Tom paced the floor of his apartment nervously. As he came back to his desk he looked at the his carefully written notes and sighed, Blast, Dursley! You couldn't wait four bloody weeks could you? I would have gotten you a judy, damnation man! Anything you wanted! He drained the glass of gin in his hand. There was no choice, Tom would have to get his nessecaries another way. He sighed again, took up his hat and cane and went out to make his inquiries.

London, 6PM, June 15th, 1870AD

It's one of those hot muggy London days. The sky is full of coalsmoke and haze. Chavies and crushers fill the streets, it's all just hugger-mugger. The Stackpole's are just starting up as Father Sol begins to slip below the horizon . All in all it's a lovely London evening.

---

Jacob Smith was trolling the public houses looking for leeds and such. Some times it was hard to catch dippers, rampsmen and gonophs. The Yard had been giving him the run around for almost a week now. And he was getting desperate. He ducked into O'Mally's gattering and spotted the mick behind the bar.

"Hallo me old son, fancy a daffy?" smiled the Irishman.

---

Dr. John Sebastian was just finishing his rounds in The Chapel when a chavy of about nine years approched him.

"Ello guv, got's a bit of postal fer yah" The child hands over a small neat envelope. Inside is a well written note on fine stationary.

Dear sir,
Do me the honor of coming to the Bull and Bear at Number 14 Micheal St. I may have a small opportunity for you.
T.

The child coughs as the doctor finishes reading, he is clearly waiting to be paid.

---

Charles Spencer rests from his most recent attempt at summoning. The sprit had clearly not wished to be summoned. The telly rings in the other end of the magician's garret. As soon as he picks up the instrument, Charles hears a familiar Orkish voice.

<Oi, Spence? I gotz a bit of a job fer yah iffin yer interested?>

---

Han Lo Yang watched as the last of the shipment was transferred from the ship. He rounded on the labourers handling the delicate silk.

"Han leave the men alone, they know their jobs by now. If they do not I will beat them until they do." The older Chinaman smiled cryptically.

"If you have some free time, I have heard from The Bruiser's men that there is a man looking for some, how do you say it 'muscle' in the city. Go, earn some money, I will send for you when we are ready to depart."

---

Martin St. North waited by the street corner. A fellow had promised him some ammuniton and he was late. Marty hated lateness in all forms. He adjusted his spectacles to make sure his cyber was not visable and chomped his cigar.

---

Alexander Dorn sat in his shop tinkering with his one of his numerous machines. A familiar figure entered the shop.

"Ello, guv. Howz tings?" the strangely garbed human spoke with a clear Cockney accent.

"That last bit of tinkering you did to ole Huff n' Puff got him running straight away. I hoid about a bit of work a cove is putting together. I thought I'd tell you 'bout it, on account I'm a bit short of fivers lately"

"Fine." The lean younger man crossed his arms to hide his balled fists. He was on the captain's ship, so he'd do as the man requested. They were, after all, not Han's workers to whip. He reminded himself they'd handled such material before, and surely would again. And if it was damaged, it would be the captain, not he, who bore the brunt of his Uncle's displeasure. "I'll be by before the outbound shipment is loaded, to see things run smoothly and handle the necessary bribes."

"And I'll go see this Bruiser, in the meantime." His tongue was still clumsy with the English, and he ached to revert to his graceful home language; but he knows he and the captain, both, need the practice. His accent wasn't why the next words come haltingly or grudgingly, anyways. "You'll get your ten percent before you sail for home."

The man London's underworld calls The Hand turned, leather overcoat's tails snapping with the abruptness of the motion, and strode off into the fog. He was off to see a man about some violence.

Wiping a bit of cold sweat from his brow, and glancing around the room one last time to make sure the entity really had departed, Spence answered;

Yeah? What kind Mac? This better not be like that hearth spirit back on Vine street.

Even thinking about the mess made Spence wince. Nothing worst than a poltergeist, except maybe one that had decided to reside in the home of an angry drunk. Both were feeding off of each other's tension, and taking it out on Spence of course, when he couldn't banish either from the home. The flying chamber pot had been the last straw.

"Thank you for the prompt delivery, child" Dr. John Sebastian says, folding the note carefully and slipping it into his pocket. He flicked the child the first coin his hand settled on and watched the teviss spin through the air. The child, catching it easily, dashes back into the crowd.

Hopefully I'll have more soon. I hope this "opportunity" makes up for that lapse of sense.

