Like jackals from the gloom, Lee’s cronies emerged from alleys on either side of the street, pressing forward in a ring. Lee himself stood in the centre, hands in his pockets with a forced air of nonchalance. Probably not far off in age to Jeremiah, he had his own set of scars along his arms and across his face. They might not be so different, the two of them, if it weren’t for the cruel glint in his eye. Jeremiah had seen it before, in gangsters and in Silvers: bloodlust.

“Aw, hell,” muttered Bill, striding ahead to meet Lee head on. “What do you want, Lee?”

“Well, we’ve been giving it a bit of thought, and we reckon Mr Vandemeer would probably be damn pleased to see you, given the… unstable and troubling state of the world at the moment.”

“You’ve been thinking?” retorted Bill. “I suggest you reconsider. I don’t care about the state of shit, right now- we’re heading home whether you like it or not.” Lee smiled again and Jeremiah grimaced- now that they were closer he could tell that the other man had filed his teeth into needle-like points. He’d never seen someone try to make themselves look more wilding before.

Jeremiah slipped his pistols out of their holsters, but kept them concealed under his coat for the time being: he wanted to be prepared, but not to invite anything if it wasn’t going to happen otherwise.

“You should probably know,” Gliridae murmured, voice low, “that I don’t fight.”

“You what?” hissed Jeremiah back. “Look, take one of my guns if you need, you can shoot from a distance.”

“No, I mean I won’t fight. I don’t believe in violence.”

Jeremiah risked a glance to the smaller man at his side, and was dismayed to see that Gliridae was completely serious. Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned back to the situation unfolding ahead of them.

Rather than respond to Bill, Lee Rickardson laughed and pulled out a crowbar. The rest of the Props followed suit with weapons of their own. Jeremiah whipped out his pistols and unfurled his wings, sending the fog swirling back away from him.

“I can assure you it exists,” he told the musician, before heading forward to help his friend.

There were six of them- Lee and five others. Lee went straight for Bill, crowbar glinting, but was immediately knocked back with a blow from Bill’s enormous fist. Blood began to stream down his face, from both his nose and his mouth.

“You’ll regret that,” he managed, voice thick from the blocked sinuses. Bill laughed, dark and humourless.

“No. I don’t think I will.”

The other Props had pulled out weapons, and Jeremiah deflected two or three shots off his wings before taking aim himself- the arms and shoulders were his goals, if they were visible, but the legs were a close second. He was a fantastic shot- after all those years as a Silver, he damn well had to be- but he wasn’t looking to kill anyone tonight. The last thing he wanted was trouble, be it with the Props or the Silvers. The money from this job could pay off his last few months of medical training- provided he wasn’t killed or arrested.

Then he got a whiff of gun smoke, and all his senses heightened.

He’d quit his job because of his principles, and he’d never once regretted that; but he had been damn good at it, and it turned out- he’d missed this part. Each ping of a bullet off his wings sent another rush of adrenaline through him. In spite of himself, he smiled as he sent 2 clean shots back. The man yelled in pain, dropping his gun and clutching the shoulder that Jeremiah had hit.

Then one of the Props took aim and shot wide, and Jeremiah’s smile disappeared as he realised they were shooting at Gliridae. He turned, ready to go back and help the smaller man, but was stopped short.

Gliridae had shed his coat and hat, and was crouched low. Without the hat, his ears stuck out each side of his head, round fuzzy mouse ears that extended several inches. His lips were pulled back, displaying his strange teeth, and his nose was twitching furiously. He dodged one shot after another with nimble ease, as though they were gently thrown baseballs rather than lightning fast bullets. His eyes met Jeremiah’s, and he gave a quick thumbs up, before ducking into a tuck and roll.

Jeremiah turned back. Gliridae was doing fine.

Up front, Bill had taken a blow or two from the crowbar, but if it had hurt him any then he didn’t show it. He had Lee on the back foot, storming forward as the other scrambled to get away. One of the Props levelled his gun at him, but Jeremiah quickly shot the arm that was holding it. The man swore loudly and fell back, clutching the wounded limb to his chest.

“You’re even dumber than I remembered, Lee,” Bill was saying, voice getting louder as his anger mounted. Jeremiah frowned; deflecting a few more bullets, he started towards his friend. Bill had a temper like a pissed rhino once he got riled up, and he didn’t want his friend beating anyone to death in a rage- regardless of who had started the fight, that was not a good way to finish it.

“Idiots,” he heard Gliridae say to two of the Props, and he turned his head slightly to watch them out the corner of his eye. The tiny musician had managed to get behind them and was now on one of their backs, clinging on to the waistcoat. “Did no one tell yeh or Lee- we’re working for Mr Vandemeer.”

“That’s not what we-“

“Yeah, probably because yeh’re not important enough to know. He needed someone to get information from the Mattheses, and none of yeh have the brains needed to pull this off.”

