As soon as the sun broke through the dirty window pane, Vernice was up and pushing them out the door. There was no one in the hallway, but she had them hide their faces nonetheless as she escorted them to the end of the street, not speaking a word until they had turned the corner and were out of sight of the apartment building.

"Just remember to keep me out of this," she hissed, her eyes darting about as she resumed the nervous demeanor she had displayed when they first met. "Took a lot of work to get myself out of all that shady business back home, I don't wanna get pulled into it again. And I don't want Granny getting hurt, either."

"Your secret is safe with me," Booker assured her. "And I would like to thank you for all of your assistance."

Nodding, Vernice yanked her top hat lower and looked in all directions before leaning in close. "Between you and me, I hope you find this fellow before a certain rodent does."

"What is your revulsion towards them?" Booker asked.

"Mostly my former dealings with them when I was involved with trafficking back in the day. They're more heartless than any gang I've ever known."

"How do you know I'm not as heartless as they are? Surely my notoriety for ungodly medical practices has preceded me."

"It has. But like I said, Granny has nothing but good things to say about you. And I put a lot more faith in her word than the word of night flowers and thieves."

A smile tugged at Booker's mouth.

"I gotta go before Granny wakes up," Vernice said as she glanced behind her. "Take care. And please don't break into any more rooms. Can't promise I'll get there before someone bashes your brains in next time."

"Warning well-taken. Thank you again."

Once Vernice slinked off, Trinket, Booker, and Gin made their way back home. Gin rubbed at her shoulder, and Booker eyed her anxiously. "How's your arm?" he asked.

She waved him away. "Fine. Just sore. Not used to sleeping indoors."

"You should really let me put it in a sling. It will help the healing process."

She shot him a look. "A sling? You know how weak that'll make me look? Ain't gonna happen. I got a reputation to uphold."

Booker turned to Trinket, and she shrugged. He let out a sigh as they continued down the street.

"So what's your plan now?" Gin asked as they passed through the city center.

"I'm thinking I'll put out word that I'm looking for a fresh body to dissect. See who offers. Hopefully he'll show up."

"After that attack, don't you suppose he'll be a bit more cautious about taking on more clients?" Trinket asked.

"Perhaps. If he doesn't respond, I guess I'll have to come up with a new plan."

He seemed reluctant to consider this possibility, though. She couldn't blame him after all the leads they had gotten that only led to dead ends. She wasn't sure he could deal with more disappointment.

"I'm off to do business," Gin said as they entered the slums.

"Are you sure you won't let me look at your arm again?" Booker asked.

"Blast it all, Booker, quit treating me like a child. I'm fine."

He sighed. "Very well. But if the pain gets worse, I insist you come find me."

Rolling her eyes, she looked at Trinket. "Would you settle him down or something? He's driving me insane with his nagging."

Trinket smiled. "I'll do my best. Take care, Gin."

The urchin waved goodbye before running off into St. Spittel. Trinket linked her arm with Booker's and gave his hand a gentle pat as he watched Gin disappear.

"She'll be fine," she said. "How about we go have breakfast and a cup of tea?"

He gave in and followed her into the house. As they hung up their coats, Daphne emerged from the parlour. She flashed them a grin and raised her eyebrows in expectation.

"We think we found him," Trinket said. "But he took us by surprise, and we were unable to speak with him."

Daphne frowned and wrinkled her nose.

"It's fine," Booker said, though his expression betrayed his irritation at their failure. "We at least have more evidence that he is, in fact, a bodysnatcher."

"And his teeth," Trinket added.

Booker furrowed his brow. "His teeth?"

"Before I sprayed him, he smiled. His teeth were just as white as those of the young man I saw in the tea shop. He's most certainly the same person."

"If only Emma would speak to us. Maybe then we could get more information."

"I don't think she knows anything more than what she's already told us. She deals in drugs, not bodies."

"I suppose."

Daphne pointed down the hall and raised her eyebrows.

"You've made breakfast?" Trinket asked.

She nodded and gestured at the both of them.

"We would love some. Thank you."

"I need to fetch some paper," Booker said as he headed upstairs. "I'll be down momentarily."

As his footsteps faded away, Trinket followed Daphne into the kitchen. She set about making tea while Daphne laid out scones and jam on the tray. By the time they returned to the parlour, Booker was on the settee, hunched over the table and scribbling something onto a sheet of paper. He looked up as Daphne placed the tray down.

"I'm writing up a request for a body," he informed them as Trinket handed him a cup of tea and sat beside him.

"A request?" she repeated. "To put in the newspaper?"

"Not quite. Seeing as body snatching is somewhat illegal, the authorities would likely frown upon having public advertisements for it."

Daphne chuckled softly in the armchair as she took a bite of a buttered scone.

"No, there's a particular spot where one can leave requests for bodies," Booker went on. "Resurrectionists check it regularly and choose their jobs."

"How do you know if they've accepted one?"

"They'll mark the request with their personal signature."

"Personal signature?"

"Each Resurrectionist has their own. A symbol, a smear of blood, a tear in the paper. Once you've been accepted, they'll leave a clue of where to meet in order to discuss payment and the like."

"Sounds complicated."

"Things have to be when you're breaking the law. Makes it more difficult to get caught."

Trinket sipped her tea. "Where is this location to leave the requests?"

Booker gave a crooked smile. "Where most unscrupulous activities take place."

~

When they had finished with breakfast, Booker and Trinket once again headed out to the city center, first making their way to the tailor to check on the status of Daphne's dresses. Only the capes were complete, so they took those with them and continued on to their next destination.