John quickly turned around headed back the way he came, knowing that to be the fastest route to Michael St. Glancing at the setting sun, he could only wonder what kind of person on what kind of night would require his services.

You must have been to mass recently my man. You are speaking like a heaven sent messenger. I would indeed take you up on the daffy.
Picking up his drink Jacob nods to the Irishman and asks, Heard anything lately that could help an old friend?

Martin St.North look around the streets searching his contact and now he was impatient, he checked the time from his pocketwatch and glanced around again, seeing normal street life but no contact. Where in the hell this cove is, this is last time when I'll listen or trust him after this.

"Shit! I'd never think he was playing the crooked cross with me!" After words slipped from lips he realised that he said it aloud.

Impatient Marty tapped his foot to the pavement and hes mouth was dry
I will have a gatter before i'll go home. After this decision he moved towards pub named 'Bulls broken horns'.

Han Lo walked the docks, looking for the Shippers Union men. Finally he found a few rough looking stevedores.

"Well, well. Iffin it ain't 'The Hand'? How goes it, Chineeman?"says one of the larger ones. Han recognizes him as "Black Jack" Redmond, a favorite tool of Stenwick's. And a long time rival for the most violent man on the docks.

---

<Nah, noffing like that. Jest a bit of a lay. You heard of "Doubting" Thomas? The cracksman? Word is e's got 'iself a bit of lavender and needs a bit o' help. You want in?>

---

Dr. Sebastian found The Bull and Bear with little trouble. As he entered the public house the smells of urine, vomit and drink assaulted his nose. But then he was used to this sort of thing.

---

O'Mally smiles as he pours the man a drink. "Now I don't know, old son. O'Mally keeps his hands clean. Me old ears thou, ah that's a diffent story. Heard a cove named Brookes might be putting-up for a lay. Question is, you going play miltonian or have a go at holding a candle to the devil?"

---

A short round man puffs his way up the street toward St. North. Finally he approaches the soldier. "You St. North?" asks the round cove. Got yer shipment right here. he puffs.

---

As Bismarck stands on the strret corner waiting for his fellow cracksman he sighs. The last job this fool had set him up with was a coopered ken and no bone lay. He considered sending the glock a package full of lovely ha'penny nails and explosives.

---

Prof. Pendington was relaxing in his posh apartment, when he heard a knock at the door. When he answered the door Pendington saw it was Jacko the local rat catcher.

"Hallo guv. How's fings? You gonna stand there gawping at me or can I come in?"

Flicking his eyes about the room, Dr. Sebastian knew that it would soon begin to fill with people. Sunset always brings out the best in man.

Walking up to the proprieter of the pub while pulling the note out of his pocket, John inquires softly, "I was told to meet a man named 'T' here. Do you know of his whereabouts?"

'At last' Marty thinks and turns to the man. He's relaxed but still ready to take action. Then Marty looks at this round man and answers to him, his voice it's threatening this time "You are late! But yes, I'm St.North give it to me, now!"

Good question.

Any idea on what is happening?

His gaze sternly focused on the complex joint he extracted out of one of his robots,
Alexander N. Dorn reacts to his good friends' arrival:
"Ah, Mr. Bickle, what a lucky occurrence that you show up today. This morning I had a great idea for getting more power out of your engine with only minor adjustments to the secondary valves...and your steamwagon is running smoothly, I suppose?"
This performance is not tolerable! According to my calculations it should be able to bend 5 degrees more along this axis without increasing the strain on that brace...
Exhaling with a deep sigh, the dwarf eventually looked up, removing his goggles, his conscious mind processing the message of his visitor at last.

"...You mentioned work?"

Spence rubs the bridge of his brow to try and soothe his head ache from the drain.

"Doubting Thomas"? Doesn't ring any bells. Have any information on the man? I think I'm in, as long as he's not some psychopath.

'Oh what a hell I'm letting this cove too easy. No way, he's gonna offer me some gutter.' Martin St.North was thinking and smiled afterwards "Let me see the shipment..." he pauses for a second until continues, pointing towards pub "Over there, in 'Bulls broken horns' pub. You gonna buy one gutter for me while I check the merchandise"

Prof. Arthur Pendington stood momentarily in his silk robe and embroidered smoking cap, sucking on his pipe in mild irritation.

How, in this day and age of technological marvel and convieniance does an individual see fit to interrupt a man's liesure time unannounced, rather than pick up a telephone? This had better be important.

