Tommy Thruppence is something of a macabre legend in the Boston underworld, and several tall tales of his exploits or of narrow escapes from his clutches earn the teller a drink or two in every low-life pub in the city every night. He gets his name from the phrase “right as thruppence” which, since there is no such coin and any you had in your possession would therefore be very bad forgeries, isn’t right at all. Street legend says that he was always a bad sort, but not all that much worse than the usual run of back-alley scumbag born from a prostitute and an unknown father into abject poverty. Then a few years back, he tried to use a grimoire he’d just stolen from some toff magician’s home to stave of the pursuit of Boston’s finest law enforcement officers and it botched badly. Since then, he talks to himself and seems to have three distinct personalities. “Gruff Tommy” is a brawler, a knife-fighter and an excellent pistol shot who kills with a smile on his face, “Dabs Tommy” is a pickpocket, second-storey man and sneak thief while “Flash Tommy” is a smiling, glib, con-man who would charm the last coins out of his own mother’s purse if she was still alive. Occasionally he’d talk about “Good Tommy”, always in the context of “Wonder what he’d say if he was still alive? Good job we killed him, eh boys?” He works alone, because really, who wants to work with that kind of nutter? But about six months ago he disappeared amid rumors he’d found a patron, and no-one knows where he’s gone or who he might be working with.