“Meaning not in his pocket.”
“I don’t know what this has to do with his pockets, but half of those you’ll face at trial will listen for the truth. The other half will not.”
Some things never changed. “Of course. Why would it be any different down here.”
“Do not,” Cassius said, tapping my chest, “make the mistake of believing it is the same in the Strata as it is in the world above, no matter how cynical or desperate you may feel.”
“Fair enough.” I turned back to Mick. “I’m still pissed that you sold me out.”
“Ah, fresh fish, you seem already to know that Brach is practically a king to these layabouts.” He spread his arms wide toward Rats Castle but meant, I think, the Strata.
“Elvis is dead,” I replied. “And I’m more a Thin Lizzy ‘Do Anything You Want To’ kind of guy. Check ’em out. You might like them—killer Irish rock band.”
Mick cocked an eyebrow, then fetched a black leather sling-satchel and a pair of gloves from his shelf, stuffed the gloves in the satchel, and tossed it on the table next to the lantern and bow. “To carry your catalysts.”
I slung it over my shoulder. “Heavier than it looks.”
“Weighted bottom,” said Mick. “So’s it don’t bounce while you’re running.”
I had no desire to know why a satchel should need to be designed for a running man.
“Thank you, Mick,” said Cassius. “I think it best we take our leave.” Mick leaned out over his table. “You forgettin’ somethin’?”
I’d given all my money to pay the tailor’s debt but patted my pockets anyway.
“Bit hasty in your rescue of the tailor, were ya?” said Mick. “Well, there’s other ways.” He pushed the ledger across the table. “What say these go on account? And I’ll call my marker if I’mever in need of your particular talent.” He extended a fountain pen.
Cassius pulled me aside. “Jack, as bad as you need these catalysts, it is not advisable to put yourself in Mick’s debt.”
“He’syourfriend.”
Cassius lowered his voice. “Yes, but he is not the kind of friend one relies on. Coin is the basest of currencies to Mick. He will call in favors to his marker that will cost you more than these catalysts are worth.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I once put my name in Mick’s book,” Cassius whispered. “And I have not forgiven myself for what I had to do to expunge my name from it. Do not do this, Jack. Let us find another way.”
I looked back at the ledger. The last thing I needed was to be out on more markers. I knew what that meant in the world of topside gangs. Down here . . . But I didn’t have time to find another rookery. Things were already happening too fast. “I’ll have to take my chances.” I stepped back to the table and looked Mick in the eye. “You understand that I won’t break Precedent Law for you.”
The pawnbroker handed me the fountain pen. “We here in the Rook of St. Giles are all of us saints, don’t ya know.” The rats all chuckled to themselves.
I signed my name, as behind me Cassius scoffed in his throat.
Mick placed his hands on his hips. “You come into the Seven Dials looking for illegal thread with a newborn lampman. I admire your grit, old friend. But you now know that such inquiries won’t go well for you if you keep nosing around. Worse, in fact. Whatever good deed you think to do, put it away. These aren’t times for drawing the wrong kind of attention.”
“A fair warning,” said Cassius.
“But if we did want to keep nosing around,” I said, “you’d be the guy to tell us where, right?”
Mick chuckled. “You’re enough to make a stuffed bird laugh. You do realize that your little thread inquiry has put an even higher price on your head. And don’t you forget your mark in my book, which will come due soon enough.”
I stared around at the rats now eyeing us. “In for a penny . . .”
Mick shook his head. “I’m lousy with tailors. But not a one is gonna spit sideways to you if you’ve got no coin. Except maybe the lad what just limped on out of here before Brach come in. With him you might have earned a bit of goodwill.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The transformative nature of the ward-bond suggests that any soul belonging to such a bond has reached its final form.