Arthur then smiled then stepped back from the door and gestured the boy inside.

"Ofcourse. Coat?"

The boy looked familiar, no doubt an aquaintance of Tom's judging from his appearance. Arthur made his way back over to his arm chair, playing up his 'imperfect' cyberleg as usual, stopping to stoke the fire. He placed his walking stick against the side of the chair in easy reach, and closed the book he had been reading being sure to mark his place, and set it aside. Finally he looked up and puffed on his pipe again.

"Well my boy, how may I be of service to you?"

Bismarck tapped his foot softly against the pavement and flexed his fingers, focusing on the soft whirring sound.

If I used two kilograms of explosive, and a further two kilograms of nails, the resulting shrapnel and explosion would reduce him to a red smear...

He smiled under his mask and continued thinking.

The barman raised an eye at Dr. Sebastian "T? What sorta handle is that I ask you...." He trails off. A look of comprehension dawns on his rough face "Ahooh, you mean old Tom, sure, sure, he's not 'ere yet gov, but 'e said that anyone come asking fer 'im was ta go round ta one o' the snugs. Just back there, guv.The publican waves a hand toward the gloomy rear of the house. "Fancy a figgen? Tom said it was him whut be settlin' the accounts."

---

The portly man shifts under St. North's withering attack. "Sorry mate. I had a bit of problems wif an eelskinner. I sorted it out. Sure I could go fer a daffy o' reeb, you a reeb man, or you prefer a tot o' gin? Now that he has apologized he seems less nervous. He leads the way to the local pub.

---

O'Mally shrugs his broad shoulders "You know how it is. Evey magsman and gutter snipe thinks he's going a' be the next Pierce. But I might have heard." He stops in the middle of his sentence as a small fracas erupts at the other end of the bar. He holds a finger up to say "wait a moment" "OI! You lot, a little less chat if you please" He turns back to Smith "Sorry old son. The flash crowd like a' fink I'm a bit of alright. He shrugs again. Like I was saying, old Brookes was pretty tight. Never did hear what 'e had in mind, but... He stops again as the argument now seems to include a high pitched feminine voice. The Irisher makes a face and motions for Smith to remain seated. As he goes to the other end of the bar an oak shillelagh appears in his hand. He engages in a small shouting match with the men. Finally one of the toughs attempts to hit him. And fails, as the mick catches the drunken swing and lays the cove's hand flat on the bar. In a single fluid move the club come up and then comes down on the glock's hand, hard. A sharp crack is heard throughout the pub. There is a sudden intake of air from every one as they all seem to wince in unison. On his way back to Smith the old Irish stick seems to vanish again.

"Sorry, 'bout that old son. My da 'd have my hide iffen I ever raised a hand to a buor. No respec', the youf o' t'day, I tell you. His accent seems thicker than normal. "As I was sayin' Brookes 'ad a screwsman name a Dursley, and Dursley was a mite blowy, an 'e said that Brookes was makin' a ream flash pull. Never could get what out of 'im. An' now old Dursley in the Steel fer 'avin a go at some posh gel. 'E tried a' dab it up wiff 'er and the crushers was on him lickety split. So I imagine old Brookes is lookin' fer a new screwsman. 14 Micheal iffin you're interested. Whoops 'ere come the supper crowd. Four an ha'penny fer the daffy. Chat ya later old son." The mick left Smith to tend to his other hungry customers.

---

Thomas Brookes, mate. The cove what pulled the Gren'ich pay roll back in '68? The papers was full of 'im. Crusher's didn't know it was him mind, but those in the know, we know it was 'im mate. Oh aye, was old Tom iself. Number 14 Micheal The Bull and Bear if your in, tell the barman your for Tom, e'll know. Awww, confound it. Look mate I gotta run, some glock jest spilt a ha' galleon o' someot sticky an green. There is a click as the Ork disconnects.

---

"Oh yah, guv. Some cove name a' Brookes is needin some coves a make a pull. And the pogue is huge mate. Kin you imagine, bags an bags o' money. Heaps an Piles and....Bickle seems to drift off into some dreamland of unlimited wealth. "Sorry, guv. From what I hear the round up is down on Micheal St. at The Bull and Bear. Number 14. I kin drive you iffin you want?"

