"Over 'ere, up da ramp! Dey might not 'ave blocked da back of da place yet!"

"Den what are ye waitin' for? Move!"

Hidden deep within the darkness below the archway at the top of the ramp, Lord Patrick Day, heir to the Duchy of Exeter and currently filthy gangster scum, tensed at the shouts. With narrowed eyes, he peered into the shadows of the cellar below. Shadows which were currently moving, rushing towards him.

"Now!" he hissed.

Then he leapt forward. His fist lashed out, colliding with something soft and squishy. Probably someone's gut.

"Eeeeeeep!"

Hopefully someone's gut.

"Get 'em boys!" a voice roared from behind Lord Patrick, and several policemen jumped in from the street, arraying themselves on either side of him.

"None of you are getting out of here," Willy Perv announced, his Cockney accent miraculously gone.

"Perv!" A voice growled out of the darkness at the bottom of the ramp. "Ye're a snitch? Ye betrayed us!"

"No." Pulling out his revolver, he pointed it into the shadows, at the spot that seemed most likely to contain thugs. "I've never been on your side to begin with. Surrender now!"

In answer, a snarl erupted from the shadows. "Get 'im!"

A figure dashed out of the darkness, three feet left of where His Lordship had been aiming. In a single, swift move Patrick swerved his gun.

Bam!

The man jerked, his shoulder stained red, but didn't back down. Instead, he leapt forward, trying to slam into the nobleman headfirst. In a blink, Amy's training kicked in. His Lordship grabbed the thug by the injured shoulder and squeezed, hard. A scream erupted from the man's mouth and, using the split-second distraction, Lord Patrick raised his gun and slammed its butt down hard onto the man's head.

He crumpled like tin foil.

Which would have mattered more if three others weren't already rushing forward, ready to take his place. Unable to reload his gun in time, Lord Patrick whirled to the side, just able to avoid the new thug's first punch. In a flash, he brought up his knee between the man's legs and—

Crunch!

"Aaagh!"

Well, this time the soft thing he had hit most definitely hadn't been a gut. Not that he could particularly bring himself to care. Amy's training regime had been rather eye-opening regarding his firm principles of fighting like a gentleman.

"Frigg!" Another of the thugs cursed. "Ye son of a b—"

Wham!

A fist in the face cut him off abruptly.

"Watch your language," His Lordship admonished. "That's impolite."

Then he swept the thug's feet out from under him and stomped on his...

Crunch!

Well, suffice it to say some of Amy's lessons had been rather forceful and explicit.

Amy.

The thought of her lit a spark of fire in his chest. Amy. His fiancée. The woman who, just an hour or so ago, had kissed him in view of everyone. With unusual ferocity, his eyes settled on the remaining five thugs.

Perhaps his methods thus far hadn't been quite forceful enough.

He glanced at the bobbies, all of whom had their truncheons out. "Shall we, gentlemen?"

The sergeant smirked. "Aye. Let's."

And they rushed forward.

Ten minutes later, Lord Patrick Day stood panting atop the ramp, above a pile of prone and battered bodies. From somewhere below him came a pained whimper. The others didn't whimper or groan. Probably for the same reason they didn't move.

Perhaps he had gone just a little bit over the top?

He glanced back at the policemen.

"What would you say, gentlemen? Could this be considered excessive force?"

The sergeant glanced at the pile of bruised bodies—which were probably still alive. Well, possibly.

"Nah. Seems fine ta me."

His Lordship gave a gentlemanly nod, wiped the blood off his pistol and holstered it. "Excellent. Can you have your men take care of the unconscious gangsters?"

"That'll be no problem."

Lord Patrick smiled. "Then, let's proceed to the meeting spot, shall we?"

"Aye. Let's go."

"Very well. Follow me, gentlemen."

Starting forward, Lord Patrick strode down the ramp into the dungeon. He couldn't suppress a surge of satisfaction when he passed the place where, previously, the cages had been piled up against the wall. Now, they were replaced by a pile of unconscious and cuffed ruffians, as well as two dozen smug-looking policemen.

In Patrick's opinion, their expressions were more than justified.

One of the policemen noticed him and bowed. "Yer Lordship. Everything all right?"

Lord Patrick nodded at the man. "Everything went splendidly. We caught everyone trying to escape through the back exit."

