Malarkey jumped the last three steps, sending the hanging carcasses swinging on their chains. This man would be a character in any age. He wore leather breeches with pirate boots, no shirt covered his barrel chest, and his flowing black locks were barely contained by a shining silk top hat. Two revolvers hung in cowboy holsters on his hips, and in one massive meaty paw he swished a riding crop.

“You show some considerable talent, boy,” he said, his booming voice bouncing off the ceiling. “Of course that glocky tree stump, Jeeves, screwed on yer bracelets rump-ways. I could use you in the Rams. With that clean mush and full set of teeth, you would make a fine burglar boy for the genteel jobs up at Mayfair and the likes, where my oafs attract peelers like horse biscuits attract flies.”

Malarkey stepped forth, emerging from the shadows, and Chevie noticed a ram’s head tattoo on his shoulder and a pricelist on his chest that read:

Punching_2 shillings
Both eyes blacked_4 shillings
Nose and jaw broke_10 shillings
Jacked out (knocked out with a blackjack)_15 shillings
Ear chewed off_same as previous
Leg or arm broke_19 shillings
Shot in leg_25 shillings
Stab_same as previous
Doing the Big Job_3 pounds and up

Malarkey noticed her gaze. “Some of the diverse services offered by the Rams. Of course my prices have elevated with my stature. I’ve been meaning to update the ink since they booted me from Little Saltee prison. I was king of that dung heap.” He spread his muscled arms wide. “Now I am king of the greatest dung heap on earth.”

Riley circled the giant warily. “What is your interest in us, Mr. Malarkey? Why were the Rams keeping eyes on that particular basement?”

Malarkey kicked Riley’s vacated chair, sending it skittering across the floor.

“Cheeky cur, posing questions to me in my own gentlemen’s club. The Rams took a contract to murder anyone who showed up in that lurk. For two years now we’ve been pocketing quite a stipend for doing nothing but keeping an eye, and that’s all the information you’ll be needing on the subject.”

“Of course, sorry, guv’nor. My mistake.”

“Hark at him,” said Malarkey. “All manners and how-doyou-do. I suppose that’ll be the rearing I gave you. You being my kin and everything.” His chuckle was gruff with cigar smoke and whisky. “That’s a smart mouth you have on you, boy, and it kept the both of you alive. You are a deal smarter than the numbskulls who brought you in, saying you appeared in a puff of genie magic. I could have room for you in the Rams. The girl, however, seems less valuable.”

Otto squatted before Chevie, taking a lock of her hair between two fingers and sniffing it. “Mind you, you do have the glossiest hair, miss. How do you make it shine so?”