Jack was a guard. Or, at least, that was the official name for his position: informally, and truthfully, he was more a sleeper. He'd learned long ago how to nap standing stock-straight, not losing an ounce of his authority. Even on a day like today, with the Princess circling lazily overhead – would she never give it a rest? – and everybody out to watch and cheer, his duty required only the slightest bit of concentration. Such was the luxury of being appointed to Upper Valua. The aristocrats were all arrogant as hell, and rather condescending, but that was about it. The majority just ignored the guards as nothing more than ornaments scattered about their shining city. Jack had been on the job for five years now, and had been approached only three times by a noble: once, to ask directions, and twice by drunks. They'd both ridiculed him with slurred speech and asinine claims. He'd just taken it all, and, upon their departure, gone back to sleep.

There were a lot of them out now. Scores of opulently dressed fat-cats, cheering and waving on their patios, some bowing, others ooh-ing and ahh-ing. The ladies were garbed in shimmering dresses, glinting magnificently in the streetlight; the men, smartly attired in trim, daring suits. They'd all been waving and cheering for over an hour now as the Princess wheeled about overhead, clearly enthusiastic about her position of power in the whole thing. The aristocrats, rather like the bums of Lower Valua, had no choice but to cheer her on. She would not, in fact, give up her display for another ten minutes yet.

Jack had given up watching her ages ago. Such was the advantage of owning a helmet – nobody could tell you were being blasphemous, so long as you tilted your head ever so slightly. Out of a miniscule sense of pride, he'd kept his eyes open all this time; but now, it was time to rest. Jack's eyelashes slowly began to descend. The throngs of gentiles turned into a colourful blur.

And then they opened again, a little puzzled. Something small and dark had woven between a pair of those fancily garbed elites and vanished. He'd just barely caught sight of it, whatever it was. An interloper? He wasn't sure. He'd never seen anything quite like it.

"Eh, probably just a trick of light," he murmured quietly to himself. His eyes made another attempted at closure and succeeded. His mind faded slowly into dream-time.

How unfortunate for him that he missed the next two shadows that followed the first. They might have aroused his suspicions. As it was, though, the aristocrats were easy pickings.

--

Squim was only quiet when he worked. Indeed, he became as silent as the grave as his fingers dipped into pockets and purses. He moved like a flash amongst the unsuspecting crowds, relieving all of their casual change. Those who felt his touch thought it to be nothing more than the breeze.

Marlo and Tricks were even subtler than that. Both were well versed in not only picking out the particularly unsuspecting – the naïve and insensitive seemed to carry a kind of alluring glow about them – but those who were subtly engaged in other pursuits at the moment. A quietly conversing couple, a man lost in thought, a woman somewhat hypnotised by the slow whirling of the sinewy fabric from the Princesses' barge, all were potential victims.

They all paled in comparison to Galley, however. He moved like a ghost. Nothing could elude his grasp. Pocket watches, diamond cufflinks, carefully concealed wallets, and even several military medals worked their way into the folds of his clothing. His speed was supernatural. He didn't even need to possess the kind of extra sight for susceptibility that Marlo and Tricks had. No, any target was fair game, so long as he was concerned, for he was a master of diversion. To steer a man's attention away from his pocket, Galley would deliberately elicit one noise or another off in the opposite direction; not enough to rouse too much suspicion, but enough to direct his prey's mind off-kilter for a few critical seconds. Six years of living from instinct had turned him into a pro. These posh aristocrats were like lambs to the slaughter.

Unfortunately, things were not to go smoothly, despite the expertise of the Sewer Rats. Such things never proceed completely according to plan. No, there was, much to their chagrin, one quick-eyed young man amongst the crowds – much better at keeping watch than Jack – who, out of pure skill, managed to notice the quickly flitting shadows of the thieves on several occasions. Burly yet smart, and possessing infinite patience, he allowed nothing to escape his notice. He patted his father's shoulder calmly, careful not to harm the nicely pressed fabric of his uniform, and leaned over to speak in his ear.

"Excuse me, father, but I think there might be something wrong."

His father, an unimpressive court official who looked twenty years older than he actually was, barely acknowledged his son at first. "Huh? Why say that?" His eyes continued to follow the barge whirling overhead.

"Well, I keep seeing these little figures running amongst the crowds. . . I wonder if they might not be thieves-"

His father exploded at that. "What?! Thieves, here? Preposterous! It couldn't happen! Nobody would have the gall!" Several aristocrats gazed over at the outburst, suddenly clutching at their valuables. Though all were prone to wasting ludicrous amounts of money on the paltriest of things, none wished to be robbed. The utter indignity of being compromised in such a fashion was unthinkable.

"Well, I can't say I'm sure, of course, but, if you'll just look-" the young man insisted, pointing out amongst the throngs in the streets.

His father tried. Honestly, he tried. But years of peering at tiny printing on poor parchment had dulled his eyesight considerably, and he would never have his son's eyes. "I don't see a thing. Honestly, the very idea is insane in the first place, Gregorio. Use that juicy brain of yours, my boy, and recognise the validity of my words!"

"But, father-"

"No buts! All eyes should be on the future of Valua, son!" He resumed his careful consideration of Princess Teodora, who was just coming by for another pass over the crowd, waving her ornate sceptre wildly.

But Gregorio would have none of it. He knew what he'd seen. Without another word, he stalked away from his father and waded out into the sea of clueless aristocrats, a predator in search of predators.