After making sure everything was in order at the tinctury, Alden set out for the day with a very specific goal and destination in mind. He had no idea how the constabulary would go about finding stolen jewellery, and his professional experience as a tincturer certainly wasn’t any help. But he hadn’t always been a tincturer. After making a quick stop at a nearby coin changer and reluctantly paying the fee to change a pound coin into pennies, Alden headed towards a very specific portion of old London. This was a place without proper roads, a part of the city seemingly entirely made up of twisting alleys and byways. A labyrinthine mess of old, tiny houses and forgotten places. And to Alden, it was a place that radiated nostalgia. As he drew closer to his destination, he was unsurprised to find a pair of children barring his path. One of them was a girl of about eleven, the other a child of indeterminate gender who looked closer to six, and they both wore the crude, improvised badges of the Scabby Rascals. The Scabby Rascals weren’t a social club, of course. The Social Circle would never dream of approving club status for a bunch of children. But the Rascals didn’t care. They styled themselves as a club, with their own badge and rules and traditions, even if the badges were typically carved out of soap or scrap wood or, as in the case of the younger of the children now standing in front Alden, a piece of old root vegetable. In all honesty, the Rascals took their precepts and traditions far more seriously than most actual clubs. At least, that’s what it had been like thirty years ago. Alden very much hoped it was still the case. He smiled at the two children in front of him, patiently waiting for them to speak. “This road is closed.” The older girl said. “You’ll have to find another way, mister.” “You must not recognize me with the moustache.” Alden intoned solemnly. The younger child shot him a confused frown. “What moustache? You’re clean sha…” But the child didn’t get any further before the older girl grabbed them by the arm. “Don’t you know anything, Em? It’s code, dummy! Run back to The Place and tell Hakim there’s an Old Boy coming to visit.” The young child still looked confused, but obediently rushed off deeper into the labyrinthine mess of alleyways. “Sorry about Em.” The girl said. “It’s a new joiner, and hasn’t learned the ways yet.” “It?” The girl shrugged. “Em bites you if you call it a boy or a girl or he or she, but ‘child’ and ‘it’ and ‘they’ doesn’t make it angry.” Alden nodded solemnly. “I take it you’ve been bitten a lot.” The girl grimaced. “More than enough. I don’t know where Em ran away from, but it’s probably happier here. It won’t even go to one of Her Majesty’s orphanages, so it’s sleeping in The Place.” “Really? Whyever not?” “Couldn’t say. But I think it might be scared someone is looking for it. We don’t even know what its name was. Hakim just started calling it Em because not having a name for it was too confusing.” “I take it Hakim is the Barker, then?” The girl snorted. “You must be older than I thought, Old Boy.” “I’m forty-two!” Alden retorted, feeling just a little offended. “Goodness. Do you need a walking stick, grandpa?” Before Alden could give the girl a piece of his mind, a piercing whistled signal cut through the air. The girl turned to him to explain, but Alden was already moving, heading deeper into the sprawl with confident steps. He might be old, but he wasn’t so old he’d forgotten the Rascal whistles. He’d never be that old. And this whistle meant the Rascals were inviting him in. With sure steps guided by indelible memory, Alden made his way through the twisting maze of cramped little passages. Not that it would have mattered if he had forgotten the way. The Rascals were a curious lot by nature, and a bunch of children were congregating on The Place to see what the whistle had been all about. When he finally made his way to the ancient, long-abandoned warehouse known as The Place, he found himself crowded by dozens of children of every size, shape and colour. Most of them were probably orphans or abandoned children. Her Majesty’s orphanages offered meals and a place to sleep to any child below the age of sixteen who might need it, but beyond a curfew, basic schooling and some chores, the children were allowed to use their time however they saw fit. Some of them stayed in the orphanages all day, and some of them might even go for the work-placement programs the orphanages offered, but most of them ended up running with the Rascals. Not that all Rascals were orphans. Plenty of children from the poorer parts of London ended