---

The boy looks around the apartment. "Cor blimey! Tom wern't gulling me none! You must have chink comin out yer ears guv!" He seems enthraled by the display of wealth. "Nah, don't want yer ta get yer hands dirty on my account, sides I ain't stayin' gots lots o' little beggers ta catch. Tom said you was 'avin a bit of hard times. Thou I can't see how", the boy whistles sharply. "Cove I know, said there's bit of a round up at The Bull and Bear over on Micheal St. Number 14 I fink 'e said. Ask fer Tom at the tap. And I'm off." With one longing glance at the apartment the youth lets himself out.

---

Finally the cove appears on the corner. "Oi, Bismarck howz fings? Look mate I'm proper apologetic about last time. An' ta show you how sorry I am, I'v got a proper lay fer ya. You recollect old "Doubting Tom"? The cracker? Looks like 'es at it again. 'Es in a proper hurry this time. Word is 'e need a few coves fer a straight away pull. The Bull an Bear over on Micheal. Number 14. Ask fer im at the tap an the publican 'll set you on ta him. Look, mate I'd love a chat but I gotta be off." With a final nervous glance at the man the other cove ran off. It was almost as thou he was afraid of you.

Bismarck nods a curt reply to the cove, and walks over to the The Bull and the Bear, enjoying the lack of rain and somewhat deserted streets.

He'd better not have been deadlurk about that pull, I'm running out of chink.

Bismarck reaches up and pulls the door open, feeling the vent in his neck pump out steam. He heads over to the publican and taps on the bar.

Tom?

John looks to the darkened are of the bar, barely making out the accomodations before turning back to the barkeep. "Yes, I could do with a stiff drink. When this Tom appears, please point him in my direction," he says, gathering his drink and moving into the shadows.

The man at the tap reacts badly to the sight of a machine man standing in his gatter. Umm.... right, mate back there. He waves nervously at the the rear of the pub. Get you a figgin? He tries valiantly to recover his nerve.

---

The barman nods at the doctor No doubt guv, no doubt. Tom's on 'is way. What'll you have?

---

Black Jack frowns at the Easterner. "Work, fer you? I doubt it. Any fing Bruiser wants done, I do it. He seems smug in his position and clearly unconcerned. But tha Bruiser's holding court, down a ways on the Standish side as usual. Course, a bright cove like you knew that aready ain't ee?"

Wait! MIc , what ti... ... click...

..me .... Damnit! Never told me the time! Am I just supposed to sit there all day?!

Spence sets the phone down and paces the room back and forth for a bit

I can't just show up there at some random time ... they'll think I'm a nutter for sure.

He paces some more acros his cold wood floors, still muttering to himself, holding his chin with his fingertips, looking rather pensive.

Or worst, they might think I'm some sort of .... well what if they .... oh hell.... Perhaps I should just send a ... no , no, that'll never work. To high profile ... wish I had his number ...Wait I do have his number!

Spence races over to his wardrobe, rifling around in it until he eventually pulls out his comm device. He fumbles with the buttons and switches for a good five minutes until he finally manages to get it to cal mandungis. By accident of course.

Mandungis Es stultior asino! What the hell time am I supposed to be there!?

Arthur mused thoughtfully for a moment. He was often amazed how those of lesser means were so easily impressed by any apparent display of wealth. Some ornate furniture, a fine portrait in a guilded frame, a persian rug and all of a sudden they assume you must have access to the Royal Treasury itself! And how they bend over in politeness in hopes that some of that wealth might come their way.

It's what seperates a gentlemen from a commoner, I suppose.

Ofcourse wealth had little to do with being a gentlemen, it was how one carried himself that mattered, though to say there was no corrolation between the two at all, would be naive.

Arthur then sprung from his chair and headed to the telephone, and after checking the list of numbers next to it and placed a call.

<Hello? Yes, could you please send a cab to 112 Chandler Street? 15 minutes? Yes, that will be fine, thank you.>

Arthur then made his way upstairs to change, and again his mind turned to the young man's comments. Indeed he had many the trappings of wealth, but to keep in this lifestyle to which he had become accustomed, and more importantly to fund his research, was not cheap and though not an immediate concern, he was running low on funds. And barring being given tenure somewhere he saw little option but to accept what work he could.

Perhaps I should think about investing some, shoud the takings from this next endeavour prove fruitful?

I suppose that God helps those who help themselves. The monks would tell me not to worry about it as long as no being got hurt. Funny folks those monks.

Jacob places the coin on the bar and drains the rest of his drink. He heads out the door and angles for 14 Michael Street. Along the way he passes a dollymop no older than 16.

I would say that it is sad; however, I suppose that is how Helen got started and she knows things that few others know.