“I may have my debt to Mr Vandemeer, but I don’t owe you shit,” Bill continued up ahead. Lee’s back was against the wall now, nowhere else to go, and Bill grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him clean off the ground. Lee’s legs were dangling as they looked eye to eye.

“Lee said we had to bring you in,” said the Prop that Gliridae was clinging onto, shifting back and forth. To Jeremiah’s surprise, the man didn’t seem to be trying to get Gliridae off- rather, it seemed as though he was trying to make eye contact. There was a tremor of uncertainty in his voice, and the other man had let his weapon drop to hang limply by his side, also staring at the tiny musician in confusion. Jeremiah hesitated, distracted by the smaller man’s tricks.

“Rickardson is letting his bad blood with Bill take over- and oh man is Mr Vandemeer going to be pissed when he finds out what happened. If I were you, I’d get out now; tell him you were patrolling like you were meant to be, and you had nothing to do with all this.”

Bill drew back his fist and hit Lee in the face again- hard. Snapping back to the matter at hand, Jeremiah ran forward and grabbed Bill’s arm as he readied a third blow.

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“Bill, stop! You’ve won, it’s finished- stop.” Bill paused and blinked, surprised to realise that Lee was dangling limply: the second blow had knocked him out cold. Stepping back, he let go and Rickardson dropped like a sack of bricks.

“I’ll put in a good word for you next time I see him,” Gliridae said, and as Jeremiah looked over the two gangsters he’d been speaking with took off down the road. Of the remaining four, Lee was unconscious and the others were nursing bullet wounds from Jeremiah’s pistols. Bill wiped the blood from his knuckles down the front of Lee’s shirt, which Jeremiah personally thought was going a bit far, but oh well.

For a moment, there was silence, all of them catching their breath. Then, catching each others’ gaze in tacit agreement, all three of them turned and began briskly heading away from the scene of the crime. With the amount of shooting that had occurred, the Silvers would be all over it in ten minutes, tops. The Props men evidently had a similar realisation, because as soon as Bill was a safe distance away they darted forward and began to drag Lee in the opposite direction.

“Gliridae,” said Bill finally, as they emerged out of the Fog District and into the cold, clear streets of Kingsway. “What was that you were saying back there? You know Mr Vandemeer?”

Gliridae grinned. His vibrant purple hat and jacket were back in place, ears neatly tucked beneath, and besides a bit of dust on one of the jacket sleeves from where it had laid on the road, he looked unruffled. You would never know he had been in a shootout. Jeremiah, on the other hand, could feel his clothes heavy with sweat, and Bill was still streaked with Rickardson’s blood despite his best efforts.

“Never met him, haven’t the faintest idea who he is. It was enough to put the fear of the gods into those two, though,” Gliridae chirped, chipper. Bill stopped short, swivelling to look at the tiny musician.

“You’re gonna get yourself into a world of trouble, making claims like that. Why didn’t you just keep your damn mouth shut- are you asking for the Props to come after you? God damn, Gliridae.”

Gliridae shrugged, and his smile didn’t waver though he was clearly irritated.

“It’s no big thing. I’m a quick talker, it’s gotten me out of messier situations than that- and no one’ll believe them. Anyone they admit it to will think they’re just looking for an excuse as to why they ran away. They’ll be branded cowards at best.”

Bill glared.

“You think you know what you’re talking about, but you don’t know shit about the Props or how they work. Don’t meddle in things you don’t know.”

“How am I meant to know when yeh refused to tell me earlier? But I can take care of myself just fine, thank yeh very much,” snapped Gliridae. Jeremiah stepped between the two of them, worried that it would escalate further.

“Hey, hey, easy. Gliridae, Bill is right, the Props aren’t people to be meddled with. Bill, they don’t know who Gliridae is, and he’s probably right that they won’t believe them.” Jeremiah paused; Gliridae and Bill were still staring pointedly away from each other, but they seemed to accept that. “Now, can we get back to the matter at hand? If Viola Crest was feeding information to the Mattheses, but went missing before they got her folder… well, maybe whoever took her also took Douglas Scapper? Maybe she wouldn’t give them the information they wanted, so they tried another engineer…in which case, she’s probably dead.” He paused, thinking. “Or, maybe, since Viola went missing… the Mattheses took Scapper from his apartment, to try and get the information from him instead.”

“Sounds to me like there’s a next logical step, and that’s to go and see Douglas Scapper’s apartment,” said Bill, turning back. His face was pensive. “If it was the Mattheses that took Scappers, we’ve tipped them off to the fact that we’re looking into it and so they’ll have time to prepare. They may even come after us.”

“But they don’t know what we know,” countered Jeremiah. “As far as Julie Matthes is concerned, we’ve got no leads and no idea what’s going on. She never saw Gliridae, and I doubt that barkeeper is going to admit what he told him.” He turned to Gliridae. “I get it if you want out of this whole mess, what with the Props and the Mattheses involved; but Kari was right, you were really useful tonight- any chance you want to help us finish it.” Gliridae shrugged, then gave him a toothy grin.

