A/N: My darling GuestReaderA, you are awesome! Thank you for your detailed reviews!

It's nice to know that people actually notice all those small details that FF writers seemingly put in just for themselves :D And yes, Thorin's pony's name was Minty, thus SS Lamiaceae :P

And maybe, the amphibians are flying fish in this world :P

A/N#2: Since I got a comment that Dwalin(son)'s speech requires translation, and I did indeed give him Victorian underworld slang, there will be a glossary at the end of the chapter :)

A/N#3: Since this chapter has been teased in We Are Scattered Through Time and Space, I'm updating with two chapters at once today. Still, please, skim through this one, it has some changes :)

"What do you intend to do, laddie?" Balinson watched his master pull on his evening swallowtail jacket and adjust his silk cravat. Thorington inspected the pin with his family crest bearing an octopus and two crossed cutlasses and seemed pleased with its position on the brocade of the tie.

"All I can do is to go to Elliot Thrandon." Thorington voice was more of a growl. The two tycoons could hardly be described as being on friendly terms. "He has the duplicate of the key, since Erebor was initially designed for his father. My grandfather swore that not even a single coin of the Thrandon family money was spent on her building, but the Thrandons still had claims on her. And they have never returned the key given to them with the initial schematics as a token of friendship."

"If you ask for the key, he'll know what you are up too," Balinson shook his head in vexation. "So much for keeping our mission a secret."

"We will still need his support for this journey. There is a stretch of it where we might have to cross the skies above his lands. I'm certain I can negotiate with him," Thorington smirked darkly, "A favour for a favour."

The soiree in the Elliot Thrandon's mansion has just reached its opulent bloom point, when Thorington entered the dining hall in his black jacket, his customary blue and silver, tapestry and silk, wide lapelled vest visible in the bright light of gas lamps hanging under the ceiling. His masculine jaw set stubbornly, he proceeded to the table with drinks, followed by Graham Dwalinson. It was of course considered poor manners to bring your help to a fancy evening such as this one, but it had been already established that Thorington didn't go anywhere without his lieutenant.

The men stood in a corner of the hall exchanging quiet whispers, when Thorington noticed a small redhead by the wall. And although she'd exchanged her previous outfit, the white shirt and leather trousers with thigh holsters and a utility belt, to an elegant white dress, he recognized her at once. A fashionable white top hat with albino peacock feathers and a pearl and opal pin, was sitting askew on her coiffured ginger curls. As sophisticated as she looked at the moment, the circumstances of their previous meeting were dramatic enough for her angular face to be etched in his memory. He touched Dwalinson's sleeve and pointed first at her and then at the back door with his eyes. While his bodyguard moved to ensure she'd fail to escape through it if the circumstance arose, Thorington quickly walked up to her and tightly clasped his hand around her upper arm. He expected her to jolt, but she remained calm and threw him a look from under her lashes. He noticed pale delicate collarbones and a long neck, with a white lace, ruffled ribbons and ivory cameo choker.

"Mister Thorington, I presume," the low-class accent from before was gone, her voice melodic and confident, and she gracefully took a sip from the champagne flute she had in her left hand. The corners of her lips curled up in a sly smile. "Pleasure to see you. And the second time in one week! If I didn't know better, I'd say you are following me." He snarled.

"Since you seem to know my name, it would be polite to give me yours." She smiled, her rouged mouth looked even wider, and he noticed the freckles peppering her turn-up nose. "And I would also like to know how you got here. Are you after Thrandon now after looting what belonged to me?" She tilted her head and gave him a studying look.

"I do not remember looting any of your possessions, Mr. Thorington. The box in question was buried on a beach, and although they say you own the waters of this world, whatever is buried in the sand… Well, as the saying goes, finders, keepers."

"The key belongs to my family," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"It doesn't anymore. And you are hurting my arm, do be so kind as to refrain from making a scene."

"Give it to me," he tightened his grip. He would despise hurting a woman, but something about her just made him livid.

"Miss Leary, how nice of you to join us," Thrandon's mesmerizing voice jerked them both out of a death stare contest they were engaged into. The tall blonde host of the party approached them, his habitual long brocade coat dragging behind him on the polished floor. "John, my friend, you have met Miss Leary as I can see. Such an honour to have the famous Ginger Lightning at my modest gathering!"

Thorington's head jerked, and he gaped at the small woman. He released her arm in shock. She stretched her hand with a fashionable clockwork cuff, and Thrandon had to bend almost in two to kiss her knuckles.

"Mr. Thrandon, it's a pleasure to be here." She suddenly emitted a delicate chuckle. "It's not every day that I find myself in the company of two kings. The King of Timber and the King of Steam," she pronounced in a sing-song voice, and Thrandon smiled in his usual snake-like manner.

"You are the royalty in here, my darling. After all, if not for your associates none of us would have had his empire. We are nothing without your lightning globes." She smiled benevolently and nodded.

The waltz started at the background, and Thrandon stretched his hand to her. "May I have the honour?" She accepted, and Thorington watched them walk to the dancefloor.

Dwalinson silently approached his master. "Is it the bird? Looks like'er, though clad like a lady this time." Thorington didn't answer, his cold blue eyes following the fluid movements of the redhead. She threw her head back, laughing at something Thrandon intimately whispered into her ear, her neck long and elegant, and the King of Steam ground his teeth. "What's she doin' with the pale judy?"

"Just like us, she'd need Thrandon's support if she decides to go for Erebor."

"How's she goin' do it? She only has the key, we have the map. And besides, she's just a lass."

"She isn't." Thorington quietly swore under his breath. "She is not just a thief either, as we thought." Dwalinson threw her an appraising look.

"Have to say she looks all jemmy, like a proper lady. Not like that twig of a lass we saw before. In these dresses they at least have the degs and nancy. Is it all cotton in'nit, though?" Dwalinson gave the nearest standing woman a suspicious look.

"I'm hardly interested in the content of her dress," Thorington sneered, "Except her corset pocket where she probably keeps the key. She is the Ginger Lightning, the union leader of the Sky Bolts Catchers."

"What?" Dwalinson's jaw slacked. "That daffy twist?"

"That exact girl. And I think it's time to cut in." Thorington decisively headed towards the couple twirling on the dancefloor. Dwalinson grumbled under his breath.

"Aye, 'ere he goes. He'll shake a flannin with the Zappers too, is all. As if we haven't enough aggro with the Wood Tallywags." Dwalinson quickly downed another drink and sighed. The evening was picking up speed.

Thorington navigated his way through couples dancing on the floor, and soon enough the redhead's small hand lay in his. Before leaving, Thrandon gave Thorington a cold, irked stare, and Thorington wondered whatever could have spited the blonde. Surely, he wasn't jealous. The girl was hardly appealing. On the other hand, Thorington quickly changed his mind, perhaps it was the apprehension of a business rival, Bolt Catchers were a crucial power in the world of industrial manufacturing.

His hand lay on her narrow back, covering it from her shoulder blades to the minuscule waist. She was a skilled dancer, light but confident. Despite their height difference, she hardly reached his collarbones, they moved on the dance floor in a balanced accordance.

"So, Miss Leary, we seem to have quite an impasse on our hands," he looked down at her and caught a sarcastic spark in her eyes. "You have something I need, I am ready to listen to your conditions."

Glossary:

judy - woman, prostitute, effeminate man

jemmy - proper, elegant, posh

degs - breasts

nancy - backside

daffy - tiny

twist - small girl, child

shake a flannin - start a fight

tallywags - testes