Pax Britannia: Human Nature by Jonathan Green

out the extraneous background noise and the other sensations emitted by the growing conflagration, he held his breath and concentrated on putting the thrumming of his own racing pulse from his mind. He listened instead for the panting breaths of another, the sound of footfalls on wood, or the clatter of feet on the tiles of the rooftops beyond.
    Awareness flared in Ulysses' mind. He turned as something at the periphery of his vision detached itself from the darkness, breaking his concentration. A scrawny, spindle-limbed shape launched itself at his face with a savage shrill scream. And then there was movement behind him too.
    Ulysses threw up his hands - there was no time to bring sword or gun to bear - grabbing hold of the monkey before it could claw his face. As he grabbed the monkey out of the air he spun on his heel and thrust it towards the man who had tried to come at him from behind, putting all his weight and the momentum of the monkey's leap behind the push.
    The monkey gave a strangled cry and tensed momentarily before going limp in Ulysses' hands, a point of metal glistening darkly with the creature's blood, protruding from the middle of its chest.
    Then the monkey was pulled savagely from Ulysses' hands as the Magpie shook the dead animal from his blade, and for the first time the dandy got a good look at the robber-king of the Whitechapel Irregulars, the master of the House of Monkeys.
    He was both shorter and slighter than Ulysses. A scruffy mess of black hair hid much of his face, but he caught a glimpse, nonetheless of a nose as sharp as a knife. The villain's clothes don't seem to fit him either - just like those of his urchin-sons - a rag-cloak of grey, white, black and blue, making him look like his eponymous magpie! He patently had a taste for the theatrical, as had been evidenced by everything Ulysses had seen of him since entering his lair.
    The tiny ape rolled onto the floor and lay limply where it landed, arms, legs and tail all at unnatural angles, blood staining the faded green waistcoat it wore.
    Ulysses pressed home his advantage, hoping to wrong-foot the Magpie still further and bring him down. The knife flashed in the near dark. Ulysses yelped in pain as the serrated blade cut into the meat of his wrist. His fingers spasmed open, his gun clattering onto the bare boards at his feet.
    Ulysses lurched backwards as the Magpie danced in below his guard with the knife again. He heard the rip and felt the snag as the tip of the blade caught the edge of a buttonhole on his coat and tore through the fabric.
    He was dimly aware of the bouncing thuds and bangs of his gun as it continued to tumble down the staircase from the landing, and far out of reach. But for the time being he was more concerned about the dextrous knife-fighting abilities of the rogue in front of him.
    As the Magpie bounded forwards again Ulysses took two steps back. The palm of his right hand was wet with blood now but the adrenalin of the moment helped him to put aside the pain in his wrist. Instead, focusing all his energies on the fight, he brought his rapier blade to bear again.
    He sensed the Magpie hesitate and knew that he had already turned the tide of battle. Now it was his turn to lunge forward but the Magpie had already made his move. The felon flung himself at the ladder to the skylight and, displaying all the agility of a monkey, scampered up it, heading for the roof.
    Ulysses pressed forward again, slashing his sword down onto the ladder, slicing splinters from the wooden rungs. And then his quarry was gone. Without a moment's hesitation Ulysses grabbed the ladder and was up it after the Magpie.
    As he pulled himself through the open skylight, the felon's fleeing footfalls carried to him over the roofs of the rookery.
    In an instant Ulysses was on his feet. As he took a swaying moment to gain his balance, he took in his surroundings. He was standing on the edge of the roof of the slum building. Only a few feet below him,