As Gin weaved her way through the throng of onlookers, she dipped her hand into their pockets and silk purses, pulling out watches and coins and slipping them into her oversized men's coat. Not a single one of them noticed her, thanks to both her small size and the two quarreling men who had drawn the crowd.

A loud gasp caught her ear, and she froze, fearful that she had been discovered. But the gasp was followed by frantic screaming, and when she turned to the sound, she found a pretty gentlewoman whose face had been splattered with blood from one of the fighting men. She was flailing her arms about wildly, screaming and drawing the attention of the crowd away from the brawlers. Several young men rushed to her side to offer their handkerchiefs, but the gentlewoman was too panicked to accept their kindness. She began clawing at her face and hair, as if trying to peel her skin off to get rid of the blood.

Gin knit her brows together as she watched the woman's obnoxious reaction. It was only a little blood. And it wasn't even her own. Really, it was nothing to get so worked up about. She'd seen street urchins her age lose fingers with less of a fuss.

The crowd was beginning to disperse, save for the screaming gentlewoman and the young men attempting to help her. The two men who had been fighting were gone now, and Gin knew that was her cue to head back. But as she was about to turn to leave, she saw something flutter from the gentlewoman's hair and land on the ground.

A yellow ribbon.

Gin's fingers twitched at the sight of the hair ornament. She glanced at the woman who had finally calmed down enough to allow one of the young men to wipe the blood off of her cheek while the others watched with jealousy and disappointment.

Again, Gin peered back at the ribbon. It was still very close to the small group of gentry, and though they seemed rather preoccupied, it was a risk. But the sun caught the shiny yellow fabric, as if calling to her, enticing her. It looked like it might even be made of silk. She'd never touched silk before.

Taking a deep breath, she inched her way towards the treasure, her eyes continuously darting to the young people still standing nearby.

"Oh, curse it all, it's stained my gloves."

She froze and tried to make herself smaller and less noticeable as the gentlewoman spoke.

"My sister's maid has a wonderful cleaner that gets out the worst of stains," said one of the young men. "I can have her fix it for you. It'll look good as new, by my word."

The ribbon was so close. She could almost reach out and grab it.

"Mr. Anderson, are you suggesting my maid is incapable of doing her job?"

Biting her lip, Gin dared to slide her foot towards the hairpiece.

"Not at all. This is only an awkward suitor's way of securing another meeting with a beautiful young woman."

Her toe brushed against the smooth fabric.

"Really, Frederick, you're playing dirty. Just because you have a sister with which to bait Miss Barry, doesn't mean you should."

She slowly pulled the ribbon back towards herself.

"As flattered as I am at you boys fighting over me, I'd very much like to scrub that boorish man's blood off of my face."

Almost there. All she needed to do was stoop down and—

"Oy! What's that little street rat up to?"

She pulled her attention away from the ribbon as the group of gentry turned to her. The gentlewoman's face, still stained with smudges of blood, twisted into rage when she caught sight of the yellow ribbon under Gin's dirty foot.

"That brat stole my hair ribbon!" she exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

Without wasting a moment, Gin scooped the ribbon up and took off running, the shouts of the young men following after her. While she was quick, they had the advantage of longer legs. But she had the advantage of knowing this city like the back of her hand.

Taking a sharp turn, she dodged into an alley and clambered up the gate separating it from the next street over. The young men in pursuit cursed at her and shook the iron bars, but she dared not look back. She continued on, zigzagging between roads to throw off any who might still be following her until she got to St. Spittel.

She hurried into the old gambling den and descended the rotted basement stairs. Two men were seated around a splintered table, the smoke from their cigars filling the musty room. She entered so silently that they didn't notice her and continued on with their bawdy conversation.

"And she thinks the best time to tell me 'bout her little flap dragon is right at that critical period," said Ford.

"Dirty puzzle," replied Cloyd as he took another puff of his cigar. "So what'd you do?"

"I finished my business, of course. Paid her for a good prigging, I was gonna get my money's worth. Course, been pissing pins and needles since."

"Can't trust the pinchcocks 'round here. If they ain't spreading their pox, they're charging you like they think they're real toffers."

Ford scratched his crotch and spit on the dirt floor. "It's why I didn't let the bunter get away with it. Made her work extra for exposing me to something so vile."

"Yeah? What'd you do?"

