Adjusting the tattered shawl around his shoulders, Fillan hunched over further, peering out from under the hood at the market crowds. New shipments had come in the day before, and the place was positively bustling with activity. He could see a group of young whores taking advantage of the abundant sailors across the square, and as he watched, one led a large burly man away by the lapels of his coat.
Fillan grumbled under his breath - ever since that narrow escape in which he’d been injured, he’d been forbidden by the other members of his gang to do any serious legwork. Refusing to stay indoors and be treated like an invalid, Fillan had nicked a few items of clothing and done himself up as a beggar, hoping to bring in at least a little bit of money.
He hadn’t done this for a while, but it wasn’t difficult to make his voice deliberately thin and raspy, and make himself look as pitiful as possible while he pleaded with any passersby for a spare penny, arms outstretched, gaze darting through the masses of people, picking out potential marks.