“I never leave a job half-done, and I always earn my dues. You just need to know that I won’t fight.”

“Under any circumstances?” asked Jeremiah. “Even if there’s no other choice?”

Gliridae frowned.

“There’s always another choice.”

“Yeah, getting the bigger guy to fight for you,” muttered Bill. Gliridae glared, but- sensing another argument- Jeremiah interjected before he could reply.

“If you’re okay with that, then we’re okay with that,” he told the musician, and Gliridae relaxed. “It’s- oh man, it’s late. Let’s meet at Scapper’s apartment at maybe 3pm tomorrow- that’ll give us time to get some sleep.” Bill checked his watch and groaned.

“Mirabeth’s gonna give me hell for this,” he muttered, and Jeremiah chuckled. Bill’s longtime girlfriend was, in his own words, ‘far too good for him’; she took general issue with drinking and being out late, and great issue with anything involving the gangs. Jeremiah didn’t envy the earful his friend was due to get.

“You remember the address for Scapper’s place?” checked Jeremiah. Bill nodded, and bade them goodnight. Jeremiah turned to Gliridae. “I’ll walk you home.” The tiny musician raised an eyebrow.

“You sure? You seem pretty tired, you could definitely use the rest too.” Jeremiah shook his head, and then shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward.

“It’s been a rough night, and I know you say you can manage yourself, but you’re unarmed and… well, I want to see you home safe.” He was expecting an angry retort, but to his surprise, Gliridae smiled.

“Far be it for me to keep someone else from peace of mind. I live this way.” It was nearly five in the morning, and the sky was just beginning to lighten into nautical dawn. Even the drunks were asleep by now, and the city was still in a way that Jeremiah would have thought would be eerie, but instead was just peaceful. They began to amble down through the empty streets, out of the Fog District and into Lowtown Kingsway. Jeremiah shouldn't have been surprised - most wildings lived in Lowtown, and Gliridae didn't seem exactly flush with cash- but he was. Something about the musician, from his immaculate dress to his chipper demeanour, seemed too... kempt, for this part of town.

“So… I don’t really know much about you, Gliridae,” he said, and the smaller man shrugged.

“It’s pretty straightforward. I use a life of petty crime to fund my true passion: playing smooth jazz on my saxophone to rooms of semi-conscious inebriates.” Gliridae grinned up at him and Jeremiah chuckled. “I’m much more curious about you- ex-Silver, by my reckoning. A doctor now? Or have I misjudged.”

“Working towards it,” replied Jeremiah, surprised. “It’s been three years since I left the Silvers, and I’m nearly done my medical training- I would be done with it by now if I didn’t keep getting sidetracked, but, well, money is a thing that I need for supplies, classes, and I guess staying alive.”

“And beer,” added Gliridae. “You can’t buy beer without money.” Jeremiah chuckled again.

“Very true. I didn’t realise how hard it would be to leave the Silvers until I tried, and, well- it’s a rough city. Unkind to the people who get on it’s bad side.”

“So… what made you leave the Silvers?”

“Bill.” Gliridae blinked, clearly surprised. They turned down another, smaller street, pools of light from the oil lamps now only just discernible against the rapidly lightening world. “He… well, I won’t tell his story for him, but we met while he was in lockup. There were a few other things at the same time, but talking to Bill helped me set my head on straight. I realised the Silvers weren’t what I thought they were. I stuck around just long enough to get Bill out, and then I got out myself.”

“There’s nothing I respect more than a man who can admit he was wrong,” said Gliridae with a smile. They came to a small door, barely even noticeable against the brick wall it was set into. “Thanks for the Silver- sorry, former-Silver – escort. I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I’ll see you later today,” said Jeremiah, and then suddenly he was alone. He stared at the door for a moment, unsure if Gliridae had actually gone through it or just slipped off somewhere else. It didn’t matter. Unfurling his copper wings, he snorted and shook his head in disbelief.

A whole walk home and Jeremiah hadn’t learnt a single thing about their new colleague. The damn mouse had gotten him monologuing.

He turned just in time to meet the sun as it crested the horizon, and allowed himself a deep breath. This night had unearthed a lot of memories and a lot of mixed emotions. Hopefully sleeping on it would help.

Rising into the air, he smiled at the cool air against his skin. His smile dropped though, as his mind cast back. The night had felt familiar, in all the right and wrong ways. Dealing with the Mattheses and the Props- dealing with Bill and the Props- getting entangled in all of this- it brought back a lot. Reaching home, he shook his head again. Hopefully he wasn't out of his depth. Unlocking the door, he paused only to kick his shoes off, before heading to bed and dropping into an uneasy slumber.