Emma and her two companions made their way to an alley where they could see Thistle Hall. The shadows and their position just back from the alley mouth permitted them to observe the proceeding covertly.

The gas lamps positioned along the center of the street cast light to both sides, and they were taking over from the setting sun. These technological marvels of light allowed people and carts to move about the city well into the night, casting strange shadows on the building walls as the people pushed along to and fro. The lamp lights were a gift from the area's businesses, a way of keeping the city safe from the ruff types that were always a fixture of port towns. Local business leaders had commissioned the Tinkers Club. In less than a year, the street was reliably lit by gas fed by pipes underground, section to account for the earthquakes. After the unveiling, called the 'Night of Light,' a whole day of celebration and wonder. The cost of the gift of light changed the factories' opening hours from the usual twelve to fourteen hours a day to three overlapping shifts of ten hours. Reducing both the worker's free and paid time per day. While introducing another 10 hours of workable time into the twenty-four-hour day.

Emma and her companions were treated to odd views of a city denizen and citizens from their vantage point. The workers and bosses traveled in streams, and one of the rivers of people was well-mannered and affluent. While the other stream was workers all, and to a person, they smelt of sweat, chemicals, and worse. Yet, they all came from the northern city factories to their homes and back again. Side by side, almost arm-in-arm despite the relative positions in society. The workers traveled to the southeast. The industry bosses moved towards the more affluent areas north of the city, where lavish mansions and homes were erected.

As the hours passed, the nature of the people began to change. The worker's shoulders slumped forward from the weight of the day's heavy burdens still being carried around in the memories of their muscles, mind long gone numb to the day's efforts. Finally, they headed home for a well-earned rest. As they left and the subsequent shift was ensconced, the area gave way to the night and its' people. An entirely different type of individual, these are the sort of people who have dropped out from the factory work and the controlled hours and service, some for their own good, the artisans, and some for ill.

The streetwalkers started appearing. The drinkers and revelers began to mill around the entrance to the Thistle Inn and other street corners. The sailors, whalers, gamblers, and drunks collected in the area. The timber-sided tents began to spring up between the buildings, giving a home to the commerce and business of the night. The Thistle Inn was the place to be for both stray workers and the thugs of Wellington.

"Why are we here?" Mr. Wolf asked Emma.

"I am clutching at smoke and shadows. I hoped the men who attacked McCabe would make themselves known by knocking one of these tipsy lot for six. But, so far, nothing is to be seen other than these light-fingered waifs," said Emma, gesturing towards a few of Cut-purses plying their trade in the street.

"It's about to rain," complained Mr. Wolf.

"It always rains in Wellington." Replied Emma.

"Nonsense. Wellington is a fine city. We barely notice the weather," replied Amelia. She leaned against a palette of wood and emphatically placed her clasped hand in her lap as if the gesture punctuated the statement, like an exclamation mark.

"Well, the rain is holding off." Amelia continued after a few more moments.

"This lot barely notices the weather?" Mr. Wolf used the word weather as if it was some physical creature.

"Weather is all you have here! Are you not able to recognize when bad weather is bad? I think it's because you have nothing to compare it to when it's always bad. In a city like this one, where weather cheats, and the rain is either falling heavily on you or being flung at you sideways by unnatural winds, you don't know which of the two is the fine weather." Mr. Wolf finished happily, chuckling to himself, winning a point in his head for which there was no contest.

"Look at that boy. That young man, the grubby one. Oh, dressed in a cap, wool pants, and different shoes?" Amelia said.

"He's a bit short for a bully boy. I am not sure I want to kill 'em, but I am not saying I won't," said Mr. Wolf.

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"No. Look at his cane! The dragon's head handle," Amelia threw her hands out, palms facing the sky. "That's Kincade's cane," she exclaimed.

"Right you are," said Mr. Wolf as he darted into the night.

* * *

The boy tried to jerk his shoulder away just as Mr. Wolf lay his hands on him and spun the boy to meet face-to-face, as it were.

"Whatja doing, Governor? I ain't no flopsy! I'll kill you; you come any closer!" the boy said, firing each statement like thunderclaps.

"Calm down, boy. I won't hurt you. My mistress just wants to talk," said Mr. Wolf, gesturing to Emma coming across the road. And setting the boy on his feet.

"I don't want to talk to her. I didn't do nothin. And I got parents if she trying to buy me." replied the boy as he watched Emma approach. He turned and ran, but Mr. Wolf was quicker than him. He grabbed the boy's collar. For his part, the boy dropped the cane and started to yell, "Help! A copper's got me! Help! The copper's got me!" as he struggled against Mr. Wolf's hold.