In answer, he received a vicious grin.

"Is Pritchard done yet?" His Lordship enquired.

"Aye. 'e's bin quite quick and thorough."

"Splendid. Then I shall go meet him."

And her went unspoken.

Nodding to the policemen, he strode up the stairs. If his steps were just a little faster and more eager than normal, nobody seemed to notice.

Soon, he reached the ground floor and made his way to the main hall. The place had already been cleared. Not just of people, but of cages, of chairs, of everything. Just about every single item had been impounded as evidence. Lord Patrick gave an approving nod. Apparently, Pritchard wasn't taking any chances.

"Ah, Your Lordship. There you are."

The inspector was standing in front of the podium, discussing something with Hendrickson and a sergeant in uniform, when he noticed Patrick coming over. His Lordship nodded in answer to the greeting.

"You got everyone?"

Pritchard nodded with grim satisfaction. "Every. Single. One. Even the frigging janitor."

"Marvellous. And Hendrickson?"

"I got everyone as well. Or rather everything." The smug satisfaction on the chief editor's face might have been annoying on any other day. But not today. Not at all. "Pictures. Confessions from people who want a plea bargain. Interviews with dozens of victims. We've got them! We've got them all!"

"All?" Lord Patrick frowned. Something didn't seem right.

Suddenly, he stiffened.

"Where's Amy?"

Pritchard glanced around, only now seeming to notice she wasn't present.

"She...she and Mr Karim were supposed to go and find the boss, weren't they?"

"Supposed to?" Patrick's eyes flashed. "Where. Is. She?"

Pritchard opened his mouth—but if he had anything to say, he didn't get the chance to. Before he got a word out, he was cut off by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Very heavy footsteps.

Lord Patrick whirled around.

"Karim!"

The bodyguard gave him a curt nod. He had his usual grim expression on his face, but the look in his eyes...

Abruptly, Lord Patrick had a bad feeling.

"Where is she?"

The mountain of muscle cleared his throat, somehow managing to look surprisingly like a five-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Ehem, well..."

"Where. Is. She?"

Karim took a breath. "She signaled me that she found the mastermind. She was going to block his way, make sure he didn't get away till reinforcements arrived, but..."

"But?"

"But when I went up there to reinforce her, she wasn't where she was supposed to be and—"

"Where?"

"Up the stairs, in the corridor. We thought we found the mastermind in one of the boxes, but—"

Yet Lord Patrick didn't hear any more. He was already running across the hall towards the stairs. Taking three steps at a time, he raced up and, reaching the hallway at the top, dashed towards the only hiding spot he could see. A small alcove with a statue inside it.

In a blink, he was beside the statue. Cheap imitation, a distant part of his too darn well-educated brain noted. Grabbing the thing, he pushed, sending it toppling over, and—

Nothing. There was nothing behind it. And, more important, nobody.

At the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, Lord Patrick whirled around. He came face-to-face with Karim and the other two, who had followed him up here.

"Where?" he hissed.

The bodyguard's brow furrowed. "She said she suspected the mastermind was hiding in the fourth box down the row. Or rather signaled it. That's the last thing I saw of her before she went off. I didn't really think about where. I mean, she can't have been stupid enough to...go...after..."

His voice slowly trailed off. It may have had to do something with the murderous glare Lord Patrick Day was sending his way.

Then, without a word, Patrick whirled around and dashed towards the entrance of the fourth box. Fear gripped his heart when he saw the door stood agape, swinging back and forth in the drafty hallway.

No! No, please!

With a single kick, he slammed open the door. He burst inside and, in a glance, took in the entire box, the heavy velvet drapes, the luxurious arm chairs.

The empty luxurious arm chairs.

And last, but certainly not least, there was the portrait hanging from the wall on well-oiled hinges, revealing a spiral staircase that led down into a secret passage.

No. Heck, no!

An image flashed past his inner eye. An image of a young woman with fierce emerald eyes and the sassiest smile he had ever seen. Then the image was snuffed out, and all he saw was the darkness of the secret passage in front of him.

He didn't even think. Drawing his gun, he dived into the darkness, sailing down the staircase like a vengeful ghost.

No. Not a ghost. Ghosts could only wail and rattle their chains. They couldn't kill whatever stood in their way.

Stay safe, Amy! I'm coming!

