Woken up by the acrid stench of piss and day-old garbage, Ed spluttered and spat.

What happened?

Slowly, it all came back to him.

The canister. The Inquisitors!

Ed realised he hadn't made it to the meeting point last night, and as the bright daylight above him showed, it was much too late.

Hopefully they've gone to ground. Tom knows what to do.

Taking stock of his situation, Ed looked around. His head still throbbed heavily and his neck and back weren't in much better shape due to sleeping on a rubbish pile all night. He'd apparently pissed himself in his sleep too, which was just adding insult to injury.

Still, he considered himself beyond lucky. He'd actually gotten away from the Church and slept in the street unmolested, two things he'd thought impossible before this day.

He'd missed the meetup, so Tom would think he’s either still on the run or in Inquisition hands. The plan had involved getting to a safe house, then disappearing for about a week or two before resurfacing on the other side of the city. They could be anywhere by now. He needed information.

Upon reconsidering, what he actually needed now was a clean-up and something strong to drink. Fresh water would be best but it was the height of stupidity to drink the water in an unfamiliar borough.

After breaking into the nearest house that looked like it had running water, cleaning himself up and stealing some ill-fitting clothes, he felt reborn. Now he had to find his family.

Walking out on the street, he almost had a pep in his step. They'd actually done it. James especially would never be able to shut up about this. The thought brought a smile to his face.

A smile that was immediately doused as he finally noticed the stares. However light a shade he was, he was still black. There were probably 10 black people in all of London, so he drew attention.

And James wonders why I spend all my time on the rooftops.

Complaining about it wouldn't achieve anything however, so he plastered a neutral expression on his face and trudged to the nearest pub.

Walking into a place called 'The Flaming Groin', Ed immediately regretted it when he saw the patrons. It was Sam and his boys.

Sam was the leader of another street crew like the St Agnes boys but worse and less successful in every way (in Ed’s unbiased opinion). Sam himself had cornered Hannah in an alley a few months back and likely would have taken her right there had she not kicked him in the fruits as hard as she could and ran off clutching her torn shirt. Later that exact same day, Ed, Tom and James had found him alone and performed some south London dentistry on him, tearing out every tooth behind his lower canines. He could bite, but he'd never be able to chew. Needless to say, Sam didn't like Ed very much. The feeling was mutual.

He knew that if he turned and left, Sam's goons would follow him. There were witnesses in the pub though, so he grit his teeth and went to sit by the bar.

He’d ordered a beer with a tuppence he’d found in his coat pockets and dared to hope that Sam would leave him alone. Alas, it wasn’t to be.

A palm slapped down sharply on the table. Ed sighed.

“Leave me be, Sam, I’m not in the mood.”

A savage grin lit up Sam’s face, now just inches from Ed’s own.

“Hear that boys? His Lordship ain’t in the mood fer respectable company like ours!”

The rest of his gang all laughed at that, a whooping bray reminiscent of seals. Ed hadn’t ever seen a seal of course, but he had a vivid imagination.

I’ll see you hanged one day, prick.

The now-standing group of brutish looking boys came over to surround Ed as he tried in vain to ignore them.

“Word on the street is you pissed off the wrong people, got your shitty dump raided by the Church.”

Fuck.

Someone must have seen the commotion last night. If this was common knowledge, he had a lot less options. No one would risk the Church’s attention to help him.

“You know what this means? Means you ain’t never seeing those snot-nosed bairns or the rest of your batch of wet-nurses again!”

The goon squad behind Sam erupted in laughter again, a triumphant smirk plastered to his face.

So proud. He probably spent all night coming up with that.

Still, this was Sam. Ed wasn’t a fighter by nature but Sam, regrettably, absolutely was. He would get thrown out of the pub if he hurt Ed, but that wouldn’t unsmash Ed’s face. He needed to avoid provoking him.

“Fuck your dead mother, you toothless, shite-scented wankstain. Every breath you take is an insult to God’s green earth. Do us all a good turn and get the Blue Death already, you walking cock-rot.”

