A Thief’s Justice

Praise for A Thief’s Justice‘This is great fun. A soldier turned spy toting two pistols named Tact & Diplomacy; a seething, grubby 18th-century London; crooked politicians, whores & thieftakers; a young male prostitute accused of a crime he didn't commit. The language is colourful and the action never stops’Laura Shepherd-Robinson, Sunday Times bestselling author‘With an eye for period detail and an ear for the language of the streets of 18th-century London, Douglas Skelton serves up a witty, suspenseful tale of historical espionage in A Thief’s Justice. Swashbuckling spy Jonas Flynt is a complex rogue who will have readers clamouring for more’Candace Robb, Sunday Times bestselling author‘It is rare for me to find a new writer with a unique voice, historically accurate, writing a well-plotted and -crafted crime story, as well as creating believable characters, and giving great insight into how people used to live. A Thief’s Justice achieves all of those in bucketloads. The plot rattles along at a great speed, introducing fascinating characters, using a lot of terms and language from the period. This book is not just “highly recommended”, it is essential reading!’Michael Jecks, author of the Medieval West Country Mystery series‘Jonas Flynt is a deliciously real and complex character who plies his covert trade in the streets of a Georgian London that is so well realised you look for the mud on your shoes when you put it down. The plot builds in an organic and believable way and the reader is drawn into its intricacies just as Flynt is, not knowing the outcome but knowing that there must be justice. With a developing cast of characters who, it is to be hoped, will continue to feature in subsequent books, Skelton is building an absolute cracker of a series here’Alis Hawkins, author of A Bitter Remedy Praise for An Honourable Thief‘Fast, furious and with a glint of gallows humour, this is high-octane historical fiction’Daily Mail‘A pacy and thoroughly engrossing thriller packed with intrigue, action and character’The Herald‘I loved this book. Swashbuckling action against a vivid historical backdrop. Heroic heroes and venomous villains’Ian Rankin, New York Times & Sunday Times bestselling author‘An absolute triumph ... Five stars from me, and I look forward to reading more of Jonas's adventures’James Oswald, Sunday Times bestselling author‘Uniquely combines a page-turning thriller with a perfectly evoked sense of time and place. Powerful stuff from a master of his craft’Craig Russell, Sunday Times bestselling author‘High adventure meets espionage thriller as Jonas Flynt battles the tide of history and the deadly secrets of his own past’D. V. Bishop, author of City of Vengeance‘Reads like a genuine eighteenth-century spy novel. I see a long future for Jonas Flynt’Ambrose Parry, author of The Way of All Flesh‘Anyone who enjoys a good historical mystery and likes an edgy, charismatic protagonist is going to love the adventures of Douglas Skelton’s new hero, Jonas Flynt’S.G. MacLean, author of The Seeker‘Pitch-perfect stuff. Like all great historical novels you'll feel you're there! This is a departure for Skelton, who seems born to write high-end historical fiction’Denzil Meyrick, Sunday Times bestselling author‘Skelton’s mastery of time and place inhabited with richly drawn characters is a delight. It held me to the last tantalising page’David Gilman, author of The Englishman 1London, 17 February 1716The air was heavy with candle smoke, and though the temperature beyond the foggy windows was plunging, this upstairs room was warm thanks to a fire blazing in the grate and the proximity of gamblers standing at, or wandering between, the gaming tables. There were cries of delight and groans of exasperation as bets were laid, cards dealt and money won and lost. Those women present either perched themselves beside the man of their choice or wafted around the room along with the tallow fumes, flirting here, enticing there, settling on a cull with the bunce to pay for a tupping. Servants weaved around the patrons, delivering drinks and food or stopping to trim the wicks of candles editing excessive smoke.Jonas Flynt had left the piquet table, his winnings safely within the pocket of his long dress coat, and wandered the room, his gaze seldom far from the game of hazard at a long table against the far wall. He had kept an eye on it all evening, for he was not in this room atop the Shakespear’s Head Tavern for sport alone. He stopped just short of the long table to observe a squat fellow in a long powdered wig replete with ringlets, his blue velvet jacket grasping his frame as if it did not wish to let go, his pale brown waistcoat unbuttoned. He swirled the dice cup in his right hand as though he were an apothecary concocting a salve, while his left rested protectively on the pile of coins before him. Men with money riding on his throw waited with bated breath, hope, even dread, etched upon their faces, which flickered in the yellow candlelight.A man who Flynt vaguely recognised gave him a brief nod.‘He’s declared six as his main,’ he informed Flynt in a low murmur, though he had not asked. Flynt nodded his thanks nonetheless and watched the dice tumble down the table.‘A four and two,’ declared a man on the opposite side of the table, already taking money from those around him. Clearly he had wagered on the little man making his mark. Throwing a six or a twelve were winners. If the dice had revealed any total other than those, then the gambler would have been paying out rather than raking in.‘The beak has been throwing lucky bones for an age,’ the man told Flynt. ‘I ain’t never seen a run like it, Captain Flynt.’So the man knew his name, but Flynt could not dredge up his in return. He prided himself on a memory for faces but this man’s features were only faintly familiar. His use of ‘captain’ placed him as one of the fancy, or at the very least one who lurked around the fringes. But then, there were many who