Randall and Loach knew that Jane didn't know they'd decided to kill her, so they assumed she'd be coming back to the Interesting Weasel as soon as she'd calmed down. After an hour or so, therefore, they went to their rooms to get some sleep. There'd be time enough to kill her in the morning.

      Before morning came, though, Loach had important business to conduct. He rose from his bed while there was still nothing but darkness visible through the window of his small room and got dressed. Then he picked up the gold necklace he'd bought a couple of days before in another town they'd passed through. He examined it critically. Was it gaudy enough to attract the attention of a mugger? It had cost most of his money to buy it, but that didn't bother him. Money was something you could always get more of and it would be worth the expense if it accomplished the purpose he had in mind for it.

     He sighed with resignation. He'd have preferred something bigger and flashier, but this was all he'd been able to afford. It would have to do. He hung it around his neck, therefore, and emerged from his room, walking through the dark, silent corridors of the boarding house until he reached the door out onto the street.

     The most important streets of the city were lit with oil lamps, some of which were dark, their oil having run out. An oiler, an elderly, skeletally thin man in a set of grubby yellow overalls, was pushing a squeaky wheeled barrel along the street, muttering under his breath as he did so. He glanced accusingly at Loach as he walked past, as if what he was saying to himself was of such overwhelming importance that dire consequences would ensue if he was overheard. Loach pretended to ignore him until the oiler relaxed and walked on, but then the former mob boss paused curiously to watch.

     The oiler continued along the street until he reached the base of an unlit lamp, where he lowered the barrel onto its base with a sigh of relief. Then he used a long, forked pole to bring the lamp down from the hook from which it was hanging. He refilled it from the barrel using a crusty cup,  trimmed the wick and lit it before hanging the lamp back in place. Then, with a grunt of effort, he lifted the barrel up onto its squeaky wheels and moved on, still muttering and grumbling as if he had an invisible companion who alone understood his problems and who alone sympathised.

     Loach watched as the oiler left the circle of light created by the newly lit lamp and disappeared into the darkness between it and the next. Then he turned his mind back to the business at hand. Muggers were unlikely to be found in a well lit street. He wanted a dark alleyway. That would make him hard to see, but the moon was almost full above the clouds and if he was lucky they would part long enough for a shaft of silvery light to illuminate him and the gold necklace he was wearing.

     There was no shortage of dingy, dark alleyways in this part of the city and, finding one, Loach hunched down as he entered it to make himself look small and feeble. An easy target. He remained alert, though. He wanted to catch a mugger, not get his throat cut by one.

     Getting mugged turned out to be harder than he'd expected, though, and he was half way down his fourth alleyway before he struck paydirt. A figure stepped out of the darkness ahead of him, and he heard furtive footsteps behind him telling him that his retreat was blocked. Two men at least, then. That complicated things, but Loach wasn't unduly worried. He could handle himself in a fight even without his head phone's combat apps.

     Right on schedule, the clouds above them parted and silvery moonlight shone through, lighting him up like a stage performer. In front of him, the mugger stepped closer. "Nice chain," he said. "Mend ef ah get a closer look?" There was a knife in his hand, Loach saw. He was making no attempt to hide it, unlike Loach whose knife was hidden under a fold of his jacket.

     Loach believed himself capable of killing all the men surrounding him in the alley, whether there were two, three or even four of them. The problem would be in taking one of them alive without being injured severely enough to require the attention of a priest. He also couldn't display such impressive fighting skills that they just ran away, leaving him no better off than he'd been before he started. He had to lure them close, then strike before they had a chance to react.

     He made himself shrink down as if in fear. He turned as if to run, allowing him to see the men behind him. Just one. Good. A big man, but big men died just as easily as small ones. The only thing that could spoil things now were witnesses, but the muggers wouldn't have chosen a spot where they thought they might be seen. Loach didn't anticipate interruptions.

     "Please don't hurt me," said Loach in a pathetic whine. He shrank back against the wall of the alley so that both muggers would be in front of him when they made their move. "Please let me go."

     The mugger who'd spoken to him was the smaller of the two so he was the one Loach would take alive. The other one was too big and strong. He would be dangerous. He would have to die. Loach reached a hand out towards him as if to plead for his life while the other went to the hilt of his knife. "Please," he repeated. "Please don't hurt me."

     The smaller man was closer and was advancing towards him faster than the big man. That wouldn't do. Loach had to strike out at both men at the same time, but if he retreated from the small man to remain exactly between the two muggers he would be moving closer to the big man. That might make them suspicious. Couldn't be helped, though. If he struck at the small man too soon, the big man would be forewarned and would either escape or kill him.

     He retreated from the small man, therefore, trying to pretend that he'd forgotten that the big man existed. The small man grinned wider as he advanced closer. "Jest hend over the chain and we'll let you go," he said.

     Loach continued to retreat from the small man until he felt the large man land a heavy hand on his shoulder. The small man stepped right up to Loach until the former mob boss could smell his rank breath. Loach saw the muscles of his arm tensing up as he prepared to deliver a killing blow with his knife. Loach had to strike first, and he had to do it in such a way that neither man had a chance to cry out, attracting unwanted attention.

     Loach spun around, therefore, rising back to his full height and slashing with his knife against the big man's throat. Then he turned back to the small man and stabbed at the tendons of his right elbow before the shocked man had a chance to respond. Loach paid the big man no further attention. He would be busy trying to keep the blood from jetting out from his throat while unable to make a sound with his slashed vocal chords. For all intents and purposes, he had ceased to exist.

     The small man was still holding his knife but, with his slashed tendons, his arm could only dangle loosely. His other hand clutched at his injured elbow. He opened his mouth to scream but Loach put the tip of his knife to his throat and pressed until the other man could feel the sharpness of it. "Make a sound and I'll kill you," he hissed. "Understand?"