"Don't the police know how many illegal things take place at the Clocktower?" Trinket asked as the alehouse came into view.

"They do," Booker said.

"Then why don't they do something about it?"

"Like?"

"I don't know, shut it down?"

Booker let out a sharp laugh. "And risk losing all that income? They wouldn't dare. See, Tinkerfall is only a city because of all the business it attracts."

Trinket looked about at the nearby shops and outdoor booths. There were quite a few, but none seemed to pull in an impressive amount of patrons. "I don't understand."

He followed her gaze and grinned. "Not that kind of business. I'm talking the kind of business that takes place in locations like the Clocktower. Night flowers, gambling, and the like. Tinkerfall has a notorious reputation for promising visitors a good time. Folks come from all over to enjoy the pleasures of this little city. And those in power are well aware of this, hence why no action is ever taken to close down these establishments."

"But the police are always roaming around."

"They try to keep some semblance of order, but they don't have the power to do much more than arrest a bloke here and there or break up scuffles. The mayor knows how important the criminal activities are here, so he would never back them up. Besides, I think he's too terrified of the Mice to try."

When they entered the Clocktower, Booker went straight for the stairs that led up to the rooms for rent. The memory of spending the night there with him only days ago caused heat to creep up Trinket's neck. She ducked her head in case the blush showed in her cheeks. But Booker was too busy scanning the side of the staircase to notice. There were pieces of paper sticking out from beneath the loose steps. There weren't many, but the few that were there had been marked with various symbols. One had been torn to pieces and scattered on the floor.

"Some of the doctors in the suburbs are not well-liked," Booker said when he saw her staring at the torn paper.

"They don't pay well?"

"Sometimes that's the case. Other times it's because they are not prudent and have gotten people caught." He found an empty step and tucked his note discreetly beneath it. "Stupidity will mark you with a reputation. And if you're lucky, that's all it will do."

With the note in place, they turned back to the main room and headed for the door, but they were intercepted by Grace. "So he returns," she said with a sultry smile.

"I try not to let too much time go by between visits," he said as he tightened his grip on Trinket's arm.

"Perhaps you should," Grace said, lowering her voice.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone's been talking about your little run-in with the Mice the other day."

Giving a snort, Booker looked away. "The Mice have run-ins every day. Why should people be talking about one in particular?"

"Because Scales has never looked as angry as he did when he left that night. You're making a fool of him, Booker. And Scales does not like looking like a fool."

"Can a leopard change its spots?"

Grace shushed him and glanced about anxiously. "They have ears everywhere, Booker. And you know as well as I do that Scales is not a fool. Calling him one will only get you killed faster."

"I have no intention of being killed, Grace."

"And I had no intention of sleeping with a drunk man twice my age last night. But life happens. As does death. The Mice are angry. They waited for you all night after your little chat. I have no doubts that they intended to make you pay for your insubordination."

Booker gave a wry smile. "I will not cower to the likes of them. They're the ones who got involved in my business, not the other way around. I will not back down. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do. Good day, Grace."

He tipped his hat and went to leave, but Grace grabbed hold of Trinket's arm, pulling her away from him. Trinket panicked for a moment, knowing that the night flower despised her close relationship with Booker, but there was no venom in her expression this time. Instead, her face was dark with worry.

"Watch him," she said, her eyes darting about before resting on her. "I'm sure you know by now that he's stubborn as a mule. He's going to get himself killed. And if Booker Larkin dies, Tinkerfall will not be the same."

Stunned by the woman's desperate plea, Trinket nodded. "I'll do my best."

Grace released her and slipped into the growing crowd. Rubbing her arm, Trinket hurried to catch up to Booker who was waiting for her by the door. They walked out together, and Booker caught her arm and drew her closer.

"What was that about?" he asked.

She forced a strained smile as she met his eyes. "You were right. You are important to this city. And well-loved."

He smirked. "I do so love hearing those words."

With a soft laugh, she leaned into him and stifled a yawn.

"Tired?" he asked.

"I never realized being a housemaid would require such late nights."

"I'm sorry I've been depriving you of rest. Although to be fair, I did make sure we had a place to sleep last night."

"I see you're taking credit for Vernice's kindness now."

Despite the fact that they had had shelter for the night, it had been impossible for Trinket to sleep. The terror of the attack paired with the close quarters rendered her nerves shot. Booker did not sleep either, though whether that was due to the same reasons or whether it was the lingering effects of the drug, she did not know.

"Well, when we get back home, you can take all the time you need to rest," Booker said.

"There's cleaning to be done, Mr. Larkin."

"I'm more concerned about having my lovely assistant well-rested than I am about my house being sparkling clean."

"You are a strange employer."

As they opened the door, Daphne rushed out of the parlour to greet them. She motioned hurriedly for them to follow her. They did so, not even bothering to take off their coats. As they entered, they found that someone was sitting on the settee. He was bent over, fingers twisted in his hair as he breathed heavily. When he heard them approach, he rose to his feet and turned to them. He was wearing dark-tinted glasses, but something about him looked familiar.

"I hear you're a doctor," he said, his voice hoarse and sore.

"That I am," Booker said, eyeing him suspiciously.

The young man removed his glasses to reveal swollen, bloodshot eyes. He squinted against the light streaming in through the window, and his lip lifted in a snarl, flashing the whitest teeth Trinket had ever seen.

She took a sharp breath and looked up at Booker, but his gaze was fixed on the young man's eyes. He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw.

"Think you can fix this for me?" the young man asked.

So much for catching up on sleep.