Disclaimer: I do not own Youjo Senki

Further note: This story's discussion thread is on SpaceBattles Forum's Creative Writing section.

A\N: This is it for the backlog. The story will be updated as and when new chapters get written.

Chapter 6

When I first offered my services to Oliver and his merry band, it wasn't out of any particular desire to seek employment as a common criminal. However, while I eventually planned to make my way away to the Unified States - land of the free, the brave, and at least at this point in time, liberal immigration policies - I needed a few things first. I needed to book a berth on a ship to my destination, which was the easiest part as the money Visha had furnished me with was more than sufficient to pay my way. I needed enough money to make a new life for myself in a strange land - which was harder as travel expenses would eat up at least half my current reserve, and legal sources of income for a young child are limited. Third, we were heading into winter. This was no time to be travelling anywhere except south, and that was not an option for obvious reasons. Which meant for the next few months, I needed somewhere to lay low. This would have the useful side-effect of not having to tangle with the security that was even now undoubtedly being emplaced on all ports and roads. Finally, I needed identification papers that would at least stand up to a cursory inspection until I could get a US citizenship, and for that I needed a forger.

If this was a Hollywood movie, my being a former elite military operative would automatically translate to having friends in low places and knowing where exactly you need to go in a strange city to find whatever criminal specialist you need. Since in both my lives I'd made it a point not to associate with criminals, I'd understandably failed to acquire this necessary education. And it's not something you ask around for either. Even if my practical knowledge of the criminal world was nonexistent, it was obvious that a criminal would only reveal themselves to people he knows can be trusted not to turn him in. To get access to a specialist like a forger, particularly a good one, I would need to become sufficiently reputed and trusted in the Londinium underground.

While I was wary of using pop culture as a source of information, I figured as long as I used my common sense, I could pick out a few useful tidbits in order to make my way in. After that, observation and experience would do the rest.

First, no involving myself in rape or murder. All my knowledge emphasized how nothing caught the eye of the law like violent crime. Even muggings as my current companions had attempted have a possibility of going wrong and bringing down excessive amounts of attention. On the other hand, if I could nudge my companions towards 'clean' crimes, as juvenile delinquents we could get away with quite a bit before the police started to take us seriously.

Second, be ready and willing to put the hurt on. Seemingly contrary to the first, while violence was to be avoided while commissioning crime, one had to display a readiness to do violence while associating with fellow criminals. After thinking about it, I realized it made sense. Most criminals made a living preying on the weak, and so one could not ever appear weak. I did not worry about this part, it honestly seemed no different than my never ending effort to be taken seriously during my army days.

Third, always assume there's a traitor. Criminals are not prone to be reliable. Any number of reasons can drive one to betray their comrades, not just to the law but to rival gangs. Any group I associated with would have to be secured against such. While I had no intention of meting out the traditional fate of 'snitches' on anyone I caught (see the first point regarding murder), I also couldn't allow myself to be betrayed as a fate far worse than prison awaited me. This would be the trickiest. The best answer was to use my experience in Human Resources to promote in-group loyalty, but I was not optimistic. I remembered the incompetent fool from my first life who murdered me in a fit of violence. And this was a man who had been carefully vetted before being recruited by a prestigious company. My new coworkers most likely contained a mixture of incompetence and violent tendencies that would put my former murderer to shame. They were probably as bad as the worst of the conscripts the Empire had sent to me for training. Well, I had methods of dealing with such. Colonel Lergen might disapprove, but I think my circumstances merited sterner measures than might be acceptable in a more forgiving and rational organization like the Imperial Army.

Fourth, and most important, money talks. Criminals were ultimately more motivated by greed than any other strata of society. As long as I proved myself a capable earner, I would earn myself enough 'friends' to keep myself protected until the time came to leave these shores.

Yes, these four points seemed the most sensible of all the advice my layman's knowledge of criminal behavior had to offer. They should let me stay safe and ingratiate myself with the criminal masses until such time as I could leave all this behind.

November 18, 1925, Prime Minister's Office, Londinium

The Prime Minister of the Allied Kingdom glared at his cabinet. "All right, gentlemen. I have half the countries in the world accusing the Kingdom of sponsoring or aiding the kidnapping of Degurechaff. I have the other half mocking our incompetence for being unable to secure a 12-year-old girl. The Empire's threatening to restart the war if we don't produce their hero. Tell me we have something I can tell the world that will make us look just a bit less like utter buffoons."

