Now that I was no longer teetering on the thin edge of destitution, I had a new fear. Having dragged myself to relative, if temporary, prosperity, I knew I would be a target for the ne’er-do-weels and thieves who infested the sordid wynds of the Old Town. I had no wish to lose my hard-won fortune and needed some better protection than a mere staff against the desperate men and women of the night.
Accordingly, I began to search among the pawn shops that infest the more deprived areas of the city. I know I might have obtained a better weapon in a New Town gunsmith, but I had no desire to purchase a Joseph Manton. I wanted a firearm for defence, not something that announced my social position.
The first place I entered was a damp little pawn shop in the West Bow, a stone’s throw from my cou
