirds of the guests as insignificant. The lecherous way they were staring at the podium, before there were even any "wares" displayed there, told her more than enough about what kind of men they were. No businessman worth his salt would look at their merchandise that way. And if they did, they wouldn't last long in any business.

No, a mastermind and slave merchant of this caliber would have an entirely different look in his eyes. Cold. Calculating. Merciless.

A look that, in a crowd like this, would be sticking out like a sore thumb.

Or at least it should be.

So why was it that, after all this time, she hadn't spotted the man?

Once again, her eyes swept the room, stopping briefly on one guest after another. Stupid lecher number one, stupid lecher number two, stupid lecher number three...

She should probably stop counting, or she would fall asleep. This felt all too much like counting sheep. But what else could she do? Where else could she look if not here in the crowd? Where could she possibly find—

She froze.

Slowly, very slowly, Amy raised her gaze until her eyes fell on the boxes high up on the walls, from where the crème de la crème of London's filthy rich scum were watching the proceedings. Several of the boxes had their velvet curtains drawn so as to provide privacy to their occupants.

Of course! Why hadn't she thought of it before?

Because you were too busy thinking of a certain someone's kiss, that tiny voice at the back of her mind spoke up again.

Forcing herself to ignore it, Amy raised one hand to her mouth, the one holding a snack from a nearby buffet table. Nobody noticed her making a small, inconspicuous gesture with two fingers. Nobody except for one man, that is. On the other side of the hall, Karim followed the agreed signs, and scratched his beard, signaling he understood.

Or maybe his beard was itching. In retrospect, perhaps she should have picked different signals.

For now though, she chose to interpret his gesture to mean he had seen her signal. Five minutes later, Amy found herself at the bottom of the stairwell that led to the upper storeys, staring around the corner, at the armed figures up above.

Damn! Guards!

That was to be expected. No self-respecting gang boss would leave their house without a few thugs to order around. For that matter, at an event like this, there would be bodyguards for important clients even if the mastermind of the entire operation wasn't present.

"Shall I...take care of them?"

Amy glanced over to where Karim had almost noiselessly appeared beside her. It was a tempting idea, but...

"No," she whispered. "Not for now. We can't be sure if Pritchard 'as bin able ta surround dis place yet. We can't risk 'em shouting or running."

"So..." A low growl erupted from Karim's throat. "We're just supposed to stand here and do nothing?"

"Now, who said dat?" Amy smirked. "We just can't get caught."

One bushy eyebrow rose. "And how, pray, would you accomplish that?"

In answer, Amy couldn't help but smirk. "Well, I might 'ave an idea or two..."

Suddenly, Karim had a rather anxious expression on his face. Amy wondered why that would be? After all, he would be in her tender care. Surely, that would make him feel safe, right?

***

"I shall never," Karim growled, "never ever forget or forgive!"

"Oh, don't be such a big baby!" Amy hissed down at him. "I've 'eard all about da kind of stuff ye get up to with yer employer. Don't tell me ye've never 'elped anyone climb across a wall or some railing before."

"Oh, I have. But said person was not wearing a skirt!"

"Well, enjoy da view. Normally, people gotta pay for dat, ye know."

The string of muttered Punjabi curses she received in return gave her a rough idea what he thought of the view. If she didn't have such amazing self-confidence, she'd feel insulted.

"Stop complaining and hold still!" she hissed. "I'm nearly dere!"

Kudos to him, he did stop his whispered complaints. He even stood on his tiptoes, which allowed Amy to finally grab hold of the railing above. The guards, standing on the landing halfway between the ground and upper floor, and facing the other way, remained completely oblivious. Amy smirked.

So much for guards.

With a tug and a twist of her hips, Amy managed to throw up her leg and lodge her foot between two bars of the cast iron railing. Silent as a cat, she pulled herself up the rest of the way, and vaulted over the handrail. She turned back and glanced down at Karim—who was currently waving at her, mouthing "What about me?"

She considered for a moment—then winked, waved goodbye, and snuck away down the corridor.

He was a gentleman. He surely wouldn't mind waiting for a lady?

Distantly, Amy could have sworn she heard some more Punjabi curses. She paid them no attention. After all, she had been taught by a dowager duchess. Amy was a proper lady now. It behoved her to ignore all bad language.

And it also behoved her to give all available gang bosses a thorough arse kicking.

Let's get right on dat, shall we?

Keeping her footsteps swift and silent, Amy made her way up the rest of the stairs. The higher she went, the more luxurious the surroundings became. Wall panels of ordinary wood were replaced by ones of mahogany. Silver candle holders vanished, and golden ones appeared in their stead. Pushing aside a velvet curtain, she stepped into a shadowy corridor lined with several mahogany doors.

Without hesitation, Amy reached under her skirt and pulled out an apron and a small silver platter she'd stashed there previously, knowing this time would come. Tying the apron around her waist with a quick tug, she balanced the platter on one hand, pulled her neckline a little lower, and voilà, a seductive serving girl was born.

With a swing in her hips, she started down the corridor. In front of the first door, she stopped and raised her hand as if to knock, just in case someone stepped out and wondered what the hell she was doing there. The fact that her ear was nearly pressed to the door was surely pure coincidence.

Amy smiled.

Time ta find a criminal mastermind.

She leaned further towards the door.