The chief of MI5 and the head of the SIS exchanged glances, before the former stepped forward. "We've finished questioning everyone involved in the incident. It's confirmed, the last anyone saw Degurechaff is going into the ladies' room on the ground floor of the building. It's almost as if the explosion that destroyed a wall of the room vaporized her as well, except that's impossible. However, questioning her guards brought something new to light. Both guards are adamant that just before or at the same time as the explosion, they sensed a burst of magic."

"Magic? You mean enemy mages sneaked in and kidnapped her?"

"That is an avenue we are researching. However, both the guard's reports and the debris from the blast indicate that the explosion originated from inside the room. The guards did check the room, and it was unoccupied before Degurechaff went in. Right now, our prime suspect for the explosion is Degurechaff herself."

"I thought mages couldn't cast spells without a computation orb," opined the Home Secretary.

"Not something like a controlled explosion, anyway. I've talked with our best mages and while some of them can achieve a small amount of strength enhancement without an orb, an explosion is well beyond anyone."

"Are we sure about that?" asked the Prime Minister. "The Francois seem terrified of this girl and what she's capable of."

"Quite sure. No, the most likely reason is that someone managed to sneak in a computation orb into that restroom. Our prime suspect is Lieutenant Viktoriya Serebryakov. She was there as a witness for the defense, she was Degurechaff's adjutant, and she had used that restroom several times during the trial, including earlier that day."

"So, it's the Imperials trying to pull a fast one? Have you interrogated this Serebryakov?"

The MI5 chief winced. "No. In fact, she and Captain Weiss, the other member of Degurechaff's battalion, are already on their way home. Just hours after Degurechaff escaped, General Zettour from Berun HQ showed up, placed the two under his protection, and demanded they be immediately returned to the Empire before 'Albish incompetence costs the Empire any more loyal soldiers'. That's a direct quote. He waited only long enough for the two to give a statement, in which they naturally deny everything, then packed them onto a boat while he ran interference."

"And you let him?" came the exasperated cry from the Prime Minister.

"We couldn't hold him without potentially starting another war. He made it clear that unless we provided some solid evidence for holding his subordinates, he was perfectly willing to shoot his way out."

"And what did he have to say about the computation orb that Degurechaff got her hands on?"

"He demanded to see scanner recordings confirming it."

"And?"

"We had a scanner dedicated 24/7 to watching that area. However, that first explosion barely showed up as a blip against the magic signal from Degurechaff's aerial mage escort. And after that, we had nothing. The general was unimpressed, he pointed out that if Degurechaff had actually used an orb to escape, the signal would have come out steady and clear. In fact, he openly made the suggestion that since our guards were the only aerial mages present that were actually putting out magic, we were the ones responsible for kidnapping her and the explosion nothing but a very transparent diversion. I feel that will also be Berun's official position on the matter."

"Wait one ruddy second," interrupted the First Lord of the Admiralty. "You just got done telling us Degurechaff couldn't blow that wall without an orb. So why's it not on the scanner?"

"The obvious answer is that after blowing the wall, she made the rest of her escape without relying on the orb. Which was smart of her, since if she had both our mages and the scanner would have been able to tail her. She didn't have to run for long - just long enough to get outside, at which point a team could have been waiting to pick her up and get her into hiding."

"A team? You think she had outside help?"

"I pretty much guarantee it. Without magic, she's still a twelve year old girl, no matter how well-trained. And she can't use her magic without immediately being detected, not with all the scanners and mages we've got aimed at this city. No, she used just enough magic to get out of sight of the guards, then hoofed it on foot until she could meet up with her helpers."

"And that way the Imperials get back their weapon while making us look like the villains," snarled the First Lord.

A soft cough drew attention to the head of the SIS. "I agree the Empire is the obvious suspect - the ease with which they agreed to give her up, as well as the timely appearance of one of their Generals all add up to this being a ploy by Berun. Still, we can't chase the obvious while ignoring other possibilities. Just about any country except the Americans have good reason to want to snap up Degurechaff. If Berun was genuine in abandoning her, it wouldn't take much to convince her to jump ship."

"And in the meantime we're left holding the bag," noted the Prime Minister.