Upon reaching the address in question, Jacob heads in.

Mandungis picks up with a shout Oi, yah gotta corral it, ere circle round and nab it would yah! What's 'at Spence time? Ah sorry, old top. Today mate, quick as yah can. Old Tom 'll more'n likely be late. *CRASH* Oi, yah gotta hang on to it! Stop breaking me wares yah daft, glock, son of a troll. Yah Tom is a blighter but es always good fer a finny er two. Before eight I'd say. It weren't real clear. CAN YOU NOT GET HOLD OF A LOUSY, PILE OF GOO, YOU BLOODY SOD! Look mate, I hate to run but iffin I don't this fing is going to put me out on the street. Blimey I wish you was here. Run fer it mate er grab a coach. Before eight mind. WILL YOU STOP MAKING THAT WRETCHED SOUND YOU DIRTY ROTTEN... *click* Mandungis hangs up again. This time Spence was almost glad he had. It sounded like there was a full blown war going on in the talisman shop. He would have to swing by and see if Mandungis was alright, later of course.

---

As Jacob enters the gattering it is clear this place is far below O'Mally's neat and well run establishment, there are fights breaking out everywhere and a strange scent pervades the room. Cat's urine, man's vomit, was that blood? A sharp burst of coughing anounces the presence of a consumptive in the corner.

---

The coach arrives at Prof. Pendingtion's home in short order and he is delighted to see that it is one of the new "steam wagons" that the local's have been raving about. The machine seems to run soothly and well to the appointed detination. "Oi, we're 'ere guv, thats six quid. A guinea 'll keep me waiting fer yah iffin yha like?"

John grins at the barkeep. "If another chap is paying, It would be rude of me not to accept the offer. I'll have a glass of your best mulled wine."

"Thank you." There was no need for Han to be rude, was there? He'd asked a question and gotten the answer he needed. Whether Black Jack knew it or not, The Hand had just beaten him in a fight. The elf keeps his tone clipped and formal, his English as textbook-perfect as only textbook learning can make it.

"Then I'm off to speak with him, and we will see which of us is correct where business is concerned." The Celestial gives Redmond a head tilt that could be taken as a bow, casually ignores the men flanking him, and walks off in search of illicit employment. Down a ways, on the Standish side.

Martin follows him and lets the cove lead him in the pub, as they get closer Martin says "Gin is fine! I'll check this mercahdise and you could tell me some fresh news" and shrugs a little bit. In pub Marty stops to the doorsteps, checks the area quickly and after that, follows his partner to the table, sits and starts checkin this merchandise front of him. After tasting his gin he looks cove in his eyes "Ahhh good stuff!" and wipes his mouth with white handkerchief before he continues "So tell me something. Start talkin, loosen up your tongue" after that Martin smiles.

Bismarck shakes his head slightly.

"No."

He heads to the area waved to, and looks for Tom.

As Han entered the warehouse his eyes adjusted to the dim light. It was a simple empty warehouse. What made it special was the fact that seated on a crude wooden throne in the middle of the boxes was a large heavy set man. From the scars and other marks this man had made a living with his fists. Benny Stenwick, "The Bruiser" lord and master of the London docks. Han of course did not fear the brute. He knew that The Bruiser was more puff than punch these days. The middle aged rough noticed the Easterner Well, looky here lads, my very best customer. He smiles and motions for Han to approach. Everything alright Mister Yan? Any complaints from Chinaland? The bottle of cheap gin in his hand and the cigar in his mouth reveals why the Bruiser is in such a good mood today.

---

The barman motions to the rear room. Fillin' up right quick, guv. Fancy a figgen, Tom said it's on 'im.

---

Thje portly man sighs and hands St. North a box wrapped in butchers paper. Best not open 'er up in 'ere mate. Lesse, whats to do? Ah I have it, You ever 'ear of a cove name a Brookes?

---

As each man enters the snug, the odors from the front part of the gattering seem to fall away as does much of the noise. It's simple room with a low table and about ten chairs. All in all it appears to kept in much better condition than the rest of the public house. The low burning gaslamps throw poor illumination around the room. The wooden floor creaks under foot.

