It was as if a great weight had been lifted from Ward's chest. Confiding in Carmen and Slops had been part of it, but the biggest difference was that he had a plan now – albeit an unpromising one – for getting the dice back.

On Mornday he participated in his first lurk since returning to Bareheep, accompanying Mildew, Wrinkler, and Lightfinger to Flynn Street, where some low-level chicanery proceeded involving a small gunpowder blast on the street, the rushing out of shopkeepers from their shops, and the emptying of cash registers by a squad of the smallest and most skilled fine-wirers, led by Lightfinger. The Okies had not asked Bunker's permission to undertake the lurk. He would only have said no. But the desire to return to their Mornday routine had been strong, and with the Spectaculum keeping a low profile, Wrinkler and Mildew had taken it upon themselves to re-establish it. As Wrinkler had pointed out, it was good for morale.

Bunker had them running errands too – staking out houses for long nights, carrying sealed notes to dishevelled bureaucrats, gathering information from various ratlike personages who resided under bridges and in basements, shanties, and rubbish bins – but these errands were nowhere near as satisfying as a good lurk. The aims of Bunker's subterfuge were unclear. Whatever he was up to, it was a deep game. Mildew had become convinced it was all a ruse; that Bunker was simply keeping the Scowerers busy with pointless tasks while he cemented the Hectors' authority and increased their power and influence. Ward was not so sure.

While he had achieved notoriety among the Scowerers in the fight with the Hectors last year, now he was considered something of a god. Not only had he been inside the Temple – a feat perhaps even Saint Nick himself had not accomplished – but he had survived the fabled horrors of the dungeons below Bedlam Prison. Argies, Bargies, and Cokies stared unashamedly at him wherever he went. The Doodles grunted in approval whenever they passed him in the tunnels – the highest form of praise they offered anyone. The Oodles started a rumour that Ward had put Tamerlane over his knee and spanked him. The Okies swanned about with him. It seemed he couldn't go anywhere without an entourage. They reminded anyone who would listen that Ward was an Okie, curating the opinions and rumours that flew around about him, nodding sagely when they heard one they liked, and smiling knowingly and shaking their heads at those they didn't. They all claimed to be his close friend and confidante.

"It's disgusting," said Mildew, who was taking it all quite personally. "Talk about jumping on the bandwagon."

"They'll stop soon," Ward said. "They'll forget. You know what they're like."

"They won't forget about this."

"They're treating Lightfinger like a hero too," Ward pointed out. This was true to an extent.

"So you reckon you're a hero now?"

"I didn't say that," Ward said, feeling his cheeks burn.

"Hmmph," Mildew said, and stamped away.

In any case, he was looking forward to the trip to Croakumshire and a break from the underground and its politics. The Sloopers wouldn't make a fuss over him, Carmen was too proud to show admiration, and Slops was perpetually in awe of everyone. It would make a nice change not to be gawked at.

I'm not fussed if you consider me a god or hero. Either will do.