Aweek had passed since Big Thumb and the chaps had celebrated their windfall at the Rat Castle. The night’s festivities had been just what they had all needed, a little romance, some peril, and more than one sore head. Big Thumb was up for the first bit and the last, but the peril, he could do without that. All in all, they were in a good place. They had gold in their pockets, they had several very lucrative jobs ahead, courtesy of the Gilded Goat – God bless his white woolly hide. There were only two dirty smudges on their window of opportunity, DCI Judas Iscariot, the master of the Black Museum, was back, and there had been some odd goings-on over by St Paul’s, and he couldn’t help but think back to the warning that they’d had from the Clapham Saints.
Big Thumb instinctively reached for