Bags and bags of money...
Alexander Dorn could certainly imagine them.
And although he knew that Travis' imagination was rather ...'vivid', a quick mental approximation of his current funds made it painfully clear that a share of ...heaps and piles and...
I need that job!
The decision came swiftly. He might prefer working in his shop, inventing and constructing, eager customers queuing, admired by the public, his genius acknowledged by the scientific community, his inventions stupefying ...everyone, filling them with AWE!
But reality was different.
And his financial situation would become dire all too soon when the occasional repair jobs of ...simple contraptions ...these boring steam engines, clocks and watches remained his only source of income.
"Alright, let's give it a try, Mr. Bickle. I just need to get changed, but I'll be with you momentarily."
As Travis went into the backyard to fire up his steamwagon again, Alexander went upstairs, where he removed his coverall, reflecting:
Michael Street, he said...not the best part of London for sure. I'd better come prepared for... It occured to him that he had no idea about what was going on in the shadier districts. ...well, whatever I might be running into. I just need to pack accordingly.
Donning his discreetly armored vest and some clothes he considered not looking too well-off, he reached for his monocle, walking cane and a sturdy bag and went back downstairs to fill it with 2 of his tried portable devices.
This will come in handy just about anywhere ...and that, well I sure hope I don't need to activate that, but in case I'll prefer to have it with me.
Finished with his preparations Alexander closed his shop, climbed onto the steamwagon, asking:
"So, what's been going on around here lately?"
And that's all it took to spark a long oration, destination unknown, because Travis Bickle was a cornucopia of information, sometimes useful, often entertaining and always plentiful, so he'd provide the talking during their trip.
And that's the way both men were most comfortable with.

Why? Martin thinks and looks at box "Why not? Don't you want me to check the merchandice or what. I can handle ammunition" Martin handles box with cautious and doesn't take papers of f, yet. "So what this cove, Brookes never heard. What are we talking?" Martin stares straight to coves eyes and makes desision if coves story sounds solid and true.

Bismarck steps as lightly as he can on the creaking floor, not wanting to crash through it. He picks out a spot near the door and stands up, waiting for others to enter the room.

The cove pales as St. North question his wares, and starts poking at the wrapping. "Blimey, mate you trying to bring the crushers down on us er sumat? You kin do that on yer own blinkin' time. I'll not be pinched. Iffin yah must know it's come straight from a cove what had em fall of a soldiers wagin" He mops his brow nervously.

He shifts in his seat. Thomas Brookes, the cracksman, mate? How long you bin in the Stink? E's done a fair number a pulls around the city. Ere, there, everywhere. Some coves er saying e's tha next Pierce.

Spence walks in to the pub , checking his timepiece to confirm he made it by 7:30. It wouldn't do to be late to this sort of appointment, even if this 'Doubting Thomas' was. He put his umbrella into the stand as he walked in. Always was best to be prepared in London lately. Looking around the room, and feeling a bit out of place in his tweed suit and bowler hat, he thought maybe the umbrella made him stand out just a bit too much.

Best to get his over with I suppose

Spence strode over to the bar, what he hoped came across as confidently, and leaned against it with one elbow, trying to look like a "regular gent."

Good day Sir. Uh ... 'Oi'. I am looking for a Mr Thomas. Would you know where I can find him?

He smiled in his best "I belong here" smile.

Bismarck looks around the room, switching out the various lenses in his eyes and watching the assembled people transform into hazy orange shapes, and then the mirrored lenses that improve vision in darkness. He settles on these, and looks over the people assembled.

Whats that cove looking at? Never seen a machineman before? Heh.

"Guten abend.", he says to Arthur, raising his hand in greeting.

Martin sips his gin and sighs before continues "Ah, you meant Thomas Brookes." Who the hell this Brookes cove is, never heard of him? and lies back, still lookin cove in his eyes "Not long, you could say not long, but yes I have heard Thomas Brookes. I'll heard great deal of him but still you could fill some blanks." Martin stops inspecting this box and puts it to the table and left hand holds it while right hand points towards cove "So what about this Thomas Brookes? Dont play with me, my schedules were ruined beacause of you. So I have time to listen your tales or do you have something else for me?"

The barman looked Spence, the square-rigged cove up and down. Lad, iffin yah can't vokker romany, don't. But Old Tom 'll be here in a few. Have a drink? Tom's settlin' up tonight."