Sam gaped. The pub had gone completely quiet. Ed took a sip of his beer. Sam looked around, getting progressively redder and more incensed.

Reaching across the table, Sam grabbed Ed’s collar and lifted him bodily off his seat. His massive fingers almost suffocated Ed, who could barely breathe through the pressure.

Sam, bright red by now, asked Ed, voice quivering with rage.

“Care to repeat that, you fucking darkie?”

Okay, maybe I went a bit far.

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The small canister in Ed’s pocket chose that moment to pulse with its disorienting energy, making his gorge rise. He tried to hold it in, but failed, spewing violently on Sam’s arm.

Sam dropped him like he was on fire, exclaiming as he tried to shake the vomit off his body. Ed coughed through teary eyes, trying to gather his wits enough to stand up off the floor. Sam looked down at him, incandescent.

His mouth opened, likely to scream in rage, but he abruptly closed it, seemingly thinking twice. He took a breath and calmly looked down at Ed on the floor.

“You know what? Fuck this. No one’s gonna miss this cunt.”

Ed heard the terrible certainty in his voice and nearly panicked as he started reaching for him. Sam was nothing if not decisive. He scrambled backwards, away from the thug, but Sam boys blocked his retreat.

Sam gripped Ed’s neck in his meaty hand and started squeezing, to the hollers and jeers of his friends. Sam drew him close, tightening his grip as Ed slowly suffocated. He whispered in his ear.

“I’m gonna enjoy finally putting you in the ground, Edward.”

Ed could only weakly grunt in response, his vision darkening around the edges. His final thought was wishing he’d gone out with a wittier insult.

Ah well. As last words go, could get worse than calling someone the walking cock-rot.

As awareness slowly slipped away from him, the door crashed open and a man stood silhouetted in the doorway.

Around a predator, the forest goes silent.

A city boy, Ed had never known if that particular tidbit was true or not. Now, however, he could believe it.

The man who had just walked- no, prowled in, gave off such an air of danger the thugs' rowdiness immediately sputtered out. Sam actually gulped.

Who is this guy?

"Samuel, care to inform me what is going on here?"

Sam dropped Ed like a stone.

The man's voice was rich and baritone, and he spoke in the precise way that indicated a high pedigree. His dark hair, neatly parted to one side, framed his face, with a carefully maintained beard completing the look. He was tall and slender, like Ed, but carried himself like he knew he was untouchable.

"S-Sir Grantham! We were just about to prepare that report for you b-but got distracted talking with our old friend, Eddy."

Sir? What's a toff doing here?

For his part, Sir Grantham just narrowed his eyes.

"We'll be leaving now, sir!"

And just like that, Sam and his gang scurried off. Ed sat on the floor, bewildered.

Grantham turned his gaze to Ed, who shrank under his piercing green eyes.

"Edward. I've heard about you. You're a part of Thomas' group, correct?"

He shouldn’t know this.

Detestable as Sam was, he was raised by the streets of London just like Tom. They’d go to the gallows before giving up another urchin.

Forcing himself to focus, Ed realised this man was much more than he seemed. The St Agnes batch got their jobs from exactly one person, who'd always stressed secrecy. Who was this?

Regardless, Ed wouldn't roll on his boys. He stood up, stiffened his spine and looked at Grantham directly.

"Thomas? I'm not familiar, sorry."

The man frowned, and all of a sudden the air of danger multiplied tenfold. The walls seemed to close in on Ed, making him start hyperventilating. He broke out into a nervous sweat. He felt as though his head were in the jaws of a crocodile and he was unable to move away, just waiting in anticipation of the fateful snap. Hands shaking, he reached out and sipped at his forgotten beer.

Sir Grantham asked again.

"You boys hit the 'jewellery' shipment last Thursday. Am I mistaken?"

His throat was so tight with fear; Ed's voice came out as little more than a whisper.

"M-Must be. If you'll excuse me I have to go."

Ed made no moves to leave however, he was frozen in place.

"I see."

Grantham looked him up and down, scouring Ed with his stare. He seemed to come to a decision.

