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Monday Puzzler
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14th November
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“Good morning, Mr. Hero. You are looking fine this morning.�
He had passed the looking glass on the way here. He looked like the back alley—before it had been scrubbed. He had grabbed three hours of sleep after another assassination attempt, the burning of Building Seven at the docks, where his enemies had thought the Exchange records had been transferred, and theamusement outside her home. Last night’s assailants were down the street in one of his secure facilities, waiting for him to do with them as he willed.
Having in custody the men from her attack meant he had to do more questioning. He hated questioning. It meant speaking, and possibly having to change his clothes afterward. But he wasn’t going to trust the questioning to someone else—not on this.
And here Miss Bleeding Sunshine sat, looking as if just this morning she’d been attended by fairies, baked with elves, and had tea with a unicorn.
“What do you want?� he asked brusquely.
“I am here to offer my report and to share what I’ve been up to.� She extended the basket across his desk as he sat in his chair. “And to bring you these. The basket has been empty each night, so I hope you have been enjoying them.�
Of course the boys would have finished the treats after removing them. It was always their own choice whether to eat Hero’s food.
He flipped open his ledger and looked at the tasks for the day. He wanted to scrub a hand over his face, but he pinned her with a dark look instead. “Well?�
“I am well, yes. Though we had a tough night. Fires, you know. And scuffles. And gunshots. All of London is on edge these days.�
He tried to keep loose. He narrowed his eyes. “What?�
She waved a hand. “Nothing of consequence.�
Fires, as in plural? He drummed his fingers on his desk. Don’t ask. “Fires?� Ass, cow, lips, shit.
“Yes.� She looked up and to the left. “I think there were three. One was quite concerning. The other two were fairly small.�
He usually left the discipline to Hero’s Brother or Milton or One-eye, but all of the men who had watched her house last night after he’d left would be in for a trouser change at the very least.
She leaned toward him conspiratorially. “Our maid is interested in the neighbor’s footman. Quite a nice-looking fellow who has solid goals.�
Hero stared at her wondering, not for the first time, what in the hell she was talking about.
And . . . she was still sitting across from him. He didn’t have any new scowls left. He had used up all of his fiercest ones with her, ones he hadn’t even had to use on his bitterest enemies, and to no avail. He was becoming a little concerned actually that he was . . . stuck with her. There was something about the set of her body that said she might be . . . permanent.