Leaning in with a wicked smile, Ford replied, "Made her finish me off with her quail-pipe."

The two men burst into laughter, and Gin couldn't help but grimace. She didn't fully understand what it was they were discussing, but she'd seen the way they treated women, and she doubted their speech was any more respectful than their actions.

The door to the basement slammed open, drawing Ford and Cloyd's attention away from their conversation. "Oy, when'd she get here?" Cloyd asked, seeing Gin for the first time since she'd arrived.

"You listening in on us, girl?" Ford barked.

Gin drew her brows together. Before she could open her mouth to defend herself, the two brawling men from the market came trudging down the stairs. Their faces were covered in blood, and the smaller, fatter one looked like his nose might have been broken.

"How's it that the girl always gets here before you two?" Ford said to the two men whose names Gin could never remember. She just referred to the short, fat one as Toad and the one whose left leg was shorter than the right one as Hopscotch.

"Maybe you'd like to be the distraction one of these days 'stead of sitting around like a couple of slugs," said Toad as he touched his crooked nose and winced. "Blast it all, Lus, ya broke it again!"

Ford got to his feet and grabbed either side of Toad's nose, jerking it violently and eliciting a pained yelp from the fat man. "There, it's fixed. Don't make you any less ugly, though."

Toad continued to whimper as he cradled his injured nose, but Ford paid his sniveling no mind as he turned to Gin who had been watching the scene from the corner of the room. Ford always made her nervous. He was very tall and had a single eyebrow that made him look constantly angry. Of course, he usually was angry. Angry about his wife cheating on him. Angry about night flowers raising their prices. Angry about losing his weeks' wages during a game night. Angry about how the world was out to get him. Anger was his go-to emotion.

"So?" he grunted. "Where's the haul?"

Without a word, she emptied her pockets of the goods she had lifted from the onlookers in the market. Since the gentlewoman had cut the show short with her screaming, there wasn't much. A couple of pocket watches, an embroidered handkerchief, a few handfuls of coins. However, she was careful to keep her yellow hair ribbon hidden lest they try to take that to make up for the small haul.

"That's it?" Hopscotch said, hobbling over to get a better look.

"I battered up my face again for this?" Toad said, finally releasing his nose to gawk at the tiny pile of stolen goods.

Gin shrugged. "I tried. A pretty lady got covered in blood. She screamed and got in the way."

Ford's lip lifted into a snarl. "What good are ya?" he said as he stooped over and scooped up the items.

The angry man shuffled back to the table, but Cloyd continued to watch Gin from where he sat. He narrowed his eyes as he let out a puff of cigar smoke in her direction. "You sure that's all you got?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm and soothing. He was handsome and had a gentle smile, but Gin knew from experience that, while he didn't often get his hands dirty, he was good at instigating others. Particularly Ford. "Nothing else you're hiding in that little pocket of yours?"

Turning on his heel, Ford stormed back over to her. "You trying to steal from me, girl?

He grabbed for her shoulder, but she expertly evaded him. "No, sir. I only steal when you tell me to."

Again, he swiped at her, but she managed to twist away. However, this time Toad and Hopscotch caught her. They gripped her thin arms so tightly she couldn't keep a gasp of pain from escaping her lips.

"You think you can lie and steal from me?" Ford barked. "Ungrateful brat."

He threw his fist at her with enough strength to send her flying backwards. Tears pricked at her eyes as a warm trickle of blood made its way down her temple. But she knew crying wouldn't help the situation.

Ford dug into her coat pockets, and when he found the ribbon, her heart sank into her gut. He stared at it for a moment, looking almost confused. Cloyd tried to hide his smile by puffing on his cigar, but Toad and Hopscotch both snickered as Ford pulled the ribbon out to its full length.

Turning his eyes back to her, he asked, "This is what you took a blow for?"

She bit her lip and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to steal from you."

He gazed at her for a long moment before letting out a low chuckle. "Didn't mean to steal from me," he repeated, shaking his head and turning to glance at Cloyd. "Can you picture it? Me wearing this bonny hairpiece?"

He ran a hand over his bald, misshapen head.

"Maybe you could tie it 'round your eyebrow," Cloyd suggested.

Ford's laughter grew louder, and the others joined in, their bellies shaking as they joked about how "priceless" the ribbon was. Gin's cheeks grew hot, not out of shame, but anger. She had to bite down on her tongue to keep from snapping at them.