---

The Bruiser smiled at the Chinese. "Ole what's 'is nuts, tell ye that did 'e?" He smiles and sips his gin. "Twern't me what the job is fer. Cove name a Brookes is goin' about roundin up some chaps fer a pull. Tain't likely up yer street but it's sumat ta do, till yer ship sets eh?" The heavy set fellow shifts and turns around, "Oi! Rat, get yer arse out 'ere! A small man approaches the Bruisers throne. His face reflects exactly why everyone calls him Rat. The beady eyes, the shifting mouth. Han has always half expected this particular man to start chewing on anything convenient. Rat, where was the Brookes cove getting his round up together? asks Bruiser. 'Es over on Micheal St. The Bull and Bear Number 14. Mr Stenwick whines the reedy voice of the man called Rat. There ya be Master Yan. Have a proper pull. And tell yer fellows over in Chinaland, Bruiser always keeps 'is word. Any questions ya ken ask Ratto 'ere He waves a hand dismissively. And turns back to his bottle.

---

The fat man shifted in his seat. It was now clear to St. North that the round man was afraid of him. "Look mate. Tom is gettin' up a pull. Prolly a fair sized pogue iffin yah ask me. Back in '68 'es the cove what pulled the Gren'ich payroll. An that was twenty grand. The round up is over on Micheal St. The Bull and Bear pub. Number 14 I fink. Now iffin yah don't mind guv, I gott be off er me other customers 'll be askin me why I'm late. the round cove makes a move to leave.

---

As Alexander gets into Bickle's steam wagon. The odd chap begins one of his convaluted stories. " I 'eard sumat kinda funny the offer day, guv. You know Lola Chantes? The frog chaunter? Yah well, this bloke was telling me she's bin dabbbin it up wif 'er sister

He pulls away from the curb with a roar and puff of steam, his voice carrying with conviction and passion....

"An, thats why the royal family needs a be trimmed. Here we are guv 14 Micheal St. Tell yah whut guv. Since I owes you a few quid on ole Huff n' Puff 'ere this un's on me." He helps the dwarf down from the cab. Be seeing ya guv. He pulls away from the bar.

"Any questions I have, I do not doubt, will be for Mr Brookes. Not you." The Rat was not only unpleasant to look upon, but the mewling sycophant was simply unpleasant to be around. Speaking to him left a bad taste in Han's mouth, but he didn't quite curl his lip as he dismissed the man. His attention returned to The Bruiser. "Michael Street, fourteen. The Bull and Bear. I will find it. And I will continue to spread the word of your...trustworthiness."

Han's head dips again in what passes for a bow, his glossy black hair -- pulled back in a tight braid that reached to the small of his back -- jumping and bouncing along his spine as he did so. He takes two steps backwards, turns and strides off into the infamous London fog.

He knew vaguely of the neighborhood, and knew it wasn't one of London's finer. He wasn't concerned, though. While he might respect a few that had clawed their way to positions of prominence, while he might show politeness towards them for the benefit of his Uncle's business, few people, few Western criminals, genuinely intimidated him. His silk-slippered carry him to Michael street quickly, hopping nimbly from cobble to cobble when possible -- a fool's errand, no one could keep their feet clean in his miserable place, but the Celestial was fastidious by nature -- to avoid puddles.

It is not long before he is outside the gaslit entrance to the disreputable Bull and Bear. He spares the rickety sign out front the barest of glance, spares the doorman no notice at all, and strides inside. His Elf-height and Chinese blood are at odds, some times, but the end result his that he's little taller than most Londoners; nevertheless, he must stoop a bit at the mantle to avoid a most ignoble lump on his forehead.

His eyes adjust instantly to the place's murky interior, of course, and it doesn't take him but a moment to pad his way towards the place's barman.

"I am looking for a Mr. Brookes." The request -- demand? -- comes with another polite little half-bow.

...astounding. Should these rumours really prove to be true, then this would indeed be a scandal of the likes we haven't had in decades. And with the involvement of nobility...but they wouldn't dare doing that, would they?...the effects on their reputation...the entire society could...unspeakable...and unlikely...

Slightly disturbed, Alexander Dorn got down from the steam wagon, still trying to puzzle it out.

...yet vigilance was never a sensible solution for anything...even Mr.Bickle wouldn't actually try...although, thinking about it in a certain state of mind, it does seem like a rational deduction...in a 'Travis' way of reasoning...
Feelings of doubt suddenly welling up inside him, he turned to his companion, calling out,
"Ah, Mr. Bic..." only to find him already steaming away down the street, turning a corner and gone.

"Nonsense! He wouldn't commit such a folly." The dwarf muttered, trying to reassure himself.

Remembering his business in this unpleasant part of town, he looked up to the taverns sign:
Right...'The Bull and Bear', now I just need to contact this Mr.Brookes...