***

"Crap! Bloody stinking crap from hell!"

In retrospect, Amy decided, this should have been rather obvious. Dashing into a dark underground passage while carrying not so much as a candle?

Yep, not a good idea. That was the kind of thing a total idiot would do.

Keeping one hand on the wall beside her, Amy was just able to get down the stairs without breaking her neck in the process. But once at the bottom...

Her hand reached out and met nothing but empty air.

Damn!

Amy turned her head from left to right, trying to see if she could distinguish anything in the oppressive darkness.

Nothing. Absolutely frigging nothing. Except...

Click.

Amy's head jerked towards the sound. She'd grown up in the East End. She'd spent more than enough time in dark places to recognize the sound of a door where none should be.

Her gun came up. Then, without a hint of hesitation, Amy started forward, cautiously feeling her way through the darkness with her toes. Finally, she felt the tips bumping into a wall. She groped her way along the rough stone, until...

There!

She felt the rough wood of the door with her fingertips. Locating the doorknob, she twisted, pulled and—

"Aagh!"

Crap!

Light. Bright, brilliant, blinding night. Amy blinked, trying to get accustomed to the change. And she did, just in time to catch the coattails of a figure vanishing around the end of the long, brightly lit corridor.

A vicious grin spreading across her face, Amy hefted her gun.

Time to hunt!

***

Lord Patrick Day had just reached the bottom of the stairs when he heard it.

Bam!

He hadn't spent several years in the army for nothing. He knew that sound very well. Since meeting Miss Amy Weston, he'd gotten to know it a bit too well. And he probably should be a lot more worried about that. But right now, he had no worry to spare. An icy spike of fear stabbed through his chest when he heard another gunshot.

Please, be safe! Oh God, please, be safe!

Speeding up, he rushed straight across the dark underground hall to where, at the other end, he could see a beam of light falling through a cracked-open door. He reached it within a dozen swift strides.

Crash!

Not even bothering to stop, he kicked open the door, sending it slamming against the wall. The corridor beyond was a stark contrast to the dingy dungeon he had just left. Candles in silver holders on both walls lit it almost as bright as day.

Lord Patrick frowned. Strange...why would the surroundings suddenly change like that? Who would lavishly decorate an escape tunnel, unless...

Bam!

Irrelevant. Faster! He had to go faster!

So he ran. He ran faster than he ever had before. Yet, somehow, the tunnel seemed to stretch on endlessly. And that wasn't his bloody poetic side talking! It really did stretch on and on and on. Why would an escape tunnel be this long? Where could it lead for it to—

Sudden dread filled him as a suspicion formed in his mind.

Abruptly, he reached into his pocket. Ever since his days in the army, there were a few things he always carried with him. A gun. An army knife. And this.

Pulling his hand out of his pocket, he lifted the compass and flipped it open. When he saw which direction he was running in, he cursed.

East!

Whoever he was, that bastard of a gang boss was heading straight into the thick of the East End. The very worst part of the city. For just a moment, Patrick hesitated. Was he running straight into a trap?

Once again, he saw a brief flash of those familiar green eyes.

Doesn't matter.

Except...

If he was heading into a trap, so was Amy.

"Bloody hell!"

Clenching his teeth, he started running even faster! He had to reach her in time! He had to reach her before one of those bullets hit true and—

Bam!

***

Bam!

Amy threw herself behind a barrel just in time to avoid the bullet whizzing past her face. Raising her revolver, Amy aimed over the top of the barrel and...

Bam! Bam! Bam!

"Dammit!"

She had missed. Barely, but she'd missed. And the black-cloaked figure ahead had already ducked around a corner. Quickly, she reloaded her gun, tensed her muscles—

And hesitated.

Quickly, she pulled a scarf from her pocket and wound it around her face, just in case. Gangs had many eyes, and even more daggers in the dark. She was determined to do this, but she wouldn't drag her friends down with her.

Jumping to her feet, Amy dashed forward, keeping close to the wall. At the corner she came to an abrupt halt and peered down the new alley.

There!

Her gun came up.

Bam!

The figure in black jerked. Yes! She had done it! It was only a graze, but she had done it! And better yet...the bastard was trapped!

With a vicious grin, Amy started down the street. The street which just so happened to stop at a dead end. Her grin widened as she watched the gang leader disappear into a large wooden shed at the very end.