up with the Rascals at some point. Alden himself had been the only child of two factory workers, back in the days before the labour law reforms. His parents never came home before six in the evening, leaving Alden with little to do in the hours after the public schoolhouse shut its doors at noon. Even now, he still counted falling in with the Rascals as one of the best things that ever happened to him. He was broken from his musings when a handsome lad of about fifteen emerged from a back room of the dimly lit warehouse. The boy sported plenty of small scars and his clothes were dirty and torn, but the unscarred portions of his dark-brown skin gleamed even in the low light and his rakish smile shone in white and gold. The fact that the boy had been able to afford two gold teeth spoke volumes of his success as a Rascal. “You must be Hakim.” Alden said, noting how the other Rascals reacted to the boy’s presence. “So I am. Hakim the Golden, second Barker of the Rascals.” Alden frowned in confusion. “Second Barker?” “Times have changed, Old Boy. There are more than three thousand active Rascals. Far too many for a single Barker, or to fit them all in The Place. We’ve spread out, and now Rascals run not just from The Place but also from The Hole, The Hut, The Top and The Sump, each of which has a Barker of their own. And we all heed the call of the First Barker.” “Times really have changed. Back in my day, we didn’t even number five hundred active Rascals.” “Her Majesty’s Orphanages are ever filling up, and from there, so are our ranks. But some formalities are in order. Identify yourself, Old Boy.” “Alden Stowe. Scabbed in the year of the Drowned Cat, full Rascal in the year of the Horse Apple.” The way the Rascals counter years was purposely nonsensical. Every year on New Year’s Day, the Rascals voted on a name for the coming year. It had no system or logic behind it, and because of this, it didn’t make sense to anybody but a Rascal. Even an Old Boy like Alden had no idea what year it currently was by Rascal reckoning. But Hakim nodded and turned to the girl next to him. She was two or three years younger than he, and clearly of far eastern descent. In fact, almost a third of the gathered children looked to be far eastern, which seemed a little odd to Alden. Then again, he had noticed a lot of far eastern children on the streets lately… “Li Hua, fetch the Roll for the year of the Drowned Cat.” The girl nodded and scampered off deeper into the ancient warehouse. Before long, she returned carrying a ‘book’ made from a huge stack of scrap paper crudely bound together with string. In it would be the full record of every rascal inducted as a Scabby in a particular year, sorted alphabetically by name. Although Alden couldn’t help but wonder how it worked now that there were multiple places the Rascals called home. Did they copy the Rolls to make sure each location had all the information on hand? That seemed like a not insignificant amount of work, especially if there were more than three thousand rascals now. Alden pondered the issue as Hakim flipped through the brittle, uneven pages. “Here we are. Alden Stowe. It says here you served as our accountant for five years without reprimand. In fact, the only black mark on your record is for leaving our ranks a year early to get an education.” “An education I wouldn’t have been able to afford if the Rascals hadn’t put me in charge of their money.” Alden admitted with a grin. “Are you confessing to snaffling from the coffers, Alden?” “All the time, but never more than the acceptable ten percent of incoming and five percent of outgoing moneys.” Hakim frowned and handed the roll over to Li Hua. “Can you find any mention of snaffling anywhere in Alden’s records?” The girl carefully scanned the pages documenting Alden’s career as a Rascal. “Not a one. Both the monthly and annual bookkeeping is marked as being checked and in good order every time.” “That just means I was good at my job.” Alden boasted. “Those books were so cooked even her Majesty’s revenue service could have added two and two together and gotten five.” Hakim shot him an intense stare that lasted a little too long for comfort, but then he threw his head back and laughed. “Then you’re part of a dying breed, Alden. We don’t get accountants like you any longer. The people keeping books and records these days are all uptight little busybodies, like Li Hua here.” “I will take that as a compliment, Hakim.” “See what I mean? But you, Alden, you’re a proper Rascal, for all that you have some sort of fancy education. Welcome home!” Alden could feel the crowd relaxing around