Gripping his bag and cane tightly, he opened the door and took a determined step inside...
...to find his sensitive nose assaulted by a cloud of foul odour.
Nearly stumbling back onto the street, he tried to will the hideous olfactory input out of his mind while regaining his composure. And succeeded ...enough to quickly conduct his business here at least.

Stepping up to the bar, Alexander tried to get the pub owners' attention, which wasn't easy with a human-sized counter in a noisy place.
Eventually the barman turned to face him:

"Excuse me, sir. I wish to see Mr. Brookes. Could you point me in his direction please?"

"You may go!" Martin nods and waves his hand towards the door, when cove gets closer the door Martin continues in clear and sametime sharp voice "Next time be on time and talkin' bout time when this meetin' supposed to happen?" Martin nods again he'll remember me, thats for sure he smiled when cove ansvered and gave the meetin' time so Martin prepared to leave too.

Walkin out of pub Martin looks down the street Where the hell that place...ah now I remember Michael Street, fourteen. The Bull and Bear I've been there. I'll get there in no time. But Fran, o' my lovely sugarpie. What I'll tell you about this all...

Martin wrotes a short note explainin' something to his wife and stops some poor young chavy, and gives him note, the box and few pences "Here's note, a box and few donwer, deliver all of them to the Goldsmith road 28, ask St.North. On delivery you get few more downers. But don't fool around, i'll find you if i had"

Chavy looks Martin "Hell I'd done that for few flatch and puts his hand in the air. Martin looks down to chavy smiling and hands over both note and box. Oh, hell. What I'm doing. I'm late from my meet with my lovely wife and i'm going some mysterious meeting with mysterious chummers
Chavy takes the note and box, lookin Martin but after gettin' downer hes running fast. After this Martin looks after and takes coach on fly, after sitting in coach says Michael street, fourteen. The Bull and Bear.

Martin sits and watches the street from coach, payin' no attention to the coacher until they there. "Thats six quid said the coacher and Martin paid it.

Standin' front of the Bull and Bear pub Martin checks the surroundings before he walks in. Letting his eyes adjust the smoky and dark pub he checks the inside (includin' customers) and walks to the bartenter "mr. Brookes? Where can I find him?" words comes out in cold and sharp tone.

As each man enters the pub the bar man shrugs and waves in the direction of the rear room. Around the back, fancy a gatter, or tightner? We've got pasties a comin' in a few. It's all on ole Tom.
I'll break 'is fingers if it ain't

Martin shakes his head "Gatter and make sure it's best you got! Not that watery one you normally serve!" and points to the rear room.
He stops in the doorstep before enters in the room, hand on the knife's handle under the jacket.

Man standin' in doorway is in his early twenties , he has black round glasses coverin' his eyes, thin face, no facehair, his posture is firm and steady. He wears pretty expencive tailormade suit under long leathery jacket. His right hand is under jacket and his head turns, maybe checkin the area, just a little before he enters the room.

His eyes adjust quickly to the dim lights so he sees well he checks everyone in room and starts in commandin voice (thats one thing what he learned in army) "Good day to all" he walks towards center of the room while continuin' "Mr. Brookes? I'm Martin St.North.", he stop in the center of the room waiting answer, but when there is no answer he nods to all (acting friendly but still distant and on guard).

Martin picks the golden pocket watch with left hand, checks the time and mutters something in low voice shakin' his head in disbelief, after this he continues "Does you know when this mr.Brookes will arrive?" Martin moves avay from the center of the room, he mingles with others, still keeping up his 'distant and somehow cold mask'.

Bismarck frowns when he recieves the reply in german, glad his gas mask hides the facial movement.

He knows German and he knows machines. Rotten limeys, his accent is horrible.

German:"Higher than anything you've seen, trust me."

As Martin stomps into the room, and announces himself, Bismarck looks over at him.

"Vhy? Is there somevere you'd rather be?", he asks, the mechanical whine in in his voice drowning out the tone of his voicebox.

Jacob enters the bar, looks around. Nods to the bartender when he thumbs to the back. He heads back to the back and looks around.

Evening all.

Interesting lot, these.

The man London's underbelly calls The Hand pads into the backroom, moving quietly on the balls of his slippered feet. His almond shaped eyes flick from man to man back here in the shadows and the smoke, but he says nothing. The Celestial elf sidesteps past the bulk of them, and contents himself to stand quietly in one corner, listening.