"...ohhh yes! Just like that, sweet! Harder!"

On the other hand, finding a mastermind here may take longer than expected.

Making a mental note to suggest some excessive force for the occupant of this box once Pritchard and his merry men had gotten their hands on him, she continued on.

Next door.

"...haven't really decided how many I'm going to buy yet. Considering the orgy I've planned for next week, I should probably get five at least."

Scratch that. The occupant of this box was getting special treatment. She'd make sure of it.

Next door.

"...hm...there's this one I've got my eye on—"

Forget the last box. All of them deserved special treatment. Very special.

Next door.

Silence.

Not a single sound, except...

Clink.

There it was! A single sound. Quite innocuous, really. One piece of glass connecting with another. As if wine was being poured, or...

Or as if toasting yourself in triumph.

Amy froze. There was no particular reason to suspect that this door was any different from the others, but...

Before she could think better of it, she knelt down and peeked through the keyhole. What she saw was nothing but shadows and the back of a single arm chair, blocking her view of whoever sat inside it. And someone was sitting inside it. She was sure of that the moment she saw a stiff liveried figure stepping into view, offering a bottle of wine.

A skeletal hand emerged from behind the backrest, extending a crystal glass with a remnant of red wine, gesturing towards the bottle.

The liveried man bowed. "Right away, boss."

And he started filling the glass. Amy, though, wasn't paying attention anymore. Her mind was busy replaying the words that had just reached her ears.

Right away, boss. Right away, boss.

She had found him!

The boss.

The mastermind.

The one who really deserved the police's special treatment. Or maybe she wouldn't leave it for the boys in blue to take care of. Maybe she'd just do it herself.

Straightening, Amy once again added a swing to her hips and headed back to the landing. Good thing she did, too, because halfway down the corridor, a fat man with a red nose, clearly coloured by alcohol, stuck his head out of a door with a lecherous grin.

"Ah, luv! I was wondering when the drinks were coming."

"Sorry, I just delivered me drinks ta another guest." Amy send him a seductive smile, and added a wink for good measure. "But I'd be 'appy ta visit ye in a few minutes with a nice drink. Maybe I can even provide some...special treatment."

The man's eyes flashed with desire. "What kind of special treatment?"

"Oh...it's a surprise."

He smirked. "Then I'll look forward to it."

Amy gave him her most innocent smile and mentally cracked her knuckles. "So will I, trust me. So will I." Then she sauntered off, making sure he didn't see the wicked glint in her eyes.

Soon, she once more approached the stairwell and slowed down, making sure her steps were completely inaudible. The guards here might not be the brightest candles on the chandelier, but even they would notice if a serving girl who had never gone up a staircase suddenly came down said staircase. So, instead, she silently sidled up to the railing and peeked down. Karim was still waiting down there. He did not look pleased.

Oh dear. Did someone annoy him?

Well, suck it up. We've got work ta do.

Gesturing down the corridor she had just stepped out of, she made a single, pre-arranged sign.

Big Boss.

Then she pointed down the corridor again, and held up four fingers. He stared up at her intently for a long moment—then nodded.

Pulling a pocket watch from the folds of her dress, Amy raised it along with a questioning eyebrow.

How long?

This time it was Karim's turn to raise his hands. He extended five fingers.

Five minutes.

Amy nodded back and took a deep breath.

Five minutes?

Those would be the longest five minutes of her life. However...

Amy smiled.

They also would be the most enjoyable. After all, anticipation was half the fun. And what could be more fun to look forward to than beating up worthless bits of scum and throwing them into the deepest, darkest hole under London?

Quietly, Amy snuck down the corridor once more and slipped behind a statue into a shadowy alcove. Pulling her pocket watch out once again, she followed the movements of the hands intently.

Four minutes.

In the distance, Amy could faintly hear a voice beginning to shout above the murmur of the crowd to attract their attention. She recognized the tone from the many street hawkers she had encountered in the streets of London. Hm...that would be the auctioneer, most likely. Apparently, the auction had begun.

She glanced down at the watch again.

Three minutes.

Reaching into the folds of her dress, she checked and re-checked her revolver. Everything good and ready to go. Excellent.

Two minutes.

Amy took a deep breath and tensed her muscles. She started to count.

One minute.

Thirty seconds.

Twenty.

Fifteen.

Ten.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One...

Bam!

"Police!" a roar came from downstairs. "Nobody move!"

Amy moved. In a blink, she was beside the fourth door, revolver raised. Nobody would get out of there while she was here! Behind her, all along the hallway, doors slammed open, and voices rose in panic. Feet thundered and shouts echoed everywhere. Only...

The fourth door, right next to Amy, didn't budge.

Downstairs, chaos was breaking out. Clearly, every single man and woman in the building was desperately trying to get away, to break through the noose the police were tightening around the building.

And yet, the door in front of her still didn't open.

A bad feeling was quickly rising inside her. Making a split-second decision, Amy dashed forward and ripped open the door—only to be met with the sight of a dark and empty box. On the left wall, a portrait hung half-detached like an open door, revealing a spiral staircase that led down into a secret passage. A passage from which faintly receding footsteps could be heard.

Amy only had a single moment to make a decision.

"Bloody hell!" she cursed.

Then she hefted her gun and rushed into the tunnel.

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

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Sorry for the slight delay today. I overslept and nearly missed the time for posting ;)

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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