     The man nodded silently, his eyes wide with terror. Behind them, the big man sagged to his knees, still clutching at his throat with both hands. The entire front of his body was now drenched with blood with more still seeping from between his fingers.

     "Drop the knife," said Loach. The small man obeyed, his body trembling with pain and fear. Loach then grabbed him by the other arm and steered him along the alley, away from the big man as he fell to the ground to land amidst the filth and the straggly weeds.

     "I'm not going to kill you," Loach told the small man. "I just want some information. When I've got it I'll let you go and you can go to the priests to get healed."

     "How do I know yez telling the truth?" asked the small man in a whisper.

     "You don't have a choice," Loach told him. "Do you live near here?" The small man nodded frantically. "Do you live alone?" He nodded again. "Take me there," Loach told him. "Without making a noise." The small man nodded again and began walking.

     The small man's home turned out to be just a couple of hundred metres away in a dingy street of small, dingy apartments. A pair of small, grimy children were sitting on the steps outside it, Loach couldn't tell if they were boys or girls. They looked up at him with haunted, empty eyes as he went past, and Loach saw them taking note of the small man's injured arm. Then they looked away though. Instantly forgetting them as they went back to staring across the dark, empty street. What was one more injured man to them, after having seen so many? Another person's pain meant nothing to them. If the looks on their faces were any clue, they'd probably experienced enough for themselves to last a lifetime.

     Blood dripped from the small man's fingers as Loach opened the door and pushed him inside. Loach pushed him into a wicker chair that creaked and skidded back across the bare wooden floor as it took the small man's weight. Loach scanned his eyes around the room, alert for danger. He saw a few simple pieces of wooden furniture and a couple of half used candles with dribbled wax solidified around the bases of their copper holders. A rat scurried for safety in a wide crack in the wall leaving behind a moldy, half eaten piece of pie crust and a scattering of round black droppings.

     Loach went for one of the candles but hesitated when he realised he had no idea how to light it. He'd seen other people lighting fires with flint and steel since coming out of hibernation, but it was a skill he had yet to master and the small man couldn't do it with his injured arm. Never mind. There was enough moonlight coming in through the single small window. That would have to do.

     "Whet do ye want?" the small man begged as Loach quickly went through the other rooms of the dwelling, making sure there was no-one else present. The place was full of the smell of damp mold and rat urine. Loach would rather have slept on a park bench than in a place like this. He half feared that he might come down with leptospirosis just from breathing the air.

     He returned to the small man to find him wrapping a rag around his injured elbow. "I need the priests!" he begged, and Loach was disgusted to see tears running from his eyes. "E'm going to die!"

     "Answer my questions and I'll let you go get help," said Loach. "I just want to know who runs the crime in this town."

     The small man stared as if Loach was insane. "Thet's what ya wants ta know?" he said. "Ye never heard o' Badger?"

     "Badger?" said Loach. "Is that his name?"

     "The name 'e goes by," said the small man. "I seppose he had another name once, but everyone calls him Badger now. Ye really never heard o' him? A man like yez who took down Rufus lek a farmer butchering a pig?"

     "I'm new in town," said Loach. "Where can I find this Badger?"

     "At his place, the Halls of Valhalla. The same place he cen always be found."

     Loach scowled suspiciously. "And you're telling this freely to someone you don't know? How do you know I don't work for the police?"

     The small man laughed derisively. "The police know all abet him," he said, "bet what they know en what they can prove ain't the same thing. An honest businessman's whet he is, he sez, an there ain't none who can prove him a liar, but everyone knows all the same. If there's crime in this city, Badger's the man behind it."

     "Do you work for Badger?"

     "Not work for as such, bet folks like me has to pay him a tribute to operate in this city. Pay a tribute or end up like poor Rufus. Dead in an alleyway with a second mouth."

     Loach studied the man carefully. Everything he said had the ring of truth and there was nothing in his voice or his body langauge to deny it, but he'd met some skilful liars in his time. This man might be lying to protect the man he really worked for. A man who would punish him dreadfully if he betrayed him. There was one way to find out. He looked at the man's arm and elbow. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. He had to be in immense pain, but his life wasn't in immediate danger. The priests could wait.

     "Get to your feet," he ordered. "You're going to take me to the Halls of Valhalla."

     The small man stared in shocked betrayal. "Ye said I could go..."

     "You can, as soon as you take me to meet Badger, and if you're lying I'll give you a second mouth to match Rufus."

     "He won't see you. Ye think he comes personally to meet every stranger who comes looking fer him? Ye'll be dealing with his henchmen an they're likely to think yez working for the police. They'll slit yer throat soon as look at yez."

     "I'll take my chances. Just take me there, and if you're telling the truth I'll let you go to the priests. Now move."

     The small man groaned with pain as he climbed out of the small chair. He staggered and Loach took his uninjured arm with his free hand to steady him. His jacket felt moist and greasy, and a faintly rancid smell came from it as if the man had his pockets stuffed with week old bacon. The very presence of the man sickened Loach, but he would endure his company if it got him what Randall had promised. Joint mastery of mankind and the solar system. That was worth a little unpleasantness, and Loach had endured worse back in his old life, before going into hibernation. The trick was to keep your eyes on the prize. Remember what it was you were working towards.

     As they stepped out into the street, therefore, Loach looked up into the sky where it was visible between the tall buildings that lined the narrow street. The clouds were parting and stars were beginning to appear. The bright star in the east was Venus, he thought. He wondered what great factories and industries the machines had built there, industries that would soon be his to command. His mind filled with wonderful possibilities as he shoved the small man along the street and followed behind him, towards the river that ran through the centre of the city.