Corroded

her no-longer-contrite features that I was seized with an urge to rub her face in dirt. Just to dim the bright light of triumph some. “I think I came very well equipped,” she retorted. “What would you’ve done were I not there with my net-launching device?”

“Fight them, and put them quickly out,” I said, with such certainty that her smile dimmed.

“What? Both?”

“Both,” I repeated grimly. I did not say it would have been easy—it wouldn’t, by any stretch. Scuffling outside one’s odds never ended well for everybody. Still, between my old mate Dicker and the squat Abe, I could have done so.

“What about the others in the fog?”

Damn. That was the rub, wasn’t it?

“Shush,” I said instead of addressing the validity of her point. “No reason to go shouting rumors all over the garden, now.” I pushed open the door, gesturing Maddie Ruth inside before me. Best that a member of the Menagerie go first, just in case. I was still often disregarded by them what worked the grounds, and did not fancy a scuffle by mistake.

“Cheers, Tovey,” Maddie Ruth said as she emerged from the foliage. A legitimate concern, then. I did not recognize the name. “How’s the work?”

I stepped into the open portico after her, saw an average-looking gent wearing a working man’s kit and a scarf to keep the chill out. His hair, bright ginger in the gray daylight, glinted like new copper.

The smile he gave Maddie Ruth was polite enough, but I wondered if she noted the way his gaze only touched me before snapping back to her. “Good afternoon, miss,” he said, so quietly I nearly missed the sound of it. “Er, good afternoon,” he added to me. An afterthought, naturally.

I nodded at him.

Maddie Ruth lowered her voice as Tovey shut the door behind us. “You seen any of the whips about?”

Whips, I understood, was the common term for them what held authority in the Menagerie. Hawke, naturally, was among them. He held the most authority of the lot, save the Veil itself. I was led to believe that Zylphia had a sort of ranking over the other sweets, though this seemed to be a malleable situation. I’d never heard her called a whip, but I did witness a kind of respect the other sweets bore for her.

I wasn’t sure who else might operate as some measure of command, and I did not wish to learn. Especially not when engaging in the very trouble I was to be avoiding.

The lad shook his head. “Been quiet in the private gardens since the prince wandered through.”

“Osoba’s been by recent?” Wariness replaced Maddie Ruth’s deliberate smile. She glanced at me, but her gaze did not stick; it shifted, as if afraid to meet my eyes.

Not a good sign.

“Prince?” I asked, and then remembered the pamphlets. Sometimes, in the leaflets provided by the Menagerie, the circus would promote a prominent act. Among them, I remembered a bit for His Highness Ikenna Osoba, lion prince of far-flung Africa.

If he were truly a prince, I did not know, but lion-taming was not a kind profession—even for the supremely confident. That he was numbered among the Menagerie whips was telling. The man was likely to be dangerous, and as capable with the weapon as the metaphorical title suggested.

Though a part of me could not help but wonder if he’d be as smooth with the length of black as Hawke. I’d watched the ringmaster wield a whip with such skill, the memory invoked more envy than the wariness the act warranted.

“Not long past,” Tovey was saying, and I shook my head. “Stepped into the cottage and out again without fuss.”

There was a cottage buried in the private gardens, the kind that was often used for entertainment, but also for various needs by the Menagerie staff. I’d seen the Veil there once. My first meeting.

It had not gone well.

“Did he say anything?” Maddie Ruth asked, worriedly picking at her lapels. Easy for her to be so nonchalant. I still wore her damned machine.

“What?” The lad scoffed. “To the likes of me?”

For some, there is not so much a physical indication as a sense when one’s hackles are raising. Though Maddie Ruth did not seem to change posture, I was aware of the impression of fear about her. Of wariness and deep concern. Perhaps it was in the eyes, suddenly skating across the hedgerows inset into this side of the menagerie grounds.

Like a rabbit, out and about during a lean winter.

I bit back a sigh lest I come across unkind. “Come along, then,” I said to the girl. “Best get you back where you belong.”

Maddie Ruth’s smile wobbled some, and she turned to Tovey with her large brown eyes full of hope. “You won’t say nothing, will you?”

The boy didn’t stand a chance. Plain she might be, but saying no to that wide-eyed supplication would be akin to putting the boot in on a wet pup in winter. “Not a word,” he avowed, and reached for a hat he did not have. Finding none, he mimicked a doff nonetheless. “Miss.” And again, a hastily affirmed, “Pleasant day to you,” in my direction.

I seized her arm and practically dragged her down the graveled pathway. When we were a fair bit out of hearing, I hissed, “You are unkind to that lad.”

“What?” She did not shake off my hand, but she did look behind her as if to gauge Tovey’s well-being. He had returned to his post, minding the entry, but I noted that the pale blur of his face was still aimed at us.

Or, I suspect, her.

Save me from doe-eyed females.

“Bear this in mind,” I said firmly, marching her through the hedgerows. “For every person you involve in your mischief, that’s another to feel the sting of it when you’re caught.”

That I knew intimately of what I spoke was a pain I had not dared to give acknowledgement to. Not yet. Perhaps not for a long time, if I had my say. The very hint of Earl Compton’s face was enough to send my hand plunging into my pocket.

I had not rectified my lack of bliss. Lecturing Maddie Ruth had taken much of my interest. I regretted that fact now.

I would fix that as soon as I saw Maddie Ruth off to her quarters. This, I vowed.

I walked without much mind to direction. I’d been in these gardens before, though they looked a sight different without the dark to deepen the shadows. Unlike the greater grounds, the private gardens were designed specifically to cater to those who traded in subtlety for somewhat more physical proclivities. There was no pretense of discretion here, only dark corners, merrily burbling fountains and hedgerows to lose one’s self in.

Sometimes, when the nights were quieter, the keening wail of a violin could be heard soaring across the private garden. I had not yet met the maker of such haunting music, but I hoped to.

By day, however, much of the mystique was gone, and the gardens were still. The hedge separating the garden from the grounds was easy to find, and the gate stood open.

All was quiet enough that I easily heard her sniff. “I wouldn’t get caught.”

“Oh, ho,” I taunted softly, but not kindly. “Allow me to be the first to assure you of one irrefutable fact. Eventually, you will get caught.” Her head came up quickly, and I nodded. “‘Tis a matter of course. Always be prepared for the inevitable revelation.” Again, I spoke with hard-earned experience. I knew of what I assured her.

My catching had been done after my father’s reckless scheme. To see such disappointment in Fanny’s eyes, to always be aware that my staff feared for my safety, had become a burden I dreaded.

Yet, I would return to that life in a tick, if I could only do so again.

I missed them. There were days, moments when I swallowed a bit more tar than I ought and allowed the lassitude to take me, that I reached for a bell that was not there. I ached to hear the arrhythmic step of my one- legged butler coming to deliver me tea. Even Mrs. Booth’s shrill voice berating the link-boy for tracking soot seemed as music to my memory.

I had lost so much to the sweet tooth’s vicious cruelty.

I owed him so very much in kind.