him. The Barker’s approval meant he wasn’t an outsider, he was one of them. “Glad to be back, Hakim.” “Now, what brings an Old Boy to our little rat’s nest?” “I have a job that needs doing. I want you all to look around the pawn shops of the city. You’re looking for a very pretty moonstone, the size of a grown man’s thumb-tip. The stone itself will probably be set in gold, and if it isn’t, you should look for any marks indicating a changed setting, or a setting high enough to conceal such marks. Most likely it’s been worked into some piece of jewellery by now. A necklace or bracelet is most likely, but it could be on a ring, or just sold by itself as a loose gem.” “And what do we get in return?” Alden tossed a small bag to Hakim. “There’s 230 pennies in there. All that’s left of a pound after the coin-man took his fee. Anyone who goes searching gets a penny, and whatever’s left over goes to your coffers.” “You can’t buy much searching for a penny, Alden.” “Ah, but it’s not the searching I care about, now is it? It’s the finding. Whoever finds the stone should come find me at the tinctury on Ratcatcher Street. Once they bring me to the shop and show me the stone, I’ll give them one whole pound to keep for themself, no quibbles.” A hush spread among the gathered Rascals. A penny might not be a lot of money for a job like this, but a whole pound was practically a fortune to a child. Hakim burst out laughing once more. “I can see your years of proper education haven’t dulled your senses, Alden. This lot is practically chomping at the bit to get going. I don’t think they’d be this motivated even if you offered a shilling per head just to search. They’ll find your stone, and find it quick.” “I’m sure they will. Thank you for your time, Barker. I hope we’ll meet again.” “We just might. It’s another year and a half before I’m old enough to ship out. And even then, I won’t leave until I’ve managed to make Li Hua crooked enough to take over as Barker. She’s got the skills, but she just can’t seem to understand that some rules were made for bending.” “Somehow I suspect I’ll be back long before then. My life has taken an interesting turn of late, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find myself needing the aid of the Rascals once again.” “Sounds good to me. Until next time, Alden.” Alden nodded and left, the gathered throng of Rascals parting to open a path to the exit. He wasn’t surprised that Hakim was set on shipping out as soon as he turned sixteen. Much as the caretakers of Her Majesty’s orphanages tried to show their charges the merits of simple, domestic jobs as factory workers, haulers or housekeeping staff, a lot of the orphans took up postings on airships the moment they reached the age of majority. It was to be expected, really. New airships were launched every week these days, so crew was always in high demand. And while there were some risks involved, entry-level crew positions on airships came with a steady if minimal wage on top of room and board at least as good as what the orphanages provided and offered an unrivalled opportunity to see more of the world. If any profession spoke to the dreams and fantasies of young men and women, it was that of airship crew. Or, well, there was one other career path that spoke to an entirely different type of fantasies also often found in youngsters. It was sort of an open secret that a non-negligible fraction of the city’s penniless youths sought employment in the brothels the moment they came of age, but Alden preferred not to think about that. As much as he understood the theoretical societal utility of such establishments, he’d always found the whole notion rather off-putting. Then again, he had personally never really experienced the ‘drives’ and ‘urges’ such places sought to satisfy. Love and romance he understood, but the more carnal side of things… Pushing such thoughts firmly aside, Alden headed back to his tinctury. There was much to do. The moment he got back, Alden grabbed almost a dozen different books from his workroom and ensconced himself within the tiny study in his apartment. Numerous times over the past few days, he had found himself thinking about how he wasn’t an expert on spontaneous combustion. But it was time to rectify that particular failing. The Oxford Anatomical Encyclopaedia, Professor Brinford’s “Lethal Maladies”, Dr. Bollo’s “Warning Signs for Sudden Death”, Dame Hather’s “Dramatic Imbalances of the Humours”, Mekhi Mekhid’s “Risks of Hyper-sanguinity” and all the books on tinctury that seemed remotely relevant. Every book in his personal library that was likely to have any useful