Stopping mid-laugh, Ford threw another fist at her. The force behind his punch cracked her neck and brought forth a matching trickle of blood on the other side of her head. "Stupid girl," he growled. "Are you so simple that you don't know what to steal and what not to?"

She swallowed, her eyes flickering to the beautiful ribbon still in his meaty hand. "Everyone left. There was no more to take."

Ford scoffed, tossing the ribbon to the floor and grinding it into the dirt. A surge of panic went through her as she watched the beautiful hairpiece twist and fray beneath his filthy boot. When he was through stomping on it, he kicked more dirt over it and spat on the ground.

"Come on, lads," he called to the others. "Let's head to the Clocktower."

Toad and Hopscotch let go of her arms and followed Ford as he headed up the stairs. Cloyd brought up the rear. He paused in front of her and chuckled softly before tossing his cigar over his shoulder and joining his friends.

The cigar butt hit the ribbon, its smoldering tip threatening to ignite the delicate fabric. Gin scrambled over to the hairpiece, knocking the cigar aside and gently brushing the ribbon clean. It was a little worse for wear, but it was still as beautiful as when it had fluttered from that gentlewoman's hair.

Sitting back against the wall, Gin ran her fingers over the smooth fabric. It was a strange sensation against her grimy fingertips, and she was almost reluctant to touch it for fear of dirtying it. But if she waited until her hands were clean to handle it, she'd be better off tossing it back onto the street. Nothing in St. Spittel was clean. Not the people, not the strays, not the food. This was, in fact, the first piece of decadence she'd ever held. How often she had admired the ribbons woven into the braided hair of little girls from the suburbs who were accompanying their mothers in the market. How she envied them. On more than one occasion, she'd had half a mind to steal the beautiful hairpieces right off their heads. But her skills weren't yet at that level, as was clearly seen by her pathetic haul.

She heaved a sigh and tucked the ribbon back into her pocket. It was just going to take more practice. She'd only been at this for a few years. Ford and Cloyd had taught her a lot already, and if she kept applying herself, she knew she could improve.

As she eased herself onto her feet, she gingerly touched the cut on the left side of her head and winced against the throbbing sting. The thought of learning from those two for years to come made her sick. But where else could she go?

They were the only option she had.

Dusting off her coat, she made her way back up the stairs and into the street. At least they paid her. For lowlifes, they did stick to their word. And as her empty stomach rumbled, she thought it was about time to collect her payment for the day.

~

The Clocktower was filled with people, all loud and obnoxious, drunk on cheap ale and cheaper women. Gin squeezed through the crowd, searching for Ford. He was sitting at a table in the corner with Cloyd. The night flower perched on his lap ran her hands up and down his chest, her fingers getting closer and closer to his belt with every stroke. Her touch had him so distracted that he didn't even notice Gin approach the table. It was Cloyd who finally caught sight of her.

"We got company," he said to Ford, giving him a kick from under the table.

Ford's eyebrow turned down as he tore his attention away from the flirtatious tart who quickly removed her hand from his trousers when she realized there was a child present. "Your daughter?" she asked, pulling her shawl over her chest in a futile attempt to cover up.

"Just a stray," Ford growled. "Whaddya want, girl?"

"I came to get paid," Gin said.

"Paid? Paid for what?"

"The job. In the market."

He gave a sharp laugh. "You think I'm gonna pay you for that pathetic haul?"

She furrowed her brow. "I did what you asked."

"I asked you to pick pockets, not play dress up."

"I did pick pockets."

"You got distracted."

"Everyone was gone."

Ford let the night flower tumble to the floor as he stood up abruptly and took a step towards Gin. "You'll get paid when you learn how to be a real thief."

Swallowing hard, she met the man's dark eyes. There was something behind them. A threat. A threat that if she pressed this matter, she'd end up with more than an empty stomach. Her temples throbbed from where he had hit her earlier. She didn't like backing down. It stung her heart and made her cheeks burn. But she didn't like being hit, either. As young as she was, she knew the smart thing to do was walk away.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, turning her eyes downward. "I'll do better next time."

"You'd better," he grunted. "Maybe the gnawing hunger in your belly will light a fire under ya. Now get outta my face."

He turned back to his table and grabbed the night flower around the waist, pulling her into his lap as he plunked down into his chair. Cloyd cast Gin a slimy smile from over his mug of ale. She clenched her teeth and held her tongue. So many mean, dirty words were begging to be spoken. But she knew it was no use.

