Julian drew a ragged breath. “You see, Matthew? To them … I was Fate incarnate. I was the killing cough … the lost position … the crushed hope … the death that comes riding in on a golden summer’s afternoon. I was everything that was ever wrong in the world, and they had had enough of wrongs. I understood that later, but not then. Just then, I was only thinking of getting my stumbling legs moving, because I did not want to die. What I wanted to live for, I didn’t know … but … there had to be something. And down an alley, with them closing in on me … I found it. A door in a wall opened and a man came out. He was holding an axe handle. He had seen it all from a window. In there, he said, and he motioned toward a dark room. He hit two or three of them as they got up closer. They retreated. I went into that dark room, to save my own life. It was the only choice Fate gave to me.”

Julian offered nothing more for a while, which prompted Matthew to ask, “This man worked for Mother Deare?”

“Far from it.” There was another long hesitation, while Julian obviously decided to go on with these revelations or not. Then: “He offered me protection and a job. Not much at first, just as a messenger. He was a rough, ugly man … but smart … and he saw that I could go places he could not. I could mingle with the wealthy. I could talk. I could hold a shilling in my palm and make someone see it as a sovereign. That was my gift, to blind people with their own greed. In time I met other people who were interested in me. They wanted me for other things. To talk my way into a room and steal something there … or use the knife or the pistol on someone’s enemy, to settle old scores. I did those things. I was paid well. I had a purpose.” He gave Matthew a tortured smile. “I’m a very fast learner,” he said, “and I became better skilled in time.”