In Beau’s Tavern it looked like an impasse had been reached. It’s not true what they say about honour amongst thieves, and trust amongst thieves has never been a thing. The second’s ticked by as all four members of the pow-wow looked at each other but trying not to show nervousness or anger, both of which would have been dangerous in the current situation. Finally, more out of something to say and do to ease the growing tension than anything, Moira held out a hand. “Let me see the damned note anyway.” Joe, with fingertip care, reached inside his duster a pulled out the note that had accompanied Finny’s makeshift hair ribbon. He released it into Moira Gold’s waiting palm. Moira opened the note, read it, turned it over, turned it back. “Is this is it?” Joe nodded, Moira frowned. “And you’ve no idea who sent it?” Joe shook his head, this was pointless. Moira’s frown turned into a look of puzzlement as she handed it back. “You know, I’m sure I’ve seen those words before.” Joe refolded the note and put it back into his pocket. “That’s what I thought.” “It’s familiar somehow… but I don’t for the life of me know how.” “Aye, me too, I’ve read ‘em before, but I can’t remember where.” A small lightbulb slowly spluttered into life in Joe’s mind. He suddenly smiled – disconcerting everyone at the table. “But I think I know a man who might.” Joe and Moira’s eyes locked. Casper and co were in a funk, especially Casper. In his nine-year-old mind back at the orphanage, it had all been so simple. With Plastic Micky’s help, they would sneak into the Borough, rescue Finny (details were fuzzy as to just how they would do this, but there would definitely be heroics involved), and then they would just sneak out again. What followed after the rescue was also fuzzy, but it left Casper with a warm feeling inside. And they had, indeed, sneaked in, and indeed gone to where Finny was supposed to be… but she hadn’t been there. So now, instead of comforting warmth, there was this sick coldness in Casper’s belly that he didn’t want to think about. The four boys found a lonely patch of sunlight and slumped down onto the pavement with their backs against the crumbling brickwork of a typical Borough building. Onetooth immediately found something interesting in the dust to kick at with the heel of his shoe. “What we gonna do Casp?” All eyes turned to Casper. “We keep looking.” It was said with his last dregs of heroic determination. It was met with something more realistic. “I’m hungry though.” “Me too.” Somewhat belatedly, Lucas added: “Me three.” Casper, in the unfamiliar role of leader started to panic at the underlying dissent he was hearing. What would Finny do? Then he knew what Finny would do, what she always did, she’d make it all alright.” “We keep looking… but after we get something to eat.” His leadership role was immediately confirmed by the smiles; Casper stood up invigorated. “C’mon. Micky? Where do we get food from?” Micky climbed to his feet… sorry, foot, and brushed the dust off his threadbare trousers “I know, foller me.” Bill looked from Finny to Patrin, then back to Finny – whose eyes had narrowed to spiteful slits. “What do you mean… ‘marry’ you?” Patrin’s smile faded just a little in the face of brewing freckle-faced, red-haired anger. “Um… like your pa said?” “I don’t have a ‘pa’… I’m an orphan.” Patrin swallowed. Bill reached a hand up and politely pulled Finny sideways so he could whisper. “He means Joe.” Finny’s eyes remained on Patrin all the while her head was swivelling towards Bill, only snapping round to look into Bill’s at the last moment. “What?” The single word was said with the tone of ‘this better be good or else’. Bill Skye was a big man, and used to getting his own way because of it, but he looked into the emerald green slits and actually felt his sphincter tighten. “It was an arrangement… with Moira. You And Patrin…” He trailed off. Finny stood upright slowly; she spoke just as slowly. “Well. That’s not going to happen.” Her glare drilled into Patrin. “Is it?” Patrin shook his head. Finny turned to Bill. “Is it?” Bill’s sphincter relaxed as his grin grew. “I guess not.” The meeting in Beau’s broke up with Joe, for now, accepting that perhaps Moira Gold and her awful family had had no part in Finny’s disappearance. He was still calling it that, because the alternative scenario made his guts clench. And not just because of the implied threat from Kirsten, although her words absolutely underlined the seriousness of the whole situation. No, Joe was actually quite… fond... of Finny, and the other three he supposed, although fondness was a word he generally acquainted with children. Except for Annie of course, but what he felt for his little daughter went way beyond mere fondness. So Joe drove thoughtfully towards Trent’s Bookshop. When the bell on the door announced his arrival Mr Trent – they weren’t yet on first name terms – lifted his head. Joe’s appearance also attracted the attention of those customer’s who were now putting down whatever they had been looking at and making their orderly way out of the door he had just opened. Joe was used to this sort of thing. Mr Trent wasn’t and sighed at the lost revenue now walking out of his shop. “Mr Spivey. How can I help you today?” Joe was a regular customer, and a generous one. With luck, this might make up for the potential income the gangster’s arrival had cost him. Joe took the note he had shown Moira out of his pocket as he walked to the highly polished counter. Regularly polished by Finny, he thought with a twinge in his innards. Mr Trent took the note and read the few words out loud. “’The Golds are the ones that will not be blamed for nothing.’ Chilling words, aren’t they?” He handed the note back. Joe once again pocketed the slip of paper. His brows formed a confused question mark that would have been familiar to his better half Kirsten “What do you mean?” “Well… they’re actually a misquote, of course, from the words that had been chalked back in…” The shopkeeper searched the ceiling for the answer. “… ohhh, 1888 I believe, on the wall of an entrance way on Goulston Street. Anyway, there are various interpretations of the message but it is generally thought that i…” But Joe’s confusion grew. “Wait wait wait wait… What the f… what are you talking about?” Mr Trent smiled. It wasn’t often he got to show off his knowledge, “Whitechapel, Mr Spivey… Jack The Ripper!” The Finny Stories In chronological order: 000 Finny Intro 001 The Locket 002 Rats 003 A Christmas Finny 004 The Secret Adventurer’s Club 005 The Secret Adventurer’s Club: Second Adventure 006 Finny’s Birthday 007 Union Candy 008 Then There Were Three 009 Then There Were Four Again – Sort Of (WIP)