"Acceptable. Come with me."

"S-sir?"

"Of course, apologies."

With those words, the tension in the air dissipated instantly. Ed felt an almost physical pressure lift itself off his shoulders.

What the fuck is going on today?

While he wondered, Grantham left the pub and, legs no longer stricken with fear, Ed quickly followed.

He found a carriage with an open door waiting outside. Glancing around, Ed hopped in and sat opposite to the mysterious man.

As soon as he closed the door, he was met with a hard gaze over steepled fingers. The carriage shook as it pulled away.

"Tell me, child who may or may not be Edward, are you religious?"

This close to the man, Ed wondered why he felt so much more at ease than in the bar. Grantham was still intimidating, with his sharp features and serious face, but Ed felt like he was sitting in front of an authority figure, rather than a ravening monster.

"Not particularly."

"You've never seen an angel?"

"T- a friend says he has, but I figure it's the vapours."

"Smart. It usually is."

"But not always?"

Grantham leaned back in his seat rather than answering. After half a minute, he spoke.

"I'd like to offer you an apprenticeship. I've been following your exploits with your crew and every report I've seen indicates you have exactly the skills I'm seeking. I held off on approaching you while your group was active, but I'm told Thomas and most of the others were snatched up by the Inquisition last night and I thought it prudent to reach you before you did something inadvisable."

Ed recoiled in shock. How did this man know so much? Did he have people constantly watching them?

Grantham continued.

"Still, I would have let you get yourself killed if you hadn't passed my little test. You resisted my aura, and even had the stones to lie to my face. I'm impressed. Never do it again."

"I-I.. Yes, sir."

"You will live on my manor as my official page, while you receive education and training. This will last for several years, until the point you can prove yourself ready."

He raised a finger.

"In return, I will ensure your friends' records are removed from the police archives completely. They're in Church hands currently, so I cannot get them off completely scot-free, but I can ensure they get little more than a slap on the wrist."

"Sir, I-... I have people depending on me, I can't just-"

"I know about the children under your care. As a show of good faith, whether you accept or not, I will patronise their enrolment into a public boarding school. They will get the best tutelage and receive room and board until they are done with their studies. I won't hold them over your head. However, your friends' fates are in your hand. There are certain privileges granted to men in my... unique position that can guarantee their freedom. I will use these privileges to your benefit, as long as you're my page."

Ed was internally reeling. They hadn't been half as secretive as he'd thought if this guy knew everything and Ed had never even heard of him. And this offer.

Ed knew that if something sounded too good to be true, it probably was.

"How do I know you're telling the truth? I've never seen you before but you know things no one should. This feels like a trap."

A ghost of a smile flashed across Grantham's face.

"It's good to keep a healthy skepticism. I realise this is a lot to drop on you all at once, so let me show my sincerity by giving you information."

He leaned back in his seat again before continuing.

"What you and your friends unwittingly stole, quite masterfully I might add, was a Fragment of the True Cross."

Ed frowned.

"Those are fake. Known scams. I can find ten 'Fragments of the True Cross' just by walking through Market Square."

"Most are, but surely you saw how the Adepts reacted to it? Do you think full Inquisitors would be sent after a fake? If I'm right about you, holding it made you feel nauseated to the point of incapacitation, yes?"

"... sometimes."

Grantham nodded to himself.

"Yes, that's to be expected. You'll have to hand it over to me of course, and I can pass it on to the right Church authorities. As for why you should trust me..."

Grantham thrust his hand forward and a spike of water materialised out of his palm, resting at the base of Ed's throat. It actually felt sharp.

Ed gulped, eyes wide in shock.

"You were at my mercy from the moment I saw you. Had I wished you harm, you would already be dead. Luckily-"

The water spike lost cohesion and splashed to the carriage floor.

"I merely wish to give you an opportunity."

Drawing shaky breaths, Ed looked down at the puddle of water, then back up to the intimidating man.

"Why me? What exactly am I signing up for? And what the fuck was that?"

"All questions with similar answers. Tell me, young Edward, what do you know about demons?"