I'm lying on my front. My hood has been pulled back and stray hairs tickle my cheek.My other cheek is pressed into prickly straw. My back aches. As I try to move hot pain floods the muscles. I lie straight and still, sweat beading on my brow, and wait for the pain to pass.

The room smells of damp. Water drips rhythmically somewhere out of sight. Carefully, I reach one hand round to investigate the arrow wound on my back. It has been bandaged, but not well. Any hopes I had of waking up to a friendly face are fading with the last traces of unconsciousness.

I sit up gingerly and look around, gritting my teeth against the pain. I am in a cell. One wall is taken up with metal bars, floor to ceiling. The rest are stone, soiled with damp and moss. On the wall outside my cell is a piece of paper. Most of the writing is too small to read from here but I can clearly make out the Watch crest.

Damn.

A torch blazes beside the sign. Its glare covers the whole room, leaving no dark corners to hide in. My heart beats faster. I have to escape.

Now that my eyes have adjusted to the light I can see to inspect the bandage. It is stained with dried blood and the grime of the dirty room. The skin around the wound feels hot, and as my fingers probe further I can feel the arrowhead still there, broken off close to the skin. I have to get out of here, get to a healer. The Watch aren't interested in keeping me alive, but I am.

A quick check of my pockets reveals that all my equipment is missing. They've been thorough. Almost everything is gone. A fine gold chain, caught in the seam of my pocket, catches on a broken fingernail. I ignore it. Loot won't help me out of here.

I take off my right boot and reach inside. I pull out the lining, tearing the stitching. Inside, between the inner and outer soles, are two tiny lockpicks. I pull my boot back on. The torn lining bunches uncomfortably under my foot.

I move to the door and crane my neck, looking both ways. There is no guard outside. They put entirely too much trust in their iron bars. It does not take me long to pick the lock. The door is well oiled and swings open without a sound.

I'm free but I am not at my best. I have no money, no equipment and an arrow wound that hurts more with every step… Most importantly I have no money to pay for a healer. Perhaps it's the madness of fever setting in already but a little voice tells me there's bound to be plenty of cash lying around here. I can probably steal enough to buy more equipment, get myself patched up, maybe enough to get my old place back, or one just as good.

As soon as I turn the corner my resolve weakens. I'm looking down a long corridor, lined with cells. From the size of this place I know I'm in one of the large Watchhouses – Lean Street, or maybe High Hill. I'm not too familiar with Watchhouses. I don't go in them very often, after all.

There's a stairway halfway along the corridor and I creep toward it. The cells are about half full of the City's scum. They stare at me as I pass. There is no friendly darkness to hide me from their gazes.

Three cells along one of the prisoners, quicker witted that the rest, calls out. 'Help me out of here, mate. I'll make it worth your while.'

I make a split second decision. If I leave him he'll shout and curse me, and the commotion will attract guards. But if I free him he will run upstairs, straight into the first guard he sees. He does not have the look of a man who can keep quiet, either way.

I keep walking. If I free one I have to free them all, and the last thing I want is a horde of escaped criminals running around.

He starts to shout behind me. The noise, echoing through the corridor, is incredibly loud, and it sets the others off too. I break into a run. I have to get off this level and hide before the guards appear.

I take the stairs three at a time. There's a reception desk at the top in a square room. A guard sits behind it, with another in front talking to him. I freeze just in time and press myself against the wall. Fortunately the room is lit only by two candles on the desk, and my black clothes blend into the darkness. Unless one of them walks into me they will not find me.

'Damn prisoners,' says the guard behind the desk. 'I suppose I should go see what's got into them.'

'I'm glad my shift is over,' says his companion. 'I don't envy you the care of that lot tonight. Do you know who we've got down there?'

'Peg Leg Moll?' The standing guard shakes his head no. 'Surprise me.'

'Only the self styled Master Thief himself. Garrett.'

'No!' The guard sounds suitably impressed. Self styled? I resent that.

'Yes. So just you keep a lookout, because if he escapes on your watch the Duty Officer will have your balls on toast.' The standing guard throws a sloppy salute and leaves the room, leaving his friend checking the logbook before him as if he doesn't believe what he's heard.

The noise from below hasn't slackened, and my disbelieving friend scowls at the cells. 'Shut it, you taffers!' he shouts, but if they hear him, they ignore him.

This really annoys him. A small vein starts to throb in his temple. He stands, knocking his chair against the wall. 'Right!' he mutters.

He strides toward the stairs, his back to me. This is too good an opportunity to pass up. I take one of the candlesticks from his desk, pinch out the flame and pad quietly after him. I hit him with all the strength I can muster and he crumples. The thought of picking him up and trying to hide his body causes my back to complain, so I leave him where he is. I hope he stays undiscovered for long enough for me to make my escape.

On my way back I peer into the logbook by the light of the remaining candle. I can see my name on the top of the page. Beside my name I write neatly 'Escaped'. I chuckle softly, knowing the Duty Officer won't see the funny side.

I open the door and put my mechanical eye to the gap. Dancing lights are swimming in my good eye and I don't trust myself not to pass out if I rely on it. At least my mechanical eye will not let me down. Beyond the door I can see the main reception room. There are desks where officers can sit and hear grievances, and places for the public to wait in line. It is deserted, unmanned at night. Large doors to my right must lead to the street, but I'm not ready to leave just yet. Behind the desks, cordoned off from the public by silk ropes attached to brass stands, is another door. It bears a sign saying 'No Public Beyond This Point'. I crouch down to move through the darkness.

