Saturday.
There was, of course, a reason Fagin chose this specific time.
According to custom, today was a day of rest, and the apprentices who lived nearby had all gone home. Arna never went to the factory on Saturday afternoons. Instead, she would stay by the River Thames until evening, eventually driving her carriage back with a large catch of fish to provide an extra meal for the children staying overnight.
Of course, today she wasn’t the only one in the carriage.
Since Nancy had mentioned that perhaps two or three men would be coming with Sykes, Watson and Holmes—out of concern for Arna—were also in the carriage, armed with guns and positioned on either side of the frame.
“I told you, Holmes,” Watson whispered, his face pale as he gripped the carriage frame during their high-speed dash, “we should have just called a regular carriage! I would have happily paid for it!”
Holmes, however, had a glint in his eyes, relishing the extraordinary sensation of the speed while keeping himself firmly braced. “My dear Watson, you must realize that calling an outside carriage would be far too conspicuous. It would easily be noticed.”
“But taking my carriage is different,” Arna chimed in, accelerating even further. “They won’t see a thing!”
“I can’t see my future either,” Watson said despairingly. “I only hope we don’t—ah!—end our lives prematurely right here in this carriage.”
At a speed that felt more like flying than driving, Arna brought the carriage to the rear of the factory. She brought it to a halt and surreptitiously settled Watson and Holmes behind several crates in the canteen before heading to the kitchen with her bucket.
Nancy, wearing an apron, was chatting with Mrs. Laura while deftly peeling potatoes and dropping them into a basin. Seeing Arna arrive, she wiped her hands and took the bucket of fish. “From today?”
“Yes,” Arna replied. “Nancy said she’d help with dinner today. Thank you for your hard work, Mrs. Laura. You should head home now.”
Arna had specifically granted Mrs. Laura leave today to avoid the trouble of an innocent person getting hurt in the crossfire. Mrs. Laura nodded, organized the vegetables she had been working on, and left the factory with her bag.
Once the meal was prepared and set on the table, Nancy produced the spiked bottle of wine under the watchful eyes of the other children.
“Oh, Mr. Isaacs,” she said, bringing out a chipped glass and blinking innocently. “This is a thank you for all the fish lately. We rarely get such treats—at least, we didn’t before you arrived.”
Though she knew Nancy was just following the “script,” Arna felt a small glow of satisfaction.
“Really? For me?” She smiled, took the glass, and sniffed it.
Just as Nancy had warned, the wine smelled sour and bitter. Even though Oliver had tried to mask the “poison” with honey, it was hardly something anyone would want to taste.
Arna brought the glass close to her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nancy looking tense, as if she wanted to snatch the glass back. Oliver’s knuckles were white from gripping the table, and Dodger sat nearby, his body taut.
Arna swiftly “poured” the wine into her backpack and set the empty glass down with a thud, slumping onto the table.
The whole performance was quite amateurish, but since everyone in the room had their own ulterior motives, no one spoke up to point it out.
“Let’s go,” Dodger said, pulling Oliver toward the door. “Fagin is at the entrance.”
He glanced at Nancy, signaling for her to leave as well. Nancy nodded.
The two groups went their separate ways, but Fagin, waiting outside, had encountered a different situation. When he saw the nine men following behind Sykes, Fagin’s old face lost its amiable mask.
“Bill,” he said strained-ly, “didn’t we agree? You were to bring two or three more, just in case… Why have you brought so many?”
A single young man, no matter how capable or prone to fighting, didn’t require nine grown men to handle him. This was enough people to start a gang war!
Bill Sykes looked equally displeased.
“Those guys heard about it and insisted on joining,” he whispered, his voice laced with venom. “I didn’t recruit them.”
The cake was only so big; if others took a slice, there would be less for them. Bill Sykes understood this simple logic perfectly.
“Oh, but you—you should have persuaded them otherwise!” Fagin said frantically, stealing glances at the men standing nearby. “Otherwise, once the money is split, we’ll each have less than the value of a pocket watch!”
“They saw this fool swaggering into the goldsmith’s,” Sykes said. “He sold a fortune in gold and pearls. The clothes on his back are worth a hundred pounds. His brooch, fifty.”
He snorted. “And besides, these fellows don’t like the look of him either.”
Fagin gasped. “You mean…”
“This fellow is far richer than we imagined, and far stupider,” Sykes said. “It’s only natural that rats other than us would catch the scent of blood.”
He sneered. “If you want to try and talk them into going home, go ahead, Fagin. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Fagin fell silent. His eyes darted around shrewdly. “You take them to find Isaacs. The children and I will handle the hauling first.”
His meaning was clear: he would take responsibility for the safe, and he and his “little rats” would not participate in the distribution of anything else.
The leader of the five men who had joined later grinned.
“Of course, old gentleman,” he said in a gravelly voice. “We have you to thank for finding such a golden opportunity.”
