Jack grabbed the thief’s wrist while drawing his dagger, pressing its cold edge to the pickpocket’s throat. Big brown eyes stared back in shock and fear. The would-be thief was a filthy little girl who was no more than ten years old. He swung her around and dragged her out of the flowing crowd with the dagger blade still held at her throat.

  The little girl squeaked as she was pulled along and tried to pull her wrist free from Jack’s grip. She failed.

  A small group of middle-class women wearing long, modest dresses, brass-buttoned gloves, and laced boots passed Jack and the dirty little thief. They stopped not fifteen feet away to admire a florist’s window, where the flower displays automatically changed. Flowers shifted in colour and position via gear-operated turntables and concealed illusion charms.

  No one at the market cared that a teenager had drawn steel on a little girl. Men in suits and bowler hats, women in conservative dresses, didn’t give Jack and the girl a second glance before continuing on with their day.

  “You should be careful who you try to steal from, child.” Jack shook his head in disappointment. It wasn’t the first time young children had attempted to steal from him.

  The trembling girl looked at him with wide, panic-stricken eyes. “I-I.” She tried in vain to wriggle free.

  She’s probably an orphan. Jack gave a relieved sigh, relaxed his grip, and sheathed the dagger. Didn’t I bump into her yesterday?

  There were plenty of orphans in the city. Many were the children of soldiers who had fallen in battle. Orphaned children often found themselves living on the streets as beggars, thieves, or much worse. The Kingdom of Merciar didn’t look after its lost children.

  Jack looked at the thin girl; she wore a dirty dress, and her hair, likely blonde beneath layers of filth, resembled the matted fur of a dog bound with a scrap of cloth. She looked like she hadn’t eaten properly in days.

  Recalling his own close brushes with starvation, he knew what that desperation felt like and experienced a surge of pity. Poor kid. Kneeling to her height, he smiled.

  The girl, still trembling and still trying to prise his hand from her thin wrist, listened as he said, “If you wish to be a thief, don’t go grabbing at your target’s coin purse like a drunken ogre.” He used his free hand to display his own coin purse attached to his belt by a cord. “Do you see the problem?”

  The girl stopped trying to escape and nodded, the panic receding from her face.

  “First, check if there’s anything in the purse,” Jack chuckled. “No point risking your life to steal an empty coin purse.” He shook his coin purse to reveal that it was empty. “If you wanted to take this, you’d have to stealthily cut the cord. Do you understand how difficult that is to do without being caught?” After explaining, he released her wrist.

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  She didn’t run. “C-could you t-train me?” She rubbed her sore wrist. “Sir,” she whispered, looking up at him with a sliver of hope in her eyes.

  Jack’s eyes widened in surprise and pity. “I’m no thief, child. It’s a choice that will likely see you dead in a ditch one day.”

  Though he’d read about the art of thievery, his training had been provided by a drunken old rogue in a tavern. A demonstration on how to lift a coin purse undetected for the bargain price of a few tankards of ale. His knowledge remained theoretical, as he’d never needed to steal a purse.

  At his refusal, the little girl looked up at him with teary eyes, much like a lost puppy at the onset of a thunderstorm. Helpless and forsaken, as if abandoned by a cruel master to a terrible fate, with Jack being the terrible owner who just put the dog outside in a storm.

  Jack’s heart twanged as he stared into the dejected, sad brown eyes of the wannabe thief. The little girl reminded him of his younger sister before she became annoying. He sighed. “I’m so going to regret this,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head at what he was about to say. “Do you know of the food vendor called Arman on Royal Library Square?”

  The girl looked confused for a moment and shook her head.

  “He’s hard to miss,” he added. “Bald head, really friendly. Makes the most delicious wraps you’ve ever tasted.”

  The orphan licked her lips, but still shook her head. “I-I’ve not been h-here long.”

  Jack explained where Royal Library Square was, how it was hard to miss the colourful awnings, the delicious smell of wraps, and what Arman looked like. “When you find him. Tell him young Jack sent you and to give you one… no, three. Tell him to give you three free wraps.” He held up three fingers. “Tell Arman to put them on my tab.” He tapped his chest a couple of times. “Tell him I’ll pay him in a few days after I manage to climb the stairs. It’s important to say ‘climb the stairs.’” He searched the young girl’s eyes to see if she understood; she still looked confused. “If he asks about me, don’t mention the dagger. Just-just describe what I look like and say I felt sorry for a hungry orphan. Okay?”

  She nodded and turned to run.

  Jack grabbed her by the wrist before she could dart off. He understood that kindness often came at a price and feared she might take advantage of him. “Do not abuse my generosity, child.” He raised his eyebrows before letting go of her wrist.

  The girl nodded once more and bolted towards the Royal Library like a young deer chased by the hunt.

  Jack shook his head as he watched the little orphan disappear back into the crowd. “I bet she’ll be ripping aether capsules out of street cleaners a few months from now.”

  I’m definitely going to regret sending her to Arman.

  ***

  Jack ducked into a quiet alley and changed into the valet costume. Tucking away his dagger under his uniform, he patted his stomach. “I really should lose a few pounds,” he grumbled, noting that he’d had to leave his trouser button undone. The waistcoat and jacket concealed the slight gap.

  He then stashed everything except the spell scrolls in an extra bag, hiding it in the alley before preparing to exit.

  “Damn. My hair.” Jack remembered his messy locks. A valet of a noble couldn’t afford to have unkempt hair. He shoved his hair under the hat and sighed, “I’m glad Polly made a hat, even if I do look ridiculous.” Chuckling at the idea of bumping into his sister and her friends while in the costume she made, he resolved to keep an eye out for them, uncertain where in the city they might rehearse their play.

  Jack pushed open the heavy oak door, triggering the soft chime of a bell overhead. The Barker and Harker Spell Scroll Shop stood before him. Situated just a short walk from a dungeon often visited by novice adventurers, it attracted many seeking their first purchase of spell scrolls. As the shop was located farthest from his home and the Royal Library, it offered him a welcome degree of anonymity.