As the cadets shuffled to the back of the study, Raisa could hear the Ragger’s heart thumping against her back, feel his breath hot on her neck. He kept adjusting his grip on the knife as if he was nervous.

Don’t startle him, Raisa thought, looking from Amon to Averill to Jemson, sending messages with her eyes.

“I don’t mean to hurt anyone,” Cuffs said. “Just don’t mean to go to gaol and be tortured into admitting something I didn’t do.”

Raisa stiffened, and the boy’s grip on her tightened. “The Queen’s Guard doesn’t torture anybody,” she blurted. “You’ll receive a fair trial. If you’re innocent—if you really didn’t murder all those people—you can clear your name.”

The boy laughed softly. “Ah, girlie,” he said. “Would that was true. There’s lots that go into gaol and are never seen again.”

Raisa felt stupid and naive. What was it that Amon had said? If I was being dragged back to the guardhouse for interrogation by Mac Gillen, I’d do whatever it took to escape too.

Cuffs wrapped an arm around Raisa’s middle and dragged her past the others to the door of the study.

“Your keys, sir,” Cuffs said to Jemson. He was polite, well spoken, like the gentleman thief from the stories. “Hand them to the girlie.”

He has a trader face, Raisa thought. He puts it on at need.

“Hanson,” Speaker Jemson said. “This is a mistake. You know it is. You’re better than this. Let the girl go.”

Cuffs shook his head stubbornly. “I been in gaol. Not going back.”

Despite everything, Raisa couldn’t help wondering, what was the relationship between Speaker Jemson and this streetlord? Jemson seemed to know him, seemed to believe in him, for some reason. Maybe Hanson/Cuffs had fooled him, though the speaker didn’t come off as gullible.

Jemson dug in his pockets, fetched out a ring of keys, and passed them to Raisa while Cuffs kept her pinned tightly to him, her head locked under his chin, his knife in the ready position. Sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades, dampening her linen blouse.

“Please,” Jemson said again. “Don’t do this. There’s another way.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the boy said, and he did sound sorry. “If there’s another way, I don’t see it.”

Cuffs backed out through the doorway, dragging Raisa with him. “Now. Pull the door shut behind us and lock it,” he said, as if they were coconspirators. “That’ll slow them down a bit. Then give me the keys and we’ll be off.”

“No!” Amon shouted. “Leave the girl here. Take me instead.”

Cuffs looked from Raisa to Amon and shook his head, grinning. “Nuh-uh. I’m guessing she’ll be less trouble. And she’s prettier, besides.”

Trader face, Raisa thought.