Pain in my back strikes me, rushing through my muscles like icy water. I fall onto my hands and knees, biting my lip until I taste blood, trying not to cry out. I know I must get help but I will not leave the things they have taken from me. I struggle to calm my breathing, to conquer the pain. It fades, but as I stand it twinges again, a warning that I can only push my body so far.

I open the door. A single torch has been left burning on the wall beside me. In the golden light I can make out a long room, with desks arranged in neat rows on each side. A spiral staircase leads to a balcony that runs around the room. In the half light I can see doors up there. There are skylights in the roof above. Pale moonlight streams through them in white shafts.

It is deserted. I move to the first desk and rifle through the papers carelessly left out. It is the details of a petty theft, though not one of mine. The thief has been caught and the evidence found with him is in the Strongroom, awaiting presentation in his trial. It sounds like it would be profitable to pay this Strongroom a visit. Not only could it be packed with loot for the taking, my own equipment could be there.

I walk a circuit of the room, examining each desk. I lift a few coins, a ring, a small gold statue. And on the last desk I come to I find a single piece of paper.

Notice to All Watchmen

Due to a recent spate of thefts from the Strongroom the locks have been changed. The craftsman assures me that these locks are unpickable. Two keys are now needed to open the door. These will be in the care of the Duty Officers. Watchmen are urged to look out for any suspicious behaviour and report it immediately.

Commander Highton

I have never yet come across a lock that was unpickable. But the word is a challenge that I have to rise to. Of course, it would be far easier if I could find the keys and replace them once I've got what I want.

I walk up the spiral staircase, my footsteps too loud on the metal steps. When I reach the top I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Ordinarily this would be an easy job. The place is almost deserted and dark. But I know that if I am seen I will not be able to make a quick getaway, and that makes me nervous. But I do not let my tension affect my concentration.

There are three offices along the corridor. The closest two have signs saying 'Duty Officer' and the third has a coat of arms. That will be Commander Highton's office, then. He comes from a noble but poor family, and he makes sure everyone knows about his noble blood and not his empty coffers.

The first door is unlocked and I let myself in. The room is bare. Only a desk, a chair and a wooden chest furnish it. I help myself to a pouch of silver left in the chest, and a gold tobacco case on the desk. The second room is much the same, with only a few small pickings. I am disappointed, but try the third door anyway.

This one is locked. I set to work with my small lockpicks. They are awkward, having short handles, and it takes me longer than it would ordinarily.

As the middle ring clicks open, I hear voices below me and footsteps on the stairway. I have nowhere to hide. Although I could run back to the other offices there are no hiding places in there. My only chance is to open this door and pray there is a place I can conceal myself.

I click the final wheel as a head tops the balcony. From the cavalier hat and large feather I know this is Commander Highton in all his noble glory. I slip through the door.

My luck has not totally deserted me. This room contains several large pieces of ornate wooden furniture, one of which is a large wardrobe. I close the door behind me as I climb in among the heavy coats and capes. It isn't wise to shut yourself in a wardrobe, but it's better than leaving the door open for someone to wonder about.

The door to the office opens and two people walk in. Their footsteps are quite different, one a heavy confident stride and one shuffling along, occasionally jogging a step to catch up. I hear a sigh and a creak as someone sits down, and the clink of a bottle on glasses.

'Sir, the treasurer will not allow this expense,' says a nervous little voice.

'Stuff him, old chap.' This haughty tone must be the Commander. We've never had the pleasure of meeting but I note his voice for later. 'The cost must be weighed against the embarrassment when this news gets out.' There is a glug and the clink of glass on glass again.

'But the fee is astronomical!'

'It will be worth it. That little rat has caused us much trouble. Think of the widows' payments, the injuries, the loss of face.'

'To be fair, sir, he's never actually killed one of our men.'

The Commander carries on as if his lackey had not spoken. 'It's time to call in the real professionals. I haven't got men who are capable of this kind of work. To catch the thief we need someone who knows his ways, who knows his weaknesses. Take this to the house with the blue door on Silver Way.' There is the unmistakable noise of coins rattling. 'Ask for Ravine. Tell whoever answers I want a word, or else.'

'With respect, sir, I don't know if threats are the way to convince h-'

'Then do what ever it takes, man! I want a bounty hunter and I want the best. There's more where that silver came from. Make sure you pass that on. And the deal is dead or alive. Hanging Garrett in my precinct would be a master stroke for my career, but I'm prepared to take what I can get.'

'Yes sir.' The shuffler leaves, closing the door quietly behind him. I hear more and more drink being poured and then, after what seems an interminable age, snores.

I give him a minute to go deeper into sleep and I open the door. I know it's risky, but sneaking out in front of the captain of the guard is preferable to waiting for this bounty hunter to show up.

I creep noiselessly across the thick carpet and edge the door open just enough squeeze through. The room below is still deserted and I move perhaps quicker than is wise in my haste to leave. I feel cowardly but I know that if I take on a bounty hunter in my weakened state I will lose.

The Strongroom will have to wait.