It was yet another morning, staking out the Diamond Pony as a certain constable was gaining a reputation for.

The last door guard was gone, replaced by a surly looking fellow whose gaze occasionally skittered across Crane’s spot of choice like a cockroach across a kitchen: neither deterred nor particularly inclined to do anything about it.

Someone was coming out the side door in a full bonnet … and was that a streak of red hair peeking from under it?