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never heard that name before.
    But it had eventually struck him there could be no lady living in the river. That didn’t make any sense.
    A person had to breathe. Which meant he was either so hungry that he had been hallucinating, or he had finally gone nicky in the head and would be locked up in the horrid lunatic asylum if anyone found out.
    Jake could not abide being locked up anywhere. Whatever misfortunes he’d suffered, at least he was as free as a bird. Intent on staying that way, he had coolly backed away from that spot in the river, leaving his comrades to help themselves to whatever hidden valuables remained.
    Climbing back up onto the docks, he had wiped the mud off his feet as fast as he could, pulled his boots back on, and fled.
    And now this wild warrior, appearing out of nowhere, dropping out of the blasted sky, had just called him the same name. Everton…
    Jake suddenly understood. Of course! Idiots. He jumped off the garbage can with a scowl. “You’ve got the wrong person, all of you!” he shouted, gesturing angrily at them. “My name’s not Everton. I’m just Jake Reed!”
    Nobody listened.
    They kept on fighting, two against one now—until all of a sudden, the shrill, familiar notes of Constable Flanagan’s police whistle pierced the air.
    The bald giant and the red-haired henchman exchanged a look of alarm. “The bobbies are comin’! Let’s get out of ‘ere!”
    They fled the alley, but when the warrior started to run after them, Jake cried out, “Wait! Please!”
    The intimidating fellow turned around, his chest heaving from exertion. “What are you still doing here?” he growled.
    “Who are you?”
    “Derek Stone is my name—but it doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is who you are. I was sent to protect you, Jacob. That’s all you need to know for now. No time.” He wiped off his blade. “Can you get yourself to the Strand from here?”
    Jake scoffed at the question. “Of course!”
    “Good. Go there, now. Find Beacon House, beside the river. The people there will help you. Just tell them I sent you and that you’re the little scoundrel everyone’s looking for.”
    “Me? Who’s lookin’ for me? What are you talkin’ about?”
    “Just do it!” he said in exasperation, turning to stare toward the approaching sound of the bobby’s whistle.
    The police were on their way.
    “Well, what are you going to do, then?” Jake demanded, though he barely knew where he got the nerve to question the tall, mean-eyed barbarian.
    “I’m going to hunt those servitors down and finish this,” he said grimly, “or they’ll just keep coming after you. Now go! Lord, you’re as stubborn as your father.”
    With that, Derek Stone ran out of the alley.
    Jake stared after him, shocked yet again. He knew my father? His mind swirled with countless questions. Then he shook his head to himself. Servitors? he wondered. He must’ve meant to say servants. Then Jake snapped out of his daze, hearing the policemen around the corner.
    Lord knew he could not afford to cross paths with the bobbies. Rushing back to the overturned garbage can, he used it to hoist himself over the wall.
    He had just dropped out of sight on the other side when the bobbies arrived in a flurry of pounding footsteps.
    From Constable Flanagan’s whistle, there came a piercing shrill. “You there!” the mustachioed sergeant shouted. “Halt, in the name of the law!”
    Thankfully, they weren’t talking to him for once.
    “Stop him! You there! Get that man surrounded!”
    “Blimey, he’s climbin’ up the wall, sir!”
    Running footsteps.
    “Quickly! Pull his feet!”
    “Oof!”
    On the other side of the wall, Jake heard the sounds of large men diving into a heap, like in a rugby match, grunts and curses.
    “Hold him, I say! We’ve got you now, you ruffian!”
    “How’d ye run up the side of a bloody wall like that?” one of the bobbies cried.
    Jake wished he could see what was happening. He listened for all