Shiv’s blade glittered in the light that leaked from the street. His hands were scarred; he’d been badged as a thief by the bluejackets before he’d smartened up. He was the best blade man in Southbridge, and the only one better in Ragmarket was a girlie—Cat Tyburn—who’d replaced Han as streetlord of the Raggers.

“You been doing business in Southbridge, and we want a whack of the takings. You’ve been told,” Shiv said. The rest of the Southies jostled forward, grinning.

“Look, I’m not the bag man,” Han said, falling into his old patter flash. “Who’d trust me with that kind of plate? I just deliver. They settle up on their own.”

“Product, then,” Shiv said, and the other Southies nodded enthusiastically. Like Shiv would be sharing.

Han kept his eyes on Shiv’s blade, adjusting his stance accordingly. “Lucius won’t pay a tariff or a dawb. And if I short anybody, I’m gone.”

“Fine by me,” Shiv said, grinning. “He’ll need somebody to take over. No reason it can’t be us.”

Oh yeah? Han thought. Lucius is particular about who he partners with. But now wasn’t the time to say it. “All right,” he said grudgingly, as if giving in. “Let me talk to him and I’ll see what we can work out.”

Shiv smiled. “Smart boy,” he said.

That must’ve been some sort of signal, because suddenly they were all over him. Shiv’s blade slashed up toward Han’s face, and when he parried that, those on either side seized his arms, slamming his wrist against the wall until he dropped his knife. Then an older boy, a southern islander, took to smashing Han’s head against the wall, and Han knew he’d be done, maybe for good, if the boy kept that up. So he went limp, dragging him to the ground. Shiv kicked him hard in the ribs and somebody else punched him in the face. Nasty but not deadly.

Finally he was yanked upright by the arms and held there while Shiv patted him down. Han resisted the temptation to spit in his face or kick him where it counted. He still hoped to survive the day.

“Where’s your stash?” Shiv demanded, turning out Han’s pockets. “Where’s all those diamonds and rubies and gold pieces everybody talks about?”

It would do no good to tell Shiv that the legendary stash never existed, save in street tales. “It’s gone,” Han said. “Spent, stolen, and given out in shares. I got nothing.”

“You got these.” Shiv scraped back Han’s sleeves, exposing the silver cuffs. “I heard you was a fancy boy, Cuffs.” Seizing Han’s right forearm, Shiv yanked at the bracelet, practically dislocating Han’s wrist. Furious, the gang leader pressed the tip of his knife into Han’s throat, and Han felt blood trickling under his shirt. “Take ’em off.”