slew of expensive makeup and a beau-tiful silk head scarf. "Silly cow left
it on the back of her chair while she sat in Covent Garden drinking a ten-quid coffee with her snobby
mate."
"It's nice," Jazz said. "Hattie?"
The girl raised her eyebrows, hearing something strange in Jazz's tone. "Jazz?"
"I need your help. Just for today —hopefully for the last time—I need to not be me."
Hattie grinned, delighted. "You've come to the right place," she said. "I'm an expert at being someone
else. Come on." She led Jazz out of the main chamber and into the bed-room the two girls shared. "I missed
you last night. Kind of scary sleeping in here by myself. Sit yourself down and let me fetch my box of
delights."
Hattie went to a built-in metal cabinet in the corner of the room, and beneath the clothes hanging
there was a big basket that everyone knew was Hattie's private property. There was a strong moral code
among the United Kingdom, and no one would have ever considered invading another member's privacy.
Jazz felt honored.
"Now, then," Hattie said. "Young or old?"
"What?"
The girl laughed. "Come on, Jazz. You're a beauty, and I'm sure you know you can play on that if
you want. Or you can be an innocent teen. Up to you. Depends on the score."
"Big score," Jazz said. "The mayor's house."
Hattie's face went slack. "Fucking hell." It was the first time Jazz ever heard her swear.
"So, I think old," Jazz said. "But nothing too constrict-ing. I may need to move fast."
Hattie recovered from her shock quickly, put on her usual cheerful smile, and started pulling things
from her stash.
****
By early afternoon, everyone was back. They sat around the main room of the Palace, the United
Kingdom familiar and relaxed with one another, Terence the outsider, and Jazz feeling apart from everyone.
Harry did most of the talking. From what he said and the way things were going, Jazz didn't feel the need to
ask what he had sensed while walking past the mayor's home.
As ever when planning a big score, Harry invited ques-tions at the end of his pitch. There were none.
A seriousness had descended over the group, one tinged with the still-raw death of Cadge and this prospect
of getting back directly at the mayor, in however small a way. No one asked who Terence was or what he
was doing there, though many of them eyed him suspiciously. Jazz was pleased to see a hint of discomfort
in his forced smile.
After his address, when the kids were scurrying around the Palace in preparation, Harry and Stevie
disappeared into a side room. Jazz glanced at Terence, who merely raised an eyebrow, then she followed.
She found them huddled to-gether in Harry's bedroom. They both looked at her, not surprised to see her but
not very welcoming either.
"Jazz girl," Harry said. "Like your hat."
"You taking that gun?" she asked Stevie. He looked at her and blinked slowly but did not reply.
"That's his business and his alone," Harry said.
"No," she said. "It's my business if we're breaking into the same house together. We all know the
mayor's thugs might be armed."
"It's my gun," Stevie said. "Not Harry's. My choice."
"And it's my choice whether I'm a part of this or not," Jazz said.
She stared at Harry and Stevie, who both stared back. She left the implied threat hanging in the air.
Neither of them bit. I should walk away, she thought. There's very little holding me here now other
than revenge. And though they say it's sweet, more often than not it'll come out sour.
"Shit," she whispered. Neither Harry nor Stevie changed their expression. She turned and walked
away, sud-denly feeling part of something over which she no longer had any control.
As she entered the main room once again, catching "Terence's eye and deciding whether to say
anything to him about Stevie's gun, she sensed something closing in. A scream in the distance at first, heard
more in her mind than through her ears, and a sudden heartbreaking sadness swept over her. She uttered a
wretched sigh and fell to her knees. Leela and Gob both turned to look at her, both about to ask what was
wrong.
Jazz and Terence stared at each other, a moment of star-tling understanding passing between them.
This is about so much more than revenge, Jazz thought then. It's about saving worlds other than this.
And then Terence offered her a tired smile before closing his eyes.
"Everyone sing a song," Jazz said, and as a few groans of dismay rose up, the Hour of Screams
rushed in.
It sounded like a train coming from the distance, but the noise of its wheels on the track
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