"Boy, we are not the coppers. We will not hurt you, either," said Emma

"We just need to ask you where you got that cane?" Emma pointed to the item on the ground. Amelia joined them as they questioned the boy, maneuvering across the road.

"Please, boy, tell us about Kincade, the man who owns this cane," Emma asked as she leaned in face-to-face with the boy.

"You's coppers, leave the boy alone." said a gruff man behind Mr. Wolf.

"Yeah," said a second man behind Emma.

"We are not the police," said Emma as she moved so that both men we positioned in front of her. Mr. Wolf let go of the boy, who ran toward the Tinker's Club.

"Cap'n?" asked Mr. Wolf.

"They live!" replied Emma without further explanation.

Amelia turned and followed the boy. "Stop that boy! Please stop that boy!" she yelled, moving after him.

Mr. Wolf circled behind Emma, squaring off with the second man, who was almost a foot taller and just as wide. The grey wool waistcoat was open, revealing the yellowed deer antler butt of a knife tucked into his belt. Complementing the ascetic of the sweat-stained yellow shirt. Mr. Wolf raised his hands. In the palm of his right hand was concealed a small knife, now visible.

"Little man, this is going to hurt you more than me," the man taunted Mr. Wolf. He smiled and raised his hands. Mr. Wolf simply flicked his hand, and his would-be assailant dropped to the ground, screaming.

"You can't keep that," quipped Mr. Wolf, pointing to the knife embedded deeply in the man's foot.

Emma faced the second man and began the pugilist dance, circling each other, sizing the reach, and feeling the footwork on the cobblestone. The man held an abattoir knife, a simple curved blade with two slabs of wood for the handle, practical and wickedly sharp. The grey, curved blade danced before Emma. The man leapt forward, slashing at Emma's chest. Emma slipped to his right, bringing her left wrist down on the man's forearm, knocking the knife to the ground. Emma twisted and brought up her right elbow around, combining the thug's forward momentum with her twisting movement. She slammed her elbow's hard, solid, unforgiving bone into his unkempt moustache. The thug crumbled and hit the ground unconscious.

Emma spun around and turned to see Mr. Wolf, looked at the sobbing man holding his foot and pulling at the embedded knife, and back to Mr. Wolf.

"Every time," she said, pointing at the knife.

"Hmmm. It's not original, but if'n your villain talks first, they are too dumb not to fall for it," Mr. Wolf said as he cast his eyes around the gathered crowd, looking into each person's eyes. Mr. Wolf recognized each person as working-class. They would not want trouble, especially someone else's trouble. For the moment, these people would not bring this incident or their identities to the constables' attention. When his eyes returned to Emma's, they both looked at each other and said, "The boy."

* * *

The two of them headed towards the Tinker's Club; in short order, they caught up with Amelia and the boy, who was being held, at the collar, by Hutchens. When Amelia saw Emma and Mr. Wolf, she smiled and brought both hands together in a small clap.

"I am so glad you are both well. Look. Hutchens helped me catch the boy. His name is Billy." So said Amelia as a way to start the conversation.

"Wonderful," said Emma. She knelt next to the boy, face-to-face, looked into his eyes pointedly, "Now, Billy. This is quite simple. You had a cane that belonged to a friend of ours. He is missing. And we want to find him. Where did you get the cane? And don't lie because I will know." The boy saw something he'd known before all too well, frightening him. With the eyes of someone hardened by the life of hardship, he saw a hunter. And felt like prayer. In these streets, you learned fast about the hunters and the prey. And hoped never to be the prey.

Before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth, and the words fell out. "Two men. They beat him bad. It was Big Reg and Dumb Ron and another guy, a Toff. The man, your friend, walloped him with the cane in the face. Now, let me go," he squirmed. "I told you all I know," said the boy.

"One last thing. Where would we find these men?" Emma asked.

"Don't know bout the toff," Billy replied.

"Then the other two?" Emma continued.

"Thistle Inn. Everyone goes there for now." Billy replied, pulling and pushing at Mr. Wolf's grasp.

Emma looked at Mr. Wolf and nodded. He pulled his hand from his pocket and held it out to Billy with the palm up. There were several coppers and two silver coins.

"Thanks, lad," said Mr. Wolf. Held the money out. Billy's eyes darted around, seeing no witnesses to this arrangement, relaxed, took it, and left the broken cane still in hand.