information on spontaneous combustion was in this pile. But much of what he found simply confirmed his suspicions. A man like Dr. Rawleigh should never have combusted at all. All the literature suggested that spontaneous combustion occurred in times of high emotion, mostly anger, although intense joy, ardour or lust were also known culprits. It was far more likely to strike those of a naturally sanguine disposition, those suffering maladies that caused the sanguine humours to rise, or those taking medication or intoxicants known to inflame sanguinity. The only risk group that matched what he knew of Dr. Rawleigh was that he was male. Spontaneous combustion was an overwhelmingly male malady, with over 80% of sufferers being male, but that alone was nowhere near enough to explain it. He also found confirmation of his other doubts. Spontaneous combustion almost always caused panic in the victim, causing them to rush about and try to extinguish themselves before death took them. A small number of people had even survived the process by immediately hurling themselves into bodies of freezing cold water when the flames started to appear. Incidents of a neat little pile of ashes being found in otherwise undisturbed surroundings were practically unheard of. There was also the matter of temperature. Objects made from tin or pewter were often found melted among the remains of a sufferer, but even bronze objects rarely melted, with the only known incidents of melted bronze being extremely thin objects worn or held close to the heart. There wasn’t a single record or mention anywhere of spontaneous combustion burning hot enough to melt iron… The more he delved into the minutiae of the combustion, the more convinced he was that Dr. Rawleigh’s demise couldn’t possibly have been natural. But it didn’t bring him any closer to an idea as to how exactly that demise had been brought about. Poisoning of some kind seemed likely, but he had never heard of a poison like this before. Delving deeper and deeper into the subject to little avail, he was almost relieved when he was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Mr. Stowe, there’s a child here looking for you. She says she has an important message for you.” “Thank you, Miss Oxley. I’ll be down at once.” Alden got out of his seat and stretched his cramping muscles. It had been a long time since he last got so totally absorbed in bookwork, and he wasn’t as young as he used to be. Doing his best to ignore the stiffness of his joints, he got dressed and headed downstairs, where he found a young woman of far eastern descent who he vaguely recognized from the crowd at The Place. When she spoke, she did so in halting, uncertain English that clearly marked her as a recent arrival. “I find shop with stone.” She said simply. “You come see.” “Of course. Lead the way.” The girl frowned. “Very sorry, what is ‘lee the wei’?” “Ah, my apologies, I was asking you to show me to the place you found. Take me to the shop.” “Oh, yes. I understanding. Come.” Alden followed the girl to an area right on the southern edge of Old London. The area was an absolute mishmash of old and new buildings, with crumbling old residences and shops standing side by side with modern factories and warehouses. And a short ways down a small side road was a grimy little shop that boasted no name, just a sign reading ‘Keepsakes and Curios Bought and Sold’. There, resting on a threadbare velvet cushion behind the dirty glass of the shop’s front window, was a rather fancy-looking gold pocket watch. But while the watch seemed quite well made, the front piece didn’t quite match the rest of the workmanship, seeming a little cruder that the rest. But it did sport a large, beautiful moonstone. “This is exactly what I was looking for. You have done me a great service.” “You pay now?” “Of course. I’m a man of my word.” Reaching into his purse, Alden started pulling out a single pound coin, but then he hesitated. After a moment’s indecision, he pulled out a shilling as well. “Here we go. One pound, as promised, and a shilling extra for the quick work.” The girl smiled brightly as she took the two coins. “Thank you very much. My name is Mei Jing. If you have more work, you find me.” “I just might. Now run along, I have some things I need to discuss with the shop owner.” As Mei Jing left, Alden pulled open the door to the nameless pawn shop. A dull chime sounded from the bell above the door, and a stink of mildew and metal polish assaulted his nose. But despite the dank air of the shop, Alden couldn’t help but smile. He finally felt like his investigation was getting somewhere.