“I am your partner, you know,” Winkle said. “How come you is issuing commands like some form of little Caesar?”

Riley decided to stake his claim right off. Winkle could swallow it or not as he pleased.

“I am the Great Savano, Master Winkle. I own the theater and the equipment, and I know where the gold is buried. If you want to work for me, then bully and do as yer bid. If not, then off back to the Old Nichol with your bones and smoke some wallpaper for yerself.”

Bob whistled. “Harsh, Riley. Harsh and cold. But them are good traits in a master and will keep the others from getting out of line. Also, the Great Savano. That has a real ring to it.”

“Thank you, Bob.” Riley paused. “Others? I can’t feed the entire rookery.”

“I know, but I have three brothers that need looking after. We come as a set, you see. All or none.”

“Who could split a fellow from his brothers?” said Riley. “That would be uncommon cruel. You should fetch them at once, and we will rendezvous at the Orient to draw up our plans. Can any of your brothers juggle?”

“Juggle?” said Bob, already crossing the road. “Why, Mr. Riley, they juggles each other.”

And he was off down an alley, making a direct line for the rookery, to break the news that the Winkles were saved from Old Nichol.

Riley walked on alone, casting furtive glances over his shoulder whenever a chill breeze cooled his forehead.

Garrick is gone, he told himself. Lost in the wormhole.

Lost in the wormhole? Could that be any more than a dream?

Chevie was no dream.

A beautiful maiden from an exotic land come to free him from the tyrant Garrick. It read like a dream and would make a capital novel.

The only thing missing is a dinosaur come back to life.

Riley walked on, realizing that it would be a long time before he could fully enjoy the sun on his face and ignore the chill.

Every stone kicked in an alley, every creak of wood on the stairway—I will hear and see Garrick everywhere.

But there would be a friend close by, and his brothers, and in time maybe his own brother.

Ginger Tom, he thought, I am coming, and oh, boy, do I have a tale to tell you.

Riley lifted the hem of his velvet cloak out of the city mud and gazed up at the triple span of the Holborn Viaduct, the city’s most impressive feat of modern architecture.

Home once more, he thought. Home to a new life.

Riley stepped around a toppled fruit cart and in seconds was lost in the morning throng of everyday folk doing their daily job of staying alive in London town.

Epilogue