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heard of ’im. Who’s askin’?”
    “Jack Midnight,” the little blighter spat. Sev and Monty stared at one another in obvious disbelief. “Good. I got yer attention. The Prince o’ Blackside wants t’speak wif ye.”
    Sev regained his composure. “What’s Midnight want with Seven?”
    “Got a job fer ’im, don’t he?” The urchin squinted his dirty little eyes.
    “When an’ where?” Sev asked. The urchin laughed at Sev’s question. “What?”
    “Ye don’t know where the Prince lives?”
    “I do,” Sev had to admit. Everyone in Blackside knew.
    “As fer when….” The urchin turned on his heel and stalked away. “When d’ye think?” he called over his shoulder. Sev and Monty watched the dirty bugger’s exit.
    “Midnight, o’course,” Sev chuckled. “Looks like I got an appointment with royalty.”
    “Better you zhan me, mon ami,” Monty sighed. “Do you want zhe gun?” Good old, Monty. Business first.
    “I do, Monty,” Sev confirmed. “But I’m tapped. I got nothin’.”
    Monty raised an eyebrow. “Oui,” the little man agreed. “But it seems to me you are about to come into some money.” Monty nodded toward the center of Blackside. “I think you are good for it, non?” Sev shrugged, hoping Midnight’s offer was authentic, and it wasn’t some sort of trap. Monty wrapped the pieces of the weapon in the cloth and handed it over to Sev. “Good luck, mon ami.”
    “Thanks, Monty.” Sev took the bundle and stowed it in his satchel. “Here’s hopin’ I don’t need it.” Sev turned from the French peddler’s cart. He had some time to kill until midnight, and something had occurred to him at the sight of the urchin that he wanted to share with someone else, to see if his suspicions were valid.

4

     
     
    W AVERLY had finished his shift for the evening, and when Sev entered the Bacchus and Tun, his young friend sat at a table in the corner with a couple of the neighborhood working girls, who were not as healthy or as well fed as Annie. Wave sometimes bought them food, more often gin, in exchange for a quick roll. They’d obviously all been at the drink for some time when Sev sidled up to the table. “This seat taken?” he asked.
    Wave brightened at the sight of his old friend. “Se—” Waverly began before he caught himself and covered. “Sam! Come on. Sit with us. Have a nip.”
    “Thanks, Wave.” Sev sat at the table. Waverly offered the bottle of gin, but Sev declined. “Can’t, mate. Got a job meetin’ this evenin’.”
    “Tha’s too bad,” one of the girls said. The brunette smiled at Sev. Her teeth were almost as black as her hair.
    “Sam, this is Fanny and Patty,” Waverly said, saluting each with his shooter of gin.
    “Pleased, ladies.” Sev tipped his hat, eliciting giggles from the girls.
    “What a gentleman,” Fanny, the blonde girl, observed. Her thick Blackside accent made the words sound like Wottagennlemin .
    “Not at all, mum,” Sev replied.
    “I likes y’even more, then,” Patty, the brunette, added and both girls laughed.
    “So what’s this meetin’?” Waverly asked.
    “I need t’see a man at Midnight .” Sev leveled his gaze on Waverly, who suddenly aspirated gin.
    “Girls, give us a minute. Will ye?” Waverly motioned them away. They stood without argument, used to obeying orders, but made sure to take the bottle of gin as they wandered to another table. “Midnight? Y’mean Jack Midnight?” Waverly asked when they were alone. Sev nodded. “What’s ’e want with you?”
    “No clue.” Sev shrugged. “That’s not why I’m here, though.”
    “What’s bigger than a meet with th’Prince?”
    “He sent a kid with his message.”
    “So? Everybody uses street kids fer messengers.”
    “They did,” Sev agreed. “How many street kids d’ye see anymore?”
    “I don’t know,” Wave answered.
    “The gangs’re gone too,” Sev whispered as he leaned over the table. Ever since Fervis and the other industrialists