look. Then I’m going to sneak back out. They won’t even know I was there. I’ll be invisible, just like Toots said.” She smiled over at the young boy.
“I said that?”
“Then,” Tiki continued, “we’ll contact the Guards and tell them we have the ring.”
“But how…,” Shamus started. Tiki held up her hand.
“We’ll strike a bargain with the royals,” Tiki said. “If they give us the reward, we’ll tell them where the ring is.” She sat back. “It will be so simple.”
Chapter Ten
I N theory, the idea was simple, but with only four days to put the plan into action, it was the details that presented the challenge.
“What will you wear to a royal ball?” Fiona asked in a dreamy voice the next morning. “Oh, I wish Clara was here. She’d love to see you all dressed up.”
“I know,” Tiki said. “I’ve been thinking about her so much. Let’s go up and see her tomorrow.”
“Do we dare?”
Tiki nodded. “I’ve been thinking of a way. If we pretend to be from a church and stop by as a charity visit to see the children, I think they’ll let us in without asking questions about our parents.” She eyed Fiona’s soiled trousers and shirt. “We’ll need to go over to Petticoat Lane and find you a dress to wear, though.”
“A dress?” Fiona’s voice rose in surprise.
“We’re going to pretend to be girls.”
“But you are girls, aren’t you?” Toots asked from across the room.
Tiki laughed. “I’m not sure half the time anymore.”
* * *
P ETTICOAT Lane was over in Aldgate, next to Spitalfields Market in the East End. They were lucky to catch a boot there, as it was almost half a day’s walk from Charing Cross.
The streets of Petticoat Lane were jammed with shoppers when they arrived. The Lane was one of two main exchanges where secondhand clothes were sold.
“Fruiiiiiit. Get yer fruiiiiitt. Apples and oranges, fresh all day.” The cries of the costermongers were like birdcalls, sharp and piercing.
Tiki had brought the coin purse they’d picked off the woman in Charing Cross yesterday—it was stuffed into the depths of her trousers pocket, deep enough where no one could pick her pocket. They were going to need every one of those coins today.
She stopped at the cart of a costermonger selling an assortment of metal items. The glint of a small knife had caught her eye, and Rieker’s words came back to her: The fey have a weakness to iron. You should get a knife with a blade made of iron and carry it with you, no matter what. And you’ve got to be prepared to use it. She slipped her fingers around the hilt and turned the knife back and forth, letting the blade glint in the soupy light of the day. The memory of Marcus grabbing her in the alley was never far from her mind. She would not be caught unarmed again. Shamus could show her how best to defend herself with a knife.
“Ah, that’s a beauty, my fine fellow.” The man moved close to her, his squinty eyes measuring Tiki to determine her ability to pay. “Pure iron blade on that one. Slice through the thickest meat.”
“How much?” Tiki’s attention was drawn to a young man standing behind the vendor. There was something about the intensity with which he watched their transaction that disturbed her. His hair was long and dark, like the feathers of a crow, pulled back behind his head. His features were striking, almost foreign, with large black eyes that seemed bottomless. She shuddered and turned back to the vendor.
“A special price for you today, young sport,” the vendor replied. “Only one shilling, fourpence.”
“Done.” Tiki was digging the coins out of her pocket when a sickening realization of who the young man reminded her of twisted her stomach. He looked like her attacker in the alley. The one Rieker had called Marcus. She looked up, but he was gone. With a sense of desperation, Tiki stood on tiptoes and twisted her head, trying to locate him.
She dropped the coins
“I said that?”
“Then,” Tiki continued, “we’ll contact the Guards and tell them we have the ring.”
“But how…,” Shamus started. Tiki held up her hand.
“We’ll strike a bargain with the royals,” Tiki said. “If they give us the reward, we’ll tell them where the ring is.” She sat back. “It will be so simple.”
Chapter Ten
I N theory, the idea was simple, but with only four days to put the plan into action, it was the details that presented the challenge.
“What will you wear to a royal ball?” Fiona asked in a dreamy voice the next morning. “Oh, I wish Clara was here. She’d love to see you all dressed up.”
“I know,” Tiki said. “I’ve been thinking about her so much. Let’s go up and see her tomorrow.”
“Do we dare?”
Tiki nodded. “I’ve been thinking of a way. If we pretend to be from a church and stop by as a charity visit to see the children, I think they’ll let us in without asking questions about our parents.” She eyed Fiona’s soiled trousers and shirt. “We’ll need to go over to Petticoat Lane and find you a dress to wear, though.”
“A dress?” Fiona’s voice rose in surprise.
“We’re going to pretend to be girls.”
“But you are girls, aren’t you?” Toots asked from across the room.
Tiki laughed. “I’m not sure half the time anymore.”
* * *
P ETTICOAT Lane was over in Aldgate, next to Spitalfields Market in the East End. They were lucky to catch a boot there, as it was almost half a day’s walk from Charing Cross.
The streets of Petticoat Lane were jammed with shoppers when they arrived. The Lane was one of two main exchanges where secondhand clothes were sold.
“Fruiiiiiit. Get yer fruiiiiitt. Apples and oranges, fresh all day.” The cries of the costermongers were like birdcalls, sharp and piercing.
Tiki had brought the coin purse they’d picked off the woman in Charing Cross yesterday—it was stuffed into the depths of her trousers pocket, deep enough where no one could pick her pocket. They were going to need every one of those coins today.
She stopped at the cart of a costermonger selling an assortment of metal items. The glint of a small knife had caught her eye, and Rieker’s words came back to her: The fey have a weakness to iron. You should get a knife with a blade made of iron and carry it with you, no matter what. And you’ve got to be prepared to use it. She slipped her fingers around the hilt and turned the knife back and forth, letting the blade glint in the soupy light of the day. The memory of Marcus grabbing her in the alley was never far from her mind. She would not be caught unarmed again. Shamus could show her how best to defend herself with a knife.
“Ah, that’s a beauty, my fine fellow.” The man moved close to her, his squinty eyes measuring Tiki to determine her ability to pay. “Pure iron blade on that one. Slice through the thickest meat.”
“How much?” Tiki’s attention was drawn to a young man standing behind the vendor. There was something about the intensity with which he watched their transaction that disturbed her. His hair was long and dark, like the feathers of a crow, pulled back behind his head. His features were striking, almost foreign, with large black eyes that seemed bottomless. She shuddered and turned back to the vendor.
“A special price for you today, young sport,” the vendor replied. “Only one shilling, fourpence.”
“Done.” Tiki was digging the coins out of her pocket when a sickening realization of who the young man reminded her of twisted her stomach. He looked like her attacker in the alley. The one Rieker had called Marcus. She looked up, but he was gone. With a sense of desperation, Tiki stood on tiptoes and twisted her head, trying to locate him.
She dropped the coins
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