Moran's got a plan. He can see them all looking at him. He can see the respect draining out of them. Nice, safe Sebastian, not taking no chances. And he could not possibly give any less of a toss. Let them think. Dani was being patronizing when she called him strategic. He'll make her eat that, and no mistake.

He's not the sort to wish over dice, but a six would be just lovely. And he's rather pleased, rather feels the fates are with him and his strategy, when he gets it.

It takes him past Go, collecting his £200, just as he planned. That's nice to begin with; after Dani's windfall at the bank, he'd been the poorest player on the board. Nice to be back on top. And it takes him to the Old Kent Road. Now, with the lady in control of Whitechapel, it would be petty and pointless to buy up the other half of the block. He'd make an enemy and never be able to build anything up.

Charlie sees this too. "Bad luck," he says. "Looks like you're having a pint at the Lord Nelson and no more."

"Do yourself a favour," Moran tells him, "Don't even think about drink during play. You need your wits about you. Anyway, I'm on my second round, lad. Means I can go shopping."

"Why does it matter that this is your second round? Jim already bought Danielle Whitechapel."

"Oh, I'm not going house-hunting. No." He nods across at the rest of the silver tokens, still in their line. Charlie's breath catches. The power of having the right tokens was just proven to him. That silly little cat lifted its mistress out of poverty and it wasn't even her turn. "I'll be having that Battleship please, James." And when tokens only cost twice the price of the square you're standing on, and him on the cheapest square of the board, he grins, "Bargain," and sets his new secret weapon to one side.

"Gorgeous play," Mies purrs, as she takes the dice from him.

Moran knows what she's doing. She's remembering the only time they ever got Jim out of the game fairly. They went in together. Moran, for his part, is remembering what she did to him the turn immediately after and isn't falling for it again.

Her toss takes her to the visitors room at whatever prison she desires to visit. "I'll just sit."

"You're sure?" Jim cuts in. Part of it is genuine surprise. Part of it is baiting her. "Nobody you want to look in on?"

"Not this time." Because Milverton is clearly confused again, "Certain prisoners can help strengthen your position. We'll give you the list if you ever end up visiting. Or when I put you in a cell."

"Is that a threat?" he starts.

"Might be."

Jim, still pushing, "Not even old AJ? For old time's sake? You usually like to snag him early on."

"AJ," she says firmly, "will wait for me." This is new. Jim had not counted on this. What's she playing at that she doesn't want to bulk up her cat's credentials? It's not like she's rolling in cash. One chat with AJ, costing her nothing, would up her cut any job she's called in on. He's watching her so intently that he misses the glare and the wink that pass between her and Milverton as she gives him the dice. "Don't worry," she whispers, "It's way on down the line. Enjoy your freedom."

"Is this still about Kyoto?"

The roll of her eyes states quite plainly that all things will always be about Kyoto, but before she can say so, Jim cuts in on them again. "Will you two kindly not fight your personal battles over my game, please?"

Mies raises her hands and sits back. Charlie keeps his eyes on her and drops the dice to spin in the middle of the board. A six would bring him to meet the Bitch, idling in the vile Audi she's driving these days outside the gates of Wormwood Scrubs. He wonders, if he asked politely, might there be some way for him to slash her tyres and leave her sitting there, maybe do her out of a turn.

But the spin lands for a three and leaves him at the mercy of another fate. After his taxes last time, now he faces the uncertainty of Chance.

And because he has yet to stop thinking about sticking a knife in something very dear to her, he is still watching the bitch Mies, and sees the very mild smile she makes no attempt to hide. It comes back to him in a flash of inspiration – she crept into this room before the rest of them, to stick her nose in the folder. "She knows," he says, pointing at her. "She looked before the game, she knows what the top card is."

"I'd believe that," Jim mutters. "Easily solved. Seb, give those a shuffle for him, would you?"

"Yes, if you'd be so kind," and Charlie straightens. Feeling triumphant. Feeling justified. She tries to laugh, covering up her slip but he's not buying it, not for a second. He's still smug when Moran holds out the newly-fair deck. His face doesn't fall until he slips the card from the top. One of the handwritten ones, added in to make the game that bit more applicable to them.

Handwritten and added in by Moriarty, which perhaps accounts for some of its cruelty. He has to read out sickly, "You go home, only to find MI5 watching the place. Bury yourself in a safe-house and buy no property this round…"

Jim is shaking his head, smiling, "You're a nasty twat, Dani."

This is all the trigger she needs to fall laughing against Moran. "Too easy, Charlie boy."

"Wait!" he cries, livid. "Jim, you knew what it said too? You knew what she was doing!"

"You wanted a shuffle," he shrugs. "It could have come off better or worse. And it just happened to come off worse… Jesus, round one and we're starting all this shite again. It gets worse every time. Now stop being a big child, Mr Milverton. Unclench your fist and give me that dice. I promise I won't look at you or anything." Mies goes into another gale and Milverton bites his lip to keep from cursing her. That would be a waste of energy and an unnecessary show of emotion. There are old sayings about what a man should do rather than get mad.

In the wake of their first great betrayal, Jim plays simply. Gets himself to Pall Mall and yes, definitely, he'll be having that. Control over the pink block would give him Whitehall and access to all the politicians and the civil servants that come with that. Whoever ends up with the Electric company, he'll have a stake in that.

But he's got one eye on Marylebone Station, teasingly close. Because everybody here knows that's his, or they'd better. Whatever their plans might have been for the railroads, Marylebone is his. Because everybody here knows which little street is just off the Marylebone Road, and those who have played before know that everything has its place in the game.