“None is what you can manage,” Han muttered. “Don’t you get it? You’re outmatched. The only ones’ll be down on the bricks is you.”

“Then give us a job we can manage,” Sarie said, leaning forward so her nose was inches from Han’s.

The thing was, Han understood. In Ragmarket or Southbridge, you needed a crew and a gang lord with a plan and a reputation to survive. No matter what he or she asked of you, it was better than being on your own.

After a brief charged silence, Dancer spoke.

“This might help,” he said. He held up a beaten copper pendant, inscribed with Han’s Demon King gang sign—a vertical line with a zigzag across. “It’s a talisman, similar to the ones the Demonai wear. It will make them less noticeable to charmcasters, and less vulnerable to charms. It should protect them from anything other than a direct hit. I can make one for each of you.”

“All right,” Han said, giving in. “I’ll tell you the same as I told Cat—you can’t be having side jobs if you pledge to me. If you decide to leave, you tell me first and keep shut after. Until then, you do as I say. You can’t be picking and choosing the jobs you do. My street name is the Demon King. You use that name even when you think you’re free of snitches. You tell nobody where this place is; you don’t come here without good reason. You’ll meet up with the rest of the crew elsewhere.”

“How will we get in touch with you?” Sarie asked.

“You go through Cat, or leave messages under the sign at the market. I’ll do the same. You’ll have a place to sleep and plenty to eat and some jingle in your pockets, but nobody’s getting rich on shares. If you can’t live with that, walk away now.”

They didn’t. Instead, they went down on their knees and spoke the oath, using blood and spit to finish it.

“What do you want us to do?” Sarie asked, as soon as she was on her feet again.

“You know Ragmarket and everybody that lives here,” Han said. “Somebody’s trying to murder the princess—the Briar Rose—and he’s likely to be hiring again, since he just lost three assassins.”

Their eyes went big. “Blood of the demon!” Flinn said. “Who’d want to kill her? Folk in Ragmarket and Southbridge talk like the Briar Rose is a saint.”

“Them that are hiring are unlikely to be from our neighborhood,” Han said dryly. “But they may hire here, all the same. It’ll help that people like her. Talk to them you know are in the business. See if you can find out who’s looking for shoulder-tappers and bravos. They’ll be looking for quality and willing to pay a rum price.”