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learned to hide his emotions properly. “If you wait, they’ll sell to someone else. We’ll have lost the docks and another mayn’t come up for sale for years.”

    “And if I jump too soon, I’ll lose me money,” Mick said. “It’s an interestin’ idea, Bran, me lad, but I’ll have to think on it a bit.”

    “But—”

    Mick shook his head once, staring at the boy sternly. “And besides, I’ve other matters to settle first—ones involvin’ the Vicar.”

    Bran looked away. “As you like.”

    “I do like,” Mick said mildly as he rolled up the map. “What have ye found out for me?”

    Bran sighed. “I saw his men lurking around the orphans’ home this afternoon after Mrs. Hollingbrook left. You got the babe out just in time, I’m thinking.”

    “Lurkin’ in plain sight?”

    “Aye,” Bran replied. “The Vicar’s men have become quite bold. They tramp about St. Giles in packs of four or five without a care in the world.”

    “Fuck ’em,” Mick growled. “St. Giles is mine and I’ll see those bloody whoresons run out.” He stretched his neck. “And how did the Vicar find out about the babe in the first place is what I’m wonderin’.”

    “You did have men watching her,” Bran pointed out.

    Mick looked up, eyes narrowed, only to find Harry nodding thoughtfully.

    “Might’ve led the Vicar straight to the babe,” Harry said.

    Mick grunted. He didn’t like the thought that ’twas his own error that had led the Vicar’s men to the orphanage and the babe. There was another possibility, too: Had one of his men betrayed his secret to the Vicar?

    “Then he knows that I have the babe within me palace,” Mick said slowly.

    Bran nodded grimly.

    Mick sighed. “Well, ’twas never me plan to hide the fact that I had her safe. He knows he must attack me palace to get to her—and that, I’m thinkin’, he’ll be loath to do.” He looked at Bran. “What have ye found out about the Vicar himself?”

    “The Vicar’s got dozens of men around him at all times,” Bran replied. “He guards himself better than you, come to that. It’ll be a right job to get to him.”

    “Ah, but get to him we must,” Mick said. “ ’Tis near the end o’ winter and he’ll be runnin’ low on grain for his damned gin stills. Have some o’ me men find out who’s supplyin’ him. I’ll offer the suppliers an incentive to quit doin’ business with the Vicar.”

    “Very well.” Bran hesitated, then blurted out, “But I don’t see why you two are at war. He has his gin distilling and you have the river. How do your interests cross?”

    Sad brown eyes rose up in his inner mind, the lilt of an Irish voice,
Me darlin’ Mickey
.

    Mick grimaced, pushing the memories aside. “It’s a personal matter. One ye needn’t worry about.”

    Bran frowned as Mick put away the map. “That’s yourown affair, but we’re spending time on the Vicar and getting no money in return.”

    “Aye, and I’m aware o’ it,” Mick said. “If I could end this, I would. But I’m afraid the Vicar isn’t such a reasonable gent as m’self.”

    “Then you’ll have to kill him.” Bran’s light blue eyes were young—and utterly ruthless.

    “I would, but as ye’ve pointed out, the man guards himself well.” Mick tapped the table for a moment in thought, then came to a decision. “We’re better off takin’ the roundabout way. Cut off his grain, starve him, and run him out o’ St. Giles for good. In the meantime, send some o’ me men about to roust any o’ his crew they find in St. Giles.”

    Bran nodded. “As you wish.”

    Mick arched an eyebrow. The boy was still lingering though he’d been given his orders. “Somethin’ else on yer mind?”

    “What about this Mrs. Hollingbrook?” Bran’s upper lip curled. “I can see keeping the child—
if
you think she’s truly yours—but why insist the wench stay, as well? She’s a distraction.”

    Mick’s jaw tightened. “Pardon me, but I