"I'm afraid so," agreed MI5. "I'm afraid we'll just have to bear it for now, but we'll recover. This plan had too many moving parts - we'll just have to keep pushing, and something will give. If nothing else the team they used to snatch her will have left traces. Whether Empire or someone else, we'll nail them down eventually. And don't forget, the Americans are quite upset about all this. If nothing else, we can rely on them to make it hot for whoever is sheltering her."

December 21, 1925, Londinium

The idea of tormenting someone through the sound of nails on chalkboard (or in this case, a magically-hardened knife on glass) may sound cartoonish. But, it can be quite effective if the victim has their ear pressed right up against the glass, and they can also see the very sharp blade getting closer and closer to cutting something much softer. Honestly, I was glad for the experience in parallel casting. That's the only way I could pull this trick using an orbless spell on the knife while using my orb to keep up the seeming of Tatsumaki Kurosawa, aka 'Tina'.

A bit of background. It turns out, contrary to popular belief, criminals do pay taxes. For example, Oliver's crew, of which I was now a member, had to pay fully half their earnings to their 'boss' Ian McClane. Now, I was not opposed to the idea of taxes. The government collected it, and in exchange provided their citizens with infrastructure, public utilities, and protection from enemies foreign and domestic. That the government usually did it with a great degree of inefficiency and favoritism is neither here nor there. So, what services did McClane provide for his 50% tax rate? In theory, he provided protection from other criminals and the police and made sure us street kids could earn a living without interference from the rest of society. In practice, the criminals most likely to attack us were his own bully-boys, the police ignored everyone in this part of town equally, and it was entirely to his benefit that what little existed in the way of social services never made it to the children under his 'care'.

All this, I could have lived with. I wasn't here to reform the Londinium underground, I was just here to lay low, save up a few pounds, and find a forger I could trust.

The trouble came with the fence that McClane insisted we use for disposing of our stolen goods. The fence would short us on payment, badly. While a certain discount was to be expected when trying to dealing with stolen merchandise, he was literally offering us pennies on the pound, and half of those pennies were then lost to McClane. Even worse, a cursory investigation on my part revealed McClane was aware of this, and was splitting the profit with him.

This little con was a step too far for me. Unlike the other children in the crew, I didn't have friends or family members that could help defray my expenses. I had to pay for everything out of pocket, and thanks to this scam, in spite of all the extra business they were doing thanks to my efforts (pickpocketing is a lot easier with enhanced reflexes), I was barely breaking even. The straw that broke the camel's back was a beautiful solitaire diamond ring that I knew for a fact retailed for a hundred and eighty pounds. Even the most avaricious fence would have offered us twenty for it. This fence, Jeremy Biggins, gave us five. I wasn't sure how much he gave McClane for it, and that's what I was here to find out.

In the end, I didn't actually have to cut Jeremy. By the time the screeching blade had made it over to his nose, he was screaming that he'd given McClane twenty five pounds for the ring.

"Well, that just won't do, Mister Biggins. I'm pretty sure you were supposed to give us the twenty-five pounds, not McClane. It was our steal, after all. But then, I bet it was all just an honest mistake. In fact, I bet you feel so bad about it you're going to make it up to us right now, aren't you?"

"Awww, you mean we're not gonna cut up this piece of shite?" This was from Red Jenny, the adorable little thirteen-year-old Irish who had pulled a knife on me the first time we met. As her actions might suggest, she was quite the budding psychopath, and was only kept in check because she liked money (and the sweets it could buy) more than she liked hurting others. Today, she was helping pin Jeremy to the glass of his display case by sitting on his back and digging her favorite shiv into the soft part to the side of his throat. Tim and Tom, the two other junior members of the crew, were pinning his hands to the side. Our leader Oliver was overseeing the whole affair while keeping a lookout. While his greater muscle might have been useful, Jeremy was on the small side so his presence was really not needed, and I appreciated the opportunity to show off my usefulness.

"Now, now Jenny. I'm sure Mr. Biggins is very sorry. In fact, he's so sorry he's going to give us double, just in case he made any other mistakes before."

The thought of parting with fifty pounds seemed enough to give him some courage. "Ya... ya can't do this to me! McClane'll hear of this! He'll sell ya bitches to the opium dens and toss the rest of ya in the Thames! Ya'll spend the rest of yer life spreading your cu-" His bravado cut off with a shrill squeal as I stabbed my knife into the base of his right pinky.

