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she detected a current of nervous anxiety beneath their joviality. She held onto his arm, rather leery of the gaudy, chaotic mob hemming them in.
    “Blade!” a man yelled. “Did you get O’Dell? Is he dead?”
    The crowd fell silent, awaiting his answer. Jacinda looked at her captor.
    It seemed to cost him a great deal, but he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “No. Not tonight. He ran, like a coward. Like he always does. He’s still out there.”
    A long moment passed as they absorbed the sobering news.
    “Enough long faces!” Nate yelled at them in sudden, startling anger. He pointed at his captain. “When has this man ever broken his word to you? Blade said he’ll get him, and that means he will! Now, strike up the music! You’re safe enough here, as you well know.”
    The piper obliged, dispersing some of the tension with a nimble melody. The drummer joined in, and the accordion player gave his box a brave squeeze. The crowd seemed to exhale, and the party gradually resumed.
    “Come on, Jane Smith,” Blade muttered drily to her, leading the way.
    As they moved through the crowd, the people quickly returned to slapping his back and hailing him, urging him on with renewed vigor.
    “You’ll get him, Blade! You’ll get him!”
    He ignored them, scowling. As he pulled her along by her wrist, he stopped Nate. “Tell the others not to get too drunk,” he ordered in a low tone.
    “Aye,” Nate answered, then turned to join in the festivities, accepting a mug of ale and a hearty kiss from a buxom wench.
    Blade got her satchel back from the man called Sarge and handed it to her, then led her around to the back of the building, whereupon she discovered that the gin shop fronted a large countinghouse set over a narrow back alley. A pair of lanterns above the wide barn door revealed business being carried out with a well-oiled hum of efficiency. Half a dozen sturdy bruisers were loading wooden crates onto a wagon, while a little man stood high up on the wagon’s bed with a small writing board and pencil in hand. He appeared to be a clerk of some sort, charged with keeping count of the inventory. He waved excitedly to Blade while the grizzled driver in a long greatcoat greeted him, musket resting casually over his shoulder.
    “Blade.”
    “Evenin‘, Al. I trust you have everything in order.” He stopped to shake the older fellow’s hand.
    “Under way in no time, sir.”
    “Watch yourselves out there tonight. Roads are crawling with highwaymen.”
    The man laughed at his jest. Blade grinned and slapped him on the back, then shepherded her toward the few cement steps alongside the loading dock leading up to the door. It all looked like a legitimate business, but she regarded him dubiously.
    “What are those men loading onto that wagon?”
    “Used goods,” he said vaguely.
    Just then, an eager, high-pitched voice filled the alleyway. “Blade! Blade!”
    He looked over as a small boy came darting out of the doorway past the men carrying the crates.
    “That’s the boy who robbed me!” Jacinda exclaimed.
    “Hang back a moment,” he murmured, setting her behind him in the darkness. “I want to hear what the little blighter has to say for himself.”
    “ ‘Hoy, Blade! Did ye get O’Dell?” The boy rushed over to him, fairly vibrating with puppyish excitement. “Did you give ’em a belting? I’ll bet you tapped his claret, all right! Blade, Blade, hey, Blade, I gotta show you somethin‘! Look what I done!” With a flourish, Eddie the Knuckler lifted his cupped hands and presented the gang leader with an impressive stash of gleaming coins.
    Her
coins. Jacinda narrowed her eyes.
    “Someone’s been industrious tonight,” Blade drawled. “Where’d you get it, Eddie?”
    “Lobby o‘ the Bull’s Head.” The boy beamed up at him, clearly worshipful and trying desperately to impress his hero. “You shoulda seen me, Blade! My flat never knew what hit him! I was gone before he could say Jack