Go ye, bastard!

He was trapped. Now, all she needed to do was wait till the others caught up to her and—

Suddenly, she heard a whinny.

It was only then she realized the building the gang leader had disappeared into wasn't a big shed. It was a stable.

Oh crap!

***

Patrick's legs almost felt ready to fall off. How long had he run down this stupid corridor by now? He had no idea! But it didn't really matter, because...

Bam! Bam, bam!

Clenching his teeth, he forced himself to ignore the pain and powered through it. What the heck was going on up there? A weapon test for Gatling guns?

No, a little voice whispered in the back of his head. Amy.

That thought wasn't exactly comforting. Taking a deep breath, he checked his pistol again. If people were going to be gunning for Amy, they would find him ready.

Bam!

His teeth clenched at the distant sound of another gunshot.

Of course, that'll require that I'll arrive in time.

With a curse, he squeezed every single remnant of strength from his legs and sped up. Suddenly, the corridor started sloping upwards. And then...

There!

He dashed towards the distant door at neckbreaking speeds. Ahead, the sound of gunfire echoed off the walls. Slamming open the door, he raced out into a grimy courtyard and—

"Heck!"

He managed to throw himself back just in time to avoid the carriage careening around the corner. One wheel nearly slammed into his face, whirling past only inches away from his nose. It only took him a glimpse at the gangster on the box for him to realize whose coach this was. In a blink, his gun was up and aimed.

Bam! Bam!

His shots hit the carriage—and ricocheted off with a shower of sparks. A steel-reinforced coach. If he'd had any doubt who was inside that vehicle, it was gone now.

He reloaded and aimed again.

Bam! Bam!

He shot straight at the windows—but just then, metal shutters came down, and the bullets pinged harmlessly off the steel.

"Hell! Stay still, you—"

Bam!

He got off only one more shot before the carriage swerved around a corner and vanished from sight. Panting, he sagged against the wall, fiercely glaring down the alley after the vanished vehicle.

Or at least he did until a figure came around the corner from the same direction the coach had just come.

"Amy!"

The figure whirled, raising her gun—then froze as she saw him. "Patrick!"

Immediately, she started limping towards him.

Limping.

She was injured.

Patrick didn't hesitate. Didn't even think about it. Rushing towards her, he engulfed her in a crushing embrace.

"Amy! Oh, Thank goodness! Are you all right?"

"No." The growl that came from her throat would have been worthy of a lioness on the prowl.

"What? Are you injured? Where? What's wrong? I—"

"No. No, I'm fine."

"Then what—"

"He!" Her head jerked up, emerald eyes blazing. "He. Got. Away!"

He stiffened. With difficulty, he swallowed. "I know."

But right now I don't care. Because you're safe. You're here with me.

He didn't say those words out loud, though. Instead, he simply grabbed hold of her face and branded a searing kiss onto her lips. One second. Two seconds. Three. Strange. Didn't he have to stop to catch a breath some time? Didn't feel like it right now. He didn't want more air, only more her. More Amy.

They stayed like that for a long moment—then, breaking away, Lord Patrick Day gently rested his forehead against hers.

"Are you all right? Really?"

Dragging in a deep breath, Amy nodded. "Aye. I'm fine. It's just...he got away, ye know?" Her fist clenched. "I got a few good shots in. I think I got 'im with one, but still...after all dat work, all da careful preparation and planning, he. Got. Away!"

"I know." He gave her another hug. Perhaps just as much for himself as for her. "I know."

Reaching up, he gently took hold of her chin and tried to lift it. She didn't move, but kept staring at the ground.

"Amy?"

No answer.

"Amy, look at me."

She didn't. Instead, she...knelt in the dirt and started examining the ground? Patrick blinked. He might not be the best at comforting women, but was he that bad?

"Amy, what—"

"Look here." Crouching lower on the ground, Amy tapped the dirt of the driveway. For some reason, there suddenly seemed to be a fire burning in her voice. "Look at this. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't get away after all."

-------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

I feel more stupid than yesterday. Why? Because I just got one of my wisdom teeth pulled ;)

I'll have to look into why they are called that. I could never really understand the reason. Time for some etymological research! At least when my jaw isn't hurting anymore...

Yours Truly

Sir Rob