It was a good thing Fagin and his brats were clever enough to infiltrate the factory first, get that formidable factory owner drunk, and then drug him so he wouldn’t wake up. Otherwise, where else would he find a chance to both wash away his shame and make a killing?
***
Inside the room, Arna remained motionless against the table, lazily closing her eyes to recover some Stamina Points.
She really should have eaten something earlier! Acting was a bit too much fun, especially watching everyone else get so jumpy, and she had completely forgotten about food.
Still, it wasn’t urgent. She hadn’t forgotten to eat while fishing, so her Stamina was still more than half full.
Meanwhile, Holmes and Watson were hiding behind the crates, ears pressed for any sound from outside. After a moment, Holmes frowned, made a gesture, and then leaned down to press his ear against the floor, listening intently.
People were clearly approaching outside. The light thud of boots on the ground and low murmurs reached them. But the numbers didn’t match. There were too many—it didn’t align with what Nancy had said.
…Had Sykes changed the plan at the last minute?
He counted silently in his head. Eight, nine, ten. Ten men—more than double the original estimate.
In the suffocating darkness, Watson, also sensing something was wrong, squeezed closer to Holmes. He could feel his friend’s nerves tightening like an overextended spring and whispered, “…Holmes?”
“Ten,” Holmes whispered back, letting out a cold, humorless chuckle, secretly glad they had both brought their guns today.
Watson’s eyes widened in the dark. “Ten?” he mouthed silently, his hand already reaching for the revolver at his hip.
Holmes shook his head slightly. There had been no gunfire yet.
*Think, think fast.*
The footsteps were drawing closer.
As his mind raced, Holmes’s eyes flicked toward a rickety shelf against the wall. Being a temporary warehouse and canteen, the area was cluttered with lamp oil and old newspapers. The newspapers had likely been scavenged by Arna and dried by the children. The lamp oil was supposedly something she had haggled for at a bargain price for the children to use at night—Holmes had no doubt she intended it to last forever, but now it was their only lifeline.
He leaned into Watson’s ear and whispered his plan in one breath: “When I move, light those things.”
Watson gripped his arm harder. “Are you mad?” he hissed.
The entire factory would go up in flames.
But to their surprise, before either of them could act, Arna sat straight up from the table. She propped her chin on her hand and looked toward the door as if she, too, realized many people were coming. At some point, a steel pipe had appeared in her hand.
Holmes and Watson exchanged a look and momentarily held their positions, waiting for Arna’s next move.
Arna, for her part, had already seen ten red dots representing enemies approaching on her map. She wasn’t panicked. She had brought enough food today, and while she didn’t have a weapon that dealt 9999 damage, the steel pipe had high durability. Hitting them a few extra times would do the trick.
The door was kicked open with a bang.
Ten men flooded in like a tide. The leader was an unfamiliar NPC with a scar across his face. Another man stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, followed by thugs armed with knives and clubs.
They froze when they saw Arna was awake. The lead NPC stopped and exchanged a look with the man beside him.
The gang sub-leader standing next to Sykes turned pale. “Damn it, Sykes!” He instinctively tightened his grip on his knife and rounded on Sykes. “You said he was out cold!”
Sykes didn’t answer him, instead cursing the man’s stupidity in his head. Did he really need to ask why? Obviously, the plan had gone sideways! What else could it be? Did he think the robbery had turned into a ball where they’d all hop on the tables and toast the Queen?
“Care to introduce yourselves?” Arna interrupted them.
“Since you asked, I’ll let you die knowing the truth. Bill Sykes,” Sykes said, gesturing to himself with his thumb and roaring, “You’re that Isaacs fellow, aren’t you? The fool who thinks he can go around breaking ribs without paying the price.”
Arna let his words go in one ear and out the other. She rubbed her chin, studying the man next to Sykes. “I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
He looked very familiar. She’d seen him somewhere, but the impression wasn’t deep.
Sykes didn’t want to give the factory owner any more time to react. He stepped forward and said menacingly, “Where’s Nancy? Did she tip you off? Or was it Oliver? I knew those two were unreliable. I’ll skin them alive for daring to betray me…”
Arna completely filtered out the rambling of this unknown NPC, instead staring intently at the familiar-looking one. The man began to break into a cold sweat and started to tremble under her gaze.
Perhaps it was his trembling that did it, but a spark of realization finally hit her. “Wait, aren’t you that fellow who kindly ‘gifted’ me a large sum of money last week?”
He was one of the five or six men who had tried to jump her, only to be stripped of everything they had. They had begged for mercy in tears before fleeing in terror from her “gratitude.”
Arna was overjoyed. “It really is you!”
She hadn’t had the chance to properly thank him last time, and now here he was, bringing a whole crowd of people to the factory to deliver more money. She truly didn’t know what to say!
With a deft flick of her wrist, she spun the steel pipe and charged.