Shuffling her way through the crowd once more, she tried to ignore the loud growl coming from her stomach. She hadn't eaten since the day before yesterday. Or maybe two days before yesterday? She couldn't remember. Whenever it had been, it had been too long ago. She needed food. Any food.

She eyed the spoiled meat a stray dog was chewing on in an alley as she made her way down the street. Just as she was wondering if she might be faster than the mutt, someone called out her name. Turning, she found Madison dodging a cab as he sprinted across the street. He ignored the driver's curses and instead made his way over to her.

"How goes it?" he asked, panting as he fanned himself with his flattened top hat.

Before she could respond, her stomach let out another loud grumble. Clutching her aching belly, she gave Madison a twisted smile.

"When'd you last eat?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I can't remember. Too long ago."

Frowning, he took her hand and led her down the street.

"Where're we going?" she asked.

"The general store."

"Why?"

"You need food."

"You got money?"

He flashed her a grin over his shoulder. "You don't need money for food. Just sticky fingers."

She couldn't help but smile as they quickened their pace.

They slipped inside the general store along with a pair of servant girls who were gossiping about their mistress' latest infidelity. The shopkeeper didn't even notice them as they darted into an empty aisle, far from his line of sight. They crouched down in front of the soap powder, craning their necks to check for nearby workers.

"All right," Madison said, turning to her. "I'll cause a distraction, you get the preserves."

"What if they arrest you again?"

"They won't."

"But—"

"You're faster than me. And you have a coat with pockets."

She glanced down at her oversized coat, twiddling her thumb through one of the many holes.

"I won't get arrested. Just make sure you don't, either," he said.

Glancing back up at her friend, she gave a short nod and scrambled into the next aisle over. She stayed low, waiting for the signal to make her move. After a few seconds, there was a loud crash, accompanied by harried steps and a gasp.

"What in good God's name happened here?" came a woman's voice with a warm, country accent.

"Oy, we got thieves?" asked another voice, this one brusque and deep.

Heavy footsteps followed, and Gin knew this was her chance. Lunging across the aisle, she grabbed the biggest jar of honey-pear preserves she could find and shoved it into her pocket. As soon as it was safely tucked away, she dashed towards the exit. However, she skidded to a halt near the register. Her eyes fell upon a basket of lemon drops. She'd seen other children eating them in the market, their faces all puckered as they giggled and stuffed more into their mouths. She'd never tried one before. In fact, she'd never had any sweets before. Her mouth watered at the thought of popping one into her mouth.

"It was just an accident, sir, I'm sure," came that country accent. "He's only a little boy what lost his footing. No harm done but a bit of spilt soap."

"You've got a lot to learn, girly. This one's a repeat offender. It's back to the jail cell for you, brat."

Gin turned to the aisle to see a pretty redheaded girl begging the bulky shopkeeper to let Madison go as he roughly pulled the boy to his feet. Panic seized Gin's heart at the idea of her friend being put behind bars again. Her eyes darted back to the basket of lemon drops. Without thinking twice, she grabbed it and threw it to the floor, scattering the candies throughout the aisles and catching the attention of the girl and the shopkeeper.

"Eh, you!" the shopkeeper bellowed, releasing Madison to chase after her.

But she was out the door before he could take a single step towards her.

Madison was right. She was fast. It was one of her greatest skills. It was probably why Ford even bothered to use her in his schemes.

She ran through the market, ignoring the sharp pain in her feet as she stepped on stones and broken glass. Dodging cabs, slipping through crowds, and keeping her ear open for that all-too-familiar police whistle, she finally darted into a nearby alley and slipped through the iron gate. She hurried onto the next street over and dashed into another alley, continuing her nonsensical pattern until she arrived at the old brothel in the abandoned night district.

Collapsing in the alley beside the dilapidated building, she tried to catch her breath, her lungs burning from the cold winter air. She closed her eyes and swallowed down the fear pulsing through her body. Fear and maybe a little bit of excitement? There was something almost satisfying about being able to pull one over on the rich folks. They got all the breaks, all the goods. It was only fair that she and her fellow urchins got a bone once in a while.

"Quick thinking."

She opened her eyes to find Madison grinning down at her. "Couldn't let you go back to jail," she said, scooting over to give him room to sit down. "Then how would I get my weekly meals?"