I took a subtle breath and brought up my meditative state. The opium dens were a bit of a sore spot. They doubled as whorehouses for those seeking an exotic Asian flavor, and the first thing McClane had said to my face when Oliver introduced us was how much they'd be willing to pay for 'a virgin chink'.

"You know," I said pleasantly as his wails quietened into whimpers, "It's not McClane you need to worry about. You don't even need to worry about us. The folks you should be worrying about is Big Ben, or Bloody Tom. What if they hear of your little mistakes?" Those were the leaders of two other youth gangs operating in McClane's turf, and they both used Biggins. I had no guarantee he was shortchanging them as well, but by the way he paled, my guess was on the mark. Bloody Tom in particular lived up to his name - erratic, violent, and a wanted murderer at sixteen. Rumor had it he was too crazy for McClane to recruit into his permanent staff, which is why he was still out on the streets.

It only took a bit more persuasion before he was gladly giving us the fifty to see us out of the shop. While the others were in a celebratory mood, Oliver looked far from happy. This was understandable, he'd obviously looked up to McClane and had refused to believe the man would cheat us like this. In fact, the only reason we were even confronting Biggins was because I'd essentially gotten the rest of the crew furious at the chicanery to the point they ended up outvoting him. I'd honestly been concerned he'd accuse me of planning a coup and demand my removal, in which case I'd be in trouble as there was no way the gang would side with a relative newcomer over a proven leader. Luckily, he seemed more saddened at McClane's betrayal than angry with me for embarrassing him. Still, I decided to show him I still respected his position. "So, how we splitting the loot? Even splits with double share for you? I mean, he's been cheating you longer than any of us, it's only fair boss."

I could hear grudging agreement from the others, even though we usually split everything perfectly even. A testament to his popularity if there ever was one. Oliver's expression at this looked almost concerned, before he said quite brusquely, "No, we do it evens as always." Then he started walking a bit separate from me as if to end the discussion. Truly, a surprisingly responsible boss for a teenager. I could have done worse.

As we passed around the spoils, it was Tim who spoke up, "So, how do we deal with McClane? He's going to be pissed." Tim was always the most cautious, which is why I liked him.

I glanced at Oliver, and seeing he was staying silent, I decided to speak up. "Easy. Tim, you know Big Ben, right? And Jenny's got a friend in Tom's crew. The two of you get to them and let them know all about how Biggins and McClane has been screwing us, and pass it on to anyone else you think might be interested."

"We're selling them out?" came Oliver's query. He sounded concerned, and I could tell he didn't like the thought of breaking his word. In some ways, he was quite naive, better he realize soon that honor among thieves is a myth.

"Of course we are," I scoffed. "Unless you feel like fighting McClane all on our lonesome, we need him distracted, and this'll do it. And while he's busy with that... how do you lot feel about moving to Solly Street?"

"Solly?" asked Tim, aghast. "That's Murdoch's turf. He's death on outsiders."

Murdoch was something that I would not have believed if I hadn't seen it - a Francois gang boss in the heart of Londinium. And, as far as criminals go, a surprisingly good one. Just for starters, those who paid protection money were actually protected. Trying to rob those under his aegis led to broken bones at best, and at worst, well, there was a reason Murdoch had a reputation as a knife expert. Still, Tim was operating under a misapprehension.

"Murdoch's death on those who cause trouble on his turf. But as long as we do our stuff outside his turf and pay him his due, he'll cover for us from both the bobbies and McClane. And unlike McClane, he only takes a fifth, not a half."

"Sold!" cheered Jenny. "This is perfect, McClane's too chickenshit to tangle with Murdoch!"

It was a bit saddening how quickly these kids agreed to abandon everything they had and move to greener pastures. Still, if they had any family worth the name, they wouldn't be where they are now. As for me, I was actually looking forward to this. The minute I'd realized what a terrible boss McClane was, I'd started seeking alternative options. Murdoch's territory was the best I'd found yet. While his gang was neither the largest nor the richest, I'd actually found people he was technically extorting that would willingly (if grudgingly) speak well of him, and he'd been operating his business for five years without ever once seeing the inside of a jail cell.

Even better, it was clear that Oliver was willing to follow my advice, meaning I was effectively second in command of our gang, small as it was. Under a boss who won't actually cheat us, I was fairly confident I could build up a decent nest egg by the time summer rolled around.