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peddle illicit materials and spy on men whose positions made them vulnerable to scandal. It was a monstrous accusation to make against a man with friends in high places, but it could not be denied that March always came to the proceedings when there was a chance of a boy being sent to Bredsell, and his word in the magistrate’s ear was often sufficient to sway a case. Both March’s unexplained influence in the court and his ties to the Home Secretary troubled Will.
    Bredsell was still speaking about the power of his school to enlighten the souls of poor children, who would, without his guidance, surely end up leading the most degraded lives headed for a noose or transportation.
    The magistrate cut him off. “Enough, Mr. Bredsell, you need not tout your school any longer. Young Wilde may remain under your tutelage at present, but if he comes before my court again, he’ll see the shore of Botany Bay before he’s sixteen.”
    Xander caught the look exchanged between Bredsell and March as Wilde was released from manacles and turned over to the reverend. The youth himself could not contain a sly smirk and a swagger as the manacles fell from his wrists. Now there would be no chance for Xander or Will to question him. Within minutes Nate Wilde would disappear into the dark lanes off Holy-well Street. As he passed, the youth gave Will a cheeky salute. Will’s hand shot out and clamped on the boy’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.
    “ ’Ey, beak, oi’m a free man now. You don’t get to pump me no more.” The boy flashed his toothy grin at Will.
    Will leaned down to get in the youth’s face. “Don’t choke on your own sauce, Wilde. Transportation’s your best hope. Let Bredsell and March give you orders and you’ll end up in hell.”
    “Bugger off. Weasels like you got nowt to say to me no more.” The boy shook off Will’s hold and followed Bredsell out of the court.
    “You owe me a pony,” Xander told his brother.
    Will stared after Bredsell. “I hate that bleeding maggot. If I could prove what he does, he’d swing for it.”
    “You got a lot of information out of young Wilde, I notice.”
    “Sod off. Wilde will be back in the dock in a month.”
    “When he returns, be sure to ask him about our brother’s disappearance.”
    Will advised Xander as to some immediate forms of self-abuse he could practice and suggested a permanent address in the hereafter.
    The next case, a carver brought up on a charge of wife beating, was creating a row. The brothers left the court, Will still grumbling about Wilde’s release into Bredsell’s custody. Xander listened to the angry voice with half an ear. Each of them had to deal with the loss of Kit in his own way. Anger was Will’s way. Flight had been their mother’s choice. Action was Xander’s. Outside the court they paused. “I’ve got another investigation for you.”
    “What?” Will made the subtle adjustments to his dress that allowed him to slip into London’s darkness. He rarely came to the house on Hill Street but kept some mean apartments elsewhere, to which Xander had never been invited. You don’t want to know , he once told Xander.
    It was like Will to reject the gentlemanly trappings their mother had sought to give them. He refused to hide the stain of his birth. A baseborn fellow ought to live like a baseborn fellow.
    “I need to know everything about Cleo Spencer.”
    “Who is she?”
    “She’s a chit not much above twenty, who claims to have a fortune in Evershot’s bank.”
    “Ah, another shot at lighting the streets.”
    “Find out about her for me.”
    “You’re going to try again?”
    “I still need twenty thousand to buy into the partnership.”
    Will whistled, his transformation complete. His black staff of office tucked up his sleeve, nothing remained of the official costume of a Runner. “And Miss Spencer has it?”
    “Apparently she needs a husband to get access to her money.” Xander had figured that much out in the wake of