The boy's smile grew as he plopped down beside her. "No wonder Ford likes you so much."

"Ford hates me. He hits me and yells at me all the time."

"I think he's scared of you figuring out how good you are and leaving him."

"I'm not a good thief. I get distracted."

"Yeah, but you're smart. You know how to get out of scrapes. And you're little and quiet, so people don't notice you."

"I still mess up jobs," she said as she pulled out the jar of preserves.

The yellow ribbon fell out of her pocket and fluttered down towards Madison's feet. He scooped it up and examined it closely before giving her a crooked grin. "You're actually a natural. You just need more practice."

"Ford puts me to work all the time and I'm still not better."

"No, you are. But you need practice away from Ford."

He exchanged the ribbon for the jar and popped the lid off. Gin ran her thumb up and down the silky hairpiece, thinking back to the pretty gentlewoman who had worn it. Now that she thought about it, it had been stupid to get so distracted by this silly trinket. It would look ridiculous in her greasy, tangled hair. This was why she was such a bad thief.

"You and me do good together," Madison continued, offering her the first helping of pears.

"Cuz you don't box my ears if things don't go right," she said, returning the ribbon to her pocket and stuffing one of the sweet fruits into her mouth.

Juice dribbled down Madison's chin as he chewed a large slice of pear. "We should do more jobs together. It'd help both of us practice. And we'd eat more often."

"Won't Ford be mad?"

"Don't tell him, then."

She glanced up and found a little girl at the entrance of the alley, her eyes fixed on the jar of preserves. She was skin and bones, probably no older than three. Her threadbare dress was practically falling off, held tight around her waist by a frayed, moldy bit of rope.

Sighing, Gin pulled out a handful of pears and plopped them in Madison's palm before rising to her feet and approaching the little girl. The pathetic waif's eyes were still glued to the jar, but as Gin held it out to her, they flitted to her face.

"Go ahead," Gin said. "You need it more than us, I reckon."

The little girl's eyes went wide, and without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed the preserves and scampered away. Gin watched her go, a warm glow growing in her chest. She tried to hide her soft smile as she turned back to the alley and rejoined Madison.

"That was awful nice," Madison said, offering her one of the pears still in his hand.

"She was hungry."

"So are you."

"She looked hungrier."

There was a long silence, and she paused her chewing to glance at Madison. He was watching her, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips.

"What?" she asked, her mouth still full.

He shook his head. "Just thinking what a waste it is that you let Ford boss you around when you could be doing the bossing."

She furrowed her brow. "Me? Bossing? Whaddya mean?"

"I mean, every urchin in the city likes you. You're nice to them. You care about them. I bet they'd be more than willing to follow you as their leader."

Choking a bit as she swallowed, she pounded her chest and managed to wheeze, "Leader?"

He nodded. "You could have your own gang."

"Of hungry urchins?"

"Why not?"

Though she twisted her face into a grimace, she couldn't help but consider her friend's idea. They could certainly accomplish more with so many hands. Of course, it would also mean splitting the goods more ways, which meant less for each person. But she did kind of like the thought of being able to help her fellow street rats. Lord knew no one else would.

"You think it would work?" she asked.

Madison smiled and wiped his sticky hands on his trousers. "With you in charge, we'd bleed this city dry."

"Just like it bleeds us."

"And this way you might be able to stop working for Ford."

Selfishly, this was even more appealing than the prospect of helping her peers. She hated Ford. She hated his laugh. She hated his eyebrow. She hated the feel of his fist on her skin as he backhanded her across the room. She hated working for him. But she had no choice right now. She needed food, and he was the only one who had given her a chance. Despite that, she felt no real loyalty to him. Given the opportunity, she'd drop him faster than he dropped his trousers in the presence of a cheap night flower.

She nodded her head. "Then let's do it."

Madison perked up. "Really?"

Grinning, she pulled the yellow ribbon out of her pocket and tied it into a messy bow in her hair. "No one knows how this city works better than us. Nothing can stop us. Well, the police, but that's about it."

Her friend laughed and tugged at the ribbon playfully. "I don't know if anyone is gonna take you seriously with this thing in your hair."

Squeezing her fist tight, she whacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Then I'll deck 'em 'til they do."

Madison gave another laugh, and she grabbed hold of his hand, dragging him out of the alley in search of members for their new gang.