Terror was a good thing for a boy to have. Allah knew it would have wizened him up to a handful of things faster. The rationalization didn’t dampen the shame for being rough with someone as poorly situated as this fellow seemed to be, but it pushed it aside and tucked it neatly away to somewhere he’d probably never bother looking again.

Dark brows raised in open skepticism at the boy’s apology.

“Shite defense,” the not-fisherman riposted. “Keep thee head down.”

He let go, turned his back to the young man, and walked forward into the crowd. There was a gaggle of women – some with plump, visible purses, talking with increasing upset amongst each other. Apparently, Gregory was a cad and went to brothels, but didn’t Gwyneth know that men could not help themselves?

Speaking of men being unable to help themselves, Aslan carefully slid a knife from his pocket. Glanced back to his would-be pickpocket, and then slid past one of the women with the knife in his left hand. He sliced through the purse string … and enough of the skirt that it dropped. Shit.

He tucked the knife back into his pocket, hand resting in it, and hurried onward. Seconds later, the screams started.