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roof,” croaked the captain.
    A smile broke across Jarvis’s face. This was going to be so easy. Plucked like fruit from ripened trees.
    He considered it hard, his eyes staring upward in thought. He kept moving the carriage forward and then as he realized he knew where the captain was sending him he slowly pulled on one side of the reins, yanking a steady left-hand turn and sliding gently until he faced the other way.
    A little farther and he’d be in a good position to get a view of where he headed.
    He steered up and around the corner to take in the view of where he knew the timbers of an old walkway had sunk into the stinking river. From the stone bridge he could see it: a wooden construction that had long since collapsed halfway across the water, as if unable to make the distance. Its rotted wooden struts stuck out like broken fingers and at the bank side was a small circular building: home to Mrs. Duvell. Though Jarvis had presumed she lived alone she was obviously harboring an escapee.
    He set off again and savoured the moment, the carriage swaying and rocking across the snow-topped cobbles as he wound back down to the other side of the river. As he neared he could see a wisp of smoke pipe up from the chimney pot, and though the shutters were tight across the window, a slice of light peeped out from within.
    “How dare she!” he whispered to himself. “How dare she lie to me and keep those rats from my sight.” He pulled up just short of the rounded house.
    He climbed down from the carriage seat, wandered to the back, and, confident of his catch, opened the lock and positioned the prison door ajar, ready for its first victim.
    He announced himself with three slow loud knocks at the door. Thud, thud, thud.
    “Little pig, little pig, let me come in,” he sang to himself.
    A frail and frightened-looking woman came quickly. But it was not the time of night to receive visitors, especially in such harsh weather. She partially opened the door, just enough to poke her face out into the light of Jarvis’s torch.
    “Yes?” she answered.
    “Mrs. Duvell?” enquired Jarvis, wearing his kindest grin.
    “Yes.”
    “And how are we this evening?”
    “I’m fine, thank you, Mister Jarvis.” She stared at him, confused by his mild-mannered approach combined with the lateness of the hour.

    “Can I help you with something?” she asked.
    “Oh, I wouldn’t have thought so, Mrs. Duvell. It’s the children I’m seeking. The young ones. City rats, I call them. Everywhere, they are. One just needs to know where to look, I think.”
    “Yes, quite. Well, if I see anything I’ll be sure to tell you,” she urged, and she attempted to shut the door. But Jarvis’s foot was wedged in the jamb.
    “You sure you don’t have anything for me, Mrs. Duvell?”
    “Quite sure,” she smiled, nodding her head, and again she tried to force his foot out from the door frame.
    Jarvis came close to her frightened face and stared hard.
    “I’m feeling generous, seeing as the weather has delivered a pleasant evening.”
    He looked round over his shoulder, as if he was about to share a secret with the lady at the doorway. And then, in hushed tones, he continued.
    “Mrs. Duvell, if you don’t bring that child out here in the next five minutes I’ll be delivering you to the authorities. If you do as I ask, I shall forget where I found the little urchin and I’ll expect you to thank me for it. Do I make myself clear?”
    She stared at him for a good while longer, saying nothing. Then the door closed and the latch could be heard returning to its place. Jarvis stood and waited. There were noises. Muffled voices and movement. Up and down steps. Doors banging. A dog barked in the distance on the other side of town and then others came, as if calling to each other. Jarvis had not realized how long five minutes was. He was not known for his patience. He was about to bang at the door again